Behold, your King

I sang on the worship team at my church yesterday morning for our Christmas service. It's such a fun service to be part of, but yesterday was especially meaningful for me. We sang "O Holy Night," which has always been one of my favorite Christmas songs. The worship team struggled through our practices of it as we "Christian Reformed kids" weren't familiar with the "Reformed" version we were singing. The words were a bit different, and the tune hit the words that were familiar in just a little bit different way. And that second verse! What was with that second verse?!


We struggled.

Then it came time for the service. We sang. We managed to overcome what we thought we knew about the song and actually just sing what was on the page. And the second verse really hit me.

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger,
Behold, your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold, your King! Before him lowly bend!

That really is Christmas, after all. "The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger." What a ridiculous notion, this King in a manger. When we got home from church, I said to Ellie, "Who ever heard of a king born in a stable?" She shouted, "Me! I have! Jesus!" It's still a ridiculous idea, this King in a manger. But He was born to be our friend. He knows our need, He is no stranger to our weakness, and He came to make us whole. To bring us peace. And, as Pastor Tim pointed out yesterday, that peace isn't the peace I ask for from my girls or from our world governments. It isn't an absence of conflict. It is a deep-rooted, inside-out wholeness. It is life. It is joy. It is shalom. So when you look at that manger, when you approach this week, this season, remember.

Behold, your King! He's that baby there. That God, become flesh. That Emmanuel. He came to be your friend in the middle of wherever you are. Behold, your King!

We're not home yet.

So we have some friends whose marriage appears to be over.  We have prayed with them and prayed for them.  We have counseled them.  We have cried with them.  We have hoped for them.  And now we are surprised by whom they are turning out to be.  All of it serves to remind me that we just aren't home yet.  God, I wish we were back.

Still, it's Reformation Day.  It's the day that we remember that the Word of God is for all of us.  It's also the day (thanks, Dad) that we remember that the Word of God is life transforming and should never be taken lightly.  And it's the day that I am reminded that the Church's one foundation, and MY one foundation, is Jesus Christ.  No matter what. 

Though with a scornful wonder
we see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder,
by heresies distressed,
yet saints their watch are keeping;
their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping
shall be the morn of song.


Mid toil and tribulation,
and tumult of her war,
she waits the consummation
of peace forevermore;
'til, with the vision glorious,
her longing eyes are blest,
and the great church victorious
shall be the church at rest.
(The Church's One Foundation, Samuel Stone)

We sang these words in church this morning, and it made me weep with the beauty and the promise of it all. We aren't home yet, but we will be one day soon.  And in that day where there is no more night and no more pain and no more divorce, we, the church victorious, shall finally be the church at rest.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

Where I Stand

A friend who has known me since college recently expressed surprise at learning some of my “social” (political) leanings. It was over Facebook, so I sat down to write a quick message back to her.


It happened to be right around National Coming Out Day, and it struck me that this was, for me, a bit of a coming out. I can’t possibly liken it completely to the coming out of our dear LGBTQ members of society, but it was still quite scary. I know that some in my circle wouldn’t look at me the same to know what really goes on in my head and why I struggle so much on the 1st Tuesday after the 1st Monday in November. I never know how to vote, because I never fit into one party. And I can hear the hateful talk from some people that I consider friends or at least close acquaintances. But I don’t think fear should keep anyone in the closet. Not the straight allies or the teenagers who realize they are gay or the politically moderate or the thoughtful followers of Christ.  And I also think for me and the LGBTQ teens who are scared out of their minds about what will happen to them that there are more people than I think--and some of them will surprise me--who will fully support me and be proud of my courage.  I also know that it really does get better.

So {breathes deeply}, here goes.

I have ALWAYS been a straight ally. :) I've just been closeted most of my life, because I get so sad when the debate comes into the church and the church is too often hateful. My cousin and one of my close friends (okay a couple) are gay, and I could be nothing but loving and supportive of them.

