Filed under: Uncategorized
How thankful I am that the baby was crying. When things are bad… remember that it could be worse.
The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
This is the city – Houston, Texas. Home to 2.2 million people, dispersed over an area of 600 square miles, Houston squarely ranks as one of the greatest cities in America to live.
It was Saturday, August 16th, and we were working the night watch out of our home. In fact, we were trying to sleep. Cassie had been fairly easy to handle that night… no particular issues. My parter, Liane Gannon, was in and out of sleep.
5:13AM – The child decided that life was no longer tolerable without food. A bottle would need to be made in order to sustain his sleepy state. In my usual fashion, I began my brief ritual of waking while my partner kicked at me and moaned unintelligibly.
5:27AM – Still somewhat distant to the world, I took the baby and stood. My right foot planted firmly on the floor and my left stepping onto a pair of shorts which I had so carelessly discarded to the floor on an earlier day. Then I made my way into our living room.
Part way there, I noticed a prickling sensation on my left foot — the type you might receive when it is asleep. Shortly after, my foot felt as if on fire.
Brushing my hand over my foot, my fingers reported the distinctive sensation of several smooth granuals — the type of granuals that have six legs attached.
My heart began to race as I found the light switch, the burn in my foot increasing. Now lit, I could see no fewer than a dozen ants with their jaws burried into my skin. Two seconds, and they all lay decapitated on the rug. My baby, whom I had set down carefully (!), was now hungry and (HORROR!) not being held — a felony in all 50 states.
Storming back into my room, I ignited the incadecents, much to the great displeasure of my partner Gannon. There, on the shorts in which I had stepped, were numerous angry ants.
Panic swept into my bones. This couldn’t be all.
I snatched up the shorts and moved them, releasing quickly before any aggressors attempt to lock their mandibles of death into my fingers. Suddenly, the floor was alive with activity. Under my shorts were no fewer than 500 fire ants, all bent on destroying my peaceful Saturday morning!
Another pair of shorts lay next to the first (yes… I wore them both they day previous… sue me). Tossing them aside, another cauldron burst forth, releasing several hundred more ants. My mind raced, albeit more slowly than my hand. Grabbing the ant spray, which conveniently I had chosen to keep in my bedroom, I fell to the grip of Fear, Anger, Hate, and eventually the Dark Side. DIE!!!!!!!!!
Liquid penetrated their breathing holes, filling their lung-type-things with poison. Now I know that the Geneva Convention has condemned chemical warfare between signatories, but ants did not sign the accords. Consequently, I sprayed, took no prisoners of war, and would even have resorted to torture if it would have provided any useful information.
My foot ached over the next three hours as I executed with prejudice over 2,000 ants in my bedroom. I am not exaggerating this figure. They were under the bed, behind furniture, and (this was the kicker) hiding in my baby’s clothing.
Tracing them through the room, I found their path of entry and poisoned it. For two weeks, I have not found another ant in my room.
For those interested in methods of burial, it should be noted that I did not follow the detestible and desecratory act of mass burial. Each ant was given his own respectful place of eternal rest — in my vacuum.
Even as I write this, I have had to scratch my itching foot (or as those in the South would say, “itch my scratching foot”). While this classifies as my second-worst encounter with these wretched creatures, it could have been vastly worse than anything I can remember. Had I not been taking the baby into the kitchen for a bottle, I would have put those shorts on.
Filed under: Cassian
Josh has been telling me for days that Cassian will grab a handful of his gorgeous hair and start tugging. Even though I spend most of the day with him I had never seen him pull his hair. The other night he was laying on the bed with us and let out this frighting cry. The look on his face was one of indignation and shock. I quickly picked him up to comfort him and found him with his hand on the back of his head full of hair. I tried to pull his hand away, but it was stuck fast. So gently I uncurled every finger, some of them twice, and removed his hand. When I was finished he looked up at me as if to say, “Why would anyone do that to me?”
Filed under: Luke
It is hard to grasp and comprehend what has happened. It is even harder to try to put it into words. For me life has latterly been a roller coaster. I am living in the midst of life and death. Fourteen days ago my son was born; Four days ago my best friend’s son went to be with Jesus.
How can such joy and grief dwell in the same place? I do not know how, but I know that it does.
God has built my faith in the past few weeks, as I prayed for the health and recovery of my son. I would ask of the Lord, and I would receive an answer.
15For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. 16Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
I wondered how does a person stay humble yet approach the throne with confidence. The answer is that we come as children. I certainly did not get everything that I asked God for; I wanted to bring my son home earlier than the hospital allowed, but I did see God’s hand at work answering my requests. So it is with the confidence and strengthening of faith that I will continue to approach God’s throne, so that you my find grace and mercy to help you in your time of need. Only now, I find myself at his feet at a loss for words, simply crying mercy, mercy and grace, grace. I pray for your safety, your soundness of mind, your healing, your comfort, and I ask the Holy Spirit to groan for you because I can’t think of what else I should ask for. I do have confidence that He will give you all you need, because He has shown Himself faithful time and again.
When you are ready my arms are open, my ears are listening, and my hands are warm. In the mean time I will petition our powerful and merciful God on your behalf.
Filed under: Luke
There is little that can be said to limit the suffering of a grieving mother. Her heart has been killed. Death and suffering are all that she sees. Her mind locks into the past. Her arms quiver and her body fails. She is shaken to the core. But her faith in God… her precious faith in God… this is all that remains.
Our God is at the heart of our lives. As Christians we talk about politics, sports, and our work with the greatest of ease, just as any other person of this world does. We enjoy television, books, and all the rest. Yet when the terrible calamities of life strike, when everything frivalous is cast aside, when even our own persons are thrown into the crucible of death, our God remains.
This is not a mystical event. It isn’t practised. We don’t think to ourselves, when our children have died, “Let’s see, I think I should meditate.” Clinging to our God is as natural as clinging to our friends and family. How could it not be? He is our Father.
“But God could have prevented this? God let the baby die!”
The call of the critic is simple, it is logical, and it is reasonable. For those who are without God, our continued faith is senseless. For those who have God, His decisions can be equally senseless. Why must we have a new baby born into this world merely 11 days before his would-be playmate is removed?
But we remember that this world is merely a dark shadow under the heavens, and that a believer’s death is merely a passage from the shadow into the light. Nothing of Luke has been lost. His future is bright.
In this knowledge we continue on. With the comfort of an eternal God in our hearts, we pick up the pieces of our hearts (as much as we can find) and again set foot in the world of men.
This is why we say, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” Death deals a horribly painful blow, but it cannot destroy us forever.
Rest in Peace, Precious Luke. We’ll hug again on the other side.
Filed under: Luke
This morning, a deeply precious member of our extended family passed away.
Baby Luke was only a year old.
He caused his own death. His intent was not malicious, but merely the curious ventures of a toddler.
Now we are all left to pick up the pieces. Fractured hearts lay strewn about. Dreams and hopes are destroyed. A young life on this earth is wasted.
Our friends are crushed under this weight — a weight that will never be lifted. Until they join him in God’s arms, the pain and loss will remain.
Why God? Why is my child spared while theirs is not? Is mine more valuable than theirs? I hate being confused. I hate not understanding. I hate being bewildered. Yet here I stand.
Great and mighty God, forgive us for our anger against You. Our minds are small, and we just don’t understand.
