My child, my gift, my life.
Would I have been in church that Sunday morning if I was them? Or any Sunday? Is it reasonable to acknowledge God as good when life has dealt you a blow that almost crushes you every day?
The Mom was seated a few rows ahead of me. As the Dad passed by my pew, I could see a stiff body extended on both sides of his cradling arms, the head tilted awkwardly to one side. I don’t know what may have been the child’s physical condition. His large body was not in proportion to the younger years his face suggested.
In the lottery of childbirths, these parents had drawn what many would call ‘the short stick.’ The joy of first child was quickly shadowed, even overshadowed, by the harsh realities of total care required from day one into the indeterminate future. Dad sat down with Son. With a smile comparable, I’m sure, to when she saw him for the first time, Mom reached out to stroke Son’s hair and cheek. There is no way you can manufacture that look.
It was Palm Sunday. Pastor called children to the front to receive and distribute palm branches to replicate the welcome given to Jesus. A devotee had invested hours into creating a little cross from each branch. Son stirred somewhat as Dad carried him to the front. With some assistance from Pastor, Dad stacked a small pile of palm crosses on Son’s chest. He then slowly carried him from the altar, stopping to get support from the end of a pew each time he extended Son’s arm to offer a cross.
I didn’t need a song, a sermon, a candle, even a cross, to be fixated on the sacredness of what I was seeing. When Dad reached their pew, I was struck with what it must have looked like in the manger at Bethlehem. Dad and Mom’s faces radiated with the look of hearts that were full of the joy that only unbridled love can give.
Do they love their life?
Probably not every moment of every day. But in my brief encounter, even at a distance, they demonstrated something I have seen in other parents with special needs children.
In a way that I confess I lack ability to truly understand or even appreciate, the coming of that child opened a treasure house of fullness for those parents. When the duties of daily life drain their strength and even depress their spirits, something inside revitalizes and renews their ability to carry on. And every time they come to church as a family, it is a public testament to the power of regeneration.
How can I not love my life.
I express it as a statement, not a question. This isn’t about the trite saying, “There is always someone worse off than you are.” It’s about facing yourself honestly to recognize the goodness in your own life. To see past the challenges, the disappointments, even the pain and sorrows, and refresh your spirit with something that regenerates and repurposes you. As demonstrated by Mom and Dad at church that morning, such renewal may come through our children.
“I love my life” are words our son expressed spontaneously years ago and have stuck with me ever since. He has demonstrated that attitude as a foundational philosophy and active posture for his life even through the shifting sands of changes and challenges. Our daughter expresses her commitment to the same philosophy and daily practice through her consistent approach to all aspects of life. Her effervescent spirit radiates out to energize all who share time and space with her.
Forgive me (if you need encouragement to do so) for focusing on our children. During their critical teen years, ‘the life I loved’ was centred on work at the expense of family. I do not deserve how they turned out. And so, I actively express my thanksgiving. I can live and love my present life more fully knowing they are well and are raising the next generation (my grandkids) with more wisdom than I had.
This morning, I started my day with this euphoric sense of loving life. Yes, there are some elements that I wish could be a bit different. But today I say, “Fie on those things!” Today, “I love my life.” To illustrate, allow me to walk you through my yesterday.
530 a.m.
A Keurig cup of Verona coffee, 12 ounces not 10 so as to reduce the strength. Scan yesterday’s calendar, gaze out the window with gentle breathing as my thoughts and feelings coalesce, select pen for the day (alternate daily between blue and black ink), then update my journal.
When I retired at 75, our daughter gave me a birthday journal. For reasons I still don’t know, I immediately went from a lifetime of non-journalling to daily writing.
She keeps me stocked as each one fills up and, last year, commissioned a friend to make a crafted leather cover. An inspiring landscape with rich tones of colour.
Entries may be just a few lines or up to two pages depending on how much emotion, spirit, and critical analysis are flowing that day.
Journal entry for today is done. Almost two pages. Now, on to final details for tonight’s 17th birthday party for our granddaughter.
For many years, my wife has brought great joy to many people with her awesome party planning for all occasions. With our granddaughter going to Quebec City this summer for five weeks, she decided to do a French theme for tonight’s supper (‘dinner’ if you are from New York City).
Charcuterie boards and French onion soup.
Growing up Ukrainian, I never heard the word ‘charcuterie’ until in my 20s and still have trouble with its spelling and pronunciation. I receive detailed instructions on how to place a variety of food items intricately on the board. It is like doing a jigsaw puzzle.
And, for this event, it is French pastries instead of a cake. Oops – no wine in the house for the French onion soup recipe. A trip to Sobey’s wine store. Wow! My first time there. It is like walking into Disney World. An intoxicating atmosphere of dazzling colours bouncing off thousands of bottles in all directions.
9 p.m.
The party was a great success. A family celebration of another milestone in life.
There is a lot to love in life . . . isn’t there?
Maybe it’s difficult to say you are in love with your life right now. But do you have one or two things that are worth being thankful for and embracing? Is there even one thing that could be better with some attention for improvement? Not necessarily a complete makeover but just a bit of renovation to increase your joy and satisfaction?
And then, there are those undesirable things that seem to be entrenched, that make it difficult to picture life being any different or any better. Look around. There is much evidence that personal growth and meaningful purpose in life may come through wrestling with exactly those things that seem unchangeable, unmovable, and even disruptive.
Mom, Dad and Son, at church that morning, were a testimony to that reality in the midst of a life they did not choose. Character, fortitude, and resilience come from sticking with it, not giving in, not giving up.
I’d like to remember that on days when I don’t love my life enough.