Who will Luke and Wyatt be when they grow up, move out and hit the world on their own two feet (or four feet, collectively)? What passions will drive them? What character traits will define them? What mark will they leave on the world?
As a part of Baby Dedication at our church we challenge families to parent with the end in mind. So often we parent by reaction, making split second decisions based on whatever is going on right now. Whatever situation or need is directly in front of us. We rarely spend time reflecting on the long range goals that we want for our kids.
When we don’t have a long range picture in our mind, we tend to make decisions based on questions like: How can I make them happy right now? How can I keep them from being made fun of or being hurt? How can I make them think their dad is cool (who am i kidding…this one’s easy)? Or any other number of questions that seem very crucial and important in the moment but will inevitably prove to be far less significant in the long run.
The truth is, sometimes the greatest lessons they will learn will be through being hurt or being made fun of. Sometimes they will tell me that they hate me because I am more dedicated to guarding their heart than I am to being liked by them. Sometimes what will make them the happiest in the short term will make them miserable in the long term.
So, all that being said, here’s a brief list of a few things we are hoping, praying and aiming for as parents to Luke and Wyatt:
We hope that you will be able to sleep through the night and use the bathroom by yourself (Okay so, this one’s not quite so long term…but it sure seems important)
We hope you will be deeply grounded in your faith and that your passion for following Jesus will challenge and push us, as your parents, to trust God more.
We hope you will learn from your mistakes and know you are deeply loved, even in your darkest and stupidest moments
We hope you will truly enjoy life. Being able to laugh at yourself and the situations you find yourself in.
We hope that your joy will run deeper than your circumstances. That you would see through the lies that this world will whisper in your ear, telling you that you need to be smarter, stronger, richer, more attractive, or more powerful. That you would find all that you truly need in the love and grace of Jesus.
We hope that you will be independent and courageous. Standing up for what is right and what is true even when it’s difficult and unpopular to do so.
We hope that you will know what it means to love, cherish and respect a woman and that you will be patient as you wait for the one you will walk through life with.
We hope that, as you grow and mature, that your relationships with your brothers and your sister would do the same. That you would laugh with each other when times are good and lean on each other when times are bad. That you would find, in each other some of your deepest and most significant friendships.
We hope that you will be the kind of Dad that your kids will be proud of. That you would live a life worth emulating, as they will certainly walk in your footsteps.
Really, most of these are not specific to Luke and Wyatt and are goals that we have for all of our kids. As they grow older and we begin to better recognize their distinct giftings and personalities, we hope to make more detailed and specific goals for each of them.
Hopefully reading this may spark some thoughts for your own family. I encourage you to write those things down and share them with others and even with your kids someday. I know I really look forward to handing our kids a ton of letters, blog posts, and notepads that we have written throughout their lives outlining all of the hopes and dreams Erin and I had in our hearts from each of them.
I’ve been planning on writing this for some time now but I knew I had to get the timing right. Letting enough time pass that I could actually tell the story in it’s entirety and not feel overwhelmed or crushed by it, but not letting so much time pass that I’d forget some of the experiences and feelings that were so defining during those uncertain days and nights.
Also, I‘m breaking the cardinal rule of blogging by posting something that is ridiculously long. It may be helpful to think of it more as a really, really short book as opposed to an absurdly long blog post. But this story, in all of its detail, has become very important to us and we wanted it written down so we could look back on it, remember how it changed us and, one day, share it with our kids. We also wanted to lay everything before all of you as we have been seeking to live transparent lives. There are parts of this story that do not shine brightly on me. They show me in my weakest and most frightened moments. I share them so that, in some way, my weaknesses will show Christ to be strong.
I hope that this story resonates with you. I hope it makes you grateful and helps you to see life differently, as it has done for us. But mostly I hope it points you to the God who has been so faithful and loving to us, each and every day of our lives, and not just in the shiny, happy ones.
Since it’s a little long, I’ve provided a PDF copy here – A Few Days In March – If you’d prefer to print it out and read it.
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Alone
It was sometime after 1 AM on Thursday. I’m not really sure when exactly. The room was completely dark, with the exception of the streetlights outside streaking through the blinds and across my face. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, my head on a stiff, hospital issue pillow that was now soaked from tears, sweat and any other fluids that accompany extreme emotion. There was a bitter taste in my mouth beginning to make me nauseous. I assume it had something to do with the adrenaline still coursing through my body after the horrific events of the last several hours. I was alone.
Just about 36 hours earlier, I was in the car listening to Fun’s Aim and Ignite album when one of my favorite tracks, “The Gambler,” came on. It’s a surprisingly beautiful and deeply emotional song in the middle of an otherwise playful album. It tells the story of a man and a woman who fall in love, get married, have children and grow old together. It’s a truly captivating song with a very dark and unexpected turn in the middle…
To think that I nearly lost you
When the doctors tried to take you away.
Like the night you took my hand beside the fire
30 years ago to this day
You swore you’d be here ’til we decide that it’s our time Well it’s not time, you never quit in all your life. So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side…
I haven’t been able to listen to that song since then. I didn’t know it at the time, but those lyrics would haunt me for the next several days. Providing a somewhat torturous soundtrack for the darkest moments of my life.
Mountains And Valleys
Tuesday afternoon, around 5 PM, Erin and I headed to the hospital. Her doctors had decided to induce labor because of some tests that had come back showing she was pre-eclamptic. We were excited and grateful since she was exhausted from carrying these two babies for the past 38 weeks and I was pretty tired of driving down to the hospital every couple days just to sit around for a few hours and be sent home. The excitement soon turned into extreme boredom, as the next 20 hours were rather uneventful. Although we did have a witty, extroverted nurse named Stacy to keep us company most of the day on Wednesday.
Extroverts are amazing in situations like that. I would be the worst nurse ever. I’m super-uncomfortable around new people, not to mention my medical knowledge extends about as far as my interest in cats. Just to be clear…not far.
Stacy kept telling us that she tries to never remember patient’s names because she doesn’t want to accidentally violate patient privacy laws…something about hippos. Not sure what the hippos will do to you, but I hear they are vicious animals and surprisingly agile. Anyway, Erin was determined to be remembered. So, it became a running joke throughout the day. Needless to say, Stacy remembers Erin now.
Around 1 PM the following day our twin boys, Luke and Wyatt, were born. It was really a remarkable event to watch. I’d seen the birth of both of our other children but this was something altogether different. It was like a choreographed group dance. There were a lot of people in the room, each playing specific roles and trying not to step on each other’s toes. We were really excited that Dr. Lewis-Boardman was able to be there. (Who, by the way, will henceforth be referred to as Dr. Lewis #1 for brevity’s sake and to avoid confusion in the storyline. But don’t call her that in person though, it would probably be weird.) Not only is she at the top of our favorite doctor list, she’s also quite experienced at turning babies in utero during twin births, which is exactly what we needed. Another Dr. Lewis, who we also like but only just recently met, was actually the one who delivered the babies. Luke came out first without a hitch. Then Dr. Lewis #1 was able to turn Wyatt, who was breech at the time, so both babies could be delivered without a C-section. In retrospect, this probably saved Erin’s life, knowing what we know now about DIC. Altogether the delivery was perfect. Well, Erin may not call it perfect since her epidural wasn’t really working and she was in excruciating pain. But I felt great, so from my perspective, it was perfect.
We were both breathing sighs of relief. We had made it through. All the things we had feared were behind us and now we could just relax and enjoy getting to spend some quality time with our boys. We returned to our room, introduced my parents to their newest grandchildren. And simply enjoyed our first few hours together. We were both exhausted. So my parents decided to go back to the house to let us get some sleep. And so we settled in to take a nap, completely unaware that all hell was about to break loose.
We never really got to sleep. Erin wasn’t feeling very good and what had started as a little more blood than expected was quickly becoming a much bigger concern. Dr. McLean came to our room to check things out for herself. Erin was dosed with a pretty hefty drug that sent her into a rather loopy/sleepy state for the examination. The doctor found, what seemed to me, to be an insane amount of blood clots that had formed. Shortly afterwards, she made the call to take Erin into the OR for a DNC procedure that would most likely get rid of whatever it was that was causing the bleeding and clotting. And while this wasn’t routine, it still seemed that the situation was under control and not too serious yet. At least it seemed that way to me, maybe I was in denial, I’m not totally sure. But, when they rolled the bed out of the room and left me sitting on that stiff hospital couch holding Wyatt in my arms with his brother in the crib close by, it almost seemed like someone whispered in my ear…”Brace yourself, this is not what you think it is.”
