I admit it, I spent a good portion of the morning sucked in by the internet response to the answers Pope Francis gave to journalists during his plane flight to Rome. And if you know me in the slightest, you know I am eager to defend Francis from those who begin to attack him and his statements without having any firsthand knowledge of what he actually said.
Most of the reasonable responses I read today admitted that there had not been a full English translation of the interview released. That sent me hunting for the Spanish version, the direct notes of one of the journalists who did the interview. This is the one I read in full. First of all, I was struck by the fact that she said even what she had published there was a small part of the 80 minute conversation and that it would take hours of work for her to get the entirety of her notes published.
Then, reading the entire published text in Spanish, I was stunned with how little the tone of the interview came through in the snippets I was reading in English. And then at how much of the sentiment behind what he was saying was lost in the translation to English even when it was a quality translation. And there were plenty that were not that great. You can see my comments on the topic here at Elizabeth Scalia's very good post. Then I felt compelled to post this on Facebook:
Friends, just so you know, you are getting terribly done half-translations of much of what Pope Francis says. I would urge you to wait to respond to things until you have the chance to read a few variations of the translation and see the full text. I just read the full Spanish version of the Pope's interview in route to Rome, it doesn't say what people are saying it says. Also, let's try to remember, Francis allowed the journalists to ask him questions, no-holds-barred, and he responded sincerely. He did not choose the topic of conversation.
I had to extricate myself from the online conversations to go about my daily business, and as I did, I began thinking about this whole language issue we have with Francis as Pope. It is one we have not really ever faced as the English-speaking church. John Paul II was really the first pope of the media generation, when we began to have access to his words and thoughts right away. And he was extremely effective at communicating in English. Benedict followed and was equally adept at expressing himself in our language.
We no longer have that luxury with Francis. And that leaves us with a little bit of a difficulty I think we are all beginning to see clearly. We are not going to have first access to his thoughts and words. If we are going to be people of integrity, we will have to wait for quality translations of the full text of his interviews and conversations appear. Or we're going to have to learn to speak Spanish. (Well you are. I already do. Don't be jealous. The Holy Spirit is responsible.) And then, even in that, we will be lacking because it is hard to for a direct translation, no matter how well done, to capture the nuances of another language. So we run into a quandary that we really can't solve. We can read a direct translation and possibly lose a lot in the sentiment department (which seems to be key in understanding Francis) or we can look for faithful native Spanish speakers to paraphrase the meaning behind the words for us, which seems a little risky when it comes to the Pope.
It is easy for your brain to start to wonder why the college of cardinals didn't consider this glitch when they elected Cardinal Bergoglio pope. I mean, given the battle the Church in the U.S. is facing, didn't they think about how important it would be for us to understand this new pope and what he was saying? And did they even think about our blogs? I mean, we are going to end up a full three or four hours behind the Spanish speakers (if we use sense and wait to read what he truly said) in being able to analyze, form opinions and react to what the pope said! And then, we won even be able to trust that we really got what he said.
And then it occurred to me that perhaps there is a lesson even bigger in this whole conundrum Pope Francis creates for the only-English speaking U.S. Church that just integrity in our reactions to him. Maybe the college of cardinals and the rest of the Church are smiling a bit smugly as we begin to realize that the Church does not consider our responses, reactions, thoughts, opinions and blogs a top priority. Maybe they are all hoping we'll begin to realize that we do not have first rights to the daily goings-on in the Church and that our perspective isn't all that important in the grand scheme of things.
That might make you think: "But, wait, doesn't the Vatican know what we're up against? Don't they see the battles the Church in the U.S. is fighting? Don't they know how much we need to be connected and have access to information? We want to stay faithful! And we are under attack." I thought that, really I did. For minute, I could even see it as valid. I mean, we have a pervasive culture of death threatening to beat down our collective front door, round up our kids for brainwashing and throw us subversive Christian types into the dungeon.
But then I began to think about some other things I know a little bit about too. And I realized something. You know what guys? We are not the only ones facing a battle. And it might be time that we begin to recognize that and respect our brothers and sisters all over the world who are battling too. And I think Pope Francis is trying to help us open our eyes. I mean, I don't think he's sitting at home fervently practicing English on Rosetta Stone, worried about our angst over not being to understand him. Instead, he's smiling and hugging and kissing and embracing and loving and talking. Off the cuff and in his native language. And he's letting us wait. And maybe learn something about how much bigger the Church is than our narrow perspective allows us to see.
Yes it is very hard and even dangerous to be a pro-life, anti-contraception, pro-marriage faithful Catholic in the U.S. today. Yes, our legal system is becoming increasingly hostile to our beliefs and even our rights. Yes, that means all the rest of our institutional systems are following suit. And, yes, as Catholics, we rely heavily on the fact that we have the support of a magisterium composed of 2000 years of collective wisdom to guide us, so it is important for us to understand its current spokesman.
