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."

The Kingdom Is Like a Well-Wound String of Christmas Lights

The kingdom of G-d is like a well-wound string of Christmas lights. 

When I let my divinely-created imagination run wild,  envisioning Jesus of Nazareth saying something like this in 21st century America isn't completely unbelievable. When I read of a Gospel Messiah teaching by fig trees or hanging out in leper communities, using these tangible, visual displays as a context for his life lessons, I can't but help feel a bit of a disconnect. It's difficult to visualize let alone empathize with characters drawing their water for the day at a community well or hanging out around "healing pools" all day. But people putting up Christmas lights? At this time of year? Well, I can identify with that.

We were coasting around the other night with three doe-eyed kiddos in the back seat, enamored by our neighbors' sparkly and inventive holiday-themed yard configurations, clamoring for more once we decided to call it a night. Honestly, I don't care about hanging up lights at my house, but I have to admit, pulling into our driveway I felt a little embarrassed by our simple display of two are three strings. 

"Daddy, why don't we have fifty gazillion lights hanging from every crack and crevice of our roof or an elaborately timed light pattern decorating our lawn?"

That may not have been what my kids said, but I could hear it under the sighs they let out as we pulled into our dark garage. The truth is I never thought pulling out and fooling around with the tangled clump of lights was ever worth the time and patience required. My kids are making me think twice.

The kingdom of G-d is like a well-wound string of Christmas lights. At first glance, it may look like a hot mess; however, it is not as difficult as some anticipate. The unwinding is a pleasure. The set up is a joy. The plugging in is the glorious finale. The power source brings life to many.

My children taught me that within this analogy getting to know G-d via his flesh and blood takes on a whole new, abundant-life perspective. Paul says in Ephesians 1:17-20, "I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, will give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation that makes God known to you. I pray that the eyes of your heart will have enough light to see what is the hope of God’s call, what is the richness of God’s glorious inheritance among believers, and what is the overwhelming greatness of God’s power that is working among us believers. This power is conferred by the energy of God’s powerful strength. God’s power was at work in Christ when God raised him from the dead."

Lights...depending on how well I wind them up come December 31, I may just be ready to go Andrew Lloyd Webber and take my property to the technicolor level by decking the lawn, door, hedges, driveway, shutters, shed, and gutters come Christmas 2014. It could serve as a reminder of the "overwhelming greatness of God's power and the hope of his call"! Plus my kids'll think it's cool.

I Know You

"Hello, this is the Ferry residence. Eden speaking." 

"Hi, Eden, how are you?"

"Daddy!!!"

She knew my voice. No introduction needed. No catch up necessary. My daughter's ears recognized. And then out of her mouth spilt her heartfelt joy. 

Yeshua the Messiah said, "My sheep know my voice." "For those with ears to hear...hear." And when those supposed disciples get before him making claims to all that they have done in his name, his response seems cold, "Depart from me; I never knew you." 

Translation: You were never in my flock. You were never around long enough to learn the subtle nuances of my accent, follow the inflection within my tone, or recognize the ebb and flow of my lilt. You didn't know me.

Eden taught me to reexamine Yeshua's intention behind these verses. What's he after? Lambs. Sheep. Followers. Numbers. Is that it? Or is there more to his invitation?

My kids don't connect in their relationship to me as their father via their role or position as my children; albeit, it is forever in the background, the very foundation and reason we exist in this relationship with one another. No, they measure by my voice. Their spirits subterraneanly question, "When was the last time we were around Daddy? When will he be home?" 

I'm reminded that the most important part of my day is hearing the voice of my Lord. 

He is the good shepherd of my life

When he calls I am tuned in enough to hear him

I sleep well when I am by him

He leads me to the water that sustains me

He feeds me

He doesn't allow me to go down the wrong path

When it's dark I am not afraid because I feel him lying next to me

His staff protects me from danger and trouble

I will be by him, dwelling in his pasture forever

A Little Grace

"Daddy, you going to spank me?" 

"Yes, Avery, I am. You disobeyed what Mama and I told you to do. We said, 'Don't grab your cup until you sit down for dinner.' You didn't listen and you spilled your milk again."