Waiting
My knees were shaking as I paced around the room. I was sure I was over reacting and just needed to relax. I kept telling myself that I didn’t need to be overly concerned yet. But that freakin’ song was cycling through in my head. My parents called and asked if they should come up to the hospital and I told them, yes. I really didn’t want to be alone at that point. Shortly after they arrived, we were transferred out of the Labor and Delivery room and over to a Postpartum room. It was eerily spacious and empty without a big hospital bed in the middle of it. We moved all our stuff, providing a brief distraction from the waiting, which I was grateful for. But I could still feel my heart racing. I just wanted to know something. I don’t know how long it had been but it felt like an eternity. And then the double doors in the hallway opened.
Dr. McLean walked out and when my eyes met with hers my heart hit the floor. I immediately saw from the look in her eyes that I was not going to want to hear what she had to say. She called me over and I could feel my hands beginning to shake. “She’s not doing well. It doesn’t look good.” Every word felt like a kick in the gut with a steel-toed boot. I remember feeling my whole body shaking and being unable to control it. As we sat down, she began to explain that Erin was losing blood very fast and that they had cleared out everything they could and it wasn’t stopping. She told me that they were replacing her blood with donor blood as fast as possible but it was just running straight through her because her body had exhausted all of it’s clotting factors. She explained that they had ordered plasma and all that they needed to replace the clotting factors but that the blood bank is in Orlando and they were still about 40 minutes out. I began to feel hopeful, thinking that 40 minutes wasn’t that long. But then she continued, explaining that unless something happened to stop or dramatically slow down the bleeding than she wouldn’t live that long. And then came the words that you know are true but you never want to hear from a surgeon…”We are doing everything we can but it’s in God’s hands.”
My head was spinning. I walked back into the room with my parents and began to try and explain the situation. I struggled to speak. I called Brian, my pastor and friend, and let him know what was happening. He told me they were on their way. I knew my next call had to be to her parents. This was the hardest phone call I’ve ever made in my life. How do you tell someone their daughter is dying? Especially knowing that her father had walked through the death of his own wife when she was the exact same age that Erin was now. Her mom answered the phone. I choked back tears as I tried to explain the situation to her. I could hear her crying as she passed the phone to Allen. He could tell the situation wasn’t good and I did my best to explain it to him but I was having a hard time holding it together. He began to pray for me. As he prayed I knew that his heart was breaking too but that he was being strong for me. He had been in my shoes and he knew how I felt. After he was finished, I began to pray for him. There was something powerful that happened during that phone call, something that grounded me.
From the moment I first heard the news from the doctor I knew that no matter how this turned out that it would be a defining moment for me, for my family and for so many that knew and loved us. I remembered the times when Erin and I had prayed that God would use us to show people what it means to trust in God and to walk in faith. How we had said that, no matter what the cost, we wanted to point to Him as our source of hope even if it meant suffering. I thought immediately about the many people that I’d had the privilege of watching in the midst of suffering and confusion. Those who had taught me what it meant to trust God when He really was truly all you had to hold onto. And I knew that this situation, no matter how it turned out, even if it cut me to the core of my soul, was going to be about God’s glory.
I walked back into the room with my parents and a close friend who had just happened to show up right in the midst of the storm and we began to pray. I pleaded with God to save her. For my sake. For our children’s sake. For all those that she has poured herself out for in ministry, in counseling and in friendship. I pleaded with Him to show His strength by reaching into her body and restoring it. I decided at that point that I needed to share the situation on Facebook and ask our friends to pray along with us. I had no idea the extent of the reach that decision would have and I wouldn’t really know until the next day just how far that request carried and how many thousands of people would be dropping to their knees that evening asking God to heal.
Strange Comfort
It was strange. I was surrounded by people who loved me but I still felt isolated and alone. It was surreal, like a dream. I felt like I was standing on the outside of the situation watching all these people walk through this together but I was actually somewhere else. Somewhere no one else could get to.
I remember detaching from the group and just walking around for a while, pacing the hallways. There were some things that I needed to voice to God that were much more private. I didn’t want everyone else in on this part. I needed it to be just Him and me. I asked for the strength to make it through if she died. I asked that He would somehow provide for my children the father that they would need to get them through this, because I didn’t feel like I could do it. I began to think about what I would say when I had to tell Gavin and Kate that their mommy wasn’t coming home. I started to break down. I pushed the thought out of my mind. “We’re not there yet” – I kept telling myself. I began to wonder if I could stay in Clermont or if I would need to move closer to family (a question that would be answered emphatically over the days that followed, as it became evident that we have the most spectacular support system on earth right here and I wouldn’t trade it for anything). I thought about being a single dad of four kids, two of whom were infants. It seemed impossible and overwhelming. I began to think that I might never hear Erin’s voice again. I may never feel her arms around me again. I began to lose it.
And it was then that the Spirit began to speak into my heart. It was like He broke through into that space that I thought no one else could enter into. He brought to mind truths about God that I knew but had never really had to trust like this before. He reminded me that He was in control that evening. That He held Erin in his hands, along with me, and all of our children. That He “works all things according to the counsel of his will (Ephesians 1).” That this was not beyond Him. He reminded me that He had ordained all of my days before I ever knew one of them (Psalm 139:16). And “that in all things God works for the goodof those who love him (Romans 8:28).” All things! Even in this, God was working for my good. I knew that if she died that evening it would be because that was what God wanted. If she were taken from me, it would be God who took her. He was simultaneously my antagonist and my only hope. And knowing that, in a strange way, brought me extraordinary comfort. I needed to know that. I needed to know that this was not random. That this was not a situation that God could simply empathize with but ultimately do nothing about. That He was a God who, according to His own words, could and would ultimately work tragedy into joy…my joy…my children’s joy. That somehow, in some way, whatever happened would be what was best, whether I understood it or not.
That’s not to say that if she had died I would have responded with some Zen, stoic sense of “Well, that’s okay. I’ll get over it.” I’ll be honest, if she had died that night, there would have been some very deep, raw and emotional conversations between God and me. We would have had words about that decision. It may be His will but it was not mine and it would definitely take a while for me to come to terms with that. But even in that part of me that was starting to bow up against my Creator, I still knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he held me in the palm of his hand and he would not let me fall. His sovereignty was a warm blanket for me that night. It was the only thing that gave me comfort and strength. It was all I had to lean on and I can tell you from experience that it was more than enough.
A new song began to run through my mind, Matt Redman’s “Never Once.” The melody and lyrics sank deep into my heart and comforted me that evening.
Heroes And Healing
I returned to the room and sat down and waited. Waiting to hear if my best friend was still alive, if I would ever speak to her again. Waiting to hear if my kids still had a mom. Waiting…
My pastor, Brian, and his wife, Tandy, showed up about this time. They prayed with me and with my family. It meant the world to me that they were there. That they had left in the middle of their Life Group discussion (on the issue of human suffering, of all topics) and rushed over to be with us.
A short time later, the doors opened again. I swear my heart stopped beating. It was the moment that I had been anxiously waiting for and dreading all at the same time. Dr. McLean and Dr. Texier, who had not even been working that evening but came in to assist when things started getting crazy, emerged into the hallway…with big smiles on their faces.
I felt a huge weight begin to lift as I came over to meet them. They walked me back through the hallways to the recovery wing to see her. On the way, they explained some of the details of what went down in that OR. At one point comparing it to the movie 300, trying to explain the amount of blood that was all over the room, the floor, and on the doctors and nurses. Dr. McLean then described what ended up saving Erin’s life. It’s called a Bakri Balloon, and as far as I can tell, it’s little more than an elaborate water balloon that they inflated inside the uterus to apply pressure and stop the bleeding. It’s still a relatively new procedure and she had never actually used one before. She had read about it in a medical journal some time ago and somehow remembered it in the midst of the chaos. The hospital happened to have one, and so, with instructions in hand, they performed the procedure. It slowed down the bleeding enough to keep her alive until the plasma arrived which they had started her on and which seemed to be stopping the bleeding. She was currently stable and actually awake in the recovery area.