But do you think we are the only ones? Do you think our battles are in any way more significant than those being fought all over the world by faithful Catholics? Have you read on any U.S. Catholic publication that in the last few weeks, Costa Rica's governing body ACCIDENTALLY passed a law legalizing same sex marriages and now the president refuses to veto it even at their request (don't ask me how that happens, just know it's not that surprising really when you live here)? That the only government in the world that declares that it is based on the Catholic faith is being sued by an international human rights court to reimburse families who were not allowed to use in vitro fertilization to conceive? That there is an abortion rights group scouring up young girls off the streets who get pregnant before twelve and pushing for the government to make it not only legal but mandatory that they get an abortion? Did you know that the Costa Rican educational system is mounting a new sex education campaign in its schools that is completely contradictory to the Catholic beliefs that more than 90% of its residents profess? And that Costa Rican parents do not have the legal right to opt out and educate their children at home?
And Costa Rica is hardly alone in its battle. All over Central and South America similar battles are taking place. Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay all recently passes legislation on these issues contrary to our beliefs. In all these places, Catholics are battling an increasingly invasive culture of death. Not to mention that many of them are battling just to survive the day, to put a roof over their families' heads and food in their bellies. So a lot of times they don't even realize what is happening until it is too late. And that doesn't even take into consideration that they are daily bombarded by the influence of world humanitarian organizations preaching to them that the answer to all their problems is to stop conceiving children, to sterilize themselves, and to turn their kids over to the state to educate them on sexuality and relationships.
My fellow U.S. Catholics, think for just a moment what it might be like to try to protect a culture of life on the continent of Africa, where poverty and starvation and AIDS and orphaned children and infant mortality rates sky high make contraception and abortion seem logical solutions. And where refusing the agenda of international aid organizations means turning away help that literally keeps people alive daily. Try explaining that stance over and over again to hostile agencies and to the people you are charged to shepherd and to love.
What about Asia? A culture sharing the many of the same issues as Africa as well as the openly hostile cultural influence of Islam and living in the shadow of China's population control policies. Think about what it would be like to earnestly desire to live your Church's teachings in that climate.
And all those eyes, not just our American ones, are on Pope Francis. Waiting for his leadership. Waiting for the word of tender mercy that will give them strength to keep battling on in the face of tremendous adversity. Looking for the light of hope and the love of Christ to say, "You are not alone. Your Church walks with you. And we will fight at your side."
And while I can't be certain because I only speak English and Spanish, I can say that I that I have not yet found an explosive reaction to Pope Francis' words (or dancing cardinals for that matter) in any other language. Sure, there are some overly enthusiastic news reports making it look like he's totally changing the Church's position on things. I mean, we're talking about places were there never really were any standards of ethical journalism to violate. We can't be too surprised about that.
So, here's what I'm getting at. I think there is definitely a lesson here about having the integrity to wait until you are sure about what the Pope said before you say he said it and offer an opinion (a lesson I humbly admit I learned this week when I re-posted the whole saints in tennis shoes thing on Facebook without verifying it). But I think there might be a bigger lesson for U.S. Catholics in Francis' pontificate. And that is that he's not talking to you.
I mean, not only you. And he really doesn't care all that much how quickly you get access to a good translation of his words. Nor does he care that much what you then do with them when it comes to forming opinions and analyzing them. It really only matters if in the end you are faithful. And that's not between you and Him. That's Jesus'job. Because Francis' flock, my friends, is so much bigger than just us. And it is so, so needy. So step back a minute, slow down, in the wise words of Ms. Scalia, exhale. And stop talking about the Church as if the U.S. version of it were the be all and end all. Because it's not.
And I think Pope Francis is going to keep reminding us of that over and over again. In Spanish. Without apology. Let's hope we figure out how to understand what he really means. I think it so ironic that this all came about on the feast of St. Martha, if only to drive home the point that maybe it's time for us U.S. Catholics to stop rushing around busying ourselves with our own opinions and just sit at our shepherd's feet for a while and learn to listen.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
A Letter to Emma (and Her Mama)
Dearest Emma,
Your mama, she saw Ann hugging Katie today, and she got scared again. Scared of you, dear. Do you know why she's scared of you? She's scared because she sees a girl so ready to let God wreck the young life she's living and by default, wreck her mama's. She sees a girl with a fire in her heart and the flames dancing in her eyes, big dreams, big hopes of faraway places and blessed feet bringing the Good News. And she wonders how to help you live where you are now, how to pour everything into you she wants you to have, how to connect you to home enough that you'll always long for it. So that when the time comes for you to run away with Jesus and wreck your life, and by consequence hers, you'll know who you are and where you come from. And you'll take it all with you and come back to it all when you need it.
And this is what I want to say you, darling. Let her. Let her your mama love you and teach you and lead you and guide you. Do the dishes when she asks. Camp out in the backyard with your brothers and laugh at their goofy jokes. Go on dates with your Dad. Share confidences with your sister. Plant a vegetable garden for you mom. Serve the poor in your own neighborhood until you know them by name. Do algebra and geometry problems with vigor. Read about history. Learn the lives of the saints and some solid theology. Make the waiting worth the while.
