Significant Events

If you are a regular follower of the Woodpile Kitty, then you may have noticed that my posts have become few and far between. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s that I don’t know how to say what’s on my mind and heart. When people ask me what I blog about I tell them I write about significant events. Woodpile Kitty is not a journal or diary so the events could have happened recently or they could have happened many years ago. The events can hold national significance or can be seemingly insignificant. My goal with each post is that the ideas I write about will open significance into the lives of readers.

The last couple of months have been fraught with significant events. So much significance that I didn’t know where to start in writing about them. For one thing, they are very private. And they are not just my significant events; they are the significant events of my loved ones, my sons.

First, let me tell you about these sons: Trey and Andrew (he prefers Andrew, but he’ll always be Andy to me). Trey is the oldest. Before his first birthday, Andy was born. Yes, they are eleven months apart. The first two or three years, I thought I would never again do anything but change diapers and feed babies. However, time does change things and soon they were potty trained, entertaining themselves and playing with friends. Joe, the youngest son, missed all of this fun by 10 years.

One of my favorite photos of Trey and Andy was taken when they were probably 3 and 4 years old. At the time we had a dachshund named Twinkie. All three of them are in a big cardboard box, the favorite toy of little boys. The boys are laughing, trying to hold Twinkie in the box. Twinkie, with a terrified look on her face, is trying desperately to escape. That photo captures the essence of these two brothers: fun-loving, mischievous, good boys on the constant lookout for something to get into. They were so close in size that people would ask them if they were twins and they’d nod their heads in unison. Not twins, but very good friends.

Things changed when the hormones started raging. In middle school, they became very competitive. Trey played the French horn in the band; Andy was into football and baseball. The competition was fierce; whatever they were interested in was much better than what their brother was interested in. Andrew shot up and was taller than Trey. It was not unusual for a verbal argument to escalate into a physical fight.

After high school, both boys moved to Austin. Andrew arrived first and established himself. Trey left Texas after college and lived in a far off place called New Hampshire. When he finally moved to Austin, he settled into a house that Andrew was sharing with his friend, Doug. The first time we visited, Butch and I were amazed to see them living peacefully together in the same room discussing who was to pay which bill and when. They were actually cooperating. Now in their 40’s they are good friends, depending on each other, confiding in one another, leaning on each other for comfort and advice. Butch and I are gratified knowing that communication doesn’t depend on us. They communicate outside of our organized family times and include their younger brother as well. (It’s a little unsettling when we realize they talk about us!)

Now for the significant events. In January, Trey was living in Argentina. He emailed us that he had separated with his partner of 11 years. He was devastated. We were all devastated. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. However, in a few days we Skyped–the greatest invention since sliced bread–and learned more details. Trey had already been preparing to return to the US and live in Texas. So he had that process to keep him busy. Then a trip to Antarctica before finally leaving South America. As a parent, it is a helpless feeling to see your child, even an adult child, in pain. Trey, all alone in the box with the table turned: it is not so funny and the terrified thing is not his little dog but himself.

In the meantime, Andrew was experiencing his own significant event. In late January, he encountered some legal problems. He faces criminal charges that could result in prison time. The weeks since then we have been focused on helping him resolve the issues and rebuild his life. His living situation became impossible so he moved back home. Andrew’s significant event came right on the heels of Trey’s significant event; there was hardly time for Trey’s news to sink in before we were off to help Andrew. Both boys in a box with terrifying things that aren’t trying to leave. They’re trying to stay.

Trey also moved home and stayed with us for about three weeks while he got things arranged to move to his new home in Marfa, Texas. The brothers were back together again and ready to help each other. Trey encouraged Andrew and Andrew encouraged Trey even lending a hand in Trey’s move. It’s a long drive to Marfa, 8 hours pulling a trailer, an opportunity for deep conversation attempting to get the terrifying things to leave the box.

The thing about significant events is not so much the event itself but the result of the event. Not the result you can see; the result you cannot see. For Trey and Andrew, the result is that both are beginning new lives. Trey is facing a life without his partner. He is grieving and making a new, different life alone. Andy is also facing a new life, a life that is completely different from the life he had before. He is also grieving all that he has lost. His new life is a little slower in developing and is a little more difficult to build than Trey’s. But he’s making progress nonetheless.

Separated by 11 months and yet entwined by significant events, not twins but good brothers. The terrifying things will leave the box. The brothers will be left, connected by love and honesty and comfort. A significant event.

