Our Home the Hospital

Livid. That's the best word to describe my wife's emotional state when I left the house this morning for work. I couldn't blame her. The night was a rough one. We were both stirred from our heavy slumber by Avery screaming, "EDEEEEEENNNN, STOOOOOPPPP!"...at 3:30 AM. Apparently, Eden wanted their shared bedroom door open so she could hear when Mama woke up, but instead of just getting up and doing it herself she resorted to her go-to move--tell Avery to do it for her.

This has been a bit of a trend with Eden. She's 6 1/2 and is throwing her persuasive "muscle" around a bit more. Avery, to her own credit, is having none of that. It's created what seems like non-stop teaching moments. And this time it spilled over into our beauty rest.

But more than the bossiness, it seems lately Eden has had an edge of nastiness at times that has left us scratching our heads. Where did this come from? Why is she being so mean to us?

I was disappointed in Eden, and I could feel Katie's wrath steaming, but I knew it was less about her losing sleep and more about her concern for her eldest and how she'd been treating her family. We both wanted it to stop! Our typical go-to consequences are loss of privileges or manual labor/serving the family member(s) she's sinned against. I felt, though, a spiritual light bulb had gone off in the parenting "room" of my heart sometime after I eventually fell back to sleep around 4:15 AM and when I had to rise for work.

"Our home is Eden's hospital, Katie," I said.

"What?!" she stared at me.

"Eden's showing signs of an illness. And when someone's emotionally sick they need rest. They need to recoup."

"Eden's sick? You're kidding?! That's your angle on this? What about poor Avery? She's the one getting mistreated and hurt."

"When I'm sick what's the first thing you do? Make me cook dinner for everyone? Deprive me of books and movies? No. You make me lie down and rest! We're seeing a pattern in our little girl's behavior. The symptoms are showing. These aren't random occurrences happening sporadically. If she can't lean on us to help her and teach her what it looks like to slow herself down, reflect, rest, pray, and ask G-d for his guidance in the work he's doing in her heart than who can she go to? And if she doesn't start learning how to practice stillness before we make her serve those she's hurt or if we just strip her of fun things than we run the risk of slapping a Band-Aid on an illness that at it's root will continue to fester untreated. We are her hospital."

I'm not sure if either of us really understand fully what this means, but I can sense even as I write this  a shift taking place in our parenting paradigm, a movement from judgment to mending, jury to doctor, courtroom to spiritual medical center.

The patristic fathers talked about the Church's function quite a bit during the first few centuries after the Messiah's resurrection and ascension. It served as a pivotal time for ecclesiological development. They called the Church a hospital for the hurting, a place the emotionally wounded and spiritually wasted could come for treatment and ultimate life-changing healing. In my experience, what many forget today is that G-d's Church began in homes, around meals, living life together as a family. It didn't start as once-a-week gatherings in towering, ornate cathedrals or cavernous domes. Think less Duomo di Firenze and more Grandma's family room.

The closer we as a family move to representing within the home the core belief that G-d, the Master Surgeon, is most interested in healing diseased hearts and resetting broken lives, and that he actually wants us to be a part of that purpose, the more I believe relational health will flow between all who enter our doors. Every guest, neighbor, friend, and family member. Because it's not just Eden that needs it. We all do.

Welcome to my broken house

You don't have to tiptoe here

You can put ya feet down

Feel the floor beneath you, feel the ground

Don't worry bout the future

You're here right now

Unpack your bags and relax for a while

Rest your weary eyes

I know you've been tired

Where do you need to go?

Where you got to be?

Where do you need to go?

I'm your taxi

-Matisyahu

Serenade

Psalm 131:2 "I don't take part in the lofty affairs of 'self' [matters of position and prominence] or in wonders far beyond me. No, I keep myself calm and quiet, like a little child on its mother's lap," 

Balance. I keep hearing that word reverberate on the inside. It's bouncing off the walls, trying to get out and breathe, abide. I had forgotten. Left my first loves on the side of the road of rushed responsibilites. I must sing within. I must praise without. I can serenade you beside the shouts. 

