When We Must Choose . . .

Have you ever noticed the amount of choices we each make on a daily basis?  Think back through your day, your week or even this past year and try to reflect on the multitude of choices you make in life.  We are inundated with choices.  Sometimes that's a good thing and other times it's just overwhelming.  Sometimes it's empowering to realize how much control you have and other times it's intimidating to realize how much responsibility rests on your choices.  Either way, the fact is we all make choices, whether we realize it or not.  Even when we feel we "have no choice," oftentimes we really do have a choice, it's just that the consequences of one of the options might seem to leave us "no other option." 

Amy and I see this play out everyday with our 4-year-old, Eli.  We try really hard to parent with "Love and Logic."  The basis of this parenting philosophy is to empower your kids to make decisions now when the consequences aren't so monumental so they learn to make the right decisions later on.  For instance, when disciplining our kids we give them a choice:  "You're welcome to throw a fit if you want to, but if you choose to throw a fit you need to do it in your room."  So Eli's been given a choice.  Can you see what the choice is?  He can choose to throw his fit or he can choose to not throw his fit.  But, the consequences of throwing that fit include the parameters of him doing so in his room.  It's his choice.  It doesn't matter to us either way.  There's a lot more to it, but that's just one example. 

What about us adults?

There are very few things we do where we don't have a choice.  This time of year you might say, "Well we have to pay taxes."  No, we don't.  We don't have to pay taxes.  No one is going to hold a gun to your head and force you to pay your taxes.  You can choose to pay or not pay.  But, if you don't there are consequences of not paying.  You still have a choice.  You can choose to do your duty as a citizen or you can choose to face possible consequences.  Most choose to pay in order to avoid the consequences, but you still have a choice. 

"I have to go to work today."  No, you don't.  You can choose not to, but there are consequences.  You might lose your job if you don't go.  You might not get done what you have to get done.  You might upset your boss.  Your business might start to fail.  Those are the consequences.  When you choose to go to work you're not saying "I have to go to work," what you're really doing is making the choice to go because the consequences of not going to work outweigh the benefits. 

"I just don't have time for that."  No, you are choosing to spend your time on something else you've decided is more important. 

"We can't afford that right now."  No, you've decided you'd rather spend your money on something else. 

None of these are bad.  They just are what they are.  You decide how to spend your time and your money.  You have a choice.  What I'm referring to here is what we value.  We make decisions based on what we value most.  Our behavior is determined by what we value most.  It's not that you don't have enough time to spend with your kids, it's that you've decided spending time doing something else (work, facebook, poker night, golf) is more important than spending time with your kids.  It's not that you can't afford to give to charity, it's that you've decided something else (eating out, going on vacation, a new vehicle, your coffee) is more valuable to you than giving to charity.  Again, none of these are "bad," they just are what they are.  Let's just call it what it is. 

When we say "I have no choice," or "I don't have time," or "I don't have the money for that," what we are really doing is trying to deflect responsibility for our own choices.  If we have no choice then there's nothing we can do about it . . . the responsibility rests somewhere else.  If we say we don't have time then we are really placing blame on the clock instead of taking responsibility for our own decisions.  It's not our wallet's fault that there's no money left. 

We're really good at placing blame and not so good at taking responsibility.  Everything seems to be someone or something else's fault. 

"He makes me so mad!"  No, you chose to be angry over what he did.

We may not have much of a choice in what happens to us in life but we certainly have control over how we respond to it.  Tuesday marked three months since we lost Thomas.  We've made a lot of choices since that morning we found him dead.  Some choices are ones we never thought we'd have to make for one of our kids (what funeral home to use, where to bury him, when the funeral would be, what to put on the head stone), but they were choices nonetheless. 

We also had to make a choice on how we would respond to this storm.  Do we crawl in a hole and die?  Do we shut ourselves off from the rest of the world because it's just easier?  Do we curse God and blame Him for taking our son early?  Do we search for someone to blame?  Should our doctor have seen something?  Did the paramedics do enough?  Did they do everything they could have done in the ER?  Should we have seen something?  Surely someone is to blame, right?  Maybe not.  We decided to stop looking for blame and chose to focus on what we could control. 

We have a choice. 

Amy and I decided to trust.  We chose to trust that God knows what he's doing.  We decided to trust that God knows and sees much more than we do.  We chose to put our faith in the fact that God will take this and use it for good . . . somehow. 

We are not super-human.  We don't have some sort of "extraordinary faith."  If anything we are more humbled and broken than we've ever been before.  It still hurts--really bad.  We still have a hard time getting through some days.  It will never be easy, but we still have a choice to make.  You just can't avoid some choices. 