Immanuel

Sadness has fallen over our land since last Friday and the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut.

Over these last few days my thoughts have wandered to the days when my three sons were in kindergarten. I imagine what I would feel if this tragedy had happened to them. I know I would be full of questions: what, how, and, the biggie, why. I would want to know did my child suffer, was he scared, did he know what was happening and the danger he was in. And I would want to know where was God.

When I read the news accounts and see the photos, my sadness is overcome with numbness; numbness because of the massive amount of grief and loss parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents and neighbors are feeling. How can a parent continue in the face of such loss? There is only one way I could continue and I was reminded of it yesterday in church as one of the pastors prayed for the children, parents and community and invoked the name of Immanuel, God with us, an ancient name for Jesus.

That first Christmas 2000 years ago began months earlier with a visit from the angel Gabriel to Mary. He told her that she was going to have a baby and he would be called Immanuel which means God with us. And so God broke through into humanity and came to earth as a tiny, helpless baby. That doesn’t seem like the plan the God of the universe would devise. Surely with his power and might he could come up with something more spectacular. Nevertheless, a baby was born and he was Immanuel.

Shortly after he was born, wise men came looking for him. They tipped off King Herod that a new king had been born and they wanted to know where he was. Herod’s chief priests suggested that they try Bethlehem where the prophets had predicted the Messiah would be born. Herod, enraged by this threat to his throne, ordered that all male babies younger than two years old be killed. And so, one night soldiers rampaged through Bethlehem murdering little babies. God was with Mary and Joseph and Immanuel and they had already fled to Egypt.

Jesus Immanuel grew up just like any other child would grow. He became a man and experienced everything we experience except that he didn’t sin. He was sad and grieved when his friend Lazarus died. He experienced fear and questioned God when he was facing his own death. He felt God pull his presence away as he hung on a cross, suffering toward death. Immanuel leaned on these experiences on Friday in that school with his arms around those little children.

We ask why terrible things happen, especially when it happens to little ones as innocent as kindergarten students. We will probably never know the reason, or at least a reason that makes any sense to us. What we do know is that we live in a world tainted with sin. More than tainted. It is a world in which sin proliferates. It is a dark world. Only when God breaks through, Immanuel, is the darkness lifted and the light shines bright.

We are sad. Parents are grieving. And this is right and appropriate. Take solace in knowing that Immanuel is here. On Friday, God was with the little children and brave adults as they met death. Today God is with us. Tomorrow God will still be with us. So through our tears we sing:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow; praise him, all creatures below; praise him above ye heavenly hosts; praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

God is with us. May you know his presence this Christmas season as we celebrate the birth of Immanuel.

Seasons of Healing

While we were out with our walking group on Saturday morning, a cold front–or cool front–blew in. The breeze picked up to an actual wind. The temperature and humidity dropped. Not only did our bodies feel better, but our spirits lifted. It had gotten to the point in the summer that I wasn’t quite sure it would ever be less than 100 degrees and 99 per cent humidity. And then just like that, the season changed or at least promises to change. A reminder that God is in charge. His natural laws are true and reliable.

Last Wednesday I cut my finger. We had gone to a restaurant that serves giant cinnamon rolls. And I mean giant. They weigh 3 pounds and are about four inches high. But yummy! Cinnamon and sugar all through the entire roll, topped with icing that melts in the between the rolled layers. It is not health food. We took three-quarters of it home in a box and planned to share it with guests. I was cutting our portion off, holding the styrofoam platter behind the roll where I couldn’t see it. I sliced into the index finger of my left hand. Of course, I didn’t want to get stitches; I could heal it with band-aids and ointment. That was almost a week ago. It is still sore, but on the mend. A reminder that God is in control. His natural laws work regardless of our dumb mistakes.

My Aunt Joyce called on Saturday night. Her husband, Charles, passed away on Friday night. She had moved into a new season: widowhood. Uncle Charles has experienced the healing that was not possible in this world. Joyce is left with the pain of grief. However, as surely as cooler temperatures and as surely as my finger is healing, her pain will be lifted little by little until she experiences with Charles the healing that is possible in the world we cannot see from here. God is in control of the seasons of life. His law of love and grace stands strong and immutable.

What season are you in? What pain are you experiencing? Where do you need healing? No matter what you answer, God is in control of even that.