When people first learn that Jeremy has autism, I'm usually asked this question: "So, (hesitant pause) when did you first know that something was wrong?" When asked this question I'm immediately transported back in time to two specific events -- both of which are vivid and fresh in my mind. I can still remember the horror I felt as I watched these two scenes unfold and the ache in my heart for our darling little boy, who was not quite two years old.
My first memory occurred when Jeremy was twenty-two months old. He was such a happy little boy -- and usually responded to my playful teasing with a smile and a gleeful laugh. This time was different. We played one game whenever I changed his diaper or dressed him and played the "name the body part game". That morning, as I was dressing Jeremy for the day, I tickled his little belly and asked, "Where's your nose?" Nothing. Jeremy simply didn't respond. He seemed to be staring somewhere else - definitely not at me. "Where's your nose, little guy?" I asked once again. Again, no response. Hmmm, That's strange, I thought. Let's try another body part. "Where's your eyes?" then, "Where's your ears?" and so on. With mounting anxiety I continued to try to recapture my son's attention. Jeremy didn't seem to be paying much attention to me no matter what I said or did.
My second memory I have occurred on Jeremy's second birthday. We had invited several children over to help celebrate this special occasion. But when I put the birthday cake down in front of Jeremy, he didn't seem to understand. Without batting an eye Jeremy's little chubby hand flew into that birthday cake! In mere seconds he'd grabbed some cake and stuffed a piece into his tiny mouth! It dawned on me in an instant -- Jeremy didn't understand. In fact, he didn't seem to have a clue that this was his birthday! He'd ignored his guests and simply dived into the cake because it looked yummy.
My mind returned to Megan's second birthday just two years previously. She'd been so excited to have her friends over for games, cake and presents! "Oh, look at the beautiful presents!" she had exclaimed. "Here come my friends!" Jeremy hadn't given his guests much notice. And as I watched Jeremy eat his cake, it began to dawn on me that something really was wrong with our beautiful little boy.
By age four Jeremy still wasn't talking nor was he interacting much with others besides our immediate family. The professionals told us there was little hope for our beautiful son. No one expected Jeremy to talk or interact with others in a meaningful way. And he didn't really start to talk until much later in life. He was considered severely impacted by his autism.
This month Jeremy turns 21. As of now Jeremy understands that his birthday is a special day, indeed. He greets guests at the door, "How are you? ... (without missing a beat) I am fine!" Then we do something fun like bowling or roller skating before singing "Happy Birthday" and opening presents. Jeremy will tell you that his birthday means cake and presents. I'm not sure if he really understands the concept of age.
I wrestle with assorted emotions during this time. As the years pass by I sort of grieve because I know Jeremy will be in different places than peers his age. Don't misunderstand me -- I am very grateful that Jeremy has become who he is today. But I remember where we have come from -- "Where's your eyes, Jeremy?" and smile for now we've graduated to "Why do we need our eyes, Jeremy?"
And I'm reminded of just how much Jeremy has grown from those early lost years of one afflicted with autism. This year as we celebrate Jeremy's birthday, he will laugh with others, ice skate with others, eat cake with others and exuberantly open presents -- once more showing us his playful and interactive side! God has been faithful and good.
P.S. Jeremy has asked for this following birthday gifts: "I want a Peter Pan DVD, roller blades, a scooter and a ping pong table!" I find his birthday list just precious.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
My Dad's Departure
Today would have been my dad's 86th birthday -- October 30th. Although we were expecting his death, we deeply grieved his passing a little more than 11 years ago. Mostly, though, we were just glad he wasn't physically challenged anymore. The previous year had been one of mounting health issues. Dad was ready to die and had been so for years.
Dad thought he was going to die fairly early in life. In his early 60's Dad once told me, "I don't think I'm going to live very long, Kathy," (yet, thirteen years later, he was still alive!) Dad was so convinced that he would die an early death that he'd planned his funeral well in advance. Underneath the glass tops of his bedroom dresser Dad had little notes listing various songs he wanted sung and bible verses he lived by. Dad retired at 62 so that he could enjoy life while still in good health. And as the years ticked by Dad did enjoy doing the things he loved to do like gardening and building things with his hands. As his health failed, his faith grew.
For his funeral my dad wanted to emphasize two verses he'd come to rely upon in life. They can be found in 2 Timothy: "For I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness which the Lord, the Righteous Judge, will award to me on that day" ... verses 7 and 8. Remember this verse :)
In July of 2002 Dad was dying. His heart was failing rapidly. Now Dad spent an amazing two months with his family. Knowing that Dad's time on earth was coming to an end, my mother, my sister and I each tried to spend as much quality time with him as possible. The morning Dad died was an unexpected surprise even though we had prepared ourselves for several months. Dad couldn't speak that morning, and his awareness was questionable. Sometimes Dad seemed to be trying to talk to us -- his lips would move and little sounds could be heard. So we gathered together to watch and wait. My sister was hurriedly driving from St. Louis to Kansas City in hopes of being with Dad before he died. The irony was that she'd just left Kansas City for her home in St. Louis the day before! Judy was sad to think she was four hours away from us at this time.
