Problems are for Solving

NOTE: This is one of many things I’ve written some time ago. I hope to get back to finishing many of these projects, but I found this on my hard drive today and thought I’d share it with you in chapters and maybe be inspired to continue it.

My daughter Elsie asked me to tell her a silly story, as she is wont to do while getting her hair brushed. Her hair is very snarly at times, and we have adopted this ‘silly story’ practice as a way of taking her mind off the pain that comes with the hair brushing. Elsie, you may want to know, is four years old, and is the fourth of five children in our home.

On this particular occasion I was feeling more creative and imaginative than I have in the past and began a story that didn’t end quickly. Because the story is still going on in the telling with my children (who have all joined in on the listening now) I wanted to put down on paper (or binary digits, as the case may be) what I have told them, as best I can remember it, before it fades as my memory does.

At some point, I am sure that this story will teach us something of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I say that not because it is the main aim, but because I believe that all creative endeavors by Christians who love Jesus will reflect at some level His Gospel of Peace. As I begin here there are only two chapters. I am looking forward to what will come next. I am not typically very creative—and so this is an early endeavor for me into the imagination.

Elsie: Please tell me a silly story, daddy.

Dad: Let’s see now. How does that story begin?

Elsie: I don’t know. It’s your story, daddy!

Mom: Is it, ‘Once upon a pig?’

Dad: That sounds close, but it’s not qute it. The ‘Once upon’ part sounds right.

Mom: Maybe, ‘Once upon a fish?’

Dad: No, that’s not it.

Elsie [interrupting]: ONCE UPON A TIME!

Dad Oh, yes. That’s it. Thank you Elsie.

Here is the story that followed:

Chapter 1: The Wall Is a Lake

Once upon a fish, err time, there was a little girl named Frieda. Frieda was 6 years old, just this past week, and she was sitting on her bed, playing. Something today, though, seemed not quite right. Finally, she figured out what it was: the wall of her room had turned into a lake.

Surprised as she was—she was not as surprised as we grown-ups might be at the same sight. Children, we all know, roll with life’s changes more easily than we do. And of course where you and I might see this as a large inconvenience, Frieda was intrigued. Still she knew that she must inform her parents of this change in her room. After all, she didn’t want to be blamed for the hall carpeting being wet!

“Mom!�

“What is it dear?�, her mother answered sweetly.

“My wall turned into a lake and it’s spilling all over my floor!�

Of course we know that lakes roll rather than spill, but please remember that Frieda is only six years old. Of course her mother knows that, and instantly thinks this is a game of Frieda’s imagination. Being a good mother—she follows along,

“That’s nice dear. Please try to keep the lake out of the hallway, though.�

“Mom—I’m serious! My floor is all wet! HELP!�

Mom comes in and sure enough the floor is drenched with water. And not clean, filtered drinking water but smelly, fishy water. Mom, of course, being a grownup notices only the water on the floor is oblivious to the missing wall.

“Where did this water come from? Did a pipe burst? Oh, dear! Do I need to call the plumber? What will happen to the new carpet in the hallway?�

I may have neglected to mention that it is Saturday, and so Frieda’s father is home as well. Mom calls out to him—“DEAR!!!??â€?

Dad rushes in, knowing the voice Mom used was the serious, big trouble voice.

“What happened here?!� dad exclaims.

Frieda, beginning to be frustrated that no one sees the most important feature of the room, yells out, “My wall turned into a lake!�

“Frieda, walls do not just turn into lakes,� dad and mom reply almost in unison, immediately.

“But LOOK! There! It used to be a wall and there’s a lake there now!�

Sure enough, mom and dad finally notice the lake that used to be a wall. Speechless, they stare at what used to be a perfectly good wall which is now a lake that stretches as far as they can see. Waves roll up and down and continue to splash into the bedroom like a high tide. After the initial shock wears they notice a boat, and old fashioned gray rowboat floating towards them. In order to be sure that this is not a dream, and filled with a youthful, adventuresome spirit that had not graced him in years, dad says “let’s check this out!�

Mom is unsure, but dad and Frieda convince her to wade out with them to the boat, now just a few yards from Frieda’s bed. Still filled with some shock and disbelief, the family of three climbs into the row boat and gaze around. What happens next will have to wait for another time.

One year ago today I brought my wife home from the hospital after a miscarriage. This baby, Baby Ash as we called him, was one we wanted badly and was the sixth miscarriage in three years for us. We have recently conceived and this pregancy seems to be going better. We heard the baby’s heartbeat twice through interal ultrasounds and the baby is due on Reformation Day, October 31st. We are praying that this baby will come to term and that we will rejoice now with him rather than later in Heaven.

What follows is a post I wrote that started a former blog the week following Baby Ash’s death:

——–

Musings After the Death of Baby Ash

Seven. And six in a row. In the last 3 years God has taken six of our children home before they have been born. How are we to understand it?

We thought this time was different. Everything seemed to be progressing normally. It was getting very close to the point where we would be past the time period of the other miscarriages and we were hopeful that Monday’s midwife appointment would give us a heartbeat to hear and to know that our baby was safe. It was not to be.

There has been much mercy. A few days earlier this time and I would have been out of town. A few weeks earlier and Raquel would not have been here—and I would have had to send my wife away in an ambulance. And happening at the end of resurrection weekend—giving hope upon hope.

We do not know why God has taken home our children—and so many of them.

