Miscellaneous
The Day I Became Jesus
A reading from The Gospel of Matthew, chapter 24, verses 37 – 40:
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
****
Nearly two weekends ago we reveled in the uncomfortable in breaking narrative of the Kingdom of God.
And as the narrative unfolded, we played the part of Jesus.
We are used to playing the part of Jesus. After all, we’re Christians. We’re a “little Christ”, “followers of Jesus” who are supposed to think, feel and do like Jesus in this world.
I work at a funeral home where I regularly minister – what I hope – is the compassion, grace and perspective of Jesus.
Both my wife and I work and volunteer at a parachurch ministry for at-risk and vulnerable youth, being Jesus to youth who have little to no family.
And this past weekend we were the adoptive couple to a healthy newborn baby boy.
But, we didn’t play the part of Jesus that you might have assume we played.
You – and I – would assume that we would have played the part of the redemptive Jesus. The Jesus who swooped down in the life of this little boy and rescued him from a potential life of difficulty. His biological father out of the picture. His biological mother fighting to provide for herself.
And we – the 30 something, financially stable, mature Christian couple – swooped down to take him into our Christian family. We were the redemptive Jesus here. Right?
Wrong.
Nicki and I were the poor and broken Jesus. The Jesus in the jail. We were the homeless Jesus. The whore Jesus. The Jesus on the street corner begging for money.
We were the least of these.
In this situation, we weren’t the Jesus who gave all, we were the Jesus who received all. We were the ones who couldn’t provide for ourselves. We were the ones who needed the redemptive Jesus to come in and make us whole. We were the couple who couldn’t conceive.
We were the ones who needed to be lifted out of our misery by someone else’s act of unselfishness.
And by one act of unselfishness, we were redeemed this last week. We were lifted up. We were made whole by a young woman who made the utterly unselfish choice to give us her baby.
“For I was broken and infertile and you gave me your son. Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did it me.”
It’s not very often that we really get to act like Jesus. But last week, we were able to be Jesus – not in our giving – but in our receiving.
Nine Months of Emotional Labor
I have been told that during the Iron Age parents would not name their child until it was a year old. The infant mortality rate was so high during ancient times that parents protected their hearts by simply not naming their son or daughter. It was a defense mechanism, a practical survival ploy for the parents, whereby they could shield their heart from attaching to a nameless child that was likely to die.
Today – with the incredibly low infant mortality rate that science and medicine have provided us — we simply don’t have such a problem.
Except, for those of us who adopt, there is a great risk that we could lose our child in the first couple months of our child’s life. And we could be tempted to distance ourselves from the child we’ve fought so hard to bring into our home. We could be tempted to hold back our love so as to protect ourselves from the possibility that he or she could be given back to the birth father or birth mother.
Over the next nine months, Nicki and I will love, care for and attach ourselves to a child that wouldn’t legally be ours. Although it’s unlikely that we will lose Jeremiah, it’s possible. Not probable, but possible.
In our specific situation, the birth father isn’t a part of the picture, but he does seem willing to fight the birth mother’s decision. And although the birthmother is honestly our hero, the birthfather could take away this little gift. If the birth father decides that he wants Jeremiah, if he hires a lawyer, and if he is deemed competent, Jeremiah is his to parent.
Part of me wants to see the birth father as MY enemy. An enemy of my dreams, of my hopes for a family, and enemy of Jeremiah. But then I realize that he’s unintentionally gifted me this little guy that’s tucked into my chest even as I write. No, I want God to bless the birth dad. And I pray for him. I pray for him because I can’t help but love the birth dad. I pray for him, asking God to love on him something awesome.
If he doesn’t sign off his rights, according to the laws of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, they will terminate in roughly five months. After those five months, Jeremiah will legally be in the custody of our adoption agency for four months. And after those four months are over, we meet with a judge and Jeremiah legally becomes our son.
Its nine months of emotional labor, with these first four to five months being extra taxing on Nicki and I.