Tears began to flood her tiny brown eyes..."But, Daddy, I little."

In four words, my precious three year old communicated a mountain of emotion and truth. There was only one way to respond. Give her what she didn't deserve. 

I'm not quite sure what happened in my soul when I decided not to spank Avery, but something felt different. Was the discipline warranted? Sure. I'd spanked her for her disobedience in the past. But I believe the Spirit quickened a truth in that moment and in the process taught me a valuable lesson, a lesson I needed to feel. Grace always overcomes.

Isn't that the truth Jesus came to embody? Didn't he come in our same flesh to give us a gift we didn't deserve and could never earn? I'm thinking about his entire life and ministry, not just the finale. His agenda was grace. I forget that...a lot! 

Take for example the sequence of accounts in Matthew 14. John, Jesus' mentor, fellow prophet, cousin and dear friend, had just been brutally decapitated. Jesus wants to mourn, as all of us would, and yet we find the Messiah doing damage control with the disciples' lack of faith. Just like Avery, they weren't listening to his instructions and they were getting easily distracted. 

Imagine your spouse or child or most beloved friend, the person who knew you the most and loved you the best, has been cruelly murdered. The last thing you might feel like doing is standing as a rock for others. Yet that's exactly what Yeshua ends up doing and in the process offers us a peek into the heartbeat of G-d. He heals the masses. Then shows them how to put food in their aching bellies. All the while he continues to teach his disciples, even amidst their lack of insight and poor choice of words, the core kingdom principles of service, faith, and love. He digs past his inexplicable sorrow and anguish and finds his glowing purpose. Grace. 

Did the disciples deserve to learn a hard lesson? Given their narrow mindedness and forgetfulness, he could have let them squirm under the gaze of the thousands. In the midst of the storm could he have let them pull at the oars a little longer, eventually allowing one or two of them to topple out of the boat before he came to them? Sure. Instead he puts his purpose before himself and perhaps what they may have deserved. Grace.

Failure. It's something I struggle with. Recognizing my own and forgiving others theirs. I'm learning to mirror his grace within those failure-moments and embrace his, and I'm thankful for innocent tongues like Avery's that remind me of his purpose for all of us. 

"But, Abba, I little."

"Grace."

ADONAI takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who wait on his grace. -Psalm 147:11

When Wrestle Mania and Massage Therapy Converge

Thirteen years ago to this day I was in Cottage Grove, Minnesota completing an internship with a small church. I stayed with the lead pastor and his family of seven for two months. As a nineteen year old college student I was pretty naive when it came to what running a large family entailed. I watched and listened a lot as Pastor John shared with me what it was like being the father of five children ranging in ages 1-13. Interestingly, it wasn't the religious leadership nuggets he shared that summer that hold the tightest reign on my brain's memory banks. 

While we watched a movie together one night he looked over at me and said words I'll never forget, "Jared, one day you'll have a family of your own. When you're stressed don't forget to let your kids climb on you."

At the time I thought his statement was off the wall weird. Now I know it's genius.

Tonight I let me kids climb on me. Partly because I've been exhausted from a 3 week DIY project and back to back 10 hour work days, but also because I wanted to play and I knew I needed some joy to kick me back into what life is all about. Heaven on earth.

What started as a "massage session" (aka let's-walk-across-Daddy's-back-like-it's-a-bridge) quickly evolved into Wrestle Mania XXX which then naturally morphed into a tickle fest. Even my youngest Ari joined in and before we knew it all four of us were rolling around, giggling, and having the time of our lives. Eventually Avery had a pee-pee accident and we had to stop but it was all fun...ironically, even cleaning up urine. And amazingly I feel recharged right now. Enough to write a post and go have a movie date with my wife.

Thanks Pastor John for the advice you gave me almost a decade and a half ago. I will never forget to enter into the childlike joy that my kids teach me through their touch, their laughter, and their play!

Jesus, Press the Stop Button!

No matter which word Bible translators use to describe it--furious, violent, fierce--the storm in Matthew 8/Mark 4 was no joke. It was big. Big as in we-might-die big. Not sure about you, but the closest I've been to that kind of storm was watching George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg's characters' futile attempt to batten down the hatches in The Perfect Storm on my 60 inches of High Definition, Dolby Digital surround sound experience. And even then it wasn't too scary because I could hit the pause button at any point, pop an extra bag of Orville Redenbacher, and pee before returning for the climactic finish. 

