Category Archives: jessica

New Cars Symbolizing Death

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We bought a car yesterday. A nice car. A car that I’d never buy. It’s a 2012 Jetta Sportwagen diesel. Jess and I would never buy this car. But we just did.

We buy junkers. We buy used Hyundai Accents, we buy old Chevy minivans with 100,000 miles on them, we buy cheap older cars. That’s just what we do.

But things have changed. Our old minivan is done. At 200,000+ miles the AC doesn’t work, the windows don’t roll down, one sliding door is permanently shut (because it’ll randomly open on its own while driving on the freeway!), the gas gauge doesn’t work, the brake lights do not work, the cruise control does not work, it needs new brakes and tires, and-oh did I mention-it’s got some engine and transmission work that needs to be done. So we knew we needed something soon. We also knew that when/if I die Jess would cash purchase a new car with her life insurance money. But I’m not dead yet…

So to make a short story shorter, in the end we realized that now was the time for me to be able to care for my wife by purchasing a car together that she was going to have to purchase on her own–to buy her “my husband is gone, I don’t want to worry about cars right now or for the immediate future, I just want to care for my children and recover” car. That “car” has good gas mileage (we hope to keep her monthly overhead costs low if/when I pass), it’s got to have space for children and their bikes/toys/camping trips/etc., it’s got to be a good quality car that’ll last her ’till our kids are in high school, and it’s got to be a newer car that won’t be breaking down often and thus demanding more of her time. She doesn’t care about bells, whistles, shiny things–just those practical things. That’s the car that we realized we must buy now. This week. Today. Ok, as it turns out, yesterday.

There’s just one problem…

I’m not dead!

That life insurance money is not there to fork over in cash for her ‘ideal’ car! How do you buy a car that you can only afford if you die? To be honest we don’t quite have the answer to that question. I won’t go into details regarding the deal we got on the car (though we got a good one thanks to an important connection) and I’ll honestly say that we’re still figuring out what it looks like to be able to afford it–but what I will say is that buying this car is messing me up. It’s messing Jess up. (and this is where I really want this blog to land)

Purchasing this car feels symbolic. It’s the beginning of a new life: a new life for a single mother who has lost her husband and has a new set of needs that demands a new type of car. It’s symbolic of me being gone and of her being alone. I almost feel like by purchasing this car I have given up on living! ‘Cause lets be honest, I’m not sure we can afford this car unless I die! I had better fork over that cash at some point during the life of this loan. Ha. When all was said and done at the dealership and we both had a moment to reflect we found ourselves honestly sad. What had we done? It wasn’t buyers remorse. No, it was the symbolism. We had just taken our first giant and tangible step forward into a post-Ryan world…and…well…it’s weird. I should probably have a better word than “weird” as a descriptor here. I’m sure real writers would use better words but at this moment it feels right. It just feels weird. It doesn’t feel bad because I know that at its core this is a moment where I was able to care for my wife in a very real way: I just freed her of having to do this whole experience on her own (and oh what an experience it was at the dealership!!). No, there was something beautiful about this stepping out together–but it was is very hard and very…weird. It feels weird to drive such a nice car–we don’t drive cars like this. It feels weird not drive a minivan anymore–we love minivans. It feels weird to call it my wife’s car–it’s always been “us”. It feels weird.

It is weird to continually try to figure out what it looks like to live in the tension of reality as it is and reality as we hope it to be. I hope that we end up having to restructure our loan because I miraculously don’t die. I hope that reality as it appears is not reality as it turns out. I hope to live and I know that God can bring this about. but. But. BUT I feel invited to step out in faith, to let go of any semblance of control by being ok with death. By being ok with preparing my wife for my death. By being ok with purchasing a car in preparation of my death. I don’t like it. It’s weird. It makes me sad. It worries me. I hate death. Death sucks. Death is the ultimate enemy. Buying new cars sucks. Car dealerships are enemies sidekicks. But (and there have been a lot of “buts” in this post haven’t there?!) my faith is in Jesus–not in healing, not in an easy life, not in a life that I expect but instead in the story he chooses to tell in and through me. If a new Jetta Sportwagen tdi is a part of that story…cool. Weird, but cool.

So…all that is to say…my wife got a new car yesterday.

Happy Mother’s Day Jessica

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How in the world am I to write this blog? Yesterday I slogged through telling my mom how much I loved her. That was hard (and rewarding). But to attempt to capture today my love for my wife–for the mother of my children–kill me now. There are not enough words, I don’t have enough words, there aren’t enough tissues to catch my tears as I sit beside her in bed attempting to write.

The problem, and at some point this might be considered unhealthy, is that there’s no me without her. Our lives, our identities, our stories are completely enmeshed. We literally only have a few stories that are not shared. Our lives have and will continue to be done together in every sense of the word until we’re forced apart. What’s clearly so hard is that we genuinely never thought that we’d be forced apart. Not like this. Not this early.

