Sometimes it’s the absence of something that is more obvious
than the presence of that very same thing.
I don’t very often pay attention to a gentle breeze. But on a hot, sticky, August afternoon, I
sure feel the absence of that breeze.
I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about or looking at my
keys. But when it’s 9:45 am on a Sunday
morning and everyone is dressed and ready for church and waiting for me and the
key basket is empty, the absence of those keys is suddenly the most stressful
thing in my life.
When my girls were small, I didn’t always pay attention to
their persistent chatter, bouncing off and through walls as they directed
plays, argued over toys, giggled about some sister secrets, or asked the
relentless, “why?” But in a quiet
moment, when the house became still and my mama ears perked up to the Trouble
that most certainly occurs when children are silent, it was the absence of that
chatter that clued me in.
Batteries. (Because
seriously, who ever thinks, “gee, I’m so glad for batteries. Until our kid’s favorite toy runs out of
batteries and there are no replacements to be found and the World. Has.
Ended.)
The TV remote that is nowhere to be found.
Running water.
Heating and air conditioning.
The door that doesn’t open when we are expecting a loved one
to come home on a snowy evening.
The phone that doesn’t ring when we are waiting for a call.
The room or bed that lays empty when the person who is
supposed to be there is gone.
But nothing has taught me more about this idea of noticing
what is absent more than parenting a handful of children that were not my
own. And then parenting Zion.
There are so many children out there who spend years of
their life in a world that is full of absences.
Absences punctuated by inconsistent moments where those things that were
missing are suddenly present. But far too often, things that you and I
take for granted, are absent in a child’s life. A home.
A dad. Food. A warm place to sleep. Safety.
A clean diaper. A clean
anything. Hugs. Cuddles.
Those absences? They
change everything. They create a Great
Hole that can’t be filled by the simple presence of those things that were once
missing. I have seen how those absences
can cause cracks in a child that was knit together in her mother’s womb by a
God that created her to be whole. I have
watched those absences lay quiet like a still pond, then suddenly without
warning start to swell and foam and bubble over in a head bruised on
frustration and bedposts, and sheets soaked in blood and pain that finally
worked its way outward. I have also seen
cracks that should have shattered, be mended in a heart that found Refuge in
its Savior. And I have seen waves that
were stilled by a God that calms storms, both in and around us. I think it is a heart that knows absence that
most desperately clings to the promises of a God that is ever present. But that heart wasn’t created to be so
desperate. It was created to be
cherished. Protected. Known.
I have seen and felt and experienced some difficult things
in parenting these children. I have been
angry, I have cried, I have prayed. I
have rocked this child so broken by absence, then put her to bed. And then I have rocked my son. My little Zion, who knows very little of absence. He cries, I respond. I change a diaper, sing a lullaby, shake a
rattle, fill his belly, swaddle him tight, put him to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I once heard someone share how they visited an orphanage
(incidentally this was NOT an orphanage that partnered with or was sponsored by
our church). They went into a room
filled with babies. Likely, some of
those babies were hungry or had dirty diapers or were bored. It’s a statistical impossibility to have
multiple babies in one room and all of them have their needs met at any given
moment. I have one baby in my house and
he needs about 5 things at this precise second – or at least he thinks so. But this person shared with me how as they
stood in that orphanage, in that room full of babies with a mountain of needs,
they noticed the absence of something: crying.
There was no crying. Babies lined
up in rows of cribs, quiet, not one of them crying to be fed or changed or
held. Babies who learned quickly that
when they cried, no one came. So they
just stopped. Absence begot
absence.
I share these things with you because I have 2 things that I
want you to take away. These are
important things, vital things, things that should not be absent. I am fiercely protective of our little ones’
Story – I hesitate to share even a glimpse of that Story because it is theirs
and I don’t want to be careless with it.
But these 2 things are important, so I trust you to steward their Story
in a way that honors them and kids like them across our city and country and
planet.
Here’s the first thing: moms
and dads, what you do matters. (or Grandmas or Grandpas, Aunts or Uncles, or Kids World volunteers or Sunday School Teachers...) You
do not probably think much about feeding your children, wiping your baby’s
backside, or responding to a midnight nightmare. I highly doubt you pat yourself on the back
for taking your toddler with you to the store instead of leaving them home
alone and unsupervised. You do not put
on a resume or list of talents the fact that someone would have to climb over
your dead body to cause your child physical harm. These things, these realities that are
present in your child’s life may seem so inconsequential that you do not think
they count for much. Or anything at
all.
As someone who has seen the absence of those things, let me
tell you. They matter. They are everything.