I am forever grateful to the doctors and nurses who fought in the OR that night to save Erin’s life. They are heroes. Now, as I said earlier, I whole-heartedly believe that it is God who gives and takes away life and that ultimately Erin’s alive because He wanted her to be. But, whereas sometimes God uses miraculous and supernatural means to heal, other times He miraculously uses the competent hands and brilliant minds of doctors and surgeons. I believe that this was the latter. Still miraculous, still a healing in every sense of the word, but the means He used was orchestrating events in such a way that the right doctors were in the room with the right knowledge and skills and the right presence of mind to think creatively under extreme stress. I thank God for those doctors and others like them who work tirelessly to be excellent at their jobs.
I have said it before but I want to say it again, we absolutely love these doctors more than they could ever realize. If our twins had been girls, they would be named Kristina and Mary Beth (No offense to the other doctors in the practice, but, there’s only two babies in this fictional scenario and we’ve known them longer. Now, if we were having girl quintuplets…Uhhh, actually that sounds scary beyond all reason. I don’t want to think about that.) Moving on…
Brian was able to come back with me to see Erin and talk with her for a while before they moved her over to the ICU. I could tell it was all very odd to her, having no idea the gravity of what had just happened. She was really confused when I told her that her parents were driving down in the middle of the night,and that people from our church where filling up the waiting rooms praying for her. At one point she started to talk to Brian about work related stuff and he just laughed at her and said, ”Uhhh, I think we can talk about that later.” It was strangely normal. She was still a little loopy from the anesthesia and quite sleepy, but very much herself. We left her alone to get some rest and returned to the room to fill everyone in on all that had happened and how she was doing. It was a feeling of relief that was unlike any I have ever felt. Like that first gasp of air after you’ve been holding your breath for a long time.
After they transferred Erin over to the ICU, they came and walked me over to see her again. When we got there I met her “doctor.” He was a robot. I kid you not…a robot. Apparently the ICU Intensivist Doctor for the night shift is an upgraded version of Johnny 5 with a webcam and a LCD screen for a head. On the other side of that screen/camera is, who I assume to be, a very qualified doctor with a remote control, who is monitoring patients throughout the evening hours. It was weird. He filled me in on her current status, although I don’t remember anything he said; only that he was a robot. That’s legitimately all I remember about that encounter.
I sat with Erin for a while but she kept going to sleep so I decided to head back over to the Labor & Delivery wing where the babies were and let her get some rest. I got some sheets and made the bed/couch thing in the room about as comfortable as possible and tried to shut my eyes.
Now we are back around to where this post started.
Together
As I lay there on that stiff couch and wet pillow I couldn’t help but feel like a part of me was somewhere else. I couldn’t sleep. After what had happened that night I couldn’t stand to be on this side of the hospital while Erin was on the other. I had all but decided to head over there when the phone rang. It was Erin. It seemed that the medication was starting to wear off and she was much more awake than she had been. She asked if I could come over to see her and I told her that I had already started getting some things together. So I cleared it with the nurses, who graciously offered to take care of the babies throughout the night and on into the next day so I could go be with Erin and not worry about them. I felt conflicted about leaving them but I just couldn’t handle being away from her that night.
When I got to her room, there were tears in her eyes. I could tell that things were starting to hit her. We looked on Facebook together and read many of the things people had shared and prayed for us. It was quite humbling. We felt very grateful and deeply loved. We sat there for a while just holding hands and crying. Then I set up camp in a small plastic chair with a pillow pressed between my head and the wall and I can say, in all honesty, that there was no place I would have rather been.
Family
Erin’s parents arrived sometime around 4 in the morning. They came up to the ICU and we spent a few hours together. I told and retold the story, as much as I understood it, and we just talked and prayed and laughed together. I could tell it meant a lot to Erin that they had come down all the way from Atlanta that night. And they told us that her brothers and sisters were all making arrangements to come down too. She needed them there. More than we knew at the time. What we didn’t know is that her situation was actually getting worse throughout the night and we were about to get a pretty harsh wake up call.
Good Morning, You’re Dying
Sometime around 6 AM or so, the ICU Intensivist (not the robot…a real one) stopped by. He began to explain what had happened throughout the night and tried to relay to us the precariousness of Erin’s current state. She had a blood disease called DIC. It is very dangerous and typically deadly. She had survived the night only because of the balloon and the donor plasma they were pumping into her. It was a lot to handle first thing in the morning and I don’t know that we totally grasped what he was trying to tell us.
Later, Dr. McLean came by and filled in some of the gaps for us. She had apparently stayed up all night ordering tests and reviewing results. She was very concerned that the fibrinogen levels in Erin’s blood were so low and getting lower. The tests she ordered revealed that her suspicions were correct and Erin had DIC. She explained that they were going to have to stop the donor plasma and keep testing her blood throughout the day to see if her body was going to be able to improve on it’s own, showing that she was actually recovering. If not, we were still going to be in for a rough road ahead. She also explained that they would need to remove the balloon in a couple days and that, even if the levels in her blood were much better, there would still be a risk of possible emergency surgery if she began to bleed out again.
I started to taste that familiar flavor in my mouth again. The shaking was starting up and I could feel my anxiety rising. I was trying to remain very positive in front of Erin, but inside I was screaming. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through this day, after such a struggle the night before. I was emotionally spent and physically exhausted. That’s when I got a call from Erin’s dad that they had brought the babies over to our room and I had to get back over there to feed them and start the day with them. I was deeply conflicted. I wanted to be here with Erin but all we could do at that point was wait. And I had responsibilities to get back to. We had two new babies and they needed me too.
That day progressed slowly. I went back and forth between the two wings of the hospital. Family and friends stopped in and out, some staying throughout the day to help take care of the babies. At one point, the Director of Patient Services for the entire hospital actually helped me take the babies up to the ICU to see Erin. It was apparently a controversial decision but we couldn’t be more grateful. It meant the world to Erin to get to see them and hold them again.
The first test results came back. They were good. The levels were up a little. It wasn’t great news but it was decent news. They ran the next set of lab tests and we waited the rest of the day on that. They came back even better. It seemed that her body was recovering and we were at least headed out of the woods.
They let her out of the ICU that evening and took her down to our room on the other end of the hospital, where a room full of friends and family awaited her arrival. Now that may sound overwhelming to some of you. I know it would be for me. But you have to understand my wife. She thrives off interaction with people. It was perfect for her. We even had Paula, who had been watching Gavin and Kate for us, bring them up to meet the babies for the first time. It all felt wonderfully normal.
Then the phone rang…
Decisions, Decisions
It was Dr. Lewis (#1). She was calling to explain our options for the following day. I think I had all but forgotten that we weren’t done with this yet. Everything had started to feel so normal. It was kind of a shock back into reality. Like being at a party in college and then remembering that you have a huge exam or a speech the next day that you haven’t prepared for. We still had to get this balloon out and she had to survive it.
The doctor laid out two options for us. The first was to stay at this hospital for the procedure to remove the balloon. If we chose this route, and the bleeding started again, they would have to perform an emergency hysterectomy as a back up measure. The other option would be to transfer her to Winnie Palmer Hospital in Orlando the next day and have the balloon removed there. In that case, the back up measure would be a much less invasive procedure called an embolization.
Looking back on it now, it really doesn’t seem like that difficult of a decision, but at the time it seemed really hard to choose. Probably because it was the first decision we actually had to make about any of this. Up until that point all of the choices were made for us. There was no real option on Wednesday night about whether I wanted to let her bleed to death or have the doctors try to save her. There were no choices to be made about how to manage or treat the DIC. We were essentially just along for the ride. I guess, on some level, there were choices. I could have stopped treatment or refused blood transfusions or something else crazy, but there was no reason for me to not trust the doctors and just follow their lead.
It’s a very uncomfortable feeling to choose something with that kind of gravity associated with it. “If you start dying, how do you think we should stop it?” Even though the odds seemed to be in our favor on this one, which was a welcome change, I, in no way, felt competent to make that choice. I just wanted someone to tell us what to do. About an hour or so later, after a lot of our company left, we ended up calling her back and asking as many questions as we could think of about the procedures. Her husband, himself a General Surgeon, even chimed in on a few points to help us understand the risks associated with each. It was tremendously helpful and I couldn’t be more grateful for her patience with us. In the end we decided to go ahead with the transfer.