Because in all these things, the real lesson is this: Submit. Be obedient. Be faithful. And find joy in the ordinary. And do you know what, beloved girl? You're going to need to those lessons. If there is anything I wish, it is that I had allowed myself to learn them better than I did. We, the girls with the fiery spirits and drifting dreams and the wide eyes full of distant shores, we sometimes lose the forest for the trees. We sometimes forget that if we save the whole world and lose ourselves, it is all for naught. We drop the ball on our own sanctity in pursuit of the will of God. We worry so much about God's plan for our lives we forget to live it, to enjoy it. We strive so much for the extraordinary that we lose the grace of the ordinary. We forget that we serve a God who makes himself present to us in simple bread and wine. The greatest miracle in the most ordinary of things. And that we must live equally. We are hounded by the feeling of "not enough".
But, sweet Emma, whether God calls you to the married life, the religious life or the single life, living it will be all about those three lessons: submission, obedience and faithfulness. You will always be stuffing down the desire to do what you feel like doing in order to do His will. You will always be fighting the desire to rebuff wise counsel you know is right for the doing in the now. You will always be tempted to look for more, to want to be somewhere further doing something bigger, than to love what and who there is to love where you are in the moment. And the only thing that will keep you where you need to be is the daily discipline you have practiced over and over and over again of obeying the will of another.
Because you know what I want you to know, Emma? The mission field is more often like the drudgery of daily life at home than not. Only on steroids, Emma. The bathrooms stink more and more quickly. The dishes get dirtier and there is no dish washer. The clothes have to be washed earlier and put on the line and brought back in before it rains and if you forget to pay attention, you have to start all over again. And if you do that twice in a row, you find yourself at Mass in someone else's fuschia velveteen sweat pants and your husband's polo shirt. Ask me how I know, Em. Ask me.
You know what, sweet girl? Most days saving the world is a lot more like solving an endless string of algebra problems that it is like being Wonder Woman. Most days it looks a lot more like sore feet and itchy legs and toilet paper than needs to burned and someone at the door right when you were about to take a shower. And you have to have practiced a lot to know the order to put things in. To know whether to add inside the parentheses of your home first or multiply your giving first. To know whether to subtract time from chores or prayer before you divide yourself to serve. Know how many chapters to read and how many chapters to write and how many chapters to live in one day before you implode into emotional mush. You have to see the comprehension questions in the Word of God and know how to answer them, for the love. And you have to know when life demands a comma, a period, an exclamation mark or a question mark. You can't just live in all caps and never take a break.
And, Emma, your mama, she knows a thing or two about that. And she wants to teach you. Let her, sweet one. And don't regret a moment of it. Soak it all up. Because if God is doing in you what we all think He might be doing, one day you might be far away and full of the the world's pain and the love of Christ to the point of bursting, and you will want nothing more than a warm bath to soak it all out and someone to talk to. All you'll use the newest to gadget to send an S.O.S. to the world out there for a little love, a little encouragement to keep going and you'll hope and hope that your mentors and your friends will show up to cheer you on. And they won't, Emma, they won't. And your eyes will sting with the tears of loneliness and your whole body will hurt from the desire to just be held. And you'll have practiced. You'll have done your homework.
So you'll run to Jesus and you'll read His word and you'll sing His praise and you'll see Him in the simple bread and wine. And your faithfulness will be what gets you to other side. And your obedience will be what keeps you in the place He has you when you want to run. And your submission will be what lets you sit in that place and wait until He moves you rather than going your own way and screwing it all up.
And then, your little gadget will light up with a ray of encouragement to cheer you on. Someone will reach across the miles to be the balm your lonely heart needs. And do you know, what, Emma? 9 times out 10, it'll be your mama.
See this girl right here in this video? She is me at my core. She is who I always dreamed I would be. I'm forty, Em. Do you know how many of my days have actually looked like this? Only a fraction, my friend, only a fraction. But do you know what? Every time I get to live one, it makes the dishes and the mopping and the walking dusty roads and getting blank stares in return and the pain of loneliness and the suffering and the struggling so worth it. Do you know why? Because those things make me look like more like Jesus and less like me. They force me to give me up until He can shine through. And how awful would it be if I finally got to a day like this and brought them me instead of Jesus? I've done it enough to to know, Emma. It sucks. The pain of repentance is so much harder to bear than the waiting and the learning. Ask me how I know, Em. Ask me how I know.
Oh, and Emma, one more thing. Get ready, girl. Because after all that waiting, when He does finally move? Girl, it's like you don't what the heck hit you. You're all, "Wait, wait, wait a minute, Lord. I just need to get a few things together and catch my breath. I didn't finish Algebra yet!" And He's all, "Oh no, honey, we're going. Now." And all I can say is, hold on for the ride, Emma. Cling tight. Because it will be wilder and more glorious than you have ever imagined. And it will good, Emma. So, so good. And I hope I am there to see it.