My mom and I spent time sitting beside Dad as the remaining few hours of his life ebbed by. Sensing the time was very near we called Judy so that she could say a few words to Dad before he died. He tried to speak. His lips moved ever so slightly. A few minutes after this phone call, Dad began to breathe more slowly until there was one final breath signaling the end of life. It was the most incredible feeling to be kneeling beside him -- sensing the spirit of life hover for a few seconds before disappearing in an instant. I looked at my mom and said, "He's not here anymore. He's gone."
Over the next several days we were very busy. Besides planning Dad's funeral, there were lots of phone calls to make and an obituary to write. Relatives flew in from distant cities. We laughed and cried. Time seemed to stand still at times.
On the day of Dad's funeral we stood in the church sanctuary greeting guests as they arrived to pay their respects. All of a sudden a friend of my parents, Miriam, Pastor Ton's wife, came to Mom with a look of astonishment. She was holding a little flip calendar that had been designed by a committee headed by my mom. On this day, August 3rd, was written this verse, "The time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." My dad's favorite verses to live by!
We couldn't believe it! My parents were responsible for finding most of the verses for this little flip calendar and here was my dad's favorite verse written on the very day of his funeral! It was as if God were smiling from heaven saying, "Yes. Your dad lives with me now. For I know the plans I have for you ..." Jeremiah 29:11
And, yet, there was one more time for God to give us just one more glimpse into His awesome power, majesty and love for us. On October 30th of that same year, one of Kansas City's Christian radio stations showcased my dad's favorite verse as its Scripture for the Day! Just one more happenstance to show that God is in control of our very lives & deaths.
Dad thought he was going to die fairly early in life. In his early 60's Dad once told me, "I don't think I'm going to live very long, Kathy," (yet, thirteen years later, he was still alive!) Dad was so convinced that he would die an early death that he'd planned his funeral well in advance. Underneath the glass tops of his bedroom dresser Dad had little notes listing various songs he wanted sung and bible verses he lived by. Dad retired at 62 so that he could enjoy life while still in good health. And as the years ticked by Dad did enjoy doing the things he loved to do like gardening and building things with his hands. As his health failed, his faith grew.
For his funeral my dad wanted to emphasize two verses he'd come to rely upon in life. They can be found in 2 Timothy: "For I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness which the Lord, the Righteous Judge, will award to me on that day" ... verses 7 and 8. Remember this verse :)
In July of 2002 Dad was dying. His heart was failing rapidly. Now Dad spent an amazing two months with his family. Knowing that Dad's time on earth was coming to an end, my mother, my sister and I each tried to spend as much quality time with him as possible. The morning Dad died was an unexpected surprise even though we had prepared ourselves for several months. Dad couldn't speak that morning, and his awareness was questionable. Sometimes Dad seemed to be trying to talk to us -- his lips would move and little sounds could be heard. So we gathered together to watch and wait. My sister was hurriedly driving from St. Louis to Kansas City in hopes of being with Dad before he died. The irony was that she'd just left Kansas City for her home in St. Louis the day before! Judy was sad to think she was four hours away from us at this time.
My mom and I spent time sitting beside Dad as the remaining few hours of his life ebbed by. Sensing the time was very near we called Judy so that she could say a few words to Dad before he died. He tried to speak. His lips moved ever so slightly. A few minutes after this phone call, Dad began to breathe more slowly until there was one final breath signaling the end of life. It was the most incredible feeling to be kneeling beside him -- sensing the spirit of life hover for a few seconds before disappearing in an instant. I looked at my mom and said, "He's not here anymore. He's gone."
Over the next several days we were very busy. Besides planning Dad's funeral, there were lots of phone calls to make and an obituary to write. Relatives flew in from distant cities. We laughed and cried. Time seemed to stand still at times.
On the day of Dad's funeral we stood in the church sanctuary greeting guests as they arrived to pay their respects. All of a sudden a friend of my parents, Miriam, Pastor Ton's wife, came to Mom with a look of astonishment. She was holding a little flip calendar that had been designed by a committee headed by my mom. On this day, August 3rd, was written this verse, "The time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." My dad's favorite verses to live by!
We couldn't believe it! My parents were responsible for finding most of the verses for this little flip calendar and here was my dad's favorite verse written on the very day of his funeral! It was as if God were smiling from heaven saying, "Yes. Your dad lives with me now. For I know the plans I have for you ..." Jeremiah 29:11
And, yet, there was one more time for God to give us just one more glimpse into His awesome power, majesty and love for us. On October 30th of that same year, one of Kansas City's Christian radio stations showcased my dad's favorite verse as its Scripture for the Day! Just one more happenstance to show that God is in control of our very lives & deaths.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Deceptions of the Devil
"When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living?" Isaiah 8:19
One beautiful fall day in 1990 I attended a Psychic Fair with a friend in the East Bottoms district of downtown Kansas City. The scene resembled a costume party with many of the attendees and vendors wearing outrageous outfits designed to invoke an air of solemn mystical exploring. Booths were set up so that attendees could pick and choose which sort of psychic activity to be a part of. One might purchase palm readings for $5 or tarot card readings for $10.