It was about this time that Erin’s brothers and sisters started arriving. They had driven and flown in from various parts of the country to be with her. It was good to see them and, even more so, to see her with them. It seemed like she was able to relax in a way that she hadn’t been able to up to that point. Their family has been through a lot of heavy and difficult circumstances and it’s given them some amazing coping mechanisms. My favorite is how they make jokes about, what are actually, very sad and/or frightening situations. Her brother John texted Erin earlier that day, before they boarded the plane, “Okay, since you’re not dying anymore, and we’re already headed down there. Do you think you could score us some tickets to Disney?” At the time it was a very refreshing break from the heaviness of the day. I love being a part of this family. They are one of the reasons we decided to have a bigger family of our own.
It wasn’t long before Dr. Lewis called back and told us that there was only one open bed available at Winnie, and if we wanted to it, we had to do the transfer tonight. This meant we’d have to leave the babies at the hospital, since they hadn’t been discharged yet. It also meant we weren’t going to sleep any time soon, which was heartbreaking at the time. We decided to go ahead with the transfer anyway and I worked out a plan with the nurses. They would keep the babies overnight and I would follow Erin over to Winnie Palmer. In the morning, I would come back, after the discharge had been signed off on by the pediatrician and take the babies to our house, where my parents and Erin’s sisters-in-law would take care of them so I could go back to the hospital to be with Erin.
Dr. Lewis came up to the hospital to complete all the paperwork for the transfer and she stopped in and talked with us for a long time and made sure we understood what was going to happen and when. As always, she was incredibly friendly, especially considering she had to come up there at midnight.
Erin’s brothers and sisters helped load up our stuff in the van and helped us work through the plan for the next day, with the baby transfer and whatnot. And about an hour or so later, Erin was loaded into an ambulance and I was driving the van over to Winnie Palmer. I was extremely tired. I think the lack of sleep was finally catching up to me. As the lines on he turnpike began to blur, I prayed that I could stay awake on the drive. The last thing we needed right now was a car accident. I began to pray for all of the things that were supposed to happen the following day and asking if we could please just have 24 hours without more complications and bad news.
I got there safely and made it up to her room in the WICU. They rolled in a cot for me to sleep on. It wasn’t much but it felt like heaven at the time. It was easily the best sleep I’d had in 3 days.
Goodbye, Balloon
I woke up to the sound of Erin’s phone playing the song “Healer.” Someone had sent it to her in a Facebook message. It’s a song we both knew well, but it had never meant so much as it did now. I could also hear that she was crying. It was a good cry, the kind of cry that you have when you’re simply too grateful for words to express. I know that cry because we’d both had them over the past several days.
The morning started out pretty good. I did my normal wet cloth in the sink bath, which pretty much just consisted of washing my face and hands so I didn’t look quite as dirty as I was at the time. I changed my shirt and headed downstairs to grab some coffee. I found they served Starbucks coffee at the food court downstairs, which was a delightful bonus. I thanked God for His gracious provision and made my way back upstairs. I ordered breakfast from a menu they provided in the room (seriously, this hospital is hooked up). I think I had a spinach and cheddar omelet or something. It was all pretty amazing. Like staying at the Hilton. Except they keep coming in and taking blood and whatnot, which is not like the Hilton.
Dr. McLaughlin showed up early that morning to begin the process of removing the balloon, which was basically just draining fluid from it in stages throughout the day. She started by draining about half of the fluid and…nothing happened. No bleeding. Not even a little. It was a huge relief. Now we just had to wait a few hours until the next stage.
Erin’s parents, brothers and sisters all came up to join us at the hospital. The nurses were beyond gracious to let, as many as, ten people stay in the room with her at one time. I couldn’t be more grateful to them for allowing it. The time spent with her family was incredibly therapeutic for her. They laughed and told stories for hours. It made the time pass much quicker and took her mind off of everything.
The babies’ discharge went smoothly and quickly. The nursing staff at South Lake went out of their way to be helpful and had everything ready for us. I really LOVE those nurses. I dropped the babies off at the house, kissed them on their heads and headed back to the hospital. I hated to leave them again, but it made it easier knowing I was leaving them with family who already loved them so much.
When I got back to the hospital, Erin told me that the balloon had just come out. It happened rather quickly and was quite unexpected. She had a few contractions and delivered a partially deflated balloon. She said that she and the nurse kind of waited for a minute to see if anything was going to happen. But nothing… It was wonderfully anti-climactic.
The rest of the day was just waiting. Eventually a doctor would come by to check everything out and make sure, but it all seemed like it was all over. Finally.
Homecoming
We didn’t get discharged until the next day. Dr. McLean had come by that evening and checked everything out and agreed that the dangerous part was over but she said that they still needed to treat her for the pre-eclampsia that had brought on the induction in the first place. And, ironically, she was now at a higher risk for blood clots because of all the clotting agents they had pumped into her body. So we stuck around until the next day when she signed off and let her go.
After she left the room that morning I followed her out. I wanted to let her know how grateful I was for all that she had done for us. There were hardly any words to communicate how I felt. I don’t really remember what I said but I’m pretty sure I crossed some professional boundaries and gave her a hug.
Shortly afterwards, we were loaded up in the van and headed home. It was over…for real this time.
Grace In The Aftermath
The aftermath of this story has been just about as amazing as the events themselves. We have heard story after story of people who were deeply touched by what happened and how God used it to stir something up in them, whether it was renewing their passion for Him, for their spouse or their children. It impacted so many people in so many different ways.
But those are their stories to tell. I’ll only speak to a few things that God has taught me through all of this.
The Church
Christ’s love is made tangible by His church. I have always known this but I have never been on the receiving end of it like this before. I’ve never felt more loved or more supported than I did during those dark days. Even though, at times, I felt all alone, there was never a moment when I really was. God had surrounded me with His people and it was an experience that has shaped me forever.
False Saviors
Experiences like this can expose you. Pain divulges things about you that you would never have otherwise known. It reveals where your hope and your trust truly are. I’m about to get brutally honest with you. God showed me that night, when I thought I was losing my wife, that I based so much of my security and identity on her that I was making her into an idol in my life. And by idol, I mean a false Savior – someone other than God that I was leaning on to satisfy the deepest longings of my heart. I needed to see that. So much of my self-confidence comes directly from the fact that there is an amazing woman who loves me and believes in me. Before her, I was nowhere near as confident as I am now. I take on things that I wouldn’t have dreamed of before, because I know she is with me, supporting me. And, while that’s not a bad thing in itself, what my heart wants to do with that is. The idols that our hearts erect are rarely bad things. They are almost always good things that we make into ultimate things. Tim Keller says it this way, “Our need for worth is so powerful that whatever we base our identity and value on we essentially ‘deify.’ We will look to it with all the passion and intensity of worship and devotion….” You see, for me to base my identity and self worth on heris to focus my worship on her. To make her, in effect, a god in my life.
I recently heard Pastor Tullian Tchividjian say “If you fix your joy on something other than God than suffering drives you away from your source of joy. But if you fix your joy on God than suffering actually drives you deeper into your source of joy…. Suffering cannot rob you of joy, only idolatry can.” So, sometimes when it feels like God is killing us, He’s actually saving us. He is kind enough to use pain to expose our false functional Saviors and help us redirect our worship in a way that leads us to joy that transcends circumstances.
The gospel tells me that there is One whose love for me is even stronger than hers. It assures me that there is One whose approval of me means more than hers ever could and has already been unconditionally secured for me, not by what I do but by what Christ has done for me. But I turn to her instead of to God. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good thing to deeply love your spouse. It’s a good thing to need your spouse. But it’s a completely different thing to expect your spouse to provide for you the things that only God can truly provide. She is an amazing woman and I am more convinced of my love for her than I ever have been. But I have been reminded that there is only one eternal foundation that I can build my life and hope on and if I try to build it on her, she will only be crushed under the weight of impossible expectations. I love her best by loving Jesus more than her. That is a drastically hard lesson to learn.
