Abandoned, not Forgotten

"God created each of us in His own image." ~ Genesis 1:27

When Lynette learned she was pregnant, she knew it would be impractical for her to raise another child.  The 36-year-old woman was practically homeless and the birth father wasn’t part of her life.

Determined to give her baby a better life, Lynette contacted a Christian adoption agency that promised to find her child a loving home.  Together, they agreed on an infertile couple living in another state but who remained in close communication throughout the pregnancy.

Everything lined up flawlessly; multiple ultrasounds came back perfectly normal.

As the big day approached, Lynette grew excited about the parents’ arrival.  She had no regrets whatsoever, having viewed her situation as kind of a long-term babysitting one.

With the birth imminent, Lynette was admitted to the hospital with preeclampsia.  A 5-pound baby girl was delivered five days later after 15 hours of labor and a C-section.

An eager pair of adoptive parents arrived early with a photographer to document the special day.  But when they visited the newborn in the NICU, they instantly noticed that the newborn looked much different than they’d expected.

The infant was born with Treacher Collins, a rare genetic condition that stunts the development of bones and facial tissues.  The condition hadn’t shown up in any prenatal scans.

The couple fled the hospital in tears and abandoned the baby due to her deformity.

Despite the diagnosis, Lynette thought the baby was absolutely beautiful.  “I was smitten at first sight,” she admitted.  “It was a sign that she was supposed to be mine.”

She named her Abigail which in the Hebrew Bible means “gives joy.”  When Lynette looks at her sweet child she doesn’t notice her deformities.  She sees her baby as perfect and without any reservation, decided to keep and raise her little “princess.”

Abigail’s condition doesn’t affect cognitive functioning and won’t prevent her from having a typical life.  It may however, require some reconstructive surgery in the future.

Lynette left the hospital without a suitable place to live.  Her 18-year old daughter created a GoFundMe account to help raise money since she’d never had a baby shower.  When the Daily News did a story on Lynette and Abby, readers from everywhere took interest; donations poured in.  The page raised nearly $25,000 from 579 different people.

Lynette said she’s saving the money for “whatever Abigail will need it for,” health, education or otherwise.

Today Lynette and Abigail are living with her friend in a two bedroom apartment in Florida.  Local nonprofits have provided everything from clothes to diapers.

Lynette harbors no bitterness towards the couple who “rejected” Abigail.  “I feel sorry for them because they missed out on getting to know what a truly amazing angel she is.”

Lord, though we don’t know the reasons You allow a child to have a birth defect, we DO know that every child is created in Your image, is loved by You, and has an important purpose in helping change lives for eternity.  Amen

Hell on Wheels

“Nothing is certain in this life: enjoy both prosperity and struggles." ~ Ecclesiastes 7:14

Long before bike helmets were used, Riley loved to race his Stingray at breakneck speeds, keeping his guardian angel working overtime.  The kid with 9 lives was hell on two wheels.

The bicycle's ‘banana’ seat was elongated so that it looked more like a mini couch than a saddle.  The chrome handle bars were a design statement too, echoing that of the ol' Harley Softtail.  But the 5-speed stick shift set it off like no other.

Several weeks before Riley had hit loose grave.  He flew over the handlebars and smashed open his skull.  The kid with 8 lives remaining walked home bleeding, terrified his Mom, and took a trip to the ER for multiple stiches.

But boys have short memories and soon Riley was back on his bike, flying fearlessly down the hill at a speed rivalling that of a cheetah with his feet off the petals.  The next thing he remembered, the front wheel jammed into a bridge railing and his momentum carried him right over the top into the river below.

Thank God for the autumn rains.  If he’d done that just two weeks before there would have been only rocks to break his fall instead of 2 feet of water.  Getting his bike fixed was Riley’s first priority; the collar bone would heal itself.

After a tune-up, he was back at it again, this time for a little off-roading. The gears were flawless as he shifted into high and pedaled hard.  The greenery became a blur as his eyes watered from the racing wind.

Seemingly out of nowhere a giant tree limb blocked his path.  It must have come down in the storm the previous night.

Riley jammed on the brakes way too late.  When the front wheel connected with solid wood, he went airborne (again) and felt his arm snap when he hit the hard dirt floor.

He stood up, collected himself, and laughed.  He was happy to be alive and ready for one more ride before heading home.