I do not seek balance. I seek the Kingdom where balance sings. The King can tell a person everything he's ever done. Where are the open ears? Listen. Where are the willing feet? Follow. Who wants to hear this voice repeat in the desert? 

It was good to feel the darkness last night as our little voices took flight. He wrapped the four of us up like Temple insulation. Mortar, Rock, and elation. Toes, fingers, both rested. Our foes, all bested, as we held our voices up together. 

ser·e·nade

ˌserəˈnād/

noun

1. 1.

   a piece of music sung or played in the open air, typically by a man at night under the window of his lover.

What's In a Name?

My four year old has been asleep for the past 14 hours straight. Given that she just finished going through her most invasive medical procedure (total of four in the last eight months), I think she deserves some rest! 

Avery's been to the doctor quite a bit in the short span of her life. Katie contracted Fifth Disease from our older daughter when she was pregnant with Avery. Fifth Disease typically isn't a big deal, but for a woman who's carrying a baby, it's a huge deal. Due to Fifth, Avery contracted anemia when she was in eutero. We spent Katie's last trimester in and out of the specialist's office checking Avery's heart and brain for healthy growth. Through multiple appointments and some soul-wrenching prayers, Avery was born beautiful, whole, and healthy.

We would never have imagined that her third year of life would pull us back into doctor's offices and emergency rooms for four procedures. In January, Avery stepped on glass. She had one of her front teeth pulled in April because she fell the previous year and jarred it, eventually damaging the nerve. The month of May found us holding her down while our pediatrician repaired her gashed-open chin with some sutures. We narrowly avoided another trip to the ER. Needless to say, she's been a bit wary to ride her bike since that trauma. Friday night, however, was more intensive then the previous three.

Avery began complaining about pain in her stomach early Friday's afternoon. We asked our neighbor and friend, a physician's assistant, to come over and check her out after dinner. She speculated that Avery could be experiencing an appendicitis but wasn't sure because Avery was holding the pain in so well. It was just hard to get a true gauge.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, Katie believed she heard G-d tell her that it was an appendicitis. She balked internally, feeling like perhaps she was just overreacting. I am just thankful she eventually followed what The Lord was speaking to her. She and Avery left for the emergency room at 11:30 PM Friday night.

Due to Avery's size and her stoic reactions to their basic physical indicator tests, and even after a CT scan, the doctors couldn't clearly identify if she was experiencing issues with her appendix. They scheduled a 9 AM appendectomy just to be safe. 

At 8:30 AM the doctor notified us that there were higher priority emergencies and that Avery's surgery was getting bumped to 12:00 PM. That was of course if there weren't any more unexpected emergencies. We questioned where a potential burst appendix in a four year old was on the scale of "emergencies". 

We immediately prayed for an earlier surgery time. The doctor returned to our room at 10 AM and said we were cleared and that an operating room was being prepped for a 10:30 AM slot. We continued to pray for a whole appendix and a healthy reaction to the anasthesia. 

Around noon Dr. Taylor returned to our room to inform us that Avery made it through surgery with a whole appendix. She admitted she was surprised; apparently it's rare to see that with kids Avery's age and size. We would be dismissed from the hospital that day rather than have to wait several days! Avery did not have any negative reactions to the anasthesia. Prayers were heard. Abba was glorified. We were simply thankful to her Maker. 

What's in a name? It's a question that's been stirring in my heart since last Thursday's church gathering. We were reciting scripture and singing songs about the powerful and beautiful name of Yeshua, but my question was why? I've heard my whole life that this name of G-d's Son is the sweetest name we know, but why? What's up with G-d and names? We see the thread throughout the Tanakh (Jewish Bible) and New Covenant writings. Yahweh integrates Abram into Abraham. He gives Jacob in the Genesis account and Simon in the gospel story both a second name. Isra'el (G-d's governor) and Petra (little rock) respectively.

