What is Lost

     I don’t just do things I am later ashamed of, I think things too that later on I wish I hadn’t. Maybe I’m not the only person like this, but this is my blog and it’s about what I’m thinking about.

     People are dying. I can’t help thinking that every time someone dies, at least one person is devastated. At least one.

I’ve read the local news, young men were killed. One was shot by police after they say he fought with them and either produced a gun or went for one of theirs. In a different story, a young man was killed crashing the speeding car he stole into a street sweeper. When the names of these men were released I went ahead and looked at Facebook. There they were. One profile had anguished messages mourning the death. Another profile had posts by the deceased man, mostly expressing his dislike for things.

     And right there on the news stories are posts by people talking about “Darwinism in action” or “thinning the herd”. People are pleased there is one less car thief on the road. Posts are claiming that if someone tries to shoot a policeman then it should be no surprise that he’s gunned down on the street, even if it is in front of a church.

Also in the news, this past week there were victory celebrations and angry protests when the Texas State Supreme Court put considerable restrictions on clinics performing abortions. Well, good, maybe there will be more life there to make up for the loss, right? Pro-life advocates are hoping less babies die I’m sure. While those opposed to the abortion restrictions see it as a blow to woman’s rights, even human rights, oppressively controlling what a woman is allowed to do with her body.

There are some things I believe are wrong that I just kind of have to let go. Abortion is not one of them. I just think it’s the killing of a child. But I listen to the arguments for abortion and hear that people are scared. What would happen if all of these children were born to single moms, extreme poverty and hunger, or broken families where they did not learn love? What would happen then if they failed to learn boundaries or respect? Would they be the ones stealing cars and killing themselves before their 21^st birthday?

When I saw each of these local news stories where two young men were killed because of their bad choices, I felt indifference. And then that apathy turned into the same feeling that others had when they posted comments on the news pages.

Hey stupid, what did you think would happen when you tried to take a policeman down? Oh, yeah, I’ve had stuff stolen from me before and my friends have had cars stolen. So what were you thinking when you boosted the Honda and took off? What did you think would happen when you ran the stop sign?

Yeah, I was thinking stuff like that. And now I am ashamed for thinking that way. Later I thought about all the babies who might live because of the new abortion restrictions. I don’t know how much socio-economic status has anything to do with anything. But if babies will be born that wouldn’t have before, they already might have a strike against them. Whatever culture or family they grow up in, will they too someday be looking a crackpipe passed to them for the first time?

Maybe I’m assuming too much. But it’s what I’m thinking about. And something else I realized about two young men who died. Their moms seemed to choose to allow to live. Someone wanted them and someone is grieving that they don’t have them anymore.

And now as I write this, in Florida people are polarized again about the shooting and killing of a young man. Regardless of what the law says, regardless of who was wrong or right and who was a punk and who was an asshole, there is one thing that can’t be denied. Someone died. People are grieving a loss.

When someone dies, people hurt. They say that’s even true for mothers having an abortion. I don’t know. But if there is a chance at life, can we keep it? Too many young people are killed already.

The Flag Draped Coffin

     I work as a custodian at a medium sized church in a medium sized town.  When I heard that we would be holding the memorial service for Tyler Davis, a young man killed in Afghanistan, my first concern was that half the town might turn up.  My second concern was that we might get the group of people infamous for protesting soldier’s funerals.  I am not proud that my sorrow at the loss of this young man didn’t occupy the front of my mind.  

 I tried not to forget that as we prepared for the Friday service, but I stayed busy with other things. I set an overflow room and the church put the local police in charge of the parking.  The police were prepared to handle any protestors.  Their free speech and assembly would not be denied.  But they would not be allowed to pass onto the property.  Then the media, social and public, got wind of the rumor of protestors.  The nets came alive with incredulity and rage at the thought of this young man’s honor being disrespected in such a way. 

Friday came.  The service was scheduled for one p.m. and before 10 a.m. there were people.  I went up to have a look and there were people with lawn-chairs and American flags.  There was a police chaplain prepared to talk to any protestor.  News trucks from Los Angeles arrived.  One reporter managed to find our senior pastor and ask him some questions.  They had more to do with the potential protestors and less to do with the fallen soldier.  More people arrived.  I wondered how many were there to honor Tyler Davis and how many were hoping for fireworks.

The local police arrived before 10 and began to control traffic entering the parking lot.  I stayed with them to direct parents arriving to pick up kids from camp.  Shortly after that, the Patriot Guard arrived.  From the south, between 40 and 50 Harley Davidson Motorcycles ridden by several different clubs/gangs rumbled up, circled, and backed up to the sidewalk in front of the church. Cheers went up.  Motors roared.  The police looked a little nervous.  I found myself caught up in the circus show.  Then the hearse arrived.