Healing
Healing is always about God and never about us. There have been several well-meaning people who have said things like “God just knew that your kids needed you” or “God just couldn’t take someone so amazing, so early” or something to that effect. What they are saying, whether they mean it or not, is there’s something about Erin, or about our family, that’s so great that God gave us special treatment. That we deserved healing and grace. This would also imply, if you carry it all the way out, that those who were not healed and those who have lost their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children were not deserving of healing. No one would say that outright, but in a way that is exactly what you are saying when you make the healing about the character of the person. Erin was not given life because she is awesome. She was given life because God is good and sovereign and He chose to flex in such a way that showed his power over death in this situation. But, you need to know that He would still be just as good and sovereign and powerful if he had taken her that night. You can read this in Erin’s own words in her amazing blog post 30 Years and 30 Days, where she compares and contrasts the death of her mother, 30 years ago, to her own near death experience.
A Shout That Rouses The Deaf
God has continued to show us more and more reasons for why this happened the way it did. He is still using it to change people, to open up hearts to the gospel and to shape us as individuals and as a family more into the image of Christ. I have come to love this story. It’s deeply woven into the fabric of my heart and it has reshaped me in more ways than I can recount. C.S. Lewis wrote in his book brilliant work The Problem of Pain, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
God has shouted at us through this experience. He did more work in one night to chisel away at my pride and self-centeredness than has been accomplished over years of steady growth. And He has seen fit to use it to shout to others as well.
I don’t wish painful circumstances on any of you but I do hope that you will someday know Him like I do. It’s well worth whatever path you had to take to get there, no matter how rocky it may be.
Last night was not my favorite. (If you don’t know, we have seven week old twins…enough said.) I struggled to get out of bed this morning, motivated solely by the little beeping sound of my coffee maker reminding me that there are still wonderful things in life to be enjoyed, even when you’re exhausted and feel like death. I pour a cup, sit down and decide to digitally reach out into the world by checking my twitter feed. Only to be struck upside the head by this tweet from Dr. John Piper,
“If you must choose between loving someone and acting so that they feel loved, always choose to love them.”
I was leveled. At once I recalled the faces of countless friends that I sat across a coffee shop table from, biting my tongue when I should have spoken up. I remembered the passive and indirect ways I tried to bring up things that I knew were destructive in their lives but I was to afraid to come right out and say. I even remembered the self-righteousness I felt when my predictions proved to be true and things went exactly as I knew they would, when I should have been feeling broken for my softness and passivity in not warning them.
If I loved them I would have told them the truth, no matter how much it hurt. Instead, I was like a surgeon who refused to remove a life-threatening tumor because he was afraid to cut the skin. Yes, it will hurt. Yes, it will take time to heal. Yes, it is absolutely necessary and it is my responsibility to them.
So, do I love you enough to tick you off?
If I’m not willing to confront the things in your life that I know are destructive than I just prove that I love myself more than I love you. I care more about being liked by you that I do about your well-being. That’s not love, that’s cowardice.
We tend to define love by how we make a person feel. If I say something that makes them feel good about themselves and their lives than I am being loving but if my words hurt their feelings or make them uncomfortable than I’m being hateful. This is simply too surface of an understanding to be love. Love acts on what is best for the person not on what will make them feel warm and fuzzy.
Am I loving my 3-year old daughter by letting her keep playing with a machete because I don’t want to hurt her feelings by taking it away?
Now, there are those out there that find truth-telling and confrontation easy. We usually know them as “jerks.” They drop truth-bombs on people and walk away without regard for the fallout. They’re willing to cut, but not willing to stick around for the healing process (which is usually long and arduous). Paul told the church in Corinth that they could have all kinds of spiritual merit badges, prophetic powers and even possess all of the knowledge in the world…but if they don’t have love than they’re like a clanging cymbal. Which is another way of saying you’re annoying and obnoxious. What you say may be true, but when your words sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. This is not love either.
The apostle John wrote in one of his letters “God is love.” This doesn’t mean God is a fluffy teddy bear. What it means is if you want to know what love looks like, if you want to know how love acts…look at God. Look at what He does.
One way that God loves is certainly by telling us the truth. The bible is brutally honest about the human condition. It’s not passive and it doesn’t pull punches. The gospel is most offensive message that you can bring to someone (if you are actually speaking the gospel). It cuts deeply against our pride. It tells us that we are rebels, anarchists, liars, thieves, murders, idolaters and God-belittling fools. It tells us that we are hopelessly lost and destined for judgement. It cuts us…deeply. It provokes us. It pulls our defenses up.
But God’s love doesn’t stop there. He loves us in the midst of our brokenness. He loves us even while we shake our fist in His face, refusing to believe the diagnosis. God loves us by sacrificing himself and carrying our punishment and shame. He loves us by walking with us through restoration and healing. He loves us by listening to us and being patient with us.
This is what love looks like. Truth combined with patience, compassion and sacrifice. I need friends love me like that and I need to be that friend.
Jesus once told his disciples “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you.”
We are commanded to love each other sacrificially, as we have been loved. I may be willing to lay down my life for my friend…but am I willing to lay down their opinion of me? Am I willing to sacrifice being liked? Respected? Where do I draw the line on what I am willing to sacrifice for their good. That is as far as my love for them goes and no further.
Are you sitting quietly on sideline watching someone you care about make a tragic decision that everyone knows is stupid but no one is willing to tell them?
Are you watching a friend engaging in behaviors that you know will destroy their career, their marriage, their ministry?
Love that’s not honest is not love at all.
Love them enough to hurt them.
Love is not afraid to cut the skin if it knows it will save the life.
I am a runner. At least that’s what I tell myself (and others, when I think it may impress them). I’m pretty inconsistent and probably shouldn’t claim the hobby, but I do really enjoy it. A few years ago I ran in a 5k over by the local hospital. My friend Bryan was trying to get me back into running after a pretty long “break” (aka – the birth of our first child). I was not in the shape I used to be, but it was only a 5k so I didn’t think much of it.
When we got there we noticed everyone had numbers written on the back of their legs with a Sharpie. I figured it was about organization or something but when we got to registration I realized it was actually your age. I thought it was kind of weird but was quickly distracted by a guy in front of us with a “67” written on his leg! He was walking very slowly around the starting area, ironically wearing a shirt that said “Fast Feet”. I know your not supposed to laugh at people, but come on…that’s funny!
I started out the race (as I have in most of the races I’ve competed in) at a pace that is much, much, faster than I’ve ever dreamed of running before. It could be my introversion that just wants to get away from the crowd or maybe I just have that unrealistic of a perspective on my own limitations. Whatever the reason, I found myself near the front of the pack for the first mile or so, and feeling quite proud of myself. It was at that point my body began to quickly and aggressively remind my brain that I’m not a super-hero or a cheetah, by going into complete rebellion. I imagine the communication looked something like this:
Body – “Hey brain… BRAIN! What’s goin’ on up there? We can’t move this fast.”
Brain – “But look how far we’ve come already. It’s only 3.1 miles. How much farther could it be? We can do this! Think positive!”
Body – “You’re a moron, Brain! I’m pretty sure we lost a lung back there at the mile marker. Good thing we’re at a hospital! If you don’t stop, we’ll make you stop!”
Brain – “What are you gonna do? I control you.”
Body – “Oh yeah… BAM! Side cramp. What do you say now, Genius?”
Brain – “Jerk! I can still fight through this…”
Body – “Numb Feet! Knee Pain!”
Brain – “AHHHHH!!!!”
Anyway, that’s about the point when I realized that we had been moving downhill for the entire first half of the race and now had to go back up. Needless to say, it was pretty crushing.
So, there I was, steadily creeping up the hill at an embarrassingly slow pace. People passing me on all sides. My pride was being demolished. Then I start to notice the numbers…those cursed numbers! 38, 45, 52… And that’s when I realized what the numbers were for. They were there to demoralize and humiliate you for thinking you were better than people older than you! Well, that’s what they did for me anyways.
And then.. what’s that? Is that…a 67?!?! Wait… No! Absolutely not! I am not getting passed by FAST FEET!
But I was. Fast Feet had passed me on the steep part of the hill. I was actually living out the tortoise and the hare. It was humiliation like never before.
“No! I’m not gonna lose to Fast Feet!” I pulled up whatever I had left and finished the race at a reasonable time, passed Fast Feet and some of the others and saved what little self-confidence I had left.
I was feeling good, well except that I felt like I was about to die. That’s when I noticed Fast Feet over by the side of the road casually talking to his friends. He wasn’t even winded!!! He actually looked like he had a good time. He didn’t care that I had passed him. He wasn’t competing with me or anyone else for that matter. He had set a goal and achieved it and was enjoying the moment. I, on the other hand, was about to throw up on my friends and go into cardiac arrest.
