My oldest son Jace is 5, and he's taught me more about love and life than I ever thought I could hold in a brain most often filled with questions about Lost (there's your link). Justus is my 8 month year old, so we're still figuring out why we've invaded each other's world, but we're having a good time. The boys keep me overwhelmed with feelings of fear, joy, happiness, and sleep deprivation.
Not long ago Jace, after our doctor, specialists, and too many tests, was scheduled for surgery to repair a birth defect. Everything was going well the morning of the surgery. Ronnin and I let him take as many toys, clothes, and DVD's that he wanted, and our goal was to make the day as least traumatic as possible for our son, and me. He wasn't too excited about the hospital gown, but the dinosaur bed in his examination room kept him calm. Things were going smooth, almost too smooth, and as the nurse asked what flavored anesthesia he wanted, I was too busy figuring out all the reasons that seemed wrong to notice that my son wasn't doing well anymore. He was getting more and more nervous and he could tell that this trip was not going to have a happy ending, well at least not that day.
The nurses finished their preliminary tests, and it was now time for Jace to part ways with his dinosaur bed and move to surgery. The nurses let us walk with him down the hall, and when we came to the end, Ronnin and I stood at the waiting room door as the nurses prepared to move him to his meeting with bubblegum haze. We kissed Jace, held him tight, told him we loved him, and turned to walk away. At that moment, my heart was crushed in a way I hope never happens again. He started crying and screaming my name, he ran up to me, and wrapped his arms around me as tight as he could. He was crying out the same phrase over and over again, "Don't make me do it, daddy. please don't make me do it!" I knew he had to go through it, and the nurses peeled him off of me as my wife peeled me off the floor.
In the waiting room I got a little ticked. No, not at my five year clinging to me for survival, but at the stupid idea of a God who's more like a genie-in-a-bottle. Jace's fear, my pain, and the whole process made me hate the Jesus that wig-wearing, toupee toting, 'let me hear you say amen' shouting, three-point thumping, homosexual-hating, and right-wing fundraising, empty headed, zero hearted preachers had represented him as. (Maybe they hit the bubblegum haze one too many times.)
In other words, I was questioning my faith. But somehow, my son's tears started healing me from bad church, bad preaching, and bad Christianity. These words made sense for the first time..."Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know."
Because the truth is life's not simple, and pain can be pretty complex. So I need a truth that's simple and a God that can teach me the complex, even if it's just in part. Zero hearted, zero headed Christianity isn't Christianity, it's the blind leading the blind. We don't need men, method, or material, we need relationship with someone who cares enough to put his name, ego, and deity on the line, offering us a way to transcend fear, pain, and hurt.
Today Jace is okay, and so am I. But tomorrow could change everything. It's why I'm struggling at best, but attempting more everyday, to call to God and let Him reveal His mysteries, His key to life a better way.
So I bless you to reject poor representation, your own pain, self(and church)condemnation, and move in to the great and unsearchable gift He has for you.
0 comments:
Post a Comment