I’ve seen several memorial services at my church.  This was the first time I had seen a coffin brought in.  While most people stayed out at the street, several veterans with flags stood lining the way from the curb to the church’s front doors.  The pastor asked me to open the double doors, and I never imagined there would be such honor in unlocking and blocking open two doors I clean every week.  I stood back.  It got very quiet. Moments later a call was given and the veterans lining the path raised their flags.  Young men in smart dress uniforms slowly walked through the line carrying a flag-draped coffin.

Very few of the huge crowd were there to see that.  But I saw it.  And at that moment, it was no longer about the circus, protestors, TV trucks or motorcycles.  I remembered what the day was about.  This was a day for a family that had lost a boy.

I don’t know how many people showed up at the church in order to counter-protest.  The word had gotten out that there would be protestors, but they never showed.  I kept wondering, how much of the town would have been there if there had never been the threat?  It may not have been a very positive thought.  I was just as guilty of forgetting what the day was about.  And yes, there was cheering outside the funeral for the show of American muscle.  But regardless of the reason, people were there.  And if they were there to show up protestors, they were still there in numbers, still waving flags as the procession left through town.  They were supporting their hometown hero, regardless of motives.  

And look at what the empty threat of the abhorrent protestors did.  This so-called church that I thought did nothing but evil managed to bring more people out in a show of encouragement.  

None of this, however, takes away from this simple fact:  A mother lost her son.  As much as I want to support our troops and my country, seeing the soldiers carry the flag draped coffin moved me like nothing ever has before.  I won’t go any further there.  Just this last point: thank you to all the soldiers.  I hope… I wish you can come home alive.

    

           

Sanctity of Life Sunday

Sanctity of Life Sunday is this Sunday, January 23rd. While there are several issues that I believe strongly in, many of them I think have grey areas and room for compromise. But I can't see abortion as anything more that the murder of an innocent child. I understand that if it were made illegal that it would continue illegally and that there are several serious issues relating to abortion including poverty, teen pregnancy, and other problems that I have no solution for.
Several years ago an idea stuck in my head until I finally wrote it down. It asks the question, what if children knew what their mother did to them and then waited at the door to heaven for them. I have passed the story around and had positive and negative reactions. The story is not biblically sound in the way that if someone has died they are either eternally with God or eternally without Him. There is no waiting room.
The story is fiction and only speculates, what if? It only gives a glimpse of what that waiting area might be like. The story is emotional and somewhat inflammatory.
Because of the controversial nature of the story I did not link it to Facebook. I have only linked this entry. If anyone wants to read The Waiting Ones they may, it is the blog entry just before this one. If anyone wants to share the story this week for Sanctity of Life Sunday they may. Keep in mind it is not pleasant. But if you have strong feelings either way about this issue, I would welcome your comments.