I learned something about motivation that day. There is positive and negative motivation. Negative motivation is driven by fear and insecurity. It thrives on our innate desire to not come in last. It drives you to do stupid things. Unsustainable things. Things that you will pay for down the road.
Then there is positive motivation. Positive motivation is goal-oriented and not others-oriented. It pushes you to improve yourself and finish well and isn’t distracted by how it measures up to others, because it doesn’t gauge value by comparison. It’s not driven by fear, rather a passion for achieving whatever goal has been set.
Positive motivation leads to contentment and has many celebrations along the way. Negative motivation is never satisfied and even when it succeeds at something…it’s too distracted by what’s next to take the time and enjoy the moment.
I’ve found this to be true in every area of my life. If I’m being driven by positive, goal-oriented motivation I am far more optimistic and productive. But when I find myself driven primarily by my desire to beat so-and-so or not get left behind by (fill in the blank). I may start out strong but find myself losing ground very fast.
Nothing worth investing your life in can be accomplished through negative motivation. You’ve got to find something bigger.
A few questions to ask yourself:
What drives you?
Are you leaning on negative motivation in any area of you life?
Here’s a link to the message I just preached yesterday on “The Fear of the Lord.” It’s the first message in our series on the book of Proverbs. Several of you have asked me for the notes, so I figured I’d share them here on the blog.
(There is a brief synopsis of the journey that our family went through a month ago at the end of the message.)
Scripture References (all verses are in ESV unless otherwise notated):
INTRO
Proverbs are:
Truisms, not promises
Principles, not methods
THE FEAR OF THE LORD and KNOWLEDGE:
Proverbs 1:7 – The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction.
Proverbs 1:29 – Because they hated knowledge and did not choose the fear of the LORD,
Proverbs 2:5 – then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God.
Proverbs 9:10 – The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight.
1) GOD IS BEYOND OUR COMPREHENSION
Psalm 145:3 – Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised, and his greatness is unsearchable.
Isa. 40:12-14; 25-26
Romans 11:33 – Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!”
2) GOD HAS AUTHORITY AND CONTROL OVER HIS CREATION (SOVEREIGN)
Ps 47:2 – For the Lord, the Most High, is to be feared, a great king over all the earth.
Heb 1:3 “…he upholds the universe by the word of his power.”
Rev. 4:11 – Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created
Job 12:23 – He makes nations great, and he destroys them; he enlarges nations, and leads them away.
Ephesians 1:11 – “..him who works all things according to the counsel of his will.”
Acts 4:27-28 – “for truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place.”
Romans 8:28 – And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
Job 14:5 – Since his days are determined, and the number of his months is with you, and you have appointed his limits that he cannot pass,
Psalm 139:16 – Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.
Acts 17:24-27 – “The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us. ”
Proverbs 16:9 – The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.
3) GOD IS A JUST JUDGE
Ps. 9: 7-8 – But the Lord sits enthroned forever; he has established his throne for justice, and he judges the world with righteousness; he judges the peoples with uprightness.
Acts 17:31 – “because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.”
Job 40:2; 7-8 – “Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? He who argues with God, let him answer it.”[…] “Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to me.Will you even put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me that you may be in the right?
Deut. 32:4 – The Rock, his work is perfect, for all his ways are justice. A God of faithfulness and without iniquity, just and upright is he.
2 Chronicles 19:7 – Now then, let the fear of the Lord be upon you. Be careful what you do, for there is no injustice with the Lord our God, or partiality or taking bribes.”
Jer. 5:22-29 – Do you not fear me? declares the Lord, Do you not tremble before me? […] But this people has a stubborn and rebellious heart; they have turned aside and gone away. They do not say in their hearts, ‘Let us fear the Lord our God […]They know no bounds in deeds of evil; they judge not with justice the cause of the fatherless, to make it prosper, and they do not defend the rights of the needy. Shall I not punish them for these things? declares the Lord, and shall I not avenge myself on a nation such as this?”
Habakkuk 3:2 – O Lord, I have heard the report of you, and your work, O Lord, do I fear. In the midst of the years revive it; in the midst of the years make it known; in wrath remember mercy.
Romans 1:18 – For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.
Heb 10:31 – It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.
Luke 12:4-5 – “I tell you, my friends, do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him!
FEAR (IN A GOOD WAY?)
Proverbs 14:26-27 – In the fear of the Lord one has strong confidence, and his children will have a refuge.The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life, that one may turn away from the snares of death.
Proverbs 19:23 – The fear of the Lord leads to life, and whoever has it rests satisfied
Proverbs 28:14 (KJV) – Happy is the man that feareth always.”
Psalm 130:3-4 – If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.
CONCLUSION
2 Cor 5:21 – He made Him, who knew no sin, to become sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.
Romans 5:8 -but God shows his love for us in that (M)while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Summary Statement:
The Fear of God is a reverence and an awe of all that God is, all that we deserve and all that He has done for us in Christ.
Quotes used:
“God created us in His image and we felt inclined to return the favor…” – Pastor Mark Driscoll
“We are more flawed and sinful than we ever dared believe, yet we are more loved and accepted than we ever dared hope.” – Tim Keller
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If you live in or around Clermont, FL, come join us for the rest of the series at The Church At South Lake
My hands have been a bit full lately, so I haven’t had time to write anything this week. Instead I decided to compile the top 5 most popular posts from the last year and half or so since I started the blog. That way, if you have just recently started following, you can catch up on some oldies. And for those of you who are regular readers, you can reminisce as you remember how these mind-blowing and deeply insightful, yet equally entertaining, posts changed your life forever
Some of you have asked about whether I was going to write about the events of this past week. And while I definitely will at some point, I’m just not able to do so in much detail yet. To take myself back into those moments and to reflect on the thoughts and emotions running through my mind and heart is just too overwhelming at this point. The sheer elevation change from a point of such extreme joy, with the birth of our healthy twin boys, to the lowest point of desperation I have ever felt in my life in just a few short hours was a shock to my system that I am not prepared to re-enter into, at least not yet. Those 72 hours felt like a bungee jump, at least what I imagine a bungee jump to feel like since the thought of actually doing that makes me pee in my pants a little bit. It felt much like a free fall that stopped just short of the concrete, swinging me back upwards, only to drop me again and again and again.
I can honestly say that I am a very different person than I was on Tuesday, when we went into the hospital. Some of that is due to the circumstances, but even more than that, I have been changed by some of you, the people who were with us through all of this. So, here are a few thank yous that I just had to make public before too much time had passed…
Thank you Facebook friends that immediately began to pray and spread the word about what was happening. So many of you shared and re-posted the prayer requests and updates so quickly that within an hour of hearing the news of Erin’s complications, I received notifications of hundreds of people praying. Those hundreds would literally turn into thousands over the next several days. People from all over this community, people from so many different phases of our lives, high school friends, college friends, bible study groups, churches all over the country (and some in other countries) that began to pray for our family. You pounded upon the doors of heaven for us and you changed things. Thank you!
Thank you to our family. To my parents, who were with me waiting, crying and praying during the surgery and rejoicing with me afterwards. To Erin’s parents, who left Georgia immediately, driving through the night, to show up at her bedside by 4am. Most of you probably don’t know that Erin’s father lost his wife when she was around Erin’s age, leaving him with four kids at home. The similarities were shocking and, I’m sure, quite terrifying for him. And in spite of all of that He remained the picture of strength and confidence, as a Father should when his daughter is scared. Also, Erin’s brothers and sisters came driving and flying in from as far as Virginia to stand with us through this. I watched as Erin and her siblings told stories and laughed and even cried together over those next two days. It was amazing. You changed things. Thank you!
Thank you to our church family. I have never known a community as caring and compassionate as The Church At South Lake. You exemplified the love of Christ to us in a more tangible way than I could have ever imagined. Within minutes – and I mean minutes! – of receiving the news that Erin was having major complications there were already people beginning to gather in the hospital waiting room praying for her. It blew me away. They stayed late into the night and fought with us through this entire ordeal. They visited and prayed and carried our burdens along side of us as the body of Christ is meant to do. We love you. You changed things. Thank you!