Anyway, I realize that I wrote this blog (the blog that I’m fighting against writing all over again right now, the blog that attempts yet again to tell her how amazing and wonderful and loved she is…) a little over a week ago too, so today instead of re-writing that blog I will focus on why my wife is quite possibly the most amazing parent you’ll ever run into. No joke. No hyperbole. She really is that amazing.

Jess truly, above all else, values people. She values children. She values them as human beings, as people with dignity, with inherent worth, and as creatures filled with life and significance. This alone sets her far above the rest of us. To Jess children are not things to be controlled, they are beautiful short people needing to be empowered and listened to. Jess spends much of her time cultivating an environment in our home where our kids feel safe and loved, where they know that their feelings are valid, and where they are confident in exploring new ideas. Rather than seeking control Jessica invites our children to look for answers and to explore ideas that they’re intrigued by. She’s always encouraging and inviting them into new experiences…and it’s a beautiful thing.

One defining thing about my wife, something that not only defines her as a mom but as a human being is that she makes every moment special and unique. If she makes pancakes they’re going to be in shape of dinosaurs. If the sets the table there will be little notes to say why our kids are special. If she’s showering while the kids eat she’ll place all their food on special trays and setup a mini-picnic upstairs. If we go on road trips she works tirelessly to think of games, activities, and little gifts that’ll make the time go by. If she does something she’s going to transform it into something special and specifically tailored to the person(s) she’s caring for. ‘Cause the thing is: Jess notices everything. With her nothing is wasted. No moment is left behind because she’s always attentive to what is happening, to how this moment can be a blessing to her children, to her husband, or to another. She remembers what you love, she remembers what you said about this that or the other, she remembers how special something made you feel and she’ll remember it next time so as to bless you with it. She’s always remembering her children and how to love them more fully. Jones and India’s feelings, thoughts, opinions, reactions, etc. are never wasted or forgotten. They are stored up and dwelt on, they are remembered and built on, and they are used to care for them in whatever ways are available as time moves on. As a person who does not pay good attention to much, I view this as a nearly miraculous gift!

Jess fills Christmas stockings better than any person i’ve ever seen. Enough said.

Jess knows and loves children’s books. Our kids have hundreds and hundreds thanks to her…which I should say is directly correlated to our children having a love of books…thanks to her.

My children have always eaten healthy thanks to her.

My kids have feeling journals thanks to her. How cool is that?

Jess makes my kids awesome treats: gluten free chocolate chip cookies that are to die for are at the top of the list.

While Jess’ forte is in creating special moments, the last year especially has been filled with monotony. Care-taking is not a job that leaves much space for uniqueness and creativity. And, again, while I am attempting to not make this blog about how amazing Jess is towards me, it is hard not to pause here to say that the way she has stepped up to care for me in my sickness has been nothing short of perfect. She has carried our family. She has stepped into the boring and not-so-exciting duties of taking care of a sick dad and showing compassion for emotionally exhausted children. Because the reality is that our children are not the same today that they were a year and a half ago (understatement of the year right?). Behaviorally they have regressed, emotionally they’re more volatile, India is back in pull ups, Jones is no longer able to regulate (there are some special needs here I’m referring to), and Jess is the one who tirelessly works to love us all through this. In the midst of my sickness Jess has worked countless hours figuring out Jones’ health care (he’s on separate insurance than the rest of us), she was the one who made sure our kids were in play therapy, she’s the one who takes Jones to his occupational therapy, she’s the one who makes sure they’re still seeing a dentist, she’s the one who has had to maneuver through our kids’ newly discovered fruit allergy (not sure I can communicate how big of a ‘maneuver’ this is/was), she’s the one who is making sure that ALL of us are having our practical needs met. It is too much for one mom to carry…and yet she does it gracefully and without ever (ever!) complaining about it.

I’ve got to stop. Again, like I said yesterday about my own mother, I could write on and on. I have been blessed to have two (three if you count my daughter) beautiful women in my life who far exceed a persons normal expectation for love and care. And I could literally write paragraph after paragraph ’till my tears (yes, the ones that are still flowing) dried up.