I’m now in my sixties; my bike riding days are far behind me.  I try not to stress my guardian angel nowadays; he worked hard enough when I was “hell on wheels.”

I’m grateful to be alive; ready for one more ride through this life before heading home.  We’re never sure how much time we still have left on earth but I’m determined to live them all in love, laughter, and joy.

Life’s a glorious adventure.  Its most exciting parts though, aren’t when you risk your neck. They’re when you share your heart.  May you give love freely - first to God, then to others and finally to yourself.  It’s your road and yours alone so make it count.

Lord, we move so fast that sometimes we see so little.  Slow us down.  Help us to pursue moments of meditation.  Help us to see in a deeper way, to become more aware of what speaks to us in beauty and truth.  Amen

Missed Kiss

"The child who knows love has the greatest gift the world can offer." ~ Psalm 127:3

Morning had come too soon.   “Running late for work, gotta run,” Malcom said, as he pecked his wife’s cheek, grabbed his lunch, and let the screen door slam behind him.

As he drove away, Laci ran down the stairs two at a time.  “Wait, wait!” she yelled, but he’d already left.  She watched the silhouette of his scrubs against the morning sun climbed into the car and hastily sped away.

Her mouth crumpled like used wrapping paper. “Daddy forgot to give me a goodbye kiss,” she whispered in a voice that trembled under the weight of her hurt.  “I’m sorry sweetheart,” her Mom said trying to soften the blow.  “Daddy can’t be late for work; he’s got an important job.”

“It’s okay,” Laci said, trying her best to be all grown up.

Jorge knew he’d forgotten something.  Stethoscope, security badge, suckers for sick kids – check.  And there it was ‘kids’ – he’d forgotten about his own kid.  How could he?  Guilt consumed him as thoughts of her sweet, angelic face flooded his heart.

On the school bus, Laci’s eyes glazed with a layer of tears.  As she blinked, they dripped from her eyelids and slid down her cheeks.  She bit her lip trying to hide any sound that wanted to escape from her mouth.   She watched as other children shared secrets and giggled.  Part of her wanted them to feel sad too.

Guilt gnawed from within Malcom’s chest.  For Laci happiness was simple.  It's playing ‘Let’s Pretend,’ cuddling with her kitty, or a funny bedtime story.  She was always the first to pick up a friend who’d fallen; her heart bigger than the soccer ball she kicked around the backyard.

What he’d done couldn’t be undone.  He could make amends later ...  or do something now!

As the bus slowed to a stop in front of the school, Laci scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.  She knew they would lead to sympathy, and sympathy would bring more waterworks.

Laci picked up her school bag and headed down the aisle; shoulders slumped and eyes cast in a mournful gaze.  As she exited the bus, a familiar car glided to a stop directly in front of the bus.  He got out of the car.

She ran to him bursting with liquid sunshine.  As her grin got wider everyone near them began to smile.

“I’m so sorry I forgot’, he said, as he picked her up and kissed her affectionately.  She said nothing.  Her jaw ached from smiling.

But I don’t want you to be late for work, Laci said.

Fifteen years from now, Malcom said, “no one will remember that I was late for work.  But you’ll never ever forget that I met you at school just to kiss you goodbye!”

Loving and compassionate Lord, please bless these young lives with what they need to find joy and justice and peace, so that this world and their world will be a better place for all of God’s children.  Amen

Dads on Point

“God is like a father to us, tender and sympathetic to those who worship him." ~ Psalm 103:13

For Joe, country roads brought back memories of simpler times - camping trips, picnics, and visits to Grandma's farm.  For a while he was a child again – exploring, probing, and living in the moment.  He loved hearing the birds sing, seeing wildlife roam their natural habitat, smelling fresh air and just enjoying nature’s quiet, natural beauty.

Up ahead, Joe spotted an old bridge crossing over the Dismal River.  A distant memory stirred ... from back when he was an Indian Guide.  Every fall their tribe made a three-day, 50-mile canoe trip on Nebraska’s wildest, youngest, and most undeveloped river.

On a hot day you could cup your hands a take a draft of the cool water.  The banks had been alive with nesting ducks taking advantage of the shade provided by tall trees.  Herons waited, poised on one leg, patient as the breeze; patient as the river itself.

There was one year he’d never forget.  Dad dropped him at the launch with the rest of the tribe, made sure his life vest was secure and said goodbye as the flotilla set off.