Beyond that, I would be a democrat if they believed in actually holding people accountable instead of just handing things out. I vote the issues, not the party. I didn't vote for Obama, but only because Beau and his gift of discernment didn't trust him. Now I'm glad I didn't. I'll be voting against Obama in 2012 (unless it's Sarah Palin, then I'm writing someone in), and I'll be voting mostly Republican in November, but not because they're Republicans. I'm an independent and would register that way if MI did that. I'm prolife, but pro all life in that I'm anti capital punishment and pro AIDS money and pro stem cell research. If I had to pick a hot-button issue, it's definitely not voting anti abortion, because I feel like we still don't offer enough support for young mothers and I believe that if you are going to vote against abortion then you damn well better be willing to love your daughter through her teen pregnancy or take in a child whose parents have decided to turn her out. And then, perhaps you should be willing to take on responsibility for that baby, too, so that the state doesn't have to. I don't think you can legislate morality. I think that parents who have extra embryos should be given the option to say they want them used for stem cell research instead of being "forced" to keep them frozen or adopt them out. And I'm pro civil union and same sex partner benefits. I think that there is no reason that uniting with a partner for life should be prohibited for those who are LGBTQ through no choice of their own. And, as someone once said, why should the heterosexuals have the market on getting divorced? Being gay isn't leading to the downfall of our society, but being stupid and ignorant and a workaholic and hateful and abusing your kids is. Legislate hate if you really want to make a difference. I don't think that if you hand out condoms in schools or offer a needle exchange program you are giving your blessing to premarital sex and IV drug use; I just think you're saving someone's life. And, at the end of the day, that's what I want to do. I'm sure that I'm "wrong" on some of this and that I don't understand fully what the Bible is saying. But if I'm going to err, which I am, because I'm human, then I'd rather err on the side of compassion. That's what Jesus did. And I'm an independent follower of Jesus. I was Conservative growing up, and then I became Liberal for a while. I've probably moved a bit more Conservative, but mostly I've become more gray. More gray for everyone else and more black and white for me. I was watching an old episode of The West Wing (best show ever) recently, and Bartlet says to Toby, "It's MY Catholicism." As in, the standards that God has for me are my standards to keep, not my standards to make sure everyone else keeps.

Whew.  Feels good.  Come what may.

From the Mouths of Babes

Two conversations recently overheard:

Ellie: Meg, I'm going to teach you how to be a safe driver, because I want all my kids to be safe drivers.
Meg: Okay.
E: When you are driving, if you see a car in front of you, go around it.  Because if you don't, you can get in an accident.  And if you get in an accident, you can die.  Do you want to die, Meg?
M: Um, no . . .
E: Well, in a few years, when you're older, you're gonna die.



Ellie (to Meg, playing the role of Grandma): Grandma, why do we need sunscreen to go in the hot tub?
Meg: Because it's hot.

Signs Fall is Approaching

* Pinky-orange leaves on the big maple tree on the way back from the cottage

* Orange leaves caught on the wind

* Two weeks of football covers on Sports Illustrated

* Sneezing and itchy eyes

Overheard Sunday at Church*

Ah, what random questions parents must field on Communion Sunday when there is no Children's Worship.

"What?  Jesus died?  Did God die, too?"

"Is the blood of Christ really juice?"

"That's the body of Christ?" 
"No honey, it's just bread." 
"Oh, can I touch it?"

"Is that blood?!"
"No.  It's juice."
"Well it looks like blood.  I think it's blood."

"You aren't going to heaven any time soon, are you?!"

"What's an orgy?"

* Names withheld to protect the curious children and frustrated (or alarmed) parents.

What Do I Know Of Holy

I made You promises a thousand times,
I tried to hear from Heaven, but I talked the whole time.
I think I made You too small. I never feared You at all. No.
If You touched my face, would I know You?
Looked into my eyes, could I behold You?

What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out.
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were might to save.
But those were only empty words on a page.
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be.
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees.

What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life its name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
on earth and heaven above
what do I know of this Love?

What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?

--Addison Road, "What Do I Know of Holy," Addison Road


My daughter couldn't have a more beautiful name. And my children couldn't have a more beautiful Hope.

Three Months?!

My blog is the first of three home pages that greet me every time I open my web browser.  Every day I think, "You should post something today.  People are counting on you.  You have something to say."  While it may be untrue that people are counting on me, I should post "today," and I do have something to say.  But every day life takes more time than the sun and moon are willing to allot.  So every day I say nothing.

The other day, though, I looked at FunnyWriterMommy when I opened my web browser, and I thought three months?!  THREE MONTHS?!  Seriously?  Something must be done.  Three months is a very long time. 

That was one week ago.

I didn't know when I began that day what the day would bring, had already brought.  And, reflecting on the past three months, I didn't think about what that amount of time really meant.

Three months is, indeed, a long time.  But, somehow, by the end of last week Monday, it seemed like a very short time.  Three months ago, we baptized Addison, giving her to God, acknowledging that she had always been His, and thanking Him for the short life of Baby Zion.  Then, we got back to living our lives.  Since then, Addie has learned to eat "real" food.  She has learned to roll over from her front to her back and back over again.  She babbles now, and she giggles.  Megan speaks much more clearly now and is learning to potty on the toilet, and Ellie has really learned to read.  For us, it has been a long time.

But for one family, the time was too short. 

Three months ago, Vaughn Arthur Barckholtz wasn't sick.  He was just a healthy, four-year-old boy learning to enjoy books and loving his mom, his dad, his cousins, his flashlight, and his every day.  He was full of life.  Then he started to get bruises.  He started to have pain where he didn't before.  He started to get sick.

Less than three months ago, he was diagnosed with ALL Leukemia, and he was sent to the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor.  In March, he beat his leukemia.  But then he got RSV and pneumonia.  He beat the RSV, though his lungs were severely damaged, but he couldn't beat the pneumonia.  It was diagnosed as MRSA.  Then, by a miracle, he beat that, too.  Machines were keeping him alive as treatments tried to fix his lungs.  But he was alive.  And he was free of all those letters that had tried to take him from his family.