Above all Jess makes people feel loved…and it’s because she’s truly a person filled with love. Jess is one of the most capable people I know. She can do anything she puts her mind to (I really mean that). It terrifies me to think of leaving her behind, to think of her being a single mom, to think of her without me–but it’s not in any way, shape, or form because I think she can’t handle it. No, I’ve got no question that like everything else she touches, she will invite God’s love, grace, and imagination into her parenting as a single mom of our two amazing children. The reason it terrifies me is just because I know how hard it is going to be…and I know how hard she is already working…and I just want her to receive some rest. She deserves a rest. In every way Jess is capable, in every way Jess is built to succeed and to be a conduit of love and compassion for children who are in crisis and suffering. But does it have to be so?! Like I said in the beginning: Jess is my partner. There is no me without her, there is no her without me, our children only know an us…and until the us is just her I will continue to celebrate the gift God has given me of doing life and parenthood with the most beautiful, gracious, loving, compassionate, creative, memory-making, generous, hard-working mother I’ve ever seen. One day she’ll have to do it without me–and when she does she’ll do it beautifully (as she does in every avenue of life)–but until then she’s stuck with me!

I love you Jess and I feel guilty for being blessed beyond all others to walk this path with you. Jones and India are the luckiest children to have such an amazing mom. Please don’t ever ever forget it. You are incredibly special.

"The Fence of Matthew Shepard"–Reposted Blog

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Richard Beck has not only written a great book that I’m almost all the way through but he’s also an exception blogger. His blog this morning struck me and made me ask myself “am I any different?”

“It’s gay awareness week.”

That’s what the killers said to Matthew Shepard before brutally beating and torturing him.

Eighteen hours after the prolonged beating a cyclist found Matthew, alive but unconscious, hanging on a fence (pictured right).

The cyclist initially mistook Matthew for a scarecrow.

Matthew was taken to Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. We was in a coma. The autopsy later revealed that Matthew had been struck in the head 18 times with a pistol causing severe brain-stem damage. Matthew never regained consciousness. He died at 12:53 a.m. on October 12, 1998. He was twenty-two years old.

The Westboro Baptist Church attended Matthew’s funeral.

They held up signs.

“No Tears for Queers”

“Fag Matt in Hell”Many of us recall the news coverage of Matthew Shepard’s death. The outcry was enormous, eventually leading to advocacy groups requesting that attacks made on the basis of sexual orientation be added to the federal definition of a hate crime. After numerous setbacks and a great deal of political posturing the legislation was finally passed in 2009 by the US Senate and House. President Obama signed the bill into law on October 28, 2009, eleven years after Matthew’s death.

…

People wonder from time to time why I write about the relationship between the gay community and the Christian church. It’s not a comfortable topic where I live and work. But the answer is pretty simple.

I’m haunted by the scarecrow hanging on the fence.

In James Cone’s recent book The Cross and the Lynching Tree he makes the argument that the cross and the lynching tree need to form a dialectic. If the two are separated the cross becomes innocuous and meaningless. As Cone writes:

Unfortunately, during the course of 2,000 years of Christian history, this symbol of salvation has been detached from any reference to the ongoing suffering and oppression of human beings…The cross has been transformed into harmless, non-offensive ornament that Christians wear around their neck.Cone argues that during the Civil Rights struggle the Christian symbol of salvation should have been, though it was not, connected with the lynching tree–an actual and ongoing location of human oppression and cruelty. For when the two become separated–when the cross hung around our neck or in our church fails to bring to mind current and ongoing locations of cruelty in our world–then the Christian faith has lost its way.

The cross, to be a truly Christian symbol, must bring to mind the lynching trees of the world.

Christ hangs from the cross as Blacks hung from trees. As Matthew Shepard hung from a fence.

Cursed scarecrows all.

As it says in the Good Book: “Anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse.” (Deut. 21.23)

Until we see Jesus standing with the cursed we will never understand the central symbol of our faith nor what it means to be a Christian.

Saul falls on his face on the road to Damascus. He looks into the blinding light and asks, “Who are you Lord?” And the reply comes: “I am one you are persecuting.”

Jesus hangs on the crosses of the world, from the trees and from the fences. It is as Elie Wiesel describes in his memoir Night. After watching a young boy hanged by the Nazis in the concentration camp:

Behind me, I heard a man asking:

“Where is God now?”

And I heard a voice within me answer him:

“Where is He? He is–He is hanging here on this gallows…”I don’t want to be read as drawing a strict equivalence between the history of African-Americans in the United States and that of the gay community. I don’t want to put sorrows in the balance. Gay persons are not being lynched and hung from the trees as Blacks were in the Jim Crow south. Because of this we might conclude that the fence of Matthew Shepard is an isolated incident, a crime committed by two hateful and deranged individuals. That the death of Matthew Shepard has nothing to do with me, has nothing to do with you, has nothing to do with the church.

And yet. And yet. I am haunted by the fence of Matthew Shepard.

As I reflect on my Christian walk I often ponder this question: If I had lived in Nazi Germany would I have stood up for the Jews?

Most Christians didn’t. And as I psychologist I’m familiar with studies like the Sanford Prison study and the Milgram Obedience study. I’m aware that normal, god-fearing people can do horrible things when pressure is put upon them.