The Waiting Ones

THE WAITING ONES

It wasn’t a waiting room at all, but they all patiently waited. It was a comfortable place. Indeed it had been made just for them; just for their wait. Behind them was a wall. The wall’s mirror finish wasn’t intended to create the illusion of space. For the room already appeared infinitely vast. One end of the wall went off in one direction while the other end met with a perpendicular wall forming a corner. This other wall had no mirror finish. This wall was a bright white and even emitted a bright glow that created harsh shadows of the Waiting Ones. And here in this corner, gently lined up and patiently waiting, the uncounted millions waited. And as time went on, more arrived.
Although they had no names, they were able to recognize each other. Like passengers on a long sea voyage, soon everyone knew each other’s face. Each boy and girl knew why they were there. Each knew that all the others were there for the same reason. But this was not something that any Waiting One would ponder on. They knew why they were there, but they did not think about it.
One boy had been waiting for a long time. He knew that some had only just arrived, and that just a few had been here longer than him. He found himself very close to the bright wall. But it didn’t trouble him to remember that he had not always been waiting right there. The boy raised his head and looked down the long line that waited.
“I think I will not wait any longer,” he said. Then he stepped out of line. With resolve and growing awareness, he went to the great bright wall where there was a humble wooden door. Once there, the boy didn’t have to wait any more. She came.
She reached the door and looked at him. She studied him carefully and finally admitted, “I don’t think I know you.”
“I am your son,” he replied.
She shook her head. “I had no children,” she said. Then her eyes grew large and she opened her mouth slowly. No sound came out.
“I am your son,” he replied softly.
Now she sank to her knees staring up into his face. As she looked, there was no way of knowing how old he really was. He could have been almost any age, but he looked complete and perfect: An unblemished youth who now looked very sorrowful. He reached down and brought her to her feet.
“Come,” he said. “It’s time.”
He opened the door and they both went silently through.
The others didn’t hear what was spoken and continued to patiently wait.
Two of the waiters spoke.
“He’s not waiting any more,” a girl said to the boy near her.
“Who?” the boy said.
The girl glanced around. “I don’t know,” she replied. They were about to continue waiting when they heard a sound. It was an anguished wailing. The agonized cry grew louder. She looked around and saw some of the others wailing while others were not. The boy next to her looked around too. Then he tilted his head back and began a most mournful howl laced with a pain of death.
The girl did not cry out. She looked down the line of Waiting Ones and saw a man approaching. He was trying to cover his ears, but couldn’t seem to do it. With a terror stricken face, he thrashed his arms wildly about as if trying to ward of a swarm of attacking wasps.
As the cries and wails continued to assault him, the girl looked about and saw how few were actually weeping. She noticed that the rest just looked at him. She turned to look at him too. Pity came over her and she felt sorry to see him so tormented.
Someone stood at the old door. It was not one of them. He had the appearance of an old man. The first man suddenly noticed him and cried out.
“Dad! Make them stop!”
The old man spoke. Even though his voice was soft and broken, he could be heard above the cries. “I’m sorry son,” he said. “I cannot stop them. You know who they are.”
“No! Who are they?” the other shouted.
“You, a doctor, You sent them here,” the old man said with a tone of finality. Then without a word, he gestured and led the other through the door.
But now the wailing did not stop. It was growing to a strength that could have shook the very earth. The girl gazed down the line and saw a woman approaching. At sight of her, the girl threw back her head and screamed.
As the woman came to the door, two children waited for her. These two were different from the waiters. Instead of innocence, their faces held a sad wisdom. The woman was looking at the crying children with an expression of such horror that she reacted in shock to the two at the door.
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked. “Who did this to them?”
“They have been abandoned,” the first child said. “This is the sound of a child who has been lost.”
“I was a crusader for rights,” the woman said. “I spent my whole life fighting for children’s rights.”
“You wanted to see that no one interfered with a woman’s right to choose?” the first child asked.
“Yes...yes. I just don’t know why all these children are here,” the woman said in a weak voice. “Who did this to them?”
“It was important to see that children were wanted?” the first child questioned. “So they were sure to grow up with love?”
“Yes,” the woman answered. “It’s unethical to bring a child into an already overpopulated world where they may only live a little while...and suffer their whole life.”
Now the second child spoke. “So those who cannot be assured a good life must be killed.”
“No!” now the woman’s voice grew strong. “Terminating a pregnancy is not killing! It’s only a mass of tissue...not a life.” Then she turned to the screaming children. “Can’t they please stop! Why are they doing that? Who did that to them?”
The first child spoke. “I was aborted because my mother did not want to overpopulate the world.”
The woman shrank back. “Where am I?” she whispered.
The first child continued. “I wish I could have lived. I would have written some wonderful music.”
Now the second child spoke. “My mother did not want me. I was born in a dirty bedroom with the television on. My mother tried to nurse me but gave up because I was pre-mature and sick. She shook me out of frustration. Finally she went back to her drugs. I died three days old in a garbage bin and was never found.”
The Waiting One’s wailing lament continued. The woman looked to them, and then back to the second child.
“I was given a chance to live,” the child said. “I breathed real air. I felt the sunlight. My days of life were painful and I never knew happiness. But at least I knew life.”
The two children then took the speechless woman through the door. It closed. The wailing stopped.
When the girl stopped wailing, she felt something. There was a familiarity somewhere. Someone who had once been a part of her was near. Someone who had helped create her was coming. Suddenly she realized that her wait was finished. She went and stood by the door.
The woman walked along with her eyes down. Then she stopped and slowly lifted her eyes to look at the girl. Instantly tears began to flow down her face.
The girl looked at her.
“Mama?” she asked.
“Oh, my baby,” sobbed the woman. “Will you forgive me?”
“Yes Mama,” the girl said. They fell into an embrace.
“Oh, thank you Jesus!” the woman cried again and again.
“Thank you, Mama,” the girl said. “Thank you for accepting him. It’s time to go see him now.” Arm in arm, they went through the door.
The boy who was near her was aware that something wonderful had happened, but he couldn’t remember now. Instead he looked at a new figure approaching. This time it was from along the brilliant white wall. Another Waiting One.
The new little one looked puzzled. “What happened?” he asked. “Where is my mother?”
The first boy sensed that something horrible had happened and that there was about to be a great sadness.
The new little boy looked around. “Mommy?” he whispered. “You’ve gone away? Where did you go...” Then his face changed. He drew in a shallow breath and his lips began trembling.
Some others went up to him and put their arms around him. The child let out a shocked cry of pain. He cried as if the pain were killing him. The others stood around and for a moment remembered why they were there. After a while, the boy’s cries subsided to sobs of misery.
“She...she...” he choked out not being able to say it.
“We know,” the others said. They patted him and stroked his head.
Then the new boy took his place at the wall and waited.