Rounding a corner I walked past a booth made to look like an old-fashioned lean-to with shelves and shelves of little vials. I remember seeing one little bottle with the label "bat's blood" on it! For some reason this exhibit gave me the creeps. Then one elderly woman sidled next to me and whispered, "Don't let anyone touch your little baby!" I thought she was asking if she could hold precious Megan who was nestled across my chest in a baby carrier. "Oh, no, thank you," I stammered. "She's just fine with me." "No," the lady urgently hissed. "I said DON'T let anyone touch your baby. They will try to steal the energy from her -- a baby's energy is very strong, indeed." Let me assure you -- no one touched even one hair on Megan's head! And my friend and I left soon thereafter.
And that's when I realized that delving into the psychic world of the occult was sinister, and perhaps, even dangerous. When I left the Fair that day I resolved never to venture into this world again. And when I became a Christian, God began to show me just how much He'd protected me during my times of experimenting with the occult.
Who doesn't want to have the perfect answers for life? Which of us doesn't want to know our future or at least the good parts of our future? As a child and even into my twenties I sought answers to questions and my future through various psychic means.
My first forays into the psychic realm began in elementary school through typical games of the 60's like "Magic 8 Ball". My friends and I would sit close together and ask important questions to the ball like, "Does Bryan love me?" and "Will I get a good teacher for sixth grade?" If we didn't like the answers it was easy to ask again and again, hoping for the eventual very best answer of all, "Decidedly so"!
Then there was a game called "Ka-bala with the Might Eye of Zolar". My friends and I sat around this board game, chanting the magical words, "Pax, Sax, ..." (as the instructions said to) and wait for the mysterious black marble to swirl around and around a groove until it landed on one of many symbols which would spell out your future. Another popular game we played was the "Ouija Board" which was supposed to answer questions about anything and everything.
Combing the horoscope columns in the newspaper I looked daily to see what kind of day I might have. I bought Linda Thompson's "Book of Sun Signs" so that I could read about my own sun sign and the signs of others. It was fun and (I thought) educational. By my junior year in high school I'd bought a deck of tarot cards and for some reason, I couldn't get myself to spend much time learning how to use them properly. There was something chilling and sinister about these cards and I was just a little scared of them. The "death card" was especially worrisome to me.
Fortunately for me, none of these games did much spelling of answers to my many questions. And most often, the answers I did shake-out were incorrect. And I don't remember what the gypsy fortune teller told me when I visited her while in college. It's a good thing, too, because I don't want to know my future anymore!
As a mature middle-aged woman, I am filled with regret and rue over those days of seeking answers to my future. I am very certain that God saved me from uncertain evil and unrest during those searching times. As one who became a Christian later in life, I seem to return to my past periodically and watch God peel yet another layer of deceit from myself. Compelled to break free from my past I have asked God to sever any link from my exploration into the occult. The deceit was that answers for my future could be found in other places besides God. And even now I am coming to the realization that it is best that I not know the future.
Because of my history into the dark world of psychic exploration I am especially careful about the movies and TV shows I watch, the books I read and the music I listen to. I believe that God has called me to eliminate any part of the occult world from my present life. Because of this I sometimes find myself a little alone and, yes, even a little ostracized for my beliefs. All because I feel called to forsake completely the things of the "dark".
I believe there are several reasons for staying away from the world of psychic phenomenon and the occult, but here are my top five reasons:
We turn away from a True faith in Jesus.
We look to others for guidance rather than God.
We open ourselves up to spirits other than the True Spirit of God.
We are disobeying the Word of God -- the bible which clearly warns us not
And that's when I realized that delving into the psychic world of the occult was sinister, and perhaps, even dangerous. When I left the Fair that day I resolved never to venture into this world again. And when I became a Christian, God began to show me just how much He'd protected me during my times of experimenting with the occult.
Combing the horoscope columns in the newspaper I looked daily to see what kind of day I might have. I bought Linda Thompson's "Book of Sun Signs" so that I could read about my own sun sign and the signs of others. It was fun and (I thought) educational. By my junior year in high school I'd bought a deck of tarot cards and for some reason, I couldn't get myself to spend much time learning how to use them properly. There was something chilling and sinister about these cards and I was just a little scared of them. The "death card" was especially worrisome to me.
I believe there are several reasons for staying away from the world of psychic phenomenon and the occult, but here are my top five reasons:
We turn away from a True faith in Jesus.
We look to others for guidance rather than God.
We open ourselves up to spirits other than the True Spirit of God.
We are disobeying the Word of God -- the bible which clearly warns us not
to engage with the occult.