Then, on a Saturday, he started bleeding.  Doctors couldn't understand where the bleeding was coming from, or why.  Two days later, one week ago today, his heart rate skyrocketed while his blood pressure plummeted.  His family gathered, and they told him they loved him.  Because they did.  The last three months hadn't changed that.  But it wasn't enough.  For reasons we won't understand until they cease to matter as we stand at the feet of our Savior, God called him home.  Just a couple of days shy of 4 and a 1/2 years after God delivered him into the arms of his parents, God called him home.  That wasn't long enough, God.  It just wasn't.  How can three months seem like such a long time while 4 1/2 years isn't long enough?  And how can three months be a long time for some but be far too sudden for a little boy to go from healthy to gone from this world?

I don't know.  But I know that Beau's cousin Chad and his wife Sarahbeth will never fully recover from this three months.

O God, whose beloved Son took children into his arms and blessed them: Give us grace to entrust Vaughn to your never-failing care and love, and bring us all to your heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. 

Most merciful God, whose wisdom is beyond our understanding: Deal graciously with Chad and Sarahbeth in their grief.  Surround them with your love, that they may not be overwhelmed by their loss, but have confidence in your goodness, and strength to meet the days to come; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Taken from The Book of Common Prayer, The Burial of the Dead: Rite Two, "At the Burial of a Child"

Four Small Roses

Sunday, January 10, 2010.  Baptism Day.

It was a special day on its own.  The day that we would present our newest daughter to God, acknowledging that we are sinners, vowing that it is only Jesus' blood that makes us clean, and committing ourselves to raise our little one in that Truth.  A day when we are reminded that God chooses us, not for anything that we can offer, but simply because we are His.  It would have been a beautiful day any way you looked at it.

It became much more than that.

Since I learned that I would deliver two children, one living and one truly alive, I have wondered what baptism would bring.  And I wanted it to be about three children--the one who is living, the one who is truly alive, and the One who is the Life.  I wanted to celebrate Addie Maye and her place in His world, in His heart.  I wanted to celebrate Zion and that baby's place in our eternal Home.  And I wanted to celebrate Jesus, His birth, His death, and His life, as the hope that we can give Addie that she will one day know her beautiful twin again.  I talked a bit about it, but I never mentioned "memorial service."  That's what I wanted, though.

And, because God knows my desires and can do all things, that's exactly what I got.

We placed a single pink rose, in a vase bought just for the occasion, on the organ.  It stood in front of the screen displaying the words to "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" (on my "play at my funeral" list) and "In Christ Alone."  We saw it as we beseeched God to help us stand in His power from life's first cry to final breath when He takes our hands and leads us Home.  That was Zion's rose, and it is Addie's vase.  It will hold a rose on every birthday and all of Addie's special days, and it will remind us of what we have lost and also what lies ahead for us.

I also asked our pastor to say a simple prayer for Zion when he prayed for Addie after my dad finished baptizing her.  His words brought tears to our eyes.  As he said, "We also think of Zion, this silent twin who is anything but silent in Your presence," Meggie saw my tears and climbed into my arms to dry them.  Seeing that she couldn't, she nestled in to my neck to hold me.  Precious one.

That was what we planned, though both meant more than we could have dreamed.  What we didn't plan was even more beautiful in a way.  And it came in two parts.

The bulletin had a note about the rose, which I requested.  But it went on from there:

We give thanks to God for his grace as we celebrate this opportunity to baptize Addison Maye.  The rose on the organ is in memory of Addison's twin, Zion, who passed away in utero.  The sprinkled water of baptism is God's prescribed visible expression of his assurance that we are cleansed through the scandalous wounds, shed blood, and death of Jesus on the cross.  God knows and chooses us long before we are coneceived.  He told Jeremiah, 'Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.'  Scripture makes it clear that God delights in children, especially pre-born children.  Could there be special grace for those who are taken home to their heavenly Father before they are born?  John Newton, an eighteenth-century Anglican and the author of hymns such as 'Amazing Grace,' wrote, 'I cannot be sorry for the death of infants.  How many storms do they escape!  Nor can I doubt, in my private judgment, that they can be included in the election of grace.  Perhaps those who die in infancy are the exceeding great multitude of all people, nations, and languages mentioned [in Revelation 7:9] in distinction from the visible body of professing believers who were marked on their foreheads and openly known to be the Lord's.'  The gospel, made visible through the sacraments and heard through preaching, is God's gracious provision for the storms that Beau, Beka, and every one of us will not escape.

Then there was Tuesday.  We came home from a long day of work to flowers on our front porch.  There were from someone in our church, someone we know but don't really know well.  And they were a beautiful gift from the Body of Christ, which grieves when we grieve and rejoices when we rejoice.  The card said it so simply and so profoundly at the same time:

Four small roses in your hearts: three will bloom here, and one will bloom in Heaven. 

Indeed.  And amen.