Then I read this in the Jewish commentary, and my question was satisfied:

"Every name in the Torah (first five books of the Bible) represents the soul that G-d emplaced in that person."

Yeshua means "Yahweh is salvation". Embodied within our Lord is the seed of life. That is why his name is important, because it represents who he is. What's all this have to do with my daughter and her appendicitis? Avery's name means "pure wisdom". We intentionally named her this without the foreknowledge of all that she would have to go through in her early life, but these events are shaping her while at the same time fulfilling all that G-d has destined her to be. Like a clump of slightly moistened clay, with every struggle and subsequent witness of G-d's glory, Avery gets more water massaged into the walls of her heart until she takes the shape the Master Potter envisioned. 

Scripture tells us that the beginning of the wisdom of heaven is a soul-shaking awe of the Father. How is wisdom tested, purified? How does it grow into one's conscience, translate into one's actions? Seeking G-d in all our ways and at all times. Trusting him. Really...trusting and acting in obedience to his will. Learning through time and experience that he genuinely means what he says. Learning to recognize his voice, a voice that often comes in still, soft tones, and following it. Avery has been given an opportunity to refine wisdom in the fires of trust and obedience by following her Good Shepherd, he who is holy, sovereign, and to be glorified in life and death, pain and joy, through all circumstances. 

A Supracondylar Fracture

It sounded more like a Star Trek: The Next Generation rerun than a major broken bone. "It's a supracondylar fracture," the doctor informed us. It was just before midnight late last September when we got the news that our sweet, playful five year old severed her left humerus, literally. Oh, and we were smack dab in between insurance policies (translation: we were uncovered). After a couple of deep breaths, many heart-wrenching prayers, and some pretty powerful anesthesia, two hours later our Eden emerged groggily from her surgery, her left arm held together with three pins and an industrial strength ace bandage.

She went through three casts in just about three months, and anyone who's had a cast or parents who've taken care of a kid with a cast knows, it's fun for about five minutes or until the ink dries. Everything becomes more difficult...writing (luckily, Eden's strong hand is her right one), playing with siblings, baths, etc. We thought it would get easier once it was removed. In some ways it did. No more trash bags in the shower, but we weren't, however, ready for the emotions that would come with seeing our daughter's left hand so weak she couldn't even hold a pencil. She became overly dependent on her right hand and once the cast came off, continued to ignore the use of her left. Her fingers were all bent in as well. As naive parents just going through this process for the first time, and the reassurance of her doctor that she would most likely regain full range of emotion, we were still subect to the concerns: Will she regain full stength in her hand? Will the curved-in fingers always look like that? We became inpatient with the process when it wasn't moving fast enough. We were worrying but trying to trust Abba in the process.

Last Monday morning at about 2 AM, Eden tiptoed into our room and softly whispered the news to us, "I can flatten my hand, Mommy and Daddy!" I faintly remembered this the next morning when she more loudly announced that she was healed. She then proceeded to opening cabinet drawers and oven doors and squirting bottle cleaner. It truly was awesome to see her so full of joy.

The take away for me wasn't so much the lack of patience, although that was a great lesson in trust. It was actually in watching Eden's response when we talked Monday morning at breakfast. I reminded her (and myself) that Abba answers some prayers right away and others He decides to wait for another time. She just received this truth, "Ok, Daddy!" And then went off to play with her "new" hand. That's it?! No analyzing, debating, regretting. Just..."Ok!" 

She received her blessing in the perfect timing and went on praising with her attitude and trust. What a sweet message! I wonder if it was the same way for people Jesus healed? The lame, blind, demon-possessed, lepers, all of them. Did they just receive, too? 

Can I receive like that? That's the Kingdom he promised, isn't it? That's how we enter it according to Jesus' words, "You must be like a child, have faith as simple as this."