"When you enter the land the Lord God is giving you, do not learn to imitate the detestable ways of the nations there. Let no one be found among you who ... practices divination and sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord ... You must be blameless before the Lord your God." Deuteronomy 18: 9-13
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Dad's Precious Gift
(In memory of my father, Nick L. Taral, born October 30, 1926, died July 31, 2002)
In the family room of my parent's home, upon a hospital-style bed, my dad lay quietly. With oxygen piped into the nares of his nose my dad was awaiting death. Quiet, yet peaceful, my dad had welcomed visitors and friends to his bedside for almost six weeks. The condition: heart failure due to weakened heart valves. For many years Dad had fought many brave battles including two major heart surgeries, a severe myoclonic (seizure) disorder and a host of other ailments. He'd been hospitalized multiple times -- most recently a month and a half earlier for ventricular fibrillation. Through it all Dad had maintained a stoic optimism which was unusual given his up-bringing. I think his strength was an acquired skill. As Dad grew older, he grew stronger spiritually and developed a deep faith in God by walking through some very scary times in his life.
By the age of three Dad was living in a children's orphanage along with his younger sister. My paternal grandfather had placed his children there after beating his then-wife nearly to death. Within the year my dad was removed from the orphanage and living with his grandparents. (My aunt followed two years later.) Because of his early years of neglect and probable abuse Dad was a sickly youngster. He told me stories of multiple ear infections and respiratory ailments -- in an age without antibiotics -- which kept him from actively participating in sports and other activities. Dad said that his grandmother kept a vigilant eye on him, health wise, and was very protective (too much so?). As a result my dad learned how to fear injury and sickness -- and become a fierce hypochondriac as an young adult.
But as Dad grew older he began to mellow in his pursuit of perfect health. When physical problems arose he began to take them in stride. I watched Dad become a more brave soul than I'd ever imagined he could be. By the end of his life he was more at peace than ever before. Dad didn't seem to be afraid of dying and had come to realize that our time on earth was for a short season only. To watch my hypochondriac father become a man of faith was enormously helpful for me to see. As I've struggled with my own health issues and the health issues of my children, I gain strength from memories of my dad.
Dad's last gift to me was special, indeed. Visiting with him one day, we sat together just talking about nothing and everything. Instinctively I knew my time with him was drawing to a close and I wanted to savor our moments together. Tears began spilling from my eyes as I whispered, "I am going to miss you so-o-o-o much! I love you so much, Dad." (I'm sniffing even as I write now.) My frail father turned to me and held out his arms for a hug. Falling into his chest I began to softly cry. "It's okay, Kathy," my dad said. "I'll see you, again. For though we live on this earth for just awhile, our time in heaven will be for an eternity." Taking a deep breath Dad continued, "Whenever you are hugged by another, think of how this hug feels and how much I love you. And if I love you this much, think about how much your Heavenly Father loves you!" In that moment I learned that God had sustained my dad throughout his 75 years of life -- both in sickness and in health. Dad was stronger spiritually even through his physical body was failing. Love had, indeed, conquered all. Dad's precious gift to me was this one very special hug.
It's been ten years since my dad died. He slipped peacefully away one morning in July. I've often thought of that special time with Dad. His words were a soothing balm to my soul and I cherish my gift from Dad ever more. In the meantime I try to be brave and strong in the face of adversity and, remember the love of my dad and My Father in heaven.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak ... but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like an eagle; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31
In the family room of my parent's home, upon a hospital-style bed, my dad lay quietly. With oxygen piped into the nares of his nose my dad was awaiting death. Quiet, yet peaceful, my dad had welcomed visitors and friends to his bedside for almost six weeks. The condition: heart failure due to weakened heart valves. For many years Dad had fought many brave battles including two major heart surgeries, a severe myoclonic (seizure) disorder and a host of other ailments. He'd been hospitalized multiple times -- most recently a month and a half earlier for ventricular fibrillation. Through it all Dad had maintained a stoic optimism which was unusual given his up-bringing. I think his strength was an acquired skill. As Dad grew older, he grew stronger spiritually and developed a deep faith in God by walking through some very scary times in his life.
By the age of three Dad was living in a children's orphanage along with his younger sister. My paternal grandfather had placed his children there after beating his then-wife nearly to death. Within the year my dad was removed from the orphanage and living with his grandparents. (My aunt followed two years later.) Because of his early years of neglect and probable abuse Dad was a sickly youngster. He told me stories of multiple ear infections and respiratory ailments -- in an age without antibiotics -- which kept him from actively participating in sports and other activities. Dad said that his grandmother kept a vigilant eye on him, health wise, and was very protective (too much so?). As a result my dad learned how to fear injury and sickness -- and become a fierce hypochondriac as an young adult.
But as Dad grew older he began to mellow in his pursuit of perfect health. When physical problems arose he began to take them in stride. I watched Dad become a more brave soul than I'd ever imagined he could be. By the end of his life he was more at peace than ever before. Dad didn't seem to be afraid of dying and had come to realize that our time on earth was for a short season only. To watch my hypochondriac father become a man of faith was enormously helpful for me to see. As I've struggled with my own health issues and the health issues of my children, I gain strength from memories of my dad.