Thank you to my pastor, Brian Hammond, who showed up at the hospital almost immediately with his wife Tandy and waited with me to hear if Erin was going to live. He prayed with me. He cried with me. He stayed with me late into the night and even into the next morning. He even showed up again before he went into work the next day. He is a dear friend and a man who I hold in the highest regard. You’re presence changed things… I know it changed me. Thank you, Brian!
Thank you to the South Lake Hospital nursing staff who cared for us before the delivery, during the surgery and afterwards. You showed amazing compassion. You cared for our boys as if they were your own and it allowed me to be by my wife’s side as much as possible. You were flexible with us and apparently even broke a few rules and procedures for us. You changed things. Thank you!
Thank you to all of the Doctor’s at The Women’s Centre For Excellence. Each and every one of you played a significant role in these events:
Dr. Lewis and Dr. Lewis (I know right… how awesome that we had two Dr. Lewis’ delivering our twins… is that the right plural form – Lewis’, maybe Lewi…anyway), you pulled off an amazing delivery, even flipping the second baby in utero so we could avoid a C-section. Erin doesn’t remember so much about it, since she was freaking out about her epidural not working, but I remember everything. You were both amazing! You changed things. Thank you!
Dr. McLaughlin, you set our minds at ease and began the procedure to remove the balloon, which thankfully was the final procedure in this whole drama. You changed things. Thank you!
Dr. Texier, you rushed into the OR late into the evening, when you were not on call and didn’t have to, and you assisted in the emergency surgery that saved Erin’s life. You changed things. Thank you!
Dr. McLean… I can hardly find the words that communicate what to say here. You were the exact person that I would have chosen to be in that room. You delivered both of our first two children and you have been a part of our life for over six years. God designed you with an intellect and boldness that make you a great doctor and an amazing surgeon. I believe that it is in God’s hands to give and to take away life, but I also believe that God chose you to be the doctor in that room Wednesday night. You were the one who had to be there. The one who was talented enough to identify a potential disaster and take action, the one who was calm and collected enough, in the midst of all of that chaos and insanity, to remember an article you had read about a relatively new procedure, the one who was brave enough to try something you had never done before in order to save the life of a mother of four, the one who was passionate enough to stay up all night pouring over lab results to make sure you didn’t miss anything and that you knew what you were going to be up against in the morning. And I’ll never forget how you came to sit down with me and break the devastating news of Erin’s condition. You were a perfect balance of compassion, realism and confidence. I’ll never forget that night and I’ll never forget what you have done for our family. Thank you for all of the work that you have put in to be the doctor you are today. At no point in this entire ordeal did I ever feel like just another patient file. You changed things. Thank you!
Thank you, Erin, for being the most amazing woman I have ever known. You are more beautiful to me now than when we first met. The more we walk through life together, the more I fall in love with you. I can’t imagine how I would move forward without you by my side. I am a better man because of you. God has used you to shape me in more ways than I could ever recount. And, let’s be honest, our kids would be on the fast track to delinquency if I was a single dad. Thank you for fighting to live. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for all of the days we have spent together and for all of the many that still lie ahead. You changed things. Thank you!
And most of all I would like to thank my God who loved me enough to watch His own Son bleed and die on my behalf. He walked with me through fire that night. I felt His hand on me when I was certain I was alone. He shined light into the darkest period of my life. I can honestly say that, although I was scared and uncertain about what the future would look like, I was confident that He held me, and Erin, in His hands and that there was nothing that would come upon us that He would not sustain us through. He is my Rock, my Shield and my Defender. He is Faithful and True and He is, and always will be, the friend that sticks closer than a brother. You have most certainly changed things. Thank you, Father!
I consider myself to be rather independent thinking. Not totally swept up in what’s popular. Not desperately looking for others approval. I consider myself to be beyond that. And I have proven myself wrong almost every day of my life…
I still have vivid memories of all the school cafeterias I ever ate in as a child, particularly middle and high school. It was kind of like the stock exchange of the self-worth economy. Social orders and classes being laid out along such clear and distinct lines. It always made the first day of school so stressful. Filled with questions like, “Do any of my cool friends have this lunch period or am I gonna have to sit with my awkward friends from band?” I can still remember where my group sat and where certain other groups sat. I remember times when I left one group to join another that was “higher” on the social ladder, even though I enjoyed the company of my other friends better. I remember doing and saying things that I knew were cruel or petty in order to maintain or advance my standing in the social stratosphere. I remember hurting others. I remember being hurt.
I don’t think we realized what we were doing back then. We were trading self-worth like currency. We were social capitalists. We held in our hands the hearts and souls of real people and we elevated and crushed them in whatever ways we needed to, just to move up one more rung on the ladder. Every single one of us terrified of being rejected and alone.
Like I said earlier, I consider myself to be beyond that stuff now. I think all adults feel that way, mostly because we’ve found more subtle and respectable ways to do the exact same thing. We still distance ourselves from some people and pursue others. We still move in and out of social circles, leaving hurt feelings and good friendships behind. We still act differently around “cool” people because, for some reason, we really, really want them to like us. We still do all of the same exchanges that we did in the lunchroom. The major difference is that we don’t have to sit in the same room and risk crossing glances with those we’ve hurt.
And while we’re busy buying and selling self-worth and consuming our thoughts with how to advance our own social standing, we forget that God came to earth and pulled up a chair at the reject table.
In the first century world, who you chose to share meals with was a direct indicator of your social standing and even your spiritual devotion. And Jesus regularly sat down at the table with prostitutes, tax-collectors (who at the time were just government-sanctioned extortionists) and the lowest of the low. And what goes even farther than that is that they liked him. He didn’t relate to them in some condescending, self-righteous way that showed that he was so awesome that he would even share a meal with wretched human beings like them. He generally valued them…their company…their presence. And by doing so he flipped the entire social order upside down.
And no matter how far I “consider” myself to have come, I still find myself light years from having that kind of heart. From feeling so secure that I don’t have to gain self-worth by comparison to, or association with, others. From being able to value other people because they are made in the image of God and not because of what they can do for me. I still have so much selfishness and pride in me. It can be really discouraging to realize that you still have so far to go. Sometimes I begin to feel completely defeated by all the junk that still resides in the depth of my heart, but then… Jesus pulls up a chair and eats with me too.
For the past week or so, I’ve begun each day with an acute awareness that this could be the last morning I wake up before the twins are born. This could be the last cup of coffee I drink before I hold my two newborn sons in my arms. This could be the last full night of sleep…well, for a long, long, long time.
There is something very unsettling about not knowing the timing of such a massive life change. It makes it impossibly hard to plan things at work because I don’t know if I will actually be around when this stuff happens. I have a whole list of things that I need to get done around the house but don’t really know when, or if, I will ever be able to do them. I find myself getting really frustrated by the whole thing. I can feel all kinds of anxiety building up in me, but, if I’m honest, I don’t think it’s all about the task stuff I want to get done. I think it has more to do with how this whole situation is making me brutally aware that I’m not ultimately in the driver’s seat of my life.
The truth is, I spend just about every waking moment of my life pretending that I am in control. That what happens next is up to me. That where I end up tomorrow or ten years from now is a direct result of the choices I make between now and then.
I’m not alone in this. Our culture breeds this type of independence. We are motivated by it, we’re even comforted by it. And really, the only thing that’s wrong with it is that it is absolutely and entirely untrue.
I actually have very little control over the path that lies before me. Sure, I can do certain things that better prepare me for certain possibilities in the future, like going to college, learning an instrument, saving money, etc… And those are all good things to do, but none of them have the power to determine my future. Every one of us is just one phone call or diagnosis away from a completely different life. In fact, the things that likely impact us the most; i.e., birth, death, sickness and the relationships that we have, are also the most unpredictable variables in our lives. With all of our planning, we still have, quite-honestly, know idea what tomorrow will bring.
As I’ve recently discovered, in spite of all the modern methods of birth control, I still don’t have ultimate control over the number of kids that I’m going to have. And with all of the parenting techniques available in the bookstore and on the internet, I still can’t control the type of personality those kids will have, the decisions they will make when I’m not standing over their shoulder or the path their life will take them on in the future. And with all of the medical advancements we have seen, we still have very little control over some very life-threatening illnesses. And then you have other people’s behavior, that you clearly can’t control, which could at any moment drop all sorts of chaos on your 5-year goals. It’s enough to drive you over the edge if you think about all of the things that are far, far, far outside of our control. So we usually cope by ignoring those things and focusing all of our attention on all of the small things in our lives that we can control. All the while, hoping we don’t get side-wiped by something that flushes our plans down the toilet.