So the next time you wipe a nose or scoop up cheerios or
climb in to a too-small-bed for a late
night cuddle, or sing Jesus Loves Me, you relish the reality that you, warrior
mom or dad, you are doing something amazing in that moment. Not necessarily glamorous or even sanitary,
but amazing. Don’t write yourself off
because you don’t feel like super mom or super dad. Don’t you dare compare yourself to the
illusions that are photographed and posted every day on Facebook or Pinterest
or whatever. I don’t care if you sing
like an angel or bellow like a sick donkey.
You just sing that lullaby like you own it. I don’t care if you pack a gourmet lunch
filled with organic food in a reusable lunch sack or if you throw down some
PB&J in a brown bag. You just pack
that lunch up like a boss. Formula or
breastmilk? Kudos for a healthy baby
that gains weight instead of losing it.
And for getting them to those well child visits every other stinkin’ week. Cloth diapers or chemical laden
disposables? Way to go for having a baby
with a clean patooty. TV or directed
creative playtime? If your preschooler
is happy, you go ahead and do that victory lap.
Get the picture? And in the
moments when your fed, clean, loved child is having a meltdown, don’t you dare
for a moment buy the lie that this moment defines you as a parent. Or that it defines that toddler (or
gradeschooler or teenager… let’s be real people, tantrums don’t end with the
terrible twos) as your son or daughter.
They cry/talk/whine/scream/beg, etc.
You respond. Wash, rinse,
repeat. You are present. You have been
blessed with a life that gives you the capacity to be present. And that simple fact makes your child
whole.
Now the second thing: once you celebrate those things that
are present in your child’s life because you are present in your child’s life,
grieve for the absences in the lives of children who are less fortunate. But don’t stop there. (Maybe I should have told you there’s
technically three things). Do something about those absences. Start filling some holes. Can you go on a Go Team or Missions trip and
hold some babies? Do it! Can you volunteer with Safe Families or
become a foster parent and provide basic needs for children who are without
food or a warm bed or a safe place to just be at this very moment? Get on it!
Do those things seem overwhelming or impossible for you? THAT’S OK!
Not everyone is called to the trenches.
Not everyone needs to fight those battles on the front lines.
But everyone can do
something.
Everyone is called to
do something (and if you doubt that, read Matthew 9, the part about the
sheep and the goats. Serious stuff).
Everyone can donate to a local food pantry (did you know Mac
n Cheese is on the top 10 list of needed items for most food pantries? Who doesn’t love to buy mac n cheese?). Everyone can drop money in the bucket at
Salvation Army. Everyone can pray for a
child or children in need. Everyone can
go through their overflowing closets and donate what they don’t need to someone
else who does (and not the junky stuff, either, people. Nobody wants your ripped up, broken
stuff). Everyone can give an encouraging
word to a person in need. Everyone can
give a smile to a struggling mom.
Everyone can help fill a hungry belly or warm a lonely soul.
Most of us can give so that a needy family can have enough
blankets this Christmas, even if it means we have less of what we don’t need
under our own tree. Most of us can pick
up an extra toy at the toy store to donate to another child, even if it means
our own kiddos have one less thing that will be broken in a month anyways. Or worse, out of batteries.
Most of us know a foster family or a safe family – we can
thank them for making not just that child’s world better but ours as well. We can offer to babysit, or bring a meal give
a gift card or make a diaper run when the child that was just dropped off has
only one diaper and it’s spilling over like Old Faithful. Incidentally, I can make this shameless plug
because we are out of this season of being a Safe/foster family. So don’t go thinking I’m asking for handouts
;)
So many of you have been following our journey with
Audrey. We have been blessed and
overwhelmed as you have loved on her and prayed for her and mourned her loss
with us. As this part of the journey has
come to a difficult close, some of you have asked:
What can I do?
And I would tell you, implore you even – these two
things. You can do these two
things.
1. Keep doing the
many Things you do with your child and celebrate that they matter.
2. Do something about the absences.
Do these 2 things for me.
Do them for yourself, for your family.
Do them for Audrey. Or better
yet, do them because Jesus said in Matthew 9:40: ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever
you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you
did it to me.’
Extra Credit: (yes,
people, I’m a teacher. I love extra
credit.) Throughout December, post/tweet/pin some examples of how YOU are
doing these 2 things. It doesn’t
have to be fancy – just a “hey, I just dropped a quarter in the little red
bucket” or “woohoo I poured my kid some Cheerios!” will do. Then throw in a #nomoreabsence. Let’s start filling those holes.
