patient

 my heart longs for you

then drifts away.

i pour my sorrows at your feet,

and then forget to pray.

i marvel at your faithfulness,

then turn and complain.

and yet through all of this,

you are patient with me.

break

 

is it wrong

that i just want a break?

it was a random Wednesday

when they sent me to labor and delivery

and told me I’d be having a baby

six weeks early.

now we’ve been living in a hospital

for weeks

and we know our way around,

we know the staff and the routines.

the plans on my calendar

all erased,

now I’m sitting here in this new life

in this strange place-

this hospital room,

the only home you’ve ever known,

with other babies crying all around,

and strangers coming in 

pressing their cold stethoscopes to your skin

startling you awake from sleep,

you cry and fuss and the monitors beep,

baby girl, don’t forget to breathe.

we weigh you before and after

every time you try to feed

to see how much you took

and how much you still need,

they give it to you through a tube

as you sleep.

hooked up to all of these machines,

this is not how it should be.

I’m learning how to take care of you,

you’re learning to live outside the womb.

we’re in this together

and there’s no going back. 

you’re beautiful,

but you cost everything I have.

I feel exhausted

and my body aches.

it breaks my heart to leave you all alone,

but sometimes being here feels like more than I can take.

am i a bad mom

if I just want a break?

tired

 

carry me, Lord,

I am so tired.

I want with all my heart

to follow after you,

to love and serve

and walk the narrow path,

but I don’t know

if I can take another step.

help me, Holy Spirit,

to lay down my pride.

replace “I have to be able to do this”

with “I trust God to provide.”

I’m exhausted and I see no end,

carry me, Jesus,

be my friend.

daughter

 

daughter, I promise that I always 

will be there for you.

I’ll love you however you feel

and I’ll love you whatever you do.

I’ll come close when you cry

and I will give you what you need.

I’ll hold you tight and sing to you

as you fall asleep.

daughter, you’re loved already,

you don’t have to prove yourself to me.

now and always, you can know

you have a family.

daughter, I’ll hold you steady

when you can’t hold up your head,

I’ll comfort you and clean you up

when you make a big mess.

I’ll try hard to be patient,

gentle, loving, tender, kind,

but I know that I will fail you

and break these promises sometimes.

it breaks my heart to see you hurt

and to know that it’s my fault 

or that I cannot fix what’s wrong

or control what happens in your world.

but when I’m paralyzed with guilt

and I’ve made a big mess,

I know that I’m a daughter too

of one who’ll never break a promise.

He’ll clean me up and hold me close

and love me like I love you,

but perfectly, and so I pray

He’ll be your Father too.

watching your every movement

the smiles that flicker across your face,

holding and caring for you

I’m amazed God would love me like this-

would care for all my joys and hurts

and intimately know my frame.

He loves the weak and helpless

and He calls them by their name.

healing garden

i step into a garden

and smell the sweet fragrance

of flowers.

i see trees in an orchard

on the hill above,

swaying to the music

of the gentle breeze.

peace, be still.

there is a master composer

that wrote creation's lovely song.

i hold your tiny body

close to me,

and we feel each others' warmth.

you curl up tight

and listen to the soft drumbeat

of my heart.

remembering the womb,

you are at home.

peace, be still.

there is a creator

that knit this perfect gift together.

and though this world is broken,

and birth is toil and pain,

even here in this hospital

i see your mercies on display.

the gift of modern medicine,

the kindness of nurses and volunteers,

whoever planted this garden

for the families that are here.

the love of friends who visit us,

the beauty of your sweet face

and the time we spend together,

all illustrations of your grace.

i am so prone to worry

and forget your loving care-

so many things could all go wrong

but in these small mercies i remember-

you have carried us through the storm

and we are here.

your eyes are on the sparrows

and the flowers

and you know the number of our hairs.

teach me how to trust you

in the little moments every day.

teach me through these worries

how to pray.

homecoming

 after the delivery, I am left

with bruises, scars, and trauma.

dazed, confused, and wondering

"what just happened to me?"

i wasn't ready.

after the delivery, you have to leave

too soon,

poked and prodded

and robbed of the time 

 they call golden.

in those moments,

I just felt numb.

you heard beeping monitors

and babies' cries

instead of my heartbeat,

instead of coming home.

i have never felt more strong,

and i've never felt more broken.

never been so grateful to be alive,

never longed so much for heaven.

one day you will come home,

and we'll be terrified and proud.

we will dress and change you

with no wires to work around.

we will see your beautiful face

from your feeding tube unbound.

it's only a small picture

of one day truly coming home,

when he tenderly will wipe away

these hot tears that run down.

and no more babies will be all alone

because mom and dad can't come.

and no parents will have to say

goodbye too soon.

for now, I'll go ahead and cry

because this world is cursed and broken,

and blessed are those who mourn-

who long and hope for heaven.

the cool of the morning

In the cool of the morning,

you speak peace to me

as I sit on the roof

under the mango tree.

Relief from the heavy

Honduran heat,

I watch the city wake up

under blue mountain peaks.

Hear the chatter of roosters,

the Spanish of neighbors,

as my mind composes

these sweet love letters.