So . . . We choose hope.  We choose to trust.  We choose joy.  We choose faith.  We choose peace.  

Those are choices we can live with. 

When the Load is Large . . .

Why are we surprised when God answers our prayers?  And why are we even more surprised when He answers them His way instead of the way we had envisioned?  I prayed a simple prayer on that snowy Olathe, Kansas morning in February 2000.  I simply asked God to give me the strength to be more selfless and to provide an opportunity to put that selflessness into action.  God answered that prayer, just not the way I had in mind.

I was driving home from dropping Amy off at the school where she taught when I saw the answer to my prayer.

I had my whole day planned out.  I had one class that day and was off from work.  My plan was to go home to our apartment, skip class, sit on the couch all day, doze off here and there and not worry about a thing.  I was going to eat lunch at my favorite Mexican restaurant and drink Dr. Pepper.  Those were my only plans.  My dad calls these "veg" days.  You know, days when all you do is sit around and do nothing.  I remembered the prayer I had prayed that morning and I had planned on God answering that prayer the next day or even possibly in the coming weeks.  But God had other plans.  

I didn't see it immediately.  I was driving on the snowy road which ran perpendicular to our apartment complex entrance.  It was a really wet snow that had been falling for a couple of hours, with about 3 or 4 inches on the ground already.  As I pulled in I saw a lady pushing a shopping cart on the snowy sidewalk.  

"Man, that stinks," I thought.  "Why would you be pushing a shopping cart in the snow?"  

Like I said, I didn't see it immediately.  I pulled into our parking spot and glanced back at the lady pushing the cart one more time as I got out of the car.  As I unlocked the door and carried the Dr. Pepper into the apartment it finally hit me.  Why would anyone be pushing a shopping cart in the snow . . . unless they had no other choice?  

"No way, God.  I have my day all planned out.  I don't have time for this today.  I have things to do . . . you know, couch, doze, Chili Rellenos, Dr. Pepper . . .!!"  

I opened the front door so I could peek outside.  She was still walking.  Still pushing the shopping cart. But now it was apparent that she was struggling.  It was probably apparent before, but this time I decided to actually "see" instead of just look.  She was an older woman and she walked with a slight limp.  It would have been hard for her to walk through the snow without pushing a shopping cart.  I knew I had to act.  This certainly wasn't the "selflessness" I had planned.  There was no crowd to witness it.  There was no visible reward for this.   But I knew I had to act.  

I walked slowly toward her for fear that I would freak her out by approaching.  As I got closer I spoke to her.  

"Ma'am?  Can I help you?"  

She reached for her purse and tucked it under her arm to protect it as she turned to look at me.  I stopped in order to keep a safe distance . . . for her sake.  I was quite confident that she would probably just refuse my help and I would be off the hook this time.  I could then get right back to my important day . . . you know, couch, doze, chili rellenos, Dr. Pepper . . . 

"Well I'm just trying to get back home," she said.  She reminded me of my grandma.  It turns out she had run to the store to grab some essentials before the snow that morning and when she got back in her car in the store parking lot it wouldn't start.  

"I didn't know who to call," she said, "so I just started walking."  

Now the store wasn't too far, but it turns out she was quite a ways from home.  In fact, she had lost her bearings and wasn't even sure where she was.  It didn't take long for me to help her get her directions straight and she agreed to let me help her by pushing the cart.  It was tough.  The wheels had gotten to the point where they weren't spinning any longer because they had become so packed with snow.  It was more like pushing a sled that didn't slide very well.  The walk was fairly quiet.  I tried making small talk but it was apparent she wasn't too interested in talking.  I think she was probably wondering if I had in mind to run off with her cart.  Instead, I wrestled that cart through the snow almost a mile to her apartment complex and then up to her door.  I helped her unload her groceries and then turned around to walk back home.  As I began walking away, she stopped me with her voice.  

"Sir," she said.  "I don't know how I would have done that without you.  In fact, I began wondering if I was ever going to make it home.  That was a big load for a little old lady," she said with a laugh. 

"It's no problem," I replied.  "I'm happy to be able to help."  

Dealing with the death of Thomas has been a big load to carry.  As I look back on the past 85 days there are some things that are becoming a little more clear.  The load is getting a little lighter.  It all changed for me on the evening of January 21st.  I was in such a fog that I seriously didn't know if I'd ever find my way out.  I was trying with all my might to push this load home.  The problem was the load was too big for me, and I wasn't quite sure where home was.  

