Happy 25th Birthday My Girl!!!

My Ashley....I love you to the moon and back!

I'm not sure how this happened and yes I realize that EVERY parent has voiced these words and yet I suppose it is a result of the "tides" of parenting.  Most days the tide is out and the water "relatively" calm as your child goes through that process known as growing up.  One day blends into the next and while you notice changes, there is a level of normalcy to it.  Babies grow into toddlers and toddlers into preschoolers and preschoolers into public school, etc. 

But then one day, seemingly out of the blue, a milestone comes along and the tide comes in and crashes over you, leaving you sopping wet and thoroughly gob-smacked!!  You allow the water to settle and absorb the shock while you methodically do the math that if I am 55, it is highly probable that I have a daughter who is 25.  (especially given my son is going on 28!) You flip through the movie reel of her life, remembering the OB calling out, "It's a girl!" and all the ensuing chapters of friends and school and first job and leaving the nest and boyfriends, and trekking cross country.  You pause at "moments" which were painful, joyous, exciting, confusing and know that nothing in life is ever wasted.  Nothing. 

And you give thanks.  Deep, heart-wrapped, joyous, blessed thankfulness for this beautiful young woman who graced your life 25 years ago today.

Her Last Six Days

I wrote the following several weeks ago--

"I sat in Mom's chair yesterday.  Dad is gone on a fishing trip and so I am stopping in every other day to pick up mail and check on plants, etc.  I wonder if I'm having a taste of what it's like for my Dad to be there when she is not.  I'm aware of how loud the quiet is, how still it all feels without her.  And yet how very present she is to me.

From the vantage point of her chair it struck me!  This was her view the last six days of her life.  What I could see with my own eyes was all that remained of her world.  This beautiful home which she and Dad had created less than a year previous was her only landscape. The kitchen and living area, dining, the entrance, all staring back at her.
What was it like to watch this realm called earth fade from view?
Did turquoise pale in comparison to those early days of decorating excitement?

Did she close her eyes only to rest or to block out earthly things and allow heaven's beauty to come into view?
What did it feel like to no longer desire the smorgasbord of foods she once loved?
How does does one let go of all that once made life joyous, except that life's truest bliss was still to come?
Did she relive her life as on a screen, one episode at a time, until her season's finale was in view?
Did she have regrets or did Jesus simply take them from her hands so He could hold hers instead?
Did she know how much, oh yes, deep down, I think she knew how overwhelmingly she was loved!!  So many of us made precious space to tell her in her latter days.
Did she finally take it all in?

Did she know that Thursday that she was not leaving home but going home?
Did she say goodbye to my Dad that afternoon with a bright smile and "I love you" because this was the remembrance she wanted for him?
What vision did Jesus give her at 5 pm that afternoon?
What image or beckoning did He extend to make the final passage turn from dark to light?
What was it like to have life slow one breath at a time until there was no more?
Until new life and new breath and the light of the Son brought all things into focus.
How seeing in a glass dimly became face to face,
the knowing gloriously complete.

A Prayer of Desire

"Elohim, Creator God, 

El Elyon, God most high...

I am but a speck on this vast planet

yet created by You

for Your plans and purposes.

Seal my lips when I complain

that I am weak and frail,

timid and afraid.

Remind me You are the perfect designer and

I have been created to glorify You.

Tell me again of Your gracious gift of

salvation and redemption.

Instill in me that all my past

and all my present

is constantly being

redeemed.

Oh my I choose contentment in my circumstances

and

acceptance in Your design of me.

May I hear You sing over me

May I trust that weakness displays your power

May I believe that I give You pleasure

that You know my name,

that I am precious

and honored

and loved by You--

as I am.

May I trust that however long

or brief

this season of emotional toil is,

You
are

good

and have plans and purposes.

May I be comforted by the knowledge

that I am safe with You."

I Can't Swim!!

I was that girl.

You probably remember--the one who was always afraid to jump in the deep end of the swimming pool.  The one who cried when the instructor told her she was next in line to step off the diving board.  That was me.