And, Em, if you're reading, will you let me make letters to Emma a regular part of my writing? I like talking to you. You help me think. You help get my thoughts together and get them out of my head where they're driving me crazy. And you know, Emma, I've got enough crazy to last me a lifetime.
With the greatest of Love, the peace that surpasses understanding and the highest Hope of all,
Mrs. Mitchell
aka
Your mama, she saw Ann hugging Katie today, and she got scared again. Scared of you, dear. Do you know why she's scared of you? She's scared because she sees a girl so ready to let God wreck the young life she's living and by default, wreck her mama's. She sees a girl with a fire in her heart and the flames dancing in her eyes, big dreams, big hopes of faraway places and blessed feet bringing the Good News. And she wonders how to help you live where you are now, how to pour everything into you she wants you to have, how to connect you to home enough that you'll always long for it. So that when the time comes for you to run away with Jesus and wreck your life, and by consequence hers, you'll know who you are and where you come from. And you'll take it all with you and come back to it all when you need it.
And this is what I want to say you, darling. Let her. Let her your mama love you and teach you and lead you and guide you. Do the dishes when she asks. Camp out in the backyard with your brothers and laugh at their goofy jokes. Go on dates with your Dad. Share confidences with your sister. Plant a vegetable garden for you mom. Serve the poor in your own neighborhood until you know them by name. Do algebra and geometry problems with vigor. Read about history. Learn the lives of the saints and some solid theology. Make the waiting worth the while.
Because in all these things, the real lesson is this: Submit. Be obedient. Be faithful. And find joy in the ordinary. And do you know what, beloved girl? You're going to need to those lessons. If there is anything I wish, it is that I had allowed myself to learn them better than I did. We, the girls with the fiery spirits and drifting dreams and the wide eyes full of distant shores, we sometimes lose the forest for the trees. We sometimes forget that if we save the whole world and lose ourselves, it is all for naught. We drop the ball on our own sanctity in pursuit of the will of God. We worry so much about God's plan for our lives we forget to live it, to enjoy it. We strive so much for the extraordinary that we lose the grace of the ordinary. We forget that we serve a God who makes himself present to us in simple bread and wine. The greatest miracle in the most ordinary of things. And that we must live equally. We are hounded by the feeling of "not enough".
But, sweet Emma, whether God calls you to the married life, the religious life or the single life, living it will be all about those three lessons: submission, obedience and faithfulness. You will always be stuffing down the desire to do what you feel like doing in order to do His will. You will always be fighting the desire to rebuff wise counsel you know is right for the doing in the now. You will always be tempted to look for more, to want to be somewhere further doing something bigger, than to love what and who there is to love where you are in the moment. And the only thing that will keep you where you need to be is the daily discipline you have practiced over and over and over again of obeying the will of another.
Because you know what I want you to know, Emma? The mission field is more often like the drudgery of daily life at home than not. Only on steroids, Emma. The bathrooms stink more and more quickly. The dishes get dirtier and there is no dish washer. The clothes have to be washed earlier and put on the line and brought back in before it rains and if you forget to pay attention, you have to start all over again. And if you do that twice in a row, you find yourself at Mass in someone else's fuschia velveteen sweat pants and your husband's polo shirt. Ask me how I know, Em. Ask me.
You know what, sweet girl? Most days saving the world is a lot more like solving an endless string of algebra problems that it is like being Wonder Woman. Most days it looks a lot more like sore feet and itchy legs and toilet paper than needs to burned and someone at the door right when you were about to take a shower. And you have to have practiced a lot to know the order to put things in. To know whether to add inside the parentheses of your home first or multiply your giving first. To know whether to subtract time from chores or prayer before you divide yourself to serve. Know how many chapters to read and how many chapters to write and how many chapters to live in one day before you implode into emotional mush. You have to see the comprehension questions in the Word of God and know how to answer them, for the love. And you have to know when life demands a comma, a period, an exclamation mark or a question mark. You can't just live in all caps and never take a break.
And, Emma, your mama, she knows a thing or two about that. And she wants to teach you. Let her, sweet one. And don't regret a moment of it. Soak it all up. Because if God is doing in you what we all think He might be doing, one day you might be far away and full of the the world's pain and the love of Christ to the point of bursting, and you will want nothing more than a warm bath to soak it all out and someone to talk to. All you'll use the newest to gadget to send an S.O.S. to the world out there for a little love, a little encouragement to keep going and you'll hope and hope that your mentors and your friends will show up to cheer you on. And they won't, Emma, they won't. And your eyes will sting with the tears of loneliness and your whole body will hurt from the desire to just be held. And you'll have practiced. You'll have done your homework.
So you'll run to Jesus and you'll read His word and you'll sing His praise and you'll see Him in the simple bread and wine. And your faithfulness will be what gets you to other side. And your obedience will be what keeps you in the place He has you when you want to run. And your submission will be what lets you sit in that place and wait until He moves you rather than going your own way and screwing it all up.