Dad's last gift to me was special, indeed. Visiting with him one day, we sat together just talking about nothing and everything. Instinctively I knew my time with him was drawing to a close and I wanted to savor our moments together. Tears began spilling from my eyes as I whispered, "I am going to miss you so-o-o-o much! I love you so much, Dad." (I'm sniffing even as I write now.) My frail father turned to me and held out his arms for a hug. Falling into his chest I began to softly cry. "It's okay, Kathy," my dad said. "I'll see you, again. For though we live on this earth for just awhile, our time in heaven will be for an eternity." Taking a deep breath Dad continued, "Whenever you are hugged by another, think of how this hug feels and how much I love you. And if I love you this much, think about how much your Heavenly Father loves you!" In that moment I learned that God had sustained my dad throughout his 75 years of life -- both in sickness and in health. Dad was stronger spiritually even through his physical body was failing. Love had, indeed, conquered all. Dad's precious gift to me was this one very special hug.
It's been ten years since my dad died. He slipped peacefully away one morning in July. I've often thought of that special time with Dad. His words were a soothing balm to my soul and I cherish my gift from Dad ever more. In the meantime I try to be brave and strong in the face of adversity and, remember the love of my dad and My Father in heaven.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak ... but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like an eagle; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Kevin: Optimism in the Face of Adversity
(Permission given by Kevin's mother to share this story . )
There were lots of kids to play with in our neighborhood. Our street had less than twenty homes built on it and dead-ended with a picturesque horse pasture complete with an authentic horse shed! Feeding the horses apples was always a treat. This beautiful pasture and the Big Woods behind our houses provided hours of entertainment for all of us. Dad and Mom built our home in 1964 for just $19,000. Our neighbors bought their homes around the same time and all the kids grew into adulthood together. The newly planted trees were itty-bitty and most of the homes were three bedroom ranches. Except for occasional escape of Rusty, the neighborhood (scary) dog, we felt safe and protected on our little block in southern Kansas City.
During the summer we had great fun, playing all sorts of games until dusk when our parents began calling us home for dinner. Everyone looked after everyone else's kids. It was easy for us to go to someone else's home to play for awhile because the mothers kept each other informed. We played games like freeze tag, rode our bikes up and down the street, and built many forts in the Big Woods. In the winter we built snow homes, went sledding and explored the wintry wonderland of the world blanketed in snow.
I don't remember the first time I met seven-year-old Kevin who lived next door, but it must've been soon after we moved into our new home. Kevin was a couple years older than me and I remember once watching him awkwardly raise himself to a standing position from a sitting position on his driveway. Kevin sort of spread himself face down to the pavement then slowly walked his hands backward while pulling his rear end upward. Was Kevin having trouble standing? I wondered. Later I asked my mother about Kevin and she told me, "Kevin has muscular dystrophy." I was saddened by this admission.
Two or three years later Kevin was in a wheelchair. Although he still played with us, we had to modify our play so that he could still be a part of our pretend world. When we played spaceship on someone's swing set, Kevin was the commander from his space throne. While we rode our bikes playing "traffic", one of the older kids on the block, Bob, pushed Kevin in his wheelchair up and down our little block. When we played "pioneers", Kevin was the wagon train leader. In time Kevin's world grew a little smaller because he couldn't come with us into the woods. And as Kevin grew older, he played less and less. I wondered if Kevin was tired, or just growing up and no longer interested in pretend games.
Forty-three years ago on October 6th, thirteen-year-old Kevin died. He'd entered the hospital with a bout of pneumonia and expectantly died on the day he was being released to come home. We were all very sad. Kevin's younger brother, Dennis, didn't talk much about his brother to us after that. We, his friends, were sad not only for the loss of our friend, but for the loss his family was experiencing as well. We grieved for Dennis who was an exceptional brother to Kevin -- it was clear that Dennis loved his brother very much.
Because of my time with Kevin, I learned two things: First, Kevin was one of the most intelligent, optimistic persons I've ever met. Kevin had a great sense of humor and always quick to smile. Kevin didn't call attention to his disability. Instead he called attention to life and how precious life was. And people genuinely liked being around Kevin because of his innate optimism. I learned how to show courage in the face of adversity.
Second, I remember staring out our kitchen window watching Bob stroll Kevin up and down our street even during the cool seasons. These two friends were always talking and laughing together. I didn't know the word at the time, but I now know that compassion and a deep abiding friendship existed between Bob and Kevin. God took care of Kevin's needs through others like Bob, and I know Kevin offered others something special in return -- unconditional love and acceptance. I learned that by giving unselfishly to others one can be touched in a deep and very profound way.
Now I am watching this same principle play out with our son, Jeremy. God continues to show His love for Jeremy through others as He did for Kevin. And I hope Jeremy's friends recognize the unconditional love and acceptance that Jeremy offers in return.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others." Philippians 2:3-4
There were lots of kids to play with in our neighborhood. Our street had less than twenty homes built on it and dead-ended with a picturesque horse pasture complete with an authentic horse shed! Feeding the horses apples was always a treat. This beautiful pasture and the Big Woods behind our houses provided hours of entertainment for all of us. Dad and Mom built our home in 1964 for just $19,000. Our neighbors bought their homes around the same time and all the kids grew into adulthood together. The newly planted trees were itty-bitty and most of the homes were three bedroom ranches. Except for occasional escape of Rusty, the neighborhood (scary) dog, we felt safe and protected on our little block in southern Kansas City.