We’re jumping all in, though. We’re NOT going to be the parents of the Iron Age and attempt to distance ourselves so as to avoid being hurt by loss. We’re going to love as much as we can, the best we can, with as much of ourselves as we can give. We are going to love Jeremiah Michael Wilde (that is his legal name … a gracious gesture given to us by the birth mother when she filled out the birth certificate). And if we lose Jeremiah, we might have intense pain, but we’ll have no regret.
In the meantime, we’ll love and live and … we’ll fundraise (more on that later).
We SO don’t want to lose him. It’s amazing how much your heart can love in just one week. So, please pray for us. Pray that we’d be “all in” and love without worry. Pray for the birthfather. Pray that God would bless him. And pray that we’d be blessed to have the privilege to legally adopt Jeremiah.
And if you’re not the praying type, send us your love and hope.
Introducing Jeremiah Michael Wilde
On Friday afternoon I was standing at the graveside of an elderly man we had just buried. I was waiting for the vault man to put the lid on the vault when my phone started buzzing. It was my wife.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I coyly responded, “For what?”
But I knew what my wife meant. Today was our birth mother’s due date and yesterday we had received news from our adoption agency that the birth mother was three centimeters dilated.
It was time.
“Her water broke. She’s five centimeters. She’s at the hospital.”
At the time of the call, the cemetery was only a couple minutes away from the hospital. But pulling up to the hospital in a hearse isn’t very fashionable, so I drove a half hour back to the funeral home, picked up my wife, we packed our bags and drove through the tourist ridden Amish country to the hospital in Lancaster County.
We arrived and were ushered into the delivery room where a group of strangers awaited to accept us into their family by giving us one of their own. Hugs. Kisses. Tears. Tears.
This isn’t how it is supposed to be. We should be able to have our own children. But we can’t. The birthmother was ready to give us what we couldn’t have and she couldn’t support. And yet, what awaits inside of her womb will forever unite our mutual brokenness in redemption.
She’s six centimeters.
It’s four p.m. and we’re all hungry. So I grab the birthmother’s boyfriend and we speed off to McDonalds in search of a double cheeseburger, a Shamrock shake, a number one value meal and one or two other sundry health items.
By the time we get back, we learn that it’s time. It’s REALLY time. The nurses usher us out of the delivery room and into a private waiting room, where we’re told to make ourselves comfortable for an hour or two. We sit down and I crack open my carton of nuggets. It’s been a while since I’ve had McDonalds. And I can’t help but be a snooty white person and mentally hate what I’m eating while my taste buds delight in the ecstasy of fries, coke and something that resembles chicken.
While I’m inwardly ranting about McDonalds, the door to our private room opens and the doctor pops in, telling Nicki and I that “She’s ready to see you.”
“What?” we ask, begging for more context.
“He’s here. He’s healthy. She wants you to meet him.” My French fries filled mouth drops open. What we had expected to take an hour or two took 15 minutes. I nervously looked at my wife, we held hands and walked down the hall, opened the door and saw our son for the first time. Wide-eyed. Not a cry. Not a noise. Just looking at his new world. This was the moment we had imagined for seven plus years. The moment we couldn’t create ourselves. The moment that was given to us by a young girl whose broken unselfishness made us into parents.
Introducing Jeremiah Michael Wilde, a child born of sorrow, redeemed by the everlasting goodness of God.
*****
In a later post (probably sometime this week), I’ll explain all the ins and outs of the adoption process, but until then please extend your warm welcome through congratulations and prayers for our son Jeremiah : )
How to Move Beyond Grief and Why it’s NOT about Emotion
Today’s guest post is from Kristie West, a grief specialist who focuses on helping those who have lost parents. The advice Kristie gives in this post is helpful for anyone who is experiencing the bereavement of a loved one.
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How to move beyond grief when you’ve lost your mum or dad and why it’s NOT about emotion
Huh?!
I know what you’re thinking, “How on earth can you say that, Kristie?! Do you have any idea how I am feeling? It’s all about emotion!” Well if you’ve read me before you know I don’t throw out weird-sounding statements without explaining what I mean. So here goes…
I get asked all the time about where emotions fit into my work – am I encouraging them, suppressing them, ignoring them, allowing them to be released?