And then, your little gadget will light up with a ray of encouragement to cheer you on. Someone will reach across the miles to be the balm your lonely heart needs. And do you know, what, Emma? 9 times out 10, it'll be your mama.
See this girl right here in this video? She is me at my core. She is who I always dreamed I would be. I'm forty, Em. Do you know how many of my days have actually looked like this? Only a fraction, my friend, only a fraction. But do you know what? Every time I get to live one, it makes the dishes and the mopping and the walking dusty roads and getting blank stares in return and the pain of loneliness and the suffering and the struggling so worth it. Do you know why? Because those things make me look like more like Jesus and less like me. They force me to give me up until He can shine through. And how awful would it be if I finally got to a day like this and brought them me instead of Jesus? I've done it enough to to know, Emma. It sucks. The pain of repentance is so much harder to bear than the waiting and the learning. Ask me how I know, Em. Ask me how I know.
Oh, and Emma, one more thing. Get ready, girl. Because after all that waiting, when He does finally move? Girl, it's like you don't what the heck hit you. You're all, "Wait, wait, wait a minute, Lord. I just need to get a few things together and catch my breath. I didn't finish Algebra yet!" And He's all, "Oh no, honey, we're going. Now." And all I can say is, hold on for the ride, Emma. Cling tight. Because it will be wilder and more glorious than you have ever imagined. And it will good, Emma. So, so good. And I hope I am there to see it.
And, Em, if you're reading, will you let me make letters to Emma a regular part of my writing? I like talking to you. You help me think. You help get my thoughts together and get them out of my head where they're driving me crazy. And you know, Emma, I've got enough crazy to last me a lifetime.
With the greatest of Love, the peace that surpasses understanding and the highest Hope of all,
Mrs. Mitchell
aka
Sunday, June 30, 2013
A Roof Over His Head
About a week ago we had a visit from a family who lives in the indigenous community of Paso Marcos where we were planning an evangelization event which took place today. They had walked four hours to our home to, first of all, visit and get to know us a bit, but also to ask us if it might be possible for us to help one of their neighbors. Today, after our event, they took us to meet him and see his need. This is his story.
Oscar is a senior citizen. Even though he himself is not indigenous, he bought property in the community of Paso Marcos many years ago and lived there and raised his family there. His wife died years ago and his children have all moved on to other areas, leaving Oscar alone to fend for himself.
He lives at the top of the mountain in a little wooden shack which he rarely leaves. The tin that comprises his roof has deteriorated and is full of holes. Every time that it rains, all of Oscar's bedding (and Oscar too if he happens to be sleeping) get soaking wet. The dampness invades every part of his humble living space.
Meet Oscar and see his home here:
For $250, we can purchase the tin sheets we need to replace Oscar's roof. With a bit more, we can buy him a new mattress and pillow and provide him fresh sheets and a hand made quilts from our Mercy Covers initiative. His neighbors will help us do the work to repair his roof and keep him safe and dry.
Would you help us put of roof over Oscar's head before he undergoes any more wet and lonely nights? Go to www.stbryce.com and click over to our Paypal page to make a donation for Oscar. Comment here if you need help getting your donation set up.
Oscar is a senior citizen. Even though he himself is not indigenous, he bought property in the community of Paso Marcos many years ago and lived there and raised his family there. His wife died years ago and his children have all moved on to other areas, leaving Oscar alone to fend for himself.
He lives at the top of the mountain in a little wooden shack which he rarely leaves. The tin that comprises his roof has deteriorated and is full of holes. Every time that it rains, all of Oscar's bedding (and Oscar too if he happens to be sleeping) get soaking wet. The dampness invades every part of his humble living space.
Meet Oscar and see his home here:
For $250, we can purchase the tin sheets we need to replace Oscar's roof. With a bit more, we can buy him a new mattress and pillow and provide him fresh sheets and a hand made quilts from our Mercy Covers initiative. His neighbors will help us do the work to repair his roof and keep him safe and dry.
Would you help us put of roof over Oscar's head before he undergoes any more wet and lonely nights? Go to www.stbryce.com and click over to our Paypal page to make a donation for Oscar. Comment here if you need help getting your donation set up.
Thank you in advance for being Christ to Oscar.
Friday, June 28, 2013
I Thought I Had Something Worth Saying Today
until I read this and saw these images. Forget about what I thought I wanted to say. Read this instead.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
If I Got to Pick
The life I live here in missions is a life that places me, for the most part, totally dependent on the Lord, His provision, His timing and His holy will for our lives. It is good. It is the way I really, truly desire to live.
However, it is totally contrary to my personality. I am a girl who likes to have a plan. I wake up in the morning and within the first two sips of coffee could easily tell you how I would prefer the day to play itself out in 15 minute increments. I can plan a vacation in my head complete with packing list at the mere mention of it over a dinner. I am the kind of girl who makes lists for fun, who would willingly pack for someone else simply because I enjoy the opportunity to organize. I once spent the night at a friend's house after a recent move. Our husbands were both out of town for work. There were boxes everywhere and she was totally overwhelmed. By the time she woke up in the morning, I had moved all the boxes to the correct room, labeled her closets and unpacked her kitchen and bathrooms. She had to call me for months afterwards to ask me where things were. It was some of the best fun I have ever had.