Others had no fear and threw themselves with abandon into the cool, blue water.  I wanted to be that free; to be fearless, but I wasn't.  I'm still not.

The last few weeks have taken me back to my younger self and a gigantic swimming pool just waiting to swallow me up.

I was content.  I was emotionally stable and feeling very much alive and full in the midst of pandemic inflicted rules of isolation and restrictions.  Life for me was slow and simple and serene.  There was this spacious abundance that I was basking in.  And then our government leaders starting telling us we could start jumping in the deep end!  Never mind that for 2 1/2 months we were virtually forbidden to even dip our toes in the shallow end!  Forget the fact that you could not escape from the constant drone of  high pitched fear from any news feed available that if we jumped we were either going to drown or cause someone else to! That was sooooooo last week!!  Come on, don your bathing suit and jump in people!!!  It's time!!!!!!

Some individuals are exhilarated by the rush of the water over their heads.  It's what they've been pining after for months.  They've had their towel and trunks packed in the front seat along with the hand sanitizer, mask and gloves.  They're all in!!!!!

But I feel like that little girl again and when I jumped, I found myself way over my head, flailing and gasping for air--because I CAN'T SWIM!!!!!!!!!

So while many of you have been having the time of your lives(and I'm happy for you:you're a blessed group who live with little to no fear), I've been crying and praying my heart out trying to figure out some way to stay afloat.  Until that morning a few days ago when I could visualize Jesus jumping in to rescue me and carrying me to safety.  It was beautiful.

I'm all dried off now and my swim suit back in the drawer for a later date.  In the meantime I'm living in the book of Psalms.  It's where I feel most at home.  A good portion of the Psalms is not for the brave and strong.  It speaks to the weak, the fearful; the one whose emotions feel wildly out of control and yet still clings to the good Shepherd.  It's filled with countless records of a man named David who is said to be "a man after God's own heart".  And yet, he has a voice which cries out in fear and despair and trust and hope.  He laments and he celebrates.  He feels lost and alone and sheltered and held.  He protests in anguish and shouts in joy.  He makes horrible choices and follows the right path.  He complains bitterly and sings gratitude. I need to read of his own wild extremes to help make sense of my own.  I need to hear of the lovingkindness of His God, who is my God too, and know that I am safe and held and loved whether I can swim or not.

Guest Post

 


My Ethiopian son is getting in the shower after his shift at the local MCC Thrift Store. He is 15 and wading his way through the weeds of teenage years and prefrontal cortex limitations. He has the gift of mercy, happily buying pizza for a hungry man and helping out a fatherless friend who doesn’t have much cash. He is also making some not so great decisions as he decides what is permissible for him, and what he will reject. 


A few days ago, a man was murdered...treated unjustly because his skin was brown...just like my son. I don’t share the same colour of skin as our kids, as they came to call me mama through the gift of adoption. A black woman looked at our picture and said yes even though our skin was many shades paler. She saw love and family as we held our mixed race baby girl, rather than the ways we didn’t match. She obviously thought we could handle raising him...some days I’m not sure.

Especially when I see an older version of my son killed in front of witnesses by a man who is supposed to serve and protect. I’ve often wondered if black people look at me and doubt my white ability to parent black children. Admittedly, there are things I’ll never understand, no matter how hard I try. And these last few days have made me look within. It’s so easy to say I’m not racist and condemn the ones who so openly are when something this blunt and horrific happens. Then, when the stories posted on social media after the crime tell us what a great guy the victim was, somehow, the racism increases...as if racism is measured by virtues beyond race. And trust me...I’m heartbroken, horrified, shaken...AND I’m also convicted. 