Every time I am asked this my brain blows a big raspberry at me, my mouth opens and out come some words that fit together, and the person I’ve been speaking to walks away thinking they know my position on emotions….even though they can’t possibly…..because even I am not sure what I said. And I am left feeling like a lemon.
But there is hope -I’ve finally figured out what the issue is. It’s because when I am asked about how emotions fit into my work my brain frowns and asks, in a confused way, “what does it have to do with emotion?”
So…where does emotion fit in then?
It isn’t about expressing or suppressing your emotion. You do need to let it out – yes. Cry, scream, write, move your body, have massages, whatever works for you – all that emotion gets stored and your body doesn’t want to hold it. So expressing your emotion is great, don’t hold it in, but simply expressing your emotion is not how you heal completely.
We’ve all spent plenty of time expressing a great deal of emotion over a great many things…enough to know that, while useful, it doesn’t take the problem away. The emotion is not the problem. The emotion is just a symptom.
Hold up a second….
Now let’s just stop for a second. Grief and all the emotions involved can seem beyond comprehension or rationalisation when you are in that space and it can be very tough to be objective about something so big and overwhelming, so to make sense of this let’s step away from grief for a second and use an easier example.
We often berate modern medicine for treating the symptom instead of the problem. Your doctor might give you paracetamol for headaches without trying to find out why you are getting them, or they might throw anti-depressants at you without once asking you to examine what thoughts you are thinking when you are depressed and do something about those. Treating the symptom helps alleviate your symptom. But the real source of your pain hasn’t been touched so the symptoms will keep coming in some way or will come back.
This morning I went to my chiropractor as my neck is hurting me. The pain isn’t the actual problem (though yes, it is what I am immediately experiencing as difficult and what is alerting me to a problem). The real problem is the source of the pain and that is why I go to my chiropractor. I don’t just start bunging on arnica cream hoping that will fix the problem for good. I do use the arnica (because having a sore neck feels horrid) but I know there is something causing this pain…and that is the thing that I need to work out.
How does this apply to grief?
Your grief is the same. Expressing your emotion is wise….but it won’t totally heal you. Because the source of your pain (and the source of your emotion) is your experience and understanding of the loss of your mum or dad. And that is what you have to change to move beyond your grief. Because you can let out all the emotion you like, scream it out, exercise it out, write it out, tap it out….but doing this won’t change yourexperience or perception of your loss. And as long as the source isn’t touched you could potentially be dealing with a bottomless cup of emotion. Yes it feels better to get your emotion out today. But what happens tomorrow? Or next week? Or in 10 years time when you talk about the loss? More emotion. More ‘symptoms’…….because the source, the root, the cause of your pain, is still exactly where you left it.
A new way of thinking
I know this is totally different to probably everything you’ve heard or read. If it’s healing you want, then just working with your emotions – no matter what you do to them – won’t provide that. You need to go much deeper. Because here is the thing with your emotions: when you go deeper than them, when you get underneath them, and change your experience and understanding of what has happened in your life….then the emotions change. And this is where true healing happens.
Are you ready for a new way of thinking?
It can seem an impossible journey to reach a different understanding and perspective of your loss. But it starts with the first step…and though deceptively simple, that step is profound and powerful.
The first step is to ask yourself whether you are prepared to try a different way of looking at your loss. And to be able to answer ‘yes’.
If a new perspective is possible….are you willing to look?
If a new perspective can move you beyond your pain….are you willing to look?
If a new perspective can allow you to talk about, remember, and love your mum or dad without it hurting you….are you willing to look?
If a new perspective allows you to feel closer to them than you imagined was possible… are you willing to look?
And don’t stop asking until your answer is yes. Because that is the first step in an incredible journey….and your journey cannot start until you take that first step. And this journey will change your experience, your life and your connection to your mum or dad for good.