On that night I finally quit trying to push it myself.  I wanted to carry it myself.  I thought I was capable.  I thought I could "fix" everything.  I sat in my recliner late into the night and I wept.  I wept uncontrollably because I felt such a sense of helplessness.  I was lost.  I couldn't even see through the fog, let alone carry this load home.  

I've heard people talk about "giving our problems to God."  I know that the Bible talks about "casting our anxiety upon him," but I didn't know how to do that.  What does that look like.  All I knew to do was pray.  So I prayed this prayer:

"Lord, I can't do this.  I'm trying to carry this myself and it ain't working.  I don't know what else to do but ask you to carry it for me.  I can't do it.  Help me."

I must have prayed that prayer a hundred different ways that night.  As I sat in that chair and continued to pour my heart out to God I began to feel the weight being lifted.  I began to see the fog being melted away ever so slowly.  I began to see that there really exists a "peace that surpasses understanding."  

That's a big load for little guy like me to carry.  I'm happy to have the help.  We have a God who's happy to help.  What's weighing on you?  

When It's Hard to Know . . .

Thomas would have been two today.  It's hard talking about him in the past tense.  Sure, he's gone and we've accepted the fact that we will never see him again this side of heaven, but it's hard to know sometimes how to talk about him.  There's no manual for this.  In the English language there are certain rules to follow when it comes to using a past or present tense, but there are no guidelines about how to keep the memory of our baby boy alive.  Do we talk about him as if he's still with us or as if he's not here?

It's just hard to know.

"How many kids do you have?"

"How old are your kids?"

"So Eli (our 4-year-old) is the youngest?"

"You have two boys and one girl?"

How do we answer these questions?  We've answered them so many different ways in the past 81 days (yes, I'm still counting and probably will keep track for awhile).  Sometimes we just say we have three kids.  Is that wrong of us?  Sometimes we say we have four kids, but then you risk having to explain yourself, or worse--having to make the questioner feel bad because they "brought up a bad memory."  I don't know.

It's just hard to know.

Today we faced the dilemma of how to best remember Thomas on his 2nd birthday.  He's not here with us.  Do we still have cake?  Do we have a birthday party for him even though he can't make it?  Do we sing happy birthday to his empty chair at the table?  Do we celebrate?  Should we be happy?  Will remembering him just make us more sad?

It's just hard to know.

It's been a tough day.  It's been tough because of the emptiness.  This was supposed to be a day where we celebrate.  All day I could just see him blowing out his candles, opening his presents, us singing to him as he smiled so big, diving into his cake and just being the center of attention like he always was.  All these memories are conspicuous reminders of what might have been . . . what should have been . . . and what will not be.

We went to lunch as a family to celebrate, and his absence was so obvious.  After visiting his grave we went to the Sea Aquarium at Crown Center in downtown Kansas City.  He would have loved seeing the fish, the water and especially the rocks.  I spent most of the day being reminded of how his face would light up and he would say "ooooohhhhh" and point to whatever had just grabbed his attention.  He would have done that a lot today.  He was constantly on my mind.

We had a cake with two little candles.  We sang happy birthday to Thomas.  We ate the cake.  We celebrated, but he couldn't make it.  His absence was conspicuous.  It was a tough day.

It was tough because this was the first "milestone" day we've experienced since losing him.  Yeah, we went through Christmas without him but we were still so numb that I don't really remember much about Christmas anyway.  There will be many more days like today where it's just going to be hard to celebrate without him.  Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, family vacations, the anniversary of his passing, his first day of kindergarten, his high school graduation . . . all will be so difficult because he won't be here.  There will be many more tough days like today.  

But it's also been a good day.  It's been good because so many people remembered it was his birthday.  So many people knew this would be a tough day for us.  It was a good day because even though his absence was so obvious, it was also good to do something fun as a family in his honor.  Today was about him.  Today was about doing something that he would have enjoyed and the thoughts of him being happy made us happy.  In the midst of our emptiness we have found ourselves filled.

We are still amazed at the memories that can be made in 21 months.  Even though it's hard to think about him being gone, we are so blessed to have had the time with him that we had.

We have a son that some will never know.  Samuel, Lucy and Eli have a brother who is only in their memory.  Today IS his birthday.  We have four kids . . . three are still with us and one is having a birthday party in heaven today.  

Happy Birthday, Tommy.  We love you so much and I don't know if words exist to adequately portray how much we miss you.  I don't know.  It's just hard to know.