So you see, this life I lead can be hard for me at times. The trust it takes to leave timing and planning in God's hands is a huge leap of faith from my natural temperament. So is having five sons, but that's a story for another day. At the time that we left to take up our mission here in Costa Rica as the St. Bryce Foundation, one of the greatest challenges for me personally meant that it left leaving my oldest brother and his wife and his children and the rest of my family as we united with him in his fight against ALS. It was a sticking point for me with God.
But my brother had always one of the most faithful servants of God I have ever met, and I knew he, more than anyone else, would want me to do what God was calling me to do. He assured me of this himself. Shortly after we arrived in the field, he entered into a medical emergency that threatened to end his life. I was horrified that it would happen that way, that God would take Him home just as I had left. That all my family would be there at his side and I would not. He did not go home then. He fought back, chose life and kept battling.
So many days it hurt that I did not get to pick the timing of things. That I didn't get to be there when I would've chosen. But I did get there. Last July, we spent quiet evenings together enjoying my sister-in-law's kick ass cooking and holding hands and watching So You Think You Can Dance. We had Skype sessions where I laughed at him sipping Red Stripe through a straw and he laughed at me sitting on a tree stump to get good internet reception. In February, we launched our candidacy for the papacy (There is no logical way for me to explain this to anyone who did not know my brother. I can only be sorry for you that you missed out. It was big fun.)
And in March, I headed home to see him again, this time with my whole gang at my side. Our first full night home we went out to dinner. Both my brothers and their families and us. It was glorious and heart wrenching at the same time. I was so happy to meet my sweet niece for the first time, to hold those big brother hands again, to hear my sister-in-law's laugh, to watch my boys giggle maniacally with their cousins, to share quiet conversation with the man who is my first nephew and open my eyes to what a stellar human being he is.
But it ripped me up inside to watch my brother fight for every breath, to see the look of panic in his eyes, and to realize how tired he was. I went back to our guest house that night knowing deep in my soul he was ready to go home soon. And with a panic in my heart. I was there. Then. But I would leave again soon. What if the timing God chose happened to be the one that left me far away in that moment? What if I would have to leave knowing I would never see him again here on earth? And I was angry about the lack of control my life demanded of me.
In the days that followed, my brother entered the hospital and we began to realize that his battle with ALS was drawing to a close. Difficult conversations had to be had. Hard decisions made. A birthday had to be celebrated. And seafood had to be eaten. And a family had to come together to figure out how to live, laugh, love and say goodbye. And do you know what? If God had said to me, "Colleen, I am going to take your brother home and you have no choice in that matter, but all the other details, I will let you plan", even in my eager to plan brain, I could not have come up with a more perfect scenario as we experienced in the days surrounding my brother's going home.
So many of the details are too intimate. Words are great tools to express certain things, and for others, they are cheap. So much of what happened would be cheapened by them in this case. But here is what I would like to share. I do not have a family that has followed a cookie cutter path. We touch every point on the spectrum when it comes to personalities and temperaments, life choices, and religious, spiritual and moral orientations. But I am blessed beyond belief with a family who knows without a doubt how to love fiercely and stand in unity despite those differences. And I believe a large part of our ability to do that was won as we watched my brother live and fight his battle with ALS with that as his only priority -- to love well, to point people to the love of Christ, and to live with unbounded joy.
So in the moments surrounding his going home, that is what we did. We laughed loud and loved strong and teased relentlessly. We drank too much and ate too much and talked too much (so much so that we were "shushed" by the ICU nurses while we were still outside in the waiting area). We cried and we embraced and we figured out where our strength lay. So that in the moment that Kevin ran into Jesus' arms, we could leave all of our differences behind and stand hand in hand singing. And cheering him on his way. I have no absolutely no words to describe what that moment felt like. It is forever suspended in time for me. The woman my sister-in-law was in that moment has forever changed me. Being the daughter who first lost a child of a mother who now sent her little boy home is the most breakingly beautiful title of womanhood I now carry. Standing in the embrace of my remaining siblings is a moment I will take with me forever. The faces of nephews and nieces and their expressions of love for their father and their uncle and the love shared by our children, the great big band of cousins that make up this family is for me a joy beyond all belief, a hope for a future that shines with radiance. These young people that we raised? They are good, y'all. So, so good. You will thank us one day for our procreative gifts. I promise you.