In the cool of the morning,

fresh mercies I see,

in the foreign I feel you

more completely.

to the glass child

I came across a term recently called "glass child," which online can be described as

• the sibling of someone with a disability. The disabled sibling needs most of their parents’ attention, leaving the glass child neglected.
• Glass children are often hyper-independent, feel pressure to be perfect, and struggle with setting boundaries and people-pleasing.

What follows are thoughts and reflections (not complete or especially well-written, probably to be added to later since I need to go to bed) as I think about it.

to the glass child,

i see you

the summer before second grade

crying in the back seat of the car,

nestled beside your little brother's car seat

and hidden behind your big brother's wheelchair.

i see you

with your face to the window

trying to cry so softly no one would know

as you pull out of the driveway

and realize you're not coming back.

why did you try

so hard to be invisible?

your parents were rock stars -

they say it takes a special person

to raise a child with special needs,

and they were.

faced with the reality

of a lifetime of caring,

bathing, feeding, changing

someone who will never speak,

who will never be able to say thank you

or "I love you, too."

truly loving,

never complaining.

selflessly, cheerfully meeting physical needs.

you didn't know

that you were needy, too.

you could feed yourself, dress yourself, bathe yourself,

deal with emotions all by yourself.

i see you now,

i see you were never meant to.

i see you,

straight-A student, counselor friend, the "good influence,"

never feeling good enough -

and the things that you can do,

and the ways that you can help

are not what give you value.

i see you,

carrying it all by yourself,

trying to make everyone happy,

to save your friends who are depressed.

there are people with bigger problems than yours-

of all people, you know this.

you didn't tell your parents

the first time you had a panic attack

in the darkness of your room-

heart palpitating,

hyperventilating,

hot and cold and nauseous

and wondering if you're going to die-

thinking maybe you want to,

and trying to cry softly enough

that you don't wake anyone up.

you are not the child with special needs,

but you are special,

you are important too,

and you have needs,

and you are just a child.

i see you

walking through the hallway at school,

cuts on your skin

still stinging under your clothes,

teachers' comments about how you were always smiling,

so talented,

such a delight to have in class.

friends asking you how you were so happy all the time.

you were still that kid 

in the back of the car,

no one knew was crying.

why did you try so hard

to be invisible?

i see you,

and i wish i could go back in time

and hold you on those nights

and hug you on those days.

you could not save your friends,

and you could not save yourself,

and you were not meant to.

glass child,

you longed to be known,

and always thought it was your fault

that they saw through you.

you were a child

and it is not your fault

that you didn't know

how to be one.

to be a child is to be needy,

that's why Jesus loved the children.

dear glass child,

this is only part of the puzzle

of what has formed you.

you learned good things, too-

looking through the lens of your parents love

for your brother,

you finally understood God's unconditional love for you,

that his love for you is not based on what you can do,

for God must love Peter dearly,

and He can love you too-

not because of your performance

but because you are His child.

you learned good things-

to love and accept people who are different,

and see the value in all people.

someday, you will see it in yourself as well.

in struggling,

you learned empathy and compassion

that made you a kind friend

and caring teacher.

as a child, you prayed that God would heal your brother,

and thought, maybe if I pray every day,

then God will do it.

you learned that sometimes the answer to prayer is "no,"

and suffering is part of God's plan.

you maybe learned quicker than most

that this world is fallen,

broken.

you wondered about heaven

and what it would be like to see your brother walk,

and what your conversation would be like

when he could talk to you for the first time.

it still makes you feel guilty

for not spending more time with him.

as a teen,

you wondered if you would truly see your brother there-

how salvation works for infants who die

and those who seem as though

they can not cognitively understand the Gospel.

you learned that this is mysterious,

the Bible doesn't say for sure,

but it does say that salvation is not of man but of the Lord,

what is impossible with man is certainly possible for God

and that you can always trust Him to do what is right.

and so you trust.

his ways are higher than your ways

and his thoughts are higher than your thoughts.

you cling to the words

"now we see in a mirror dimly,

but then face to face.

Now I know in part;

then I shall know fully

even as I have been fully known."

glass child,

your faith is stronger,

heart is fuller for these things.

you may be made of glass,

but you take comfort

in being fully known

and fully seen by God.

you used to think that because God

is supposed to be enough for you,

you don't need other people,

self-righteously refusing help

when really you were afraid

and didn't have the vocabulary

to be vulnerable.

you are still learning

to let yourself be seen-

that God's plan for his people

is to be a people, a body, a church

that bears one another's burdens,

that is the hands and feet

and arms of Christ

wrapping around those in despair.

you are learning

that your role in this place

is not only to be needed

but to be needy.

your neediness itself

is needed,

is a blessing.

what a blessing, O sinner, to know

you- yes, you

 are completed disabled,

unable to do anything

to be right before God,

or to gain His love.

What a blessing to know

that the people he moved toward

are the blind, the lame, the mute, the sick, the sinner, the child,

the helpless.

so if you feel helpless, not good enough,

you're right where you need to be

to know the heart of God for you.

to be a child is to be needy,

and Jesus still loves the children.

it's not too late

to be born again,

to be like a child before him.