Once Upon a Time...

Gather round, my dear children.  I need to tell you a story because it is yours.
 
Once upon a time there was a girl who fell in love with a boy.  He wasn't just any boy.  He captured her interest because he thought about big things and constantly gave her things to think about too.

He captured her fancy because he was strong and handsome and athletic (and he laughed at her jokes;)

He captured her heart when it became apparent that he loved her dearly, but loved Jesus more and was willing to arrange his whole life around serving Him. 


He was going places!  His brilliant mind was pointed toward a career in medicine and doors were opening for him.  He was growing in his faith and God was using Him to share truth in powerful ways. 

He asked the girl to be his wife and they were married in the sweet little church where she had grown up, and all the dear people in their lives came and celebrated with them on that day.

And so, the girl and boy began the life of their dreams.

Except that very often it wasn't.

The day before the boy was supposed to start his residency, he was badly burned and spent a week in the hospital as the skin peeled off a third of his body in shreds.  It was a raw introduction to the thing that was to mark so much of his life.

Pain. 

Because after his body healed on the outside, other things went wrong inside it and for the next 15 years his joints stiffened and swelled, his skin broke down and bled, his bones grew spurs, and fiery inflammation traveled from his eyes to the bottom of his feet. 

And still he walked in faithfulness to the God who had allowed the pain, and gave thanks for the chance to understand the pain his patients were in. 

He gave thanks for the humbling influence of physical hardship. 

And gave thanks for the perspective he gained on the  future joys of heaven.

The girl wished so often that she could do something to ease the burden for her beloved.  She tried to make a pleasant home, and she prayed to be able to give him children.  All around them, they watched their friends welcome little ones into their homes and they waited for their sweet babies to come.

But they didn't come.  You didn't come. 

And the girl worked for years at Pregnancy Resource Centers, helping little girls learn how to love babies they didn't even want.  Sometimes the little girls would throw their babies away and those nights were hardest for the young couple because their arms were still empty.

For seven years they were empty. 

And in that time, God taught them to find their joy in Him. 

And eventually they learned to rejoice with those who were rejoicing, even when their hearts were breaking. 

During those years, the boy reminded his bride of the goodness of God and turned her heart back toward thankfulness, again and again.

And then suddenly God filled their arms with two daughters--sisters.  He brought them on Mother's Day, and had the boy working at the hospital on the very day his daughter arrived there, hurt and sad and needing a home and a family.

And the four of them became one. 

It was wonderful...

...but still so very marked with pain, because as lovely as adoption is, it is also a journey out of brokenness and there are many miles to travel before the healing begins.  Sometimes the old scars would break open and wounds would bleed through that only God could touch.  (You know this because you have lived it and live it still.)

And sometimes the girl would look in her daughters' eyes and see a shadow pass and wonder how much pain they were hiding from her--keeping in a sad, secret place so as not to "burden" their forever family and her heart would break for them.

Again, the girl had to see the ones she loved most fight battles with things she couldn't fix, and pain took a visible place in her home.

Right about here, the girl realized that pain might be a fairly constant theme in her story.  The boy (who by this time had surrendered to this fact) was so steadfast and faithful in His devotion to the path God had designed for them that the girl was encouraged again, but she noticed that his smile dimmed and some of the old light went out of his eyes.  He grew tired and older than his years. 

(Pain does that, but even so, I hope some of you older ones can remember how much he laughed with you and romped with you, and how not even 36 hours on call could keep him from tickle fights and pony rides and stories before bed!  You have always brought him joy!)

The years passed and they were full of so many good things, more children and dear friends and family, and churches full of fellowship and times of growth. 

And still the boy struggled with sickness, and the loss of energy and ability.  His hands stopped working right.  Then his knees and shoulders and back caught and stabbed and tore.  And then came surgeries and scars and lingering complications.

The boy and girl saw that so many of their joys came with fear attached--and that so many fears end up in joy.

There was a sweet pink baby, born healthy.  And then just eight days later he was lying with needles in his spine, struggling to breathe, and there were later days spent in the hospital as he fought a scary hip infection.  Both times God healed her son, but the girl learned much about the fragility of life.

Another son arrived with a strange heart defect (which God took away) and inexplicably bad eyes (which he still has), and the girl learned how to live under both "yes" and "no".

A daughter developed chronic inflammation and pain in her joints (which her daddy could understand and help her with.)   Here, the girl saw the provision of God and the difficult beauty of shared suffering.

