Overwhelmed - A Night to Remember

It is overwhelming. I come to work today, and look at my desk. There are things here on my desk that I walked away from less than 20 hours ago, but they seem distant to my memory. My mind struggles to remain consumed with the stories I heard last night. I resist being pulled back to daily requirements. They seem so mundane in the shadow of last night.

Last night, I was overwhelmed by the testimony of two beautiful, courageous, and generous women. I was overwhelmed by a community that had gathered to hear them, and then to honor them and love them. I was overwhelmed by my children's reaction to their stories, and their reactions to these women who had furthered their exposure to things their young minds couldn't possibly contain. I am overwhelmed today as I try to put it all together, as I try to describe it to the people around me, and realize that I can't.

I was stunned to put a face to the horrors I've so long known about. It rendered a pain in a deeper part of my heart than had ever before been touched by the holocaust. I was honored to shake the hand and look into the eyes of such a dear woman - to thank her for broadening my mind, and my children's minds. I was shocked at my own ignorance about Rwanda - I, who would never be counted among those who don't know - those who deny, or ignore. I felt crushed by my impotence to correct, to heal or to change. I was afraid for my children, that they might never be able to process this information, because I'm not sure if I can.

As everyone stood to leave their seats, my precious Rachel said, "Mommy, I have a question. Why did God let that happen?" I feel like in that moment, I entered a whole new phase of parenting - one which, like every one to precede it - I'm sure I'm not prepared for. My response began with, "I don't know, Baby..." which seemed so insufficient. Old men wrestle with this question. Brilliant minds throughout history have tried unsuccessfully to answer it. And my daughter found it, and brought it to me. I told her that probably the women who just spoke might better know the answer than me. But even that felt hollow against such an inquiry. God has not given Rachel to Fritzie or to Clementine. God has given Rachel to me.

We went to say hello to each of the women who'd shared, and when we had finished saying thank you to Clementine, after we'd already begun to walk away, Rachel paused. She turned back and waited to again address this remarkable young woman. She patiently waited until several others were done talking with her, and then she hugged her. Meantime, Jessa had fallen in love with Justin's children. Mackenzie, who is four, at one point looked at Jessa & said, "Thank you for being nice to my brother." She also showed us with pride the photo of the students from Angola that her class is working to support. Jessica noticed that so many people were trying to talk to Justin & Judy, and when Judy couldn't see where Joshua had gone, Jessa decided it was her job to help. It was at this point - injected into such an evening - came the beginning of an answer to Rachel's question. Surely it is only a beginning, but the children showed me something last night.

These things happen because the wages of sin is death. When the wicked do something, and the rest do nothing, these evils can prevail. Maybe God lets this happen so that we are more aware of a broad road that leads to destruction, and the righteous are more strongly motivated to seek the narrow road until they find it. A candle lit in the black of night is noticed by all. Might not God allow the lights to go out, because of the sin which has been left unchecked, and show - even therein - his amazing grace?

Fritzie found her Aunt in Auschwitz, and another Aunt in Chicago. Clementine came to Glenview, and eventually her reunion with her parents was broadcast on the Oprah Winfrey show. These women have found the courage to share their stories. Rachel gave a hug to soothe a wound that started on the other side of the world. Mackenzie has friends in Angola, and parents who teach her that she can make a difference, even at her young age. Jessica knows that evenings like last night happen because of people like Judy & Justin, and wants to help where she can - even if its just walking Josh down the stairs to his mommy. There are points of light even in the blackness of the stories told last night.

The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

The gift of God is life - life in a place of death, light in a place of darkness, hope in a place of despair, faith in what is not seen, love overcoming hate. And a little child shall lead them.

Happy Easter

From Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass
By Lewis Carroll

An Easter Greeting to Every Child Who Loves "Alice"

Dear Child,

Please to fancy, if you can, that you are reading a real letter, from a real friend whom you have seen, and whose voice you can seem to yourself to hear, wishing you, as I do now with all my heart, a happy Easter.

Do you know that delicious dreamy feeling, when one first wakes on a summer morning, with the twitter of birds in the air, and the fresh breeze coming in at the open window—when, lying lazily with eyes half shut, one sees as in a dream green boughs waving, or waters rippling in a golden light? It is a pleasure very near to sadness, bringing tears to one's eyes like a beautiful picture or poem. And is not that a Mother's gentle hand that undraws your curtains, and a Mother's sweet voice that summons you to rise? To rise and forget, in the bright sunlight, the ugly dreams that frightened you so when all was dark—to rise and enjoy another happy day, first kneeling to thank that unseen Friend who sends you the beautiful sun?

Are these strange words from a writer of such tales as "Alice"? And is this a strange letter to find in a book of nonsense? It may be so. Some perhaps may blame me for thus mixing together things grave and gay; others may smile and think it odd that any one should speak of solemn things at all, except in Church and on a Sunday: but I think—nay, I am sure—that some children will read this gently and lovingly, and in the spirit in which I have written it.

For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into two halves—to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much as to mention Him on a week-day. Do you think He cares to see only kneeling figures and to hear only tones of prayer—and that He does not also love to see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the children, as they roll among the hay? Surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in his ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the "dim religious light" of some solemn cathedral?

And if I have written anything to add to those stores of innocent and healthy amusement that are laid up in books for the children I love so well, it is surely something I may hope to look back upon without shame and sorrow (as how much of life must then be recalled!) when my turn comes to walk through the valley of shadows.

This Easter sun will rise on you, dear child, "feeling your life in every limb," and eager to rush out into the fresh morning air—and many an Easter-day will come and go, before it finds you feeble and grey-headed, creeping wearily out to bask once more in the sunlight—but it is good, even now, to think sometimes of that great morning when "the Sun of righteousness" shall "arise with healing in his wings."

Surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this—when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters—when angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new a glorious day—and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is past!

Your affectionate Friend,

Lewis CarrollEaster 1876

Happy Easter! Pictures!