During the summer we had great fun, playing all sorts of games until dusk when our parents began calling us home for dinner. Everyone looked after everyone else's kids. It was easy for us to go to someone else's home to play for awhile because the mothers kept each other informed. We played games like freeze tag, rode our bikes up and down the street, and built many forts in the Big Woods. In the winter we built snow homes, went sledding and explored the wintry wonderland of the world blanketed in snow.
I don't remember the first time I met seven-year-old Kevin who lived next door, but it must've been soon after we moved into our new home. Kevin was a couple years older than me and I remember once watching him awkwardly raise himself to a standing position from a sitting position on his driveway. Kevin sort of spread himself face down to the pavement then slowly walked his hands backward while pulling his rear end upward. Was Kevin having trouble standing? I wondered. Later I asked my mother about Kevin and she told me, "Kevin has muscular dystrophy." I was saddened by this admission.
Two or three years later Kevin was in a wheelchair. Although he still played with us, we had to modify our play so that he could still be a part of our pretend world. When we played spaceship on someone's swing set, Kevin was the commander from his space throne. While we rode our bikes playing "traffic", one of the older kids on the block, Bob, pushed Kevin in his wheelchair up and down our little block. When we played "pioneers", Kevin was the wagon train leader. In time Kevin's world grew a little smaller because he couldn't come with us into the woods. And as Kevin grew older, he played less and less. I wondered if Kevin was tired, or just growing up and no longer interested in pretend games.
Forty-three years ago on October 6th, thirteen-year-old Kevin died. He'd entered the hospital with a bout of pneumonia and expectantly died on the day he was being released to come home. We were all very sad. Kevin's younger brother, Dennis, didn't talk much about his brother to us after that. We, his friends, were sad not only for the loss of our friend, but for the loss his family was experiencing as well. We grieved for Dennis who was an exceptional brother to Kevin -- it was clear that Dennis loved his brother very much.
Because of my time with Kevin, I learned two things: First, Kevin was one of the most intelligent, optimistic persons I've ever met. Kevin had a great sense of humor and always quick to smile. Kevin didn't call attention to his disability. Instead he called attention to life and how precious life was. And people genuinely liked being around Kevin because of his innate optimism. I learned how to show courage in the face of adversity.
Second, I remember staring out our kitchen window watching Bob stroll Kevin up and down our street even during the cool seasons. These two friends were always talking and laughing together. I didn't know the word at the time, but I now know that compassion and a deep abiding friendship existed between Bob and Kevin. God took care of Kevin's needs through others like Bob, and I know Kevin offered others something special in return -- unconditional love and acceptance. I learned that by giving unselfishly to others one can be touched in a deep and very profound way.
Now I am watching this same principle play out with our son, Jeremy. God continues to show His love for Jeremy through others as He did for Kevin. And I hope Jeremy's friends recognize the unconditional love and acceptance that Jeremy offers in return.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others." Philippians 2:3-4
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Irrational Fears
It's 1966. In my dream I'm frantically running along a busy city street. A man wearing a brown fedora is darting in and out of the crowd in an effort to catch me. I'm frantically looking everywhere for a place to hide. Glancing around I see a daycare of sorts. It looks just like a store front, but there are lots of toys and children playing inside. Desperately I fling open the door and cry out, "Where can I hide?! A man is chasing me!" The few adults are silent. Their faces betray a mix of bewilderment, fear and confusion, but they say nothing. .
To my utter amazement I see a stack of twenty mattresses (yes, just like the fairy tale, "Princess and the Pea") piled upon one another in a corner. Just as I reach the top mattress and slide comfortable down into the middle the pursuing man bursts into the classroom! He shouts for all to hear, "Where is she!? Where is the little girl?!" I abruptly awaken, shaking and fearing for my life. It's dark and I realize that I had only been dreaming.
On July 8, 1965 a kidnapping was reported of a 9-year-old girl, Denise Sue Clinton, from an Independence Motel. Denise was staying overnight with her grandparents, the managers of this motel. Her family had just returned from a trip to California. She was known as a friendly and out-going girl. She was a Brownie Girl Scout just like me. The KC news coverage was extensive and I remember my grandparents and parents warning me over and over to "never go with strangers". Just eight years old myself, I was stunned that someone would kidnap a little girl -- right in front of her grandparents! Kidnappings were random in those days and the coverage of Denise's kidnapping was extensive. I began to worry that someone would try to kidnap me, too, and I started having dreams like the one above. Always someone was chasing me.
Throughout the years I have wrestled with the fear of kidnapping, first for myself as a young child, then for our children. I fretted and watched over all three children like a mother hen. Once, as Megan prepared to go shopping with her dad, I scared her so much that she begged to stay home! Another time I gave her a little Christmas bell that hung around her neck so that I could hear her if she wandered off! She thought it was great fun, but my intent was to protect her against a possible kidnapping!
When Jeremy wandered off in search of the restrooms at Silver Dollar City, I panicked. For ten minutes we frantically searched the Gift Shop for Jeremy. In my mind I easily imagined the worst --Jeremy wandering into the parking lot only to be kidnapped by deranged people. Thankfully we found Jeremy before he wandered too far away! But as we drove home, I began to think about my fears -- and, prayed for peace. This incident had left me feeling emotionally drained and unsettled within my soul.