We have searched for sin that we might be missing. We have prayed that God would show us what He would have us do.

I shaved my head. I was looking for something outward I could do to grieve our loss and I remembered Job rending his clothes and shaving his head and worshipping. So I shaved off my hair for the first time in my adult life.

Why is it that we grieve so poorly and so little? In American Christianity why is there so little outward sadness? Sin is horrid. It hurts. It leads invariably to death. In this case the death of one so small that we had not yet met him.

People seem afraid to talk to us. They don’t know what to say.

How could they?

They should know, though, that we don’t want them to say anything at all. We want them to come by and cry with us. To drown in a couch of tears at the loss of yet another baby that we longed for so much. To sit and be quiet and weep with us.

Recently I read C.S. Lewis’ The Silver Chair to my children. I was reading through the whole set of the Chronicles and we came to my favorite. I love that book. At the end Caspian dies. His character is uncommon in that it stretches across three books. And at the end of The Silver Chair he dies. Lewis gives us a picture of him meeting Aslan in His own country. I cried. I couldn’t help myself. I read Aslan telling Caspian that he could never want something wrong again and I couldn’t get through the sentence. I don’t normally break into tears very easily—even when mourning—and so this surprised me. I talked to Theresa about it later and she remarked that she wasn’t surprised because I was “thinking about home.�

Home. It’s funny that we have so many places that we call home. Our home town. Our houses. I read a note from a Lutheran brother today arguing that when Jesus says that He is a door the symbolism is lost on us unless we realize that the real door is Him and that the earthly doors are but symbols of Him. The same goes for bread, wine, vines, etc.

Home. This place where I sleep at night I call home. But it isn’t really my home. My real home is with Jesus. Everything else is but a shadow. When I go to be with Him I won’t ever want anything wrong again. Forever. And ever. Hallelujah!

Our baby is home. He won’t ever struggle with sin. He won’t fall down and be tempted to curse God. He is with Jesus—and He won’t ever want anything wrong again.

Yesterday I sat down with the children and talked to them about baby Ash.

He is dead. We are sad. Daddy is so sad that he shaved his head in grief. We cried together.

Death comes from sin—and we mourn over death because we rightly mourn over sin. And every time we see death, like the death of this little one who we will not know this side of heaven, we mourn because of sin.

Death is our enemy. It is an enemy that Jesus has defeated in His resurrection and will be conquered on the last day. It will be the last enemy to be defeated in time—but we see now in Jesus’ raising Himself from the dead that this defeat is sure. And so in the midst of our grief we have hope. We have hope that one day we too will rise from the dead and be with Jesus.

Baby Ash is with Jesus—where there is no time. And so no time will pass for him between now and when we see him. No time at all. For us it is a long time but for him it is no time at all. We will miss him until then but he will never miss us. And he cannot cry for us because he knows only joy in Jesus. And though we cry—we know that he is not sad.

This I told them as we cried together. This hope and sorrow we shared. And then I told them this Scripture:

Isaiah 51:11 “Therefore the redeemed of the LORD shall return, and come with singing unto Zion; and everlasting joy shall be upon their head: they shall obtain gladness and joy; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.�

There will be no mourning, no sadness, in Heaven. And the redeemed of Yahweh will come into Zion with singing and joy (EVERLASTING joy!). Sorrow and mourning will FLEE AWAY!

This is our homecoming. This is the day that we go to be with Jesus. This is the day that the tears of sadness cease FOREVER. When we return to our home.

But not yet.

Though God in His graciousness gives us a taste of this once a week. When we come into His presence to worship Him and are taken into the heavenlies in Christ. When we sit at the Table and feast with Him. This is our glimpse of home. Every Lord’s Day when we come together at His feat to worship Him. But oh how it makes us long to be home.

I understand now why Job shaved his head and tore his clothes. I also understand why he fell on his face and worshipped the one true God. His grief and his worship were a part of the Gospel that he had embraced. He understood that sin leads to death and that death leads to life for the redeemed in Christ.

Please mourn with us at the loss of this little one who we wanted so badly to meet. Please cry with us as we fill our beds with tears over this death. Please be with us and hold us up before the throne of grace. Please worship the one true God who makes no mistakes with us as we rest in the peace and joy that comes only in trusting Jesus.

Today I still want to hold this child in my arms. I want what I cannot have.

One day soon I will go to be with him and we will both be with Jesus. Then I will never want anything wrong again. Then I will never cease to see the love of my Father in Christ. Then, and only then, will I, and my children who have gone before me, be home.

And everlasting joy shall be upon our heads.

Marquette Heights, IL

March 29, 2005

In memory of Jubal or Zoe, “Baby Ash”

Tonight, as hopefully continues to be our family custom, I read to my children before putting them to bed.

Tonight we started a new book.

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe is a book we have wanted to start for some time. It is a bit archaic in its language, but I am taking the time to explain what Defoe’s language means as we read. This is the first time I have read the book also, and I think I will enjoy it.

New to me as we read the first chapter is Crusoe’s “monolog” on his parents wishes that he not go to sea and his own problems there stemming from his not bending to their counsel. A self-awareness that I wish I had at times–but spending 28 years shipwrecked tends to make one think.

As we read we will be contrasting the Christian suffering of Crusoe in Defoe’s story with the story of Cast Away which was stripped of any reference to the supernatural providence of God. I’m sure I’ll have more to write about our reading in this classic as time goes on.

Greetings!

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