Can you imagine being one of the disciples with Jesus as the white squall rolled in over them? Struggling against the wind, doing your best to keep from flipping over. Shoveling water. Utter panic. Meanwhile, your beloved rabbi is taking a cat nap in the back of the boat. Was he really that tired from the day's activity? Was he testing them, observing the chaos through a cracked, "sleeping" eye? Or was this simply another life circumstance, naturally presenting itself to the Son of Man in order that he might show his followers that trust is possible and moreover necessary even in the most daunting predicament? 

As Katie and I read this favorite story to Eden and Avery for the first time, their anticipation grew with each line: Was it raining a lot? Was there thunder, lightning? How big were the waves? Did they die? What's going to happen to Jesus? 

After reading it through and fielding questions, we decided the best way to get a real sense of the atmosphere on the Sea of Galilee and the conversations that ensued between the thirteen of the them during this temptest was to reenact the scene.

Avery insisted on being Jesus. The rest of us filled in as disciples. I doubled as the prop manager. Fan on high--check. Small mattress boat--check. Disco lightning switch--double check.

The story was going as planned. Just as Peter (Eden) was on his way over board Avery decided to put her own spin on the Messiah character, "There're aligators in there" she shouted. She then attempted to grab the three of us and pull us into a tiny two year old bear hug, reminding us of Yeshua's promise in her own words, "Don't worry, everyone. I got you. I'll just press the stop button!"

Isn't that what the Messiah essentially did...pressed the stop button? What a refleshingly simple take on a profoundly over-complicated situation. 

Avery's creative interpretation on the interaction in the boat reminded me of just how often faith is diminished when adults allow a worrisome mentality to run amuck or delay a necessary spiritual check on fleshly fear. I'm guilty too often of this, just like the disciples. And every time G-d responds to my lack of awareness in the same way. He reaches for the stop button and says, "Trust me, little faiths, I got this!"

Is There Something Hiding Under Your Bed?

"Daddy, did Abba (Eden's name for G-d) make me afraid of the dark?"

Eden was crying when she asked me this late one night. Katie and I had decided to move Avery's bed out of Eden's room and into Ari's in order to help him sleep. Interestingly, the darkness wasn't an issue until she thought she was alone in it. Suddenly, clothes awkwardly hanging in the closet transformed into the Boogeyman. Oddly shaped objects under the bed morphed into creatures from the underworld. Needless to say, Eden was not supportive of the choice. (We did eventually move Avery back the next night!)

I was doing my best to calm Eden's little frightened spirit that night, but her question forced me to pause and ask myself, "How do I know that G-d didn't make us afraid of the dark?" 

Not long after that conversation with Eden I watched a teacher talk about resting. Resting from running from event to event. Resting from worrying. Resting from a life of scurrying about like a chicken with my head cut off. His words were speaking to me on many levels, but when he used a verse out of Genesis, one I had read many times before, as a basis for his point I got the answer to my question, "How do I know Abba didn't make us afraid of the dark?"

Here it is, "G-d called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. So there was evening, and there was morning, one day." 

Would G-d create something and then cause me, Eden, or any of His children to then fear that which He created? How can that be His heart for his children? I knew it was not. I did say something to this effect to Eden on the night she asked me, but I didn't have Genesis 1:5 in mind when I reassured her that G-d would never create anything with the purpose of scaring her. Somehow I felt more empowered in that truth after reading Genesis 1:5. That was cool.

Did you notice what came first in the one day? Light or darkness? Our days never begin with the dawn. Each one begins just after dusk. What's really intriguing to me about this verse is that both Night and Day are capitalized in the Jewish interpretation of this text; they're personified! Can I welcome Night into my house, not as an uninvited thief, but as an ancient Friend coming to visit, bringing comfort and rest? 

Imagine that thought for a minute. 

Rest instead of fear. Gladness instead of mourning. Joy instead of depression. Trust instead of worry. Love instead of control.