Joe stuck his paddle into the river, pulled hard, then lifted and stroked again.   Before long he and his canoe partner had a good rhythm going.  He wished Dad could see him now.

About a mile downriver they came to an old suspension bridge.  He looked up and there he was.  His Dad stood right in the middle of the span.  He didn’t shout instructions or do anything awkward.  He simply waved until they passed underneath.

When Joe looked back, Dad was gone.  Maybe he’d just imagined him?

But several miles later, at the next overpass, Dad was there again.  And several after that.

It turned into a game.  The whole tribe began looking for him.  Every time they rounded a bend that day someone shouted, “There’s Mr. McDaniel!”  They all waved now, but no one was happier to see him than Joe was.

Dad had taken a chance and gone the extra mile to show Joe his love.  He never forgot that feeling.

Now as he drove across the bridge, he imagined Dad standing there, waving, encouraging him.  Joe thought of the nightly prayer he’d said when his own kids were younger, asking God to “Help me be the kind of Dad my children need.”

As a parent, you've probably received a small taste of how God feels as "our Father in Heaven." When parents look into the face of their newborn baby, they know they’ll always go the extra mile and love that child no matter what.  That's exactly how God feels about us, despite our failures or squandering what He's given to us.

Father God, bless those fathers who’ve taken seriously their parenting responsibility and especially those who are doing it alone.  Strengthen all Dads by Your love that they may become the loving, caring, role models You meant them to be.  Amen

Selfish or Selfless?

“Never criticize or condemn - or it will all come back on you." ~ Luke 6:37

Mark had come to the coffee shop for solitude, to escape everything and everyone.  But now that he was here, even the coffee seemed cold and he longed for some company.

Two young women were discussing the rash of celebrity suicide deaths dominating the nightly news recently.  Mark was drawn to their exchange.

“People commit suicide when they are too depressed, alone, or stressed to carry on,” said one.  To which the other countered, “Just because someone’s sad beyond repair doesn’t make it OK.  It’s selfishness through weakness.”  They bounced remarks between themselves like a rubber ball.

Mark’s heart started racing.  He felt nauseous and started to cry.  It reminded him of the suicide that ended his own father’s death when he was 11 years old and the pain and isolation that lingers to this day.  Painful emotions have run the spectrum from shock to grief, to heartbreak, to rage (at both his Dad and himself), to sorrow, and back to anger at how unfair it all was.

Isolation because the one person from whom he wanted answers from was the same person he’d never see again.  One never gets the answer to the question: “Why?”  That’s a lonely feeling.

Even today, Mark found it impossible to contemplate life through the lens of depression.  The thought of suicide does seem selfish.  Why would someone leave the world prematurely, creating insurmountable sorrow, all-encompassing guilt, and unanswerable questions for those you love?

He didn’t have an answer because he was generally a healthy person.  His Dad had not been.

His Dad suffered from depression.  He knew he wasn’t well, yet he couldn’t fix it and wasn’t able to contemplate a future without pain.  His mental state felt permanent and therefore a burden to those he loved.  If you can’t get better and contribute to the well-being of those he loved, why not release them and yourself?

Through that lens, suicide felt like a selfless, practical act.

Only he was wrong.  Because his Dad was sick.  And so, for Mark, the circular argument continued.

Mark will never truly know why his Dad felt death was better than life, and more particularly, why it was better than a life with him.  But what helps is the knowledge that this illness, this plague - because that’s what it’s become in our society – is not a rational choice made by people wishing to hurt us.  Suicide is illogical.  It’s indiscriminate.  The emotions it provokes in us are irrational, too.

Rather than blaming the victims of illness, we must hold space for the struggle they endure.  We are too quick to shun what we don’t understand.  How would the conversation change if we chose compassion, or at least non-judgment?

Father, help us to be mindful that it’s not our place to judge others.  You alone will judge us as You see fit.  Help us to trust in Your almighty plan and the power of Your love to capture hearts and transform people.  Amen

Holding Space

“Be kind and compassionate to one another." ~ Ephesians 4:32

Cancer delivers two types of pain.  They’re both bad, but one’s worse than the other.

The first pain comes from the organ that’s been most affected.  It’s like a knife stabbing every part of your body.  For Donna’s Mom Anne, it was her abdomen.  Pain shot through Anne’s stomach, causing frequent nausea, bloating and occasional vomiting.

Cancer’s other pain is the mental; like running out of time and not knowing what to do.  Anne’s fear was paralyzing, exhausting and dark.