Don’t take this the wrong way. This isn’t a cop out. I think that we are all called to take responsibility and to be cultivators of our families, the world around us and in particular the kingdom of God, and this requires wise planning and strategy. There is nothing wrong with all of that. I guess I’m just being reminded that I run too easily to my own plans for comfort. Somehow believing that my ability to be joyful and content is directly related to my ability to control my circumstances. You would think I would be past this by now. That, with all of the things I say and write about trusting in God and his goodness alone, I would actually be able to do so without second-guessing Him. But, even though God has proven himself to be faithful and trustworthy, time and time again, I still find myself retreating to self-sufficiency and maintaining a death grip on the illusion of control.
What’s been helping me to loosen my grip lately has been the simple practice of reflecting. Just thinking back on the many things in my life that shaped me in major ways that were not ultimately my choice. With my limited scope and chronically selfish decision-making, I never would have chosen all of the twists and turns that my path has taken over the years and never would have ended up where I am today. I would have missed out on countless joys. And countless sorrows as well, to be sure. Sorrows that ultimately proved to be catalysts for growth and development, and even, in some cases, my protection.
If I was ultimately in control of my life I don’t know where I would be, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be here…where I sit today…surrounded by a loving community of friends…with two kids and an amazing wife…imminently expecting the birth of twin boys.
Contrast is very trendy right now. Particularly the contrast between the very old and the very new. I’m sure you’ve seen those design magazines that have a picture of an old, rustic, paint-chipped door behind a brand new, super-sleek, modern chair. Or a 1920’s typewriter sitting on top of table from Ikea. There is something about this contrast that’s appealing to us. At first I thought it might be the irony that made it attractive but now I’m starting to think it’s more significant than that.
You can see this same type of contrast in churches these days. And I’m not talking about 50-year-old pastors in skinny jeans, although you can see that too…unfortunately. I’m more referring to the resurgence of old hymns being sung in non-traditional and predominantly younger churches. Some are even embracing traditional liturgical worship practices (albeit these typically look significantly different from their liturgical predecessors). As a worship leader in my own church, I love to incorporate hymns and readings into our worship and it’s not simply because it’s becoming trendy to do so. We’re not trying to play some awkward middle ground between the people who like old music and those who like new music. We sing both old and new songs in our worship gatherings because it’s immensely helpful to our proper understanding of worship, of God Himself and of His church.
Church music has always been divisive, simply because music itself is divisive. People generally settle into a style that they enjoy and they don’t particularly feel a need to expand their taste to include a wider variety. And church is basically the only setting where people from various generations and music tastes are forced to come together and enter into one unified musical experience…enter division. Often this has resulted in a terrible compromise with music styles (traditional or contemporary) that no one likes and we all simply endure because it’s supposed to be good for us…like brussel sprouts.
There are many churches now, as there always have been, that believe you should only sing songs that are old. They are very resistant to new songs and as if God had stopped inspiring people to write new songs long ago. By doing this they send a subtle, yet dangerous message that God used to be very active and awe-inspiring, but now He is nowhere to be found. On the flip side of this argument are churches who only use new music and have thrown out several centuries worth of great songs like a 500-year-old baby with the bath water. They are sending an equally damaging message that God is fresh and new and we are the first ones that have ever experienced him. Which makes Christianity seem shaky and experimental. Both positions are historically and practically naïve.
Most people use the word “hymn” to speak of pretty much any song that was published into a songbook prior to 1960. And most misunderstand hymns to be one genre of music, believing that all hymns were written in one style and it’s the only style that had ever been used in church until the 60’s and 70’s came and the hippies jacked it up. This simply isn’t true. The typical hymnal contains songs written anywhere from the 13th century (i.e. “All Creatures Of Our God & King”) through to the 1950’s (some even go more modern that) and covers a massive array of musical styles, most of which were progressive in their own time. Some were even quite controversial because they were so different from the established norm. Many hymn writers pushed musical and even lyrical boundaries well beyond what most people in the church were comfortable with.
Take the Doxology for example. This song was actually the last stanza of a hymn called “Awake My Soul, and With The Sun” written by Thomas Ken in 1674. At the time, most churches believed that it was blasphemous to sing any songs in worship that were not directly from the scripture itself, primarily the Psalms. Ken wrote this hymn and many others to be used privately by the boys he instructed at Winchester College in their dorm rooms…alone. How ironic that the most popular song for corporate worship, probably in the entire history of the church, was so controversial it was never meant to be sung in public.
Isaac Watts, who wrote his first book of “Hymns and Spiritual Songs” when he was about 20, was viewed as a religious non-conformist because of the ways in which his theology was a little out of step with the Church of England at the time. Watt’s introduced “original songs of the Christian experience” into Protestant worship. That is, poetic lyrics that are based on the Bible and Christian experience but not direct quotations. Watts published some 750 hymns, many of which are still in use today. He was an innovator and a reformer in his time.
Charles Wesley, brother to John Wesley, is said to have written around 7,500 hymns, many of which were never published. After his conversion in 1738, he was barred from preaching in London churches because his style made church officials uncomfortable. He and his brother John became itinerant preachers and began a controversial movement that became known as Methodism. The movement was passionately evangelical, bringing preaching and hymn singing outside of the church to the people who weren’t going inside. Charles wrote songs in the language of the people of his day so that they could understand, using musical styles that were familiar to them.
These are just a few stories to make the point that many of the writers of these songs were progressive, and even controversial, in their time. They wrote differently, in both style and in lyric from what was the previously accepted norm. The truth is, most of us grew up hearing all of these songs performed by an out-of-tune upright piano, an awkwardly small choir and a passionate, yet not-so-competent music leader. And because they all sounded the same, we thought that they were the same. It’s like looking at a book of old photographs and assuming that everyone back then must have been two-dimensional and small because that’s the way they look in the pictures.
Those songbooks are musical history books. They represent generation upon generation of saints over the centuries, expressing their worship through songs that were, in some way, indicative of the culture of their time.
And this is not limited to musical style. The lyrical content was influenced by culture as well. Some songs were written in response to doctrinal controversy that existed at that time, as a way of reinforcing, or challenging accepted doctrines of the church. There are times where the culture leaned towards deep intellect and the songs followed suit. There are others where they sought a more emotional experience and the songs likewise moved towards the language of intimacy and closeness. These songs serve as windows into our past.
Music has always been a culturally influenced vehicle. That is not new. Cultural relevance was not invented by Willow Creek, Saddleback, or (insert name of contemporary, mega-church that blew up in the 80’s). Culture is something that always influences us, in positive and in negative ways. For a long time, the “modern” worship movement (which seemed to be convinced that they were the first generation to discover true worship) was marked by extreme passion, yet most of the songs were rather nominal in their substance. Which is a reflection of the shallow, yet emotionally over-driven nature of our culture.
We all tend to feel like we’ve arrived at some type of complete understanding of what church worship should be. But in reality, we are all simply living out a small section on the vast timeline of church history. We have a certain limited perspective that will shape our methods, practices and even our songs.
This is why I feel it is so important that we bring the ancient into our modern worship gatherings. It gives us a bigger perspective than that of our own culture. It reminds us that we are only a part of a rich and long heritage. It allows those from outside of our culture and time to be our instructors, so we don’t fall into the arrogance of believing we are the first generation of believers to “get it.”
We are not the first to tread this ground and we will not be the last. These songs are breadcrumbs left by those who have gone before. Men and women who reached the end of their lives still convinced of these truths and confident of their hope in Christ, many who passed on from this life with these very songs on their lips.
There is something overwhelmingly comforting about that to me. I think that’s why we like to see the old and the new together. There is something grounding about the juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern. It reminds me that the kingdom of God is bigger than me and my tiny, little speck on the timeline of history. I need to be reminded of that sometimes.
Who will Luke and Wyatt be when they grow up, move out and hit the world on their own two feet (or four feet, collectively)? What passions will drive them? What character traits will define them? What mark will they leave on the world?
(Okay so, this one’s not quite so long term…but it sure seems important)