I began to remember how God had shown His love for our family throughout the years. I realized that my fears of kidnapping went beyond the rational thinking of safety issues. "Do you trust me?" I could hear God whisper into my heart. "Are you willing to give me the fate of your children or do you still desire to control life?" I realized that my attempts at control were fruitless. Ultimately God was in control of my life, which sometimes meant difficult and painful times. It was only by facing my fear that I was able to begin to heal and move beyond it. In due time, I shared my fear with the children and explained where it had originated from so very long ago. In doing so I helped teach them the lesson of how to navigate beyond one's fears. We all have fears -- but they do not need to rule over our lives.
There are still times when I remind Megan and Rebekah to walk with awareness when shopping and I always remind Jeremy to stay close to one of us when in public. The girls smile sweetly while acknowledging that 'yes' they would be careful. But now we all smile and recognize Who really watches over us-- and trust that God will walk beside us through the hills and the valleys in life.
"So do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God; I will strengthen you and help you, and will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
To my utter amazement I see a stack of twenty mattresses (yes, just like the fairy tale, "Princess and the Pea") piled upon one another in a corner. Just as I reach the top mattress and slide comfortable down into the middle the pursuing man bursts into the classroom! He shouts for all to hear, "Where is she!? Where is the little girl?!" I abruptly awaken, shaking and fearing for my life. It's dark and I realize that I had only been dreaming.
On July 8, 1965 a kidnapping was reported of a 9-year-old girl, Denise Sue Clinton, from an Independence Motel. Denise was staying overnight with her grandparents, the managers of this motel. Her family had just returned from a trip to California. She was known as a friendly and out-going girl. She was a Brownie Girl Scout just like me. The KC news coverage was extensive and I remember my grandparents and parents warning me over and over to "never go with strangers". Just eight years old myself, I was stunned that someone would kidnap a little girl -- right in front of her grandparents! Kidnappings were random in those days and the coverage of Denise's kidnapping was extensive. I began to worry that someone would try to kidnap me, too, and I started having dreams like the one above. Always someone was chasing me.
Throughout the years I have wrestled with the fear of kidnapping, first for myself as a young child, then for our children. I fretted and watched over all three children like a mother hen. Once, as Megan prepared to go shopping with her dad, I scared her so much that she begged to stay home! Another time I gave her a little Christmas bell that hung around her neck so that I could hear her if she wandered off! She thought it was great fun, but my intent was to protect her against a possible kidnapping!
When Jeremy wandered off in search of the restrooms at Silver Dollar City, I panicked. For ten minutes we frantically searched the Gift Shop for Jeremy. In my mind I easily imagined the worst --Jeremy wandering into the parking lot only to be kidnapped by deranged people. Thankfully we found Jeremy before he wandered too far away! But as we drove home, I began to think about my fears -- and, prayed for peace. This incident had left me feeling emotionally drained and unsettled within my soul.
I began to remember how God had shown His love for our family throughout the years. I realized that my fears of kidnapping went beyond the rational thinking of safety issues. "Do you trust me?" I could hear God whisper into my heart. "Are you willing to give me the fate of your children or do you still desire to control life?" I realized that my attempts at control were fruitless. Ultimately God was in control of my life, which sometimes meant difficult and painful times. It was only by facing my fear that I was able to begin to heal and move beyond it. In due time, I shared my fear with the children and explained where it had originated from so very long ago. In doing so I helped teach them the lesson of how to navigate beyond one's fears. We all have fears -- but they do not need to rule over our lives.
There are still times when I remind Megan and Rebekah to walk with awareness when shopping and I always remind Jeremy to stay close to one of us when in public. The girls smile sweetly while acknowledging that 'yes' they would be careful. But now we all smile and recognize Who really watches over us-- and trust that God will walk beside us through the hills and the valleys in life.
"So do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God; I will strengthen you and help you, and will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Precious Bundle of Joy -- Rebekah (conclusion)
"Every generous act of giving and every perfect gift is from above and comes from the Father who made the heavenly lights, in whom there is no inconsistency or shifting shadow." James 1:17
As we awaited news of our impending adoption from the Lighthouse, Rick and I busily steered our family through the daily grind of living. Jeremy was still actively receiving therapy for his developmental disabilities while Megan had successfully integrated into second grade.
Summer was soon upon us. As our family made plans to vacation in Colorado, Rick and I waited expectantly for an assigned social worker to complete the second half of our home study. It had been almost two months since we'd sent our $500 check to retain a lawyer. As the summer progressed and our vacation loomed closer I grew concerned that we would be traveling when our baby-to-be was born and we'd not completed our home study, yet. So I left a voice mail to let the Lighthouse know that we would be gone for ten days in July. Two days later our social worker came over to finish our home study and began telling us about a newborn baby girl who had been born just two days earlier. According to Phyllis, the birth mother had chosen us to be her baby's adoptive family. Because of my earlier phone message to the Lighthouse, Phyllis was told to share the exciting news of Rebekah's birth with us before we left town! We were, then, informed that we would be allowed to see the baby before leaving for vacation. We were elated.