I look back on that time and feel overwhelming gratitude to my God. I didn't want my brother to have ALS. I don't want him to be gone. But these are things God does not consult me on. However, I did want to hold his hand and be next to him when that moment arrived. And I was. I did want to feel a tight part of my family circle and share that experience with my mom and my siblings. And I did. I did want to see him one more time outside of the hospital when he was still "well" and I did. I did want to be able to tell him all the reasons I loved him and was so proud of him and I did. I did want to celebrate with joy when at last he had beat the beast and won the crown. And I did. I did want to sing to him the songs that had beat in my heart for him while I was far away and I did. I wanted my sister-in-law to know how deeply beautiful she was and how much I appreciated her. I wanted to say out loud to her that we supported every choice she had made in this difficult journey and we supported her as she began a new phase of life. And we supported her relief that the battle was over. I got to say those words. And I did want to laugh and have a good beer and eat fried stuff from the Gulf and talk in my New Orleans accent. And I did. I wanted a piece of my brother to take with me forever. He left me that. That man, he knew how to live well, and you know what, because of that, he knew how to die well. I know that sounds weird, but anyone who witnessed it would unequivocally agree with me, I know.
I didn't really know how to write a to-do list for my brother's death. I didn't want to. But when the moment came, I knew, he knew, we all knew, how to live it. And if I got to pick, this is how it would have been. If I get to write the script for my own going, I want it to be just like his.
And just to keep reminding me that this was just a sweet tender mercy and not to let myself get used to it, God went back to his usual ways and put me back in my place of humble submission, when, on the morning of the funeral, I found myself late and lost and in the midst of an utter panic attack, screaming at my older sister on the phone for help. And then the brunt of the pastor's joke as I walked into the church having scorned my poor family into beaten little pulps in my grief and pain and the anxiety of things being out of my control again. Crying and laughing at myself, and seeing that once again, He had worked it all for good even when He didn't give me a say. And me, back to my sheepish little apologies and promises of greater trust in the future.
And do you know what? I'm pretty sure I could hear that man, my big brother, giggling at me from heaven. And I think he might have been tying my baby's hands to his shoes too. But that, too, is a story for another day.
However, it is totally contrary to my personality. I am a girl who likes to have a plan. I wake up in the morning and within the first two sips of coffee could easily tell you how I would prefer the day to play itself out in 15 minute increments. I can plan a vacation in my head complete with packing list at the mere mention of it over a dinner. I am the kind of girl who makes lists for fun, who would willingly pack for someone else simply because I enjoy the opportunity to organize. I once spent the night at a friend's house after a recent move. Our husbands were both out of town for work. There were boxes everywhere and she was totally overwhelmed. By the time she woke up in the morning, I had moved all the boxes to the correct room, labeled her closets and unpacked her kitchen and bathrooms. She had to call me for months afterwards to ask me where things were. It was some of the best fun I have ever had.
So you see, this life I lead can be hard for me at times. The trust it takes to leave timing and planning in God's hands is a huge leap of faith from my natural temperament. So is having five sons, but that's a story for another day. At the time that we left to take up our mission here in Costa Rica as the St. Bryce Foundation, one of the greatest challenges for me personally meant that it left leaving my oldest brother and his wife and his children and the rest of my family as we united with him in his fight against ALS. It was a sticking point for me with God.
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| My big brothers and I on our first night back in the States February 2013 |
But my brother had always one of the most faithful servants of God I have ever met, and I knew he, more than anyone else, would want me to do what God was calling me to do. He assured me of this himself. Shortly after we arrived in the field, he entered into a medical emergency that threatened to end his life. I was horrified that it would happen that way, that God would take Him home just as I had left. That all my family would be there at his side and I would not. He did not go home then. He fought back, chose life and kept battling.
So many days it hurt that I did not get to pick the timing of things. That I didn't get to be there when I would've chosen. But I did get there. Last July, we spent quiet evenings together enjoying my sister-in-law's kick ass cooking and holding hands and watching So You Think You Can Dance. We had Skype sessions where I laughed at him sipping Red Stripe through a straw and he laughed at me sitting on a tree stump to get good internet reception. In February, we launched our candidacy for the papacy (There is no logical way for me to explain this to anyone who did not know my brother. I can only be sorry for you that you missed out. It was big fun.)
And in March, I headed home to see him again, this time with my whole gang at my side. Our first full night home we went out to dinner. Both my brothers and their families and us. It was glorious and heart wrenching at the same time. I was so happy to meet my sweet niece for the first time, to hold those big brother hands again, to hear my sister-in-law's laugh, to watch my boys giggle maniacally with their cousins, to share quiet conversation with the man who is my first nephew and open my eyes to what a stellar human being he is.
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| Cousins at dinner |
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| Cousin Dinner |
In the days that followed, my brother entered the hospital and we began to realize that his battle with ALS was drawing to a close. Difficult conversations had to be had. Hard decisions made. A birthday had to be celebrated. And seafood had to be eaten. And a family had to come together to figure out how to live, laugh, love and say goodbye. And do you know what? If God had said to me, "Colleen, I am going to take your brother home and you have no choice in that matter, but all the other details, I will let you plan", even in my eager to plan brain, I could not have come up with a more perfect scenario as we experienced in the days surrounding my brother's going home.