When she got sick, Donna became what psychologists term the person who “held space” for her.  Holding space means walking side-by-side with them on their journey without judgment or expectations.  It’s the deepest form of listening.

Donna accompanied Anne throughout her journey, seeing the world through her Mom’s eyes; allowing space for panic, confusion, and expression without trying to “fix” anything.  Donna didn’t try and cheer Anne up about her illness or deny what was happening in her body.  She held space by allowing the situation to unfold without fueling the emotions that were part of it.

While Donna was holding space for her Mom, others were holding space for her.

Her children and closest friends were holding space for her as she walked the difficult path with her Mom.  When she’d come home at night they’d encourage her to rest and assured her with their calls, cards and prayers.

The hospice nurse was holding space for Donna and her Mom, guiding them on what to expect next.  Their home nurse Amy held space for the family, quietly resigned to the background, as people came and went to say their last good-byes.

The day she began transitioning, she fell into her daughter’s arms and softly said “I’m ready to go.”  Donna was heart-broken inside, but calmly replied by saying “Ok, mom.  I’m here.”

When Anne took her final breaths, Donna sobbed hysterically as she gazed out the hospital window.  Her life was falling apart.  The thoughts driving her meltdown were unintelligible due to the crashing waves of emotions.

But somehow, she found herself able to clear her head and stare at her disheveled reflection in the window.  Bob stood silently behind her.  Her husband of 37 years was holding space for her.

Holding space means acting as God created us to act.  It may be as practical as going grocery shopping for someone who is sick or shut-in.  It can also mean keeping that person alive in your heart throughout the day and sending prayers on their behalf.

It develops in us the capacity to care for someone without determining what’s best for them, to be present without judging, to hold but not control.  That’s the way God loves us; and so holding space becomes the chance to try to love like God.

“Open the eyes of my heart Lord, that Your light will flood our hearts and that we will understand the hope that was given to us and the glorious blessings You’ve bestowed upon us.” ~ Ephesians 1:18

Saving a Wretch

“Forgive as the Lord forgives you." ~ Colossians 3:13

Nurtured by a Christian mother, he was raised in his father's image after she died weeks before his 7^th birthday.  Young John joined his father at sea and quickly took to the bottle; often drinking whiskey or rum for breakfast.  Due to his reckless behavior, the boy was forced to join the Royal Navy, a pattern that would persist for years.

After attempting to desert, he received 100 lashes and demoted to common seaman.  To add further insult, the disgraced sailor was exchanged to the crew of a slave ship.

Disliked by the crew for his rebellious and drunken ways, they left him behind in West Africa with a ruthless slave trader and was brutally abused along with the other slaves.  John was rescued by a sea captain who’d known his father and eventually became captain of his own slave ship.

Ships like his would anchor off the African coast where tribal chiefs delivered pens full of men and women captured in raids against other tribes.  Buyers would select the finest specimens, which would be bartered for weapons, ammunition, metal, liquor, trinkets, and cloth.

The purchased captives would be loaded aboard for sailing. They were chained below decks to prevent suicides, laid side by side to save space, stacked row upon row.  Captains sought fast voyage across the Atlantic hoping to preserve as much as their cargo as possible, yet mortality sometimes ran 20% or higher.

During one voyage home, his ship was caught in a horrendous storm off Ireland’s coast and nearly sank.  Captain John prayed to God.  The cargo miraculously shifted to fill a hole in the ship’s hull and the vessel drifted to safety.  He took it as a sign from the Almighty and thus began his conversion to Christianity.

Captain John started reading the Bible and began to view his captives with a more sympathetic view.  He eventually left the slave trade and studied for the ministry.  John Newton was ordained into the Anglican Church, and in 1764 took a parish in southeastern England.

Newton’s church became so crowded that it had to be enlarged.  They held not only a regular weekly church service but also began a series of prayer meetings, for which he wrote a new hymn each week.  Among his many contributions is probably the most famous hymn in history: “Amazing Grace.”

For the last 43 years of his life, Pastor Newton preached the gospel in one of the most prestigious parishes of London.  By 1800 no evangelical clergyman had gained more fame or exercised more spiritual influence than Newton.  At 82, Newton said, "My memory is nearly gone, but I remember two things, that I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Savior."

"Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound), that saved a wretch like me!  I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see.  ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved; how precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed!"  ~ John Newton