Under the umbrella of racism is prejudice, and I’ve been guilty. I’ve called the 1-800 numbers and been annoyed to realize the call was answered in the middle east. I’ve struggled with “their” accent when I, in fact, also have one! I’m embarrassed to admit this, but also so grateful. One definition of prejudice is, “preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience.” In the last 18 months, I’ve grown leaps and bounds in my reason and actual experience. A job in global partnerships has broken down walls I didn’t even know I had built. I have developed friendships with beautiful humans in the middle east and learned the richness of listening harder to the words spoken through that, now beautiful, accent. I have learned cultural practices that are now an honour to honour, like kneeling before an older woman to show her respect and in return, being blessed by her. To respect the physical modesty shown by married couples in public and to humbly ask to be taught more. I have watched the man from the middle of Africa buy battery banks as surprise gifts for his wife and children because they are without hydro for hours everyday. I have been winked at by the Central American and he isn’t flirting with me! Do you know what the best sound is in any language made by any tongue? It’s laughter! Nothing reduces pride and prejudice better! 


But amidst the laughter, prejudice and racism still exist and my guess is it’s far more prevalent than we realize. Don’t think so? During the teachers labour dispute, my guess is you chose a side and voiced some opinions about ECE’s, teachers, unions and government. You have thoughts on who deserves COVID-19 premium pay, what businesses are essential, death counts and economics and, truth bomb...most of your thoughts aren’t based on reason or actual experience. University vs college, professional vs the trades. Is a farmer less valuable than a teacher or a lawyer more respectable than a mechanic? We sling stones at Trudeau, Ford and Trump with really no clue what it’s like to be in their shoes. Safe injection sites seem bizarre to me, but my friend Pam...who has a clue...tells me otherwise and I am reminded once again that my lack of information in an area should be directly connected to the amount of words I speak about said area. 


But when it comes to people and the color of their skin, I know this. We should only have the human race. A couple years ago I took my son to the bank to open an account. The teller asked me if I was his guardian? Why didn’t she speak to him and ask him who I was? Truth be told we walk streets with no fear, but my kids both like larger cities and I wonder if it’s because they are more diverse? For a couple days, I’ve had the quote, “BLACK LIVES MATTER” on my facebook and a few people have commented, “All lives matter.” As I read that comment, I thought to myself, “well obviously.” And then it hit me...obviously, it’s not obvious. This is why we have to say it. African Americans and Latinos are treated with deadly force far more often than White people, and authorities held less accountable. Just ask my blonde, dutch friend whose husband is olive skinned and dark haired which one of them gets through security quicker EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. THEY. FLY. 


But please, let’s be careful. How easy it is to pick a side and lump everyone together because of the actions of one. Be honest...how has your opinion of police officers been affected this past week? What about American’s? I have met police officers who are the epitome of public servants and others who are arrogant jerks on a power trip. Police officers have been wrongly accused by people who “think they know what they saw.” I remember a story told by a police chaplain. One day the chaplain got a phone call. A police officer responded to a call...a woman speeding the wrong way down a major highway. When he finally got her pulled over, she attacked him physically and verbally. No one smelled the drugs and alcohol. No one heard the words or felt the fists. They just saw a man restraining a woman. We form prejudiced opinions about race, sexism, class, religion, politics...even age.

Now...to complicate the matter even further. I’m a Christ follower...and one verse especially in my Bible demands attention this week. Micah 6:8, asks, “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.” To live this out, I must stand up against injustice and oppression without standing on top of the oppressor. Practically it means I will stand and weep at George Floyd's grave and then go visit Derek Chauvin (the police officer who held Floyd down) in prison when he is lonely. I must name wrongdoing while offering to show a better way. Justice, mercy and humility are tricky to balance and so I must remain close to Jesus and seek His wisdom and His opinions rather than my own so as not to tip the scale too far and have one of these traits slip out of the proverbial boat of humanity. 


Think about how boring a rainbow would be with only one colour, or sunset skies and flowers. Mountain peaks and rivers, forests and fields catch our attention because of their varied colour canvases. It’s time to see all the beauty that surrounds us and look deeply into those eyes and souls until we are moved with compassion, equality and justice. 


My childrens' lives depend on it...so do yours.

Written by my sister--Charmaine Stulp