So what makes me so special? Statistically speaking, odds are I would have made a good Nazi.

I also think a lot about the Civil Rights Movement in the US. I ask myself: If I had lived in the South would I have marched with Martin Luther King, Jr.? As Cone asks, would the cross in my church have made me think of the lynching trees in my nation? Would I have seen the connection?

Again, most Christians didn’t.

And I keep wondering. Am I any different? What makes me think I’d be a courageous agent of light in those circumstances? Odds are I’d be just like everyone else.

And then I think about the fence of Matthew Shepard.

Let me tell you what keeps me up at night. My deepest fear in life is that I’m going to end up on the wrong side of God’s history. Like so many Christians before me. My fear is that a moment will come when I am asked to stand up for those hanging on the trees, literally and symbolically, and I’ll respond with “That has nothing to do with me. That has nothing to do with the church.”

Where are the cursed scarecrows of this world? And does the sight of the cross bring them to mind?

I’ve read a lot of books and written a lot of words about Christian theology. But really, it’s all pretty simple.

Jesus hangs from crosses, from trees and fences.

And to see that, like Saul on the Road to Damascus, is the day of your conversion.

The day you become a Christian.

Happy Birthday My Love

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My wife was born twenty-eight years ago yesterday. That was a very good day…for everyone but her mom who had to do the whole birth thing…which is beautiful in retrospect but kind of painful (so I hear) in process.

For the last eleven years and ten months we’ve been a something. For the last eight years and a few months we’ve been even more. For the last seven years we’ve learned how to love each other as we learn to love and lead people. For the last six years and a few months we’ve figured out how to love each other with kids and minivans. For the last nine months we’ve learned how to be partners in leading a movement. For the last five months we’ve discovered a deeper sense of commitment to each other than the previous eleven combine.

All throughout, from when we started dating on Y2K to today she has ever been my friend and partner. She causes me to laugh more than any other person and brings me great joy. But it’s been the last five months that she’s had to give virtually everything…

She’s been a single parent, caring for our two high-energy, amazing kids virtually on her own. Taking them to doctors appointments, scheduling biopsy surgeries, taking them to occupational therapy, play therapy, and school all on her own. She’s been a chauffeur for our whole family, driving me to physical therapy, radiation therapy, appointments with my oncologist, radiologist, naturopath, brain surgeon, and phlebotomist among others. She’s been my nurse, at times giving me regular acupuncture in my feet, giving me shots in my stomach, preparing my food, helping me down the stairs, and helping me figure out my pills. She’s been forced into farming, caring for our fish, our cat, our dog, and our chickens…none of which she truly cares about. She’s endured my moodiness, my varying pain threshold, my sleepiness, my vile body odor, and the random water weight that seems to creep up my face and arm pits (gross right?). She’s endured and supported our family amidst the unknowness of everything–is it benign or cancerous? Is it bad cancer or not-to-bad cancer? Is it in my brain or not? Is it gone or not? Am I dying or not? Will I walk again or not? Is this the new normal or not? She works as a teacher. She works as a creator of community. She works constantly and looks beautiful all throughout!

If you were sitting in Mon Ami (the cafe by our home) where Jess is sitting only three tables away with one of her friends, you’d see me awkwardly tearing up as I think about how blessed I am to be partners with such an amazing woman. I have no idea how long we’ll be blessed to walk this earth together but I can be certain that every moment spent with her is one more than I deserve and I am learning to cherish each and every single experience with the most lovely, beautiful woman I could ask for.

Happy birthday Jess!

A Letter to the Perverts

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I want to use words in this post that would not be appropriate for this venue. They may not be typed out, but they are being screamed out from this side of the computer screen. You’re disgusting, you’re perverted, and if I met you right now I’d want to hurt you in many ways. I know that you do it because you’ve been so badly hurt, I know that there are probably reasons for your perversions, for your twisted view of pleasure and what is normal. But right now I’m just furious and don’t want to think about the fact that God loves you, Jesus died for you, and all that wonderfully true stuff.

In many ways it is my fault. We are in the process of backing up all our home photos on Flickr. And it turns out I wasn’t paying good attention as I was uploading the first 5000 photos. I uploaded some of my kids naked. You know, bathtub pictures, diaper changing pictures, etc. As it turns out any picture that had any form of my naked children has received numerous views. And by “any form” I mean even upper thigh, naked baby butt, and hospital newborn photos. It sickens me to think of the perverts looking at the naked pictures of my children, but I’ve done everything I can (deleted them from the account) to prevent it from happening any more. Part of what sickens me too is that some of “those” people have been in my family. I’ve eaten Thanksgiving lunch with “those” people. And many of “those” people live in these neighborhoods that we will be planting a church in.

Sick.

I know Jesus loves you…

But you’re sick.

May God one day redeem you from your perversion.