Good morning…
What was my best birthday gift of 2019? All six of our family members coming into town to enjoy a Sunday brunch at West Egg on the westside. Our 24-year-old son brought back from his Campus Outreach beach trip one question that sparked an animated discussion: “When in your life have you been closest to dying?”
Memories erupted all over our table. When one son was born with a condition that rushed him by ambulance to a week in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Hershey Medical Center in Hershey, PA. When one toddling daughter ate a mushroom in our front yard and we had to call poison control, buy syrup of ipecac, and force her tiny body to throw up everything. When the same toddler locked herself in the bathroom and after ninety minutes of calm encouragement from the other side of the door, we were forced to call the fire department to rescue our frightened girl and her humiliated mother. When our other daughter slipped off a dangerously huge boulder while happily hiking on a family camping trip. When one son cut his foot on a shell at the beach and nearly bled to death (kinda). When our other son jumped a curb on his bike and wiped out into the street, just as a speeding motorist missed his head by a few inches. There were multiple memories of being chased by scary strangers in cars, experiencing near-miss automobile accidents, and swimming mishaps causing dread. But the winner was probably when my husband, who was confidently in charge of our four young kids, left them all playing on the plastic play set outside the Busy Beaver (a Home Deposit-like store in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania). When he came back outside after shopping, all four kids had vanished. Images of a white van without windows driving up and abducting them wreaked havoc in his head. After several long, panicked minutes, he discovered that they had gone into the store looking for him as he came out another door looking for them, then they came out when he went in, he went in when they came out. They kept missing each other for what felt like an eternity.
Our family histories are ours alone. Our personal life stories shape us, bond us, grow us individually and collectively. As imperfect people we have inflicted pain on ourselves and on each other for decades, being hurt and being healed year after year. Not by our doing but by God’s grace, our souls grow up through the dark, rich soil of past problems and present pressures, sprouting through our fickle personalities toward the fullness of future possibilities. Each one of us is shaped by different innate wiring, different life experiences, different wise and poor choices, but Christ draws us together in compassionate connection: pour yourself out for each other in acts of love, alert at noticing differences and quick to mend fences (Ephesians 4:3b, MSG).
My best birthday gift of 2019 was putting a finger on the pulse of our aging family and sensing God’s heartbeat thumping strong.
…Sue…