The sudden death of a beloved brother taught them to number their days and to capture the golden moments of ordinary living.   

Three years of fighting to rescue two more children from the morass of foster care, and bad judges, and deception, and a parade of social workers, and invasive state inspections, and false accusations left them breathless and worn.  And at the end of the road, a little son and daughter holding tightly to a legacy of lies and pain and abuse taught the boy and girl to better see themselves in relation to God. 

For aren't we all war-torn orphans, clutching our rags and our rage when He finds us?  Don't we all lash out at His goodness from time to time?  Haven't we refused to trust His intentions toward us, even after He has demonstrated His love? 

Through each storm, the girl felt so blessed to be traveling with this boy at her side, and these babies in her nest, and yet...

...she would sometimes look at the rosy side of the street at families whose Daddies didn't have to curl up and rest after a simple day's work because their bodies were whole and healthy instead of ragged and worn...

...at children who didn't have the lingering shards of pain left over from broken "first families"...

...at little ones who didn't scream so much or trust so little or lash out so easily...

...at homes which didn't have the ghostly memories of birth parents leering around every corner, clucking their whitewashed tongues at her parenting failures, or the taunting specter of mental illness, or the lingering legacy of drug and alcohol abuse...

...and she would wish with all her might that she could lift the burdens that lay so heavily on the hearts and bodies and minds of her family and take them away.

She wished it with tears and prayers.  Some nights she would walk around her house and weep to have the darkness lifted.  And in those seasons, she wanted so badly to take her two hands and peel away every dark fear and searing pain and secret horror from her beloveds, and make their heartache all her own, if only to spare her sweet ones another moment of suffering.

She would have done that for them (one day you will understand).  

She would still if she could, but that cannot be...

I'm writing this to tell you that I understand that it is not always easy to be a part of this story.

I'm writing this because I have seen you look at "normal" families with the light of longing in your eyes. 

I'm writing this to say that I wish I could promise you only rainbows and butterflies and happy endings here on earth.

But I can't.

I am writing this because I have seen you crumble under the weight of Daddy's chronic pain and my exhausted impatience, and I want you to know I am sorry I have not been able to spare you from our hurt and our failures. 

Most of all, I am writing this because no matter the direction our lives take, I wanted you to know about the boy and the girl who started out with stars in their eyes because they are your daddy and me. 

Beloved Ones, we are still the devoted couple and you are still the stars in our eyes, but that doesn't mean I can smooth our road or yours--or that it would even be right for me to do so. 

What I do want to say is that there have been many easier lives than yours, and many harder ones, but not one second of your life has been outside the loving gaze of your Heavenly Father, nor will it ever be. 

 Daddy and I love each other deeply, but we love God more and I never want his sickness and my struggle with fear to obstruct the truth about Him.  

You see, I want to carry your burdens and take away your pain because before you were even born, I loved you. 

I want you here with me to share in my love and find joy in relationship. 

I want to knit your precious hearts to my own and enjoy you now and forever, but God is the only One with the power to actually do all of that for you.  

And He has.  

I don't know where your lives will take you, but I do know that as much as we love you, God loves you more.  Trust Him.  Even when you can't see where you are heading or why. 

He sees.  He understands, because not only did He make you, but He also walked the road before you to the very end and fought death, and pain, and sin, and sadness on your behalf.

And won, securing your perfect future fellowship with Himself forever and ever, Amen! 

His promise--

"In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:37-39 (KJV)

God has walked your daddy down a path from youth and strength to weakness and pain, and he would be the first to tell you that he is a better, more useful person because of it--even as he struggles to keep his chin up.


I used to have pride in my strength and abilities.  Now I see that my failures have brought me into a much needed humility and that my battles against fear keeps me clinging to my Father God. 

And you, my Beloveds, your own burdens will refine you too--if you let God use them.   Your past trials, your future pains, all the things you do not understand and would not have chosen...He will not waste a single hardship in His quest to turn His children from dust into diamonds.

I will end with His words--

"What a wonderful God we have—He is the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the source of every mercy, and the One who so wonderfully comforts and strengthens us in our hardships and trials. And why does He do this? So that when others are troubled, needing our sympathy and encouragement, we can pass on to them this same help and comfort God has given us. You can be sure that the more we undergo sufferings for Christ, the more He will shower us with His comfort and encouragement." 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 (TLB)

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined the things that God has prepared for those who love Him." 1 Corinthians 2:9

"Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time; casting all your worries on Him, because He cares for you. " 1 Peter 5:6-7 (WEB)