With great excitement our family drove to see Rebekah for the very first time! Megan was beside herself with great anticipation! As we drove through the streets of southern Kansas City I thought of how our lives would change in just a few weeks. We continued to pray for God's affirmation that this little baby was to be the little one chosen by God for us.
As we climbed out of our mini-van I remember gazing down the street only to see a tall man leisurely walking his dog along the sidewalk. Reaching in to remove Jeremy from his car seat, I looked once more and could scarcely believe my eyes! The tall man was the very same friend who'd originally told us of God's plan to bless us with another child! God was clearly affirming to us that this child was God’s chosen baby for us! As we exchanged pleasantries and shared surprise to be standing together outside the foster family's home, I snapped a picture of our friend and his dog. It rests in Rebekah's baby book to this day.
Our family left for Colorado soon thereafter. Besides riding horses, walking through the mountain meadows and eating BBQ, Rick and I spent a lot of time discussing the planned arrival of our third child. My family stood in amazement to think that God would bless us with little Rebekah! Thanking Him for His goodness and mercy, we excitedly began planning for our new baby’s arrival. Eager to return home, we drove straight home to Kansas with very few stops.
Rebekah was required by law to stay with a Lighthouse foster family for the interim before our first court date. During this time we learned that our birth mother had become a committed Christian while staying at the Lighthouse and had decided upon our family with firm resolve that we were perfect for her darling baby. (Our family had prayed specifically for this to happen.)
As Rebekah's foster family, the Norbergs were a lovely family. We would stay in touch with them throughout the years. This family has continued to pray for Rebekah and their daughter, Kathleen, introduced her to the world of classical dancing. The two of them enjoy a casual, easy-going relationship – both are very creative and bright -- and still share a passion for dance.
At fifteen Rebekah is a stunningly beautiful teenager. She has brought much joy and laughter into our family! Rebekah is a beautiful dancer with boundless energy and an infectious optimism. She has been a joyful additional to our family – and we are so grateful to God for His bountiful gift to us.
As we awaited news of our impending adoption from the Lighthouse, Rick and I busily steered our family through the daily grind of living. Jeremy was still actively receiving therapy for his developmental disabilities while Megan had successfully integrated into second grade.
Summer was soon upon us. As our family made plans to vacation in Colorado, Rick and I waited expectantly for an assigned social worker to complete the second half of our home study. It had been almost two months since we'd sent our $500 check to retain a lawyer. As the summer progressed and our vacation loomed closer I grew concerned that we would be traveling when our baby-to-be was born and we'd not completed our home study, yet. So I left a voice mail to let the Lighthouse know that we would be gone for ten days in July. Two days later our social worker came over to finish our home study and began telling us about a newborn baby girl who had been born just two days earlier. According to Phyllis, the birth mother had chosen us to be her baby's adoptive family. Because of my earlier phone message to the Lighthouse, Phyllis was told to share the exciting news of Rebekah's birth with us before we left town! We were, then, informed that we would be allowed to see the baby before leaving for vacation. We were elated.
With great excitement our family drove to see Rebekah for the very first time! Megan was beside herself with great anticipation! As we drove through the streets of southern Kansas City I thought of how our lives would change in just a few weeks. We continued to pray for God's affirmation that this little baby was to be the little one chosen by God for us.
As we climbed out of our mini-van I remember gazing down the street only to see a tall man leisurely walking his dog along the sidewalk. Reaching in to remove Jeremy from his car seat, I looked once more and could scarcely believe my eyes! The tall man was the very same friend who'd originally told us of God's plan to bless us with another child! God was clearly affirming to us that this child was God’s chosen baby for us! As we exchanged pleasantries and shared surprise to be standing together outside the foster family's home, I snapped a picture of our friend and his dog. It rests in Rebekah's baby book to this day.
Our family left for Colorado soon thereafter. Besides riding horses, walking through the mountain meadows and eating BBQ, Rick and I spent a lot of time discussing the planned arrival of our third child. My family stood in amazement to think that God would bless us with little Rebekah! Thanking Him for His goodness and mercy, we excitedly began planning for our new baby’s arrival. Eager to return home, we drove straight home to Kansas with very few stops.
Rebekah was required by law to stay with a Lighthouse foster family for the interim before our first court date. During this time we learned that our birth mother had become a committed Christian while staying at the Lighthouse and had decided upon our family with firm resolve that we were perfect for her darling baby. (Our family had prayed specifically for this to happen.)
As Rebekah's foster family, the Norbergs were a lovely family. We would stay in touch with them throughout the years. This family has continued to pray for Rebekah and their daughter, Kathleen, introduced her to the world of classical dancing. The two of them enjoy a casual, easy-going relationship – both are very creative and bright -- and still share a passion for dance.
At fifteen Rebekah is a stunningly beautiful teenager. She has brought much joy and laughter into our family! Rebekah is a beautiful dancer with boundless energy and an infectious optimism. She has been a joyful additional to our family – and we are so grateful to God for His bountiful gift to us.
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