So many of the details are too intimate. Words are great tools to express certain things, and for others, they are cheap. So much of what happened would be cheapened by them in this case. But here is what I would like to share. I do not have a family that has followed a cookie cutter path. We touch every point on the spectrum when it comes to personalities and temperaments, life choices, and religious, spiritual and moral orientations. But I am blessed beyond belief with a family who knows without a doubt how to love fiercely and stand in unity despite those differences. And I believe a large part of our ability to do that was won as we watched my brother live and fight his battle with ALS with that as his only priority -- to love well, to point people to the love of Christ, and to live with unbounded joy.
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| These apples don't fall far from the trees, y'all Cousin Shenanigans |
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| Celebrating Kevin's birthday in the ICU waiting room the day before we cheered him home to heaven Me with some of my favorite people on earth, my sister, my niece, and my cousin |
I look back on that time and feel overwhelming gratitude to my God. I didn't want my brother to have ALS. I don't want him to be gone. But these are things God does not consult me on. However, I did want to hold his hand and be next to him when that moment arrived. And I was. I did want to feel a tight part of my family circle and share that experience with my mom and my siblings. And I did. I did want to see him one more time outside of the hospital when he was still "well" and I did. I did want to be able to tell him all the reasons I loved him and was so proud of him and I did. I did want to celebrate with joy when at last he had beat the beast and won the crown. And I did. I did want to sing to him the songs that had beat in my heart for him while I was far away and I did. I wanted my sister-in-law to know how deeply beautiful she was and how much I appreciated her. I wanted to say out loud to her that we supported every choice she had made in this difficult journey and we supported her as she began a new phase of life. And we supported her relief that the battle was over. I got to say those words. And I did want to laugh and have a good beer and eat fried stuff from the Gulf and talk in my New Orleans accent. And I did. I wanted a piece of my brother to take with me forever. He left me that. That man, he knew how to live well, and you know what, because of that, he knew how to die well. I know that sounds weird, but anyone who witnessed it would unequivocally agree with me, I know.
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| Crawfish and beer. It's how we live. It's how we love. It's how we roll. |
And just to keep reminding me that this was just a sweet tender mercy and not to let myself get used to it, God went back to his usual ways and put me back in my place of humble submission, when, on the morning of the funeral, I found myself late and lost and in the midst of an utter panic attack, screaming at my older sister on the phone for help. And then the brunt of the pastor's joke as I walked into the church having scorned my poor family into beaten little pulps in my grief and pain and the anxiety of things being out of my control again. Crying and laughing at myself, and seeing that once again, He had worked it all for good even when He didn't give me a say. And me, back to my sheepish little apologies and promises of greater trust in the future.
And do you know what? I'm pretty sure I could hear that man, my big brother, giggling at me from heaven. And I think he might have been tying my baby's hands to his shoes too. But that, too, is a story for another day.
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| Family bonfire in my brother Stephen's yard |
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Remember Her?
Yeah, that's okay, I barely remember her either. But she's been hanging around a lot in the back of my head begging for some attention lately. And it's getting harder and harder to ignore her.
She's got stories to tell. Thoughts that won't stop rumbling to forefront of her mind when she needs to be thinking about dinner and how to teach borrowing in subtraction.
So I'm going to try to begin to oblige her a bit here and there. Perhaps you would be willing to do the same?
When she comes back, remind her to tell you about walking like a Franciscan, about her beautiful brother's journey home, about boys and snowmen and indoor water parks and outside snow in Amish country, about connecting with another missionary mom, about her friend Don Oscar, about a mom and a baby and an antibiotic label, about the pesky dust of the mission field and slaves that have been freed and survivors who tell their stories and a brilliantly simple homeschooling idea.
Because these are the things that she keeps talking about inside my head and these are the things that keep me from figuring out how to turn half an onion , a few potatoes, tomato sauce and relish into a square meal for eight. I'm sure if I let her get her words out, I'll come up with something.
Come back and share stories with us in the coming days and weeks?
Thanks. I knew you would.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Want to Know the Back Story?
If you have wondered and wanted to know the story of how we got to this place, living this call to foreign missionary service, I was blessed to share our story at My Crazy Adoption last week in a new series Kari is running about other missionary moms and their journeys.
When God started to knock on the door asking for my heart, my life,whispering to me that He was calling us to return to the mission field, I did not think I could say “yes”. It was two years after we had lost our sixth son Bryce to SIDS at three months old in 2009 and then suffered a very difficult second trimester miscarriage a couple of months later in early 2010. I had been grieving and living in survival mode for that long when my husband began to see a new light dawning for us...head over here to read the rest.
When God started to knock on the door asking for my heart, my life,whispering to me that He was calling us to return to the mission field, I did not think I could say “yes”. It was two years after we had lost our sixth son Bryce to SIDS at three months old in 2009 and then suffered a very difficult second trimester miscarriage a couple of months later in early 2010. I had been grieving and living in survival mode for that long when my husband began to see a new light dawning for us...head over here to read the rest.
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