*****
Kristie West is a grief specialist. Her experience with the death of six family members (including her father) in a four month time span and her personal journey through those devastating months provide her with a unique position to speak about this tender subject with objectivity and sensitivity.
Head on over to her website and sign up to receive her free e-book, “The Seven Biggest Myths about Grief”.
You can also stalk her on twitter and like her on facebook.
Why Hide? My Journey of Hope, Faith and Overcoming
Today’s guest post is from Kerstin Knaack. I was referred to this post about two weeks ago when it was posted on shelovesmagazine.com. It’s immensely powerful, so I asked Kerstin if she’d be willing to share her story here. Thankfully, she obliged.
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I am ten weeks pregnant. It takes courage for me to tell you that.
Why? This is my fourth pregnancy–my first three babies are in heaven.
I am from Germany. There, we don’t usually tell people we are pregnant until the fourth month of pregnancy. But several weeks ago, I went to Brazil and found out the women there announce their pregnancies as soon as they have a positive test in their hands. I asked why they do this, considering most miscarriages occur within the first three months. They said that in their culture, they celebrate and mourn together. If something happens to the baby, they come to the mother’s side, offering everything from a big hug to cooking for her or massaging her feet. Whatever she needs, they journey with her.
Loss
My first miscarriage was in 2009 in the eighth week; the second was in 2011 in the 33rd week and the third was at the end of 2011 in the 12th week. All these losses were difficult, but to give birth to a dead baby in the ninth month of pregnancy was definitely the most painful.
After the third miscarriage, I wasn’t able to pray or worship. My heart ached, but I had good friends who carried me through. When I was far from God, they spoke life and truth over me. My church gathered around and carried me. When I couldn’t pray, they prayed for me; when I couldn’t worship, they worshiped for me.
I knew that death doesn’t come from God — He is love and nothing bad comes from him—but He did allow this to happen.
Restoration
After several weeks, I reached a place where I was able to think about my situation in a different way. If God allowed this to happen, there must be something good within these situations. This was a turning point for me—I wanted to turn bad into good. It was a decision, not a feeling. I chose to no longer accept being bound by lies.
So many good things happened as a result of my miscarriages:
– my marriage to my husband Rainer became stronger and we decided to give 100 percent of our lives to God, stepping into His purpose for us
– the opportunity developed to do an internship at Relate Church, Canada, with Pastors John and Helen Burns
– my father returned to my life after 28 years of rejection
– friends put their lives into Jesus’ hands.
Overcoming
From now on, I will no longer hide. I have discovered that it is healthy for me to talk about how I feel and which thoughts and emotions have kept me away from God. If I don’t share my life and the difficult journey I have made, it will be harder for God to work through me. I want Him to use me to help other women and to fulfill His plan.
That’s why I am openly telling people that I am pregnant for the fourth time.
Is it easy for me to enjoy my pregnancy? Definitely not. Every day I am reminded of the past, the positive pregnancy tests; pictures of my big belly; the ultrasounds; the decorated nursery; the movements in my belly; memories of the day I was told our daughter had passed away; the pain of giving birth to a dead baby and the joy of having her in our arms; Rainer’s love letter to our new daughter; the invoice from the funeral parlor.
Stepping Forward in Faith
How do I deal with these images and the daily fear of possibly having the same pain again? There is no magic solution–it’s a journey every day. I think back to those Brazilian women, who understand what sisterhood means and I know that if I fall, my sisterhood will carry me. And I talk about it. If I am overwhelmed by fear, I ask my husband or a friend to help me.
The opposite of fear is faith. God holds my life in His hands. I trust Him.
*****
About Kerstin
Kerstin Knaack was born and raised in the city of Kirchheim, Germany. She and her husband Rainer are currently involved in an internship at Relate Church in Surrey, BC, where they are learning to be leaders and teachers in the area of marriage, family and sexuality. Their long-term vision is to teach on these topics and to raise a large family of their own.
You can stalk her on twitter @KerstinKnaack and you can visit her website (unless you can read German, make sure you employ Google Translate).
