3/14/05 RM Newsletter: Unexpected Turbulence

Today’s Quote: "The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion and the will to help others." Albert Schweitzer


It’s been a tough week. I learned of a dear friend’s melanoma only to find out a couple days later that another friend lost a baby at twenty-three weeks into the pregnancy. Little Katie, the twenty-two month-old darling I’ve fallen in love with at the chemo clinic, found herself back at Yale Children’s Hospital for three days (she’s fine now); and Nick developed fever Friday night that nearly sent us there, too. All day Saturday, my stomach stayed in my throat and my heart hung heavily in my chest, while my mind swung rapidly into overdrive, calculating best and worst case scenarios for those I hold dear.


Unexpected turbulence.


You’ve no doubt been there, too. You find yourself sailing along through life—perhaps pinching yourself that life is being so good to you, with everything seemingly going your way—only to find yourself realizing the very next moment that something is terribly, horribly wrong. Happy and confident one moment, you’re absolutely miserable the next.


And yet we learn, as we age, that this is exactly how life works. That it ebbs and flows. Certainly, some of us seem to endure more suffering than do others. I’ve observed families who appear—on the outside—to live extraordinarily charmed lives. They never appear to suffer. And yet others seem to hit every major bump in the road, unable to enjoy even one full year of smooth cruising without being jostled around by one pothole or another, even though they desperately yearn for an uneventful journey through life.


As we Christians honor this season of Lent and prepare for Passion Palm Sunday, we remember the turbulence that Jesus faced. Riding into town on a donkey to the ebullient chants of the townspeople—they heralded his arrival waving palm branches and singing with excitement and joy: “Hosannah! Hosannah to the Highest!” Little did they know of His impending encounter with turbulence of unparallelled proportion. Only He knew, as it was foretold by prophecy and revealed to Him through His Father.


While attending a seminar yesterday, my colleagues and I played a Lenten game using two eggs: one hard-boiled and one raw. The leader passed both eggs around the room and asked us to figure out which was which. We had the typical reaction: we shook them (raw eggs have an air pocket so supposedly you can feel this once shaken); we spun them (hard-boiled eggs spin more sluggishly); we tried to weigh them as if on a balance. Once we settled on which was which, the instructor took the one we deemed as “raw” and smacked it over a bowl, while we braced ourselves for the mess that was to come.


After a loud smack, it was discovered that the egg was empty.


My initial reaction: “I’ve been bamboozled!!!” I was told it could be hard-boiled or raw. We were not told of a “door number three.” I felt cheated. Denied a fair shot at the correct answer.


Ahhh. Such is suffering. We feel cheated. Denied. We want to level the playing field. And quickly! We set ourselves up for two options but never entertain life’s “door number three’s.”


This is precisely what happened to Mary when she visited the empty tomb of Christ. (But that’s an Easter story and I’m getting ahead of myself….)


I couldn’t help but reflect on “the egg game” as it related to the events that played out in my week. I know you can relate, too: Going through life getting comfortable with doors one and two. And then life hands you “door number three.” Unexpected turbulence. No way to prepare for it. It never entered your radar screen. It just popped onto it one day out of nowhere. When Nick was feeling overly fatigued, we figured he had mononucleosis or Lyme disease. Doors one or two. But life opened door number three: leukemia. Unexpected turbulence, indeed.


When unexpected turbulence hits you—or someone you love—with full force, drop to your knees. Fold up your hands and bow your head and lift up your loved ones in prayer. Even if you do not yet have faith in prayer’s power. It remains the overwhelming response by most people when faced with life’s door number three’s. I have believed in the power of prayer since I was a child. As my faith has grown, I have come to grasp its miraculous power! I confess: we need your prayers. We feel your prayers. We take great comfort knowing that people on five continents pray regularly for Nick, intercessing on his behalf.


Sometimes we believe that since all wounds are healed with time, that in the meantime there is really nothing we can do to help family and friends—or complete strangers!—deal with the surprise behind door number three. But nothing could be further from the truth. When unexpected turbulence hits someone in your circle of concern, you can pray. You can send a handwritten note. Rare treasures that they are in this email universe of ours, I save almost every one I receive. I can assure you: during our crisis with Nick, handwritten notes have elevated days filled with fear to ones full of hope. Flowers and food work, too. Remember, love is a verb! (See my the archived “Love is a Verb” Newsletter). Act on your instinct to tangibly express concern and love. Trust me: your small act of charity will prove exactly the right touch. Nicholas Chamfort wrote: “In great affairs, men show themselves as they wish to be seen; in small things, they show themselves as they are."


I’ll be praying blessings on your week!


Carolina

A Nick Note

Nick enjoyed a relatively comfortable week only to develop fever Friday night. It hovered near the mark that requires an immediate visit to Yale Children’s Hospital for a mandatory 48-hour stay. With close monitoring and much prayer on his behalf, his temperature fell below that level and we were spared a hospital ordeal. He’s taken the weekend easy and is grateful for March Madness to keep his mind occupied. Meanwhile, all three of our other kids are fighting colds, coughs, pink eye, or some combination of those three. Of course, this presents a threat to Nick, as he is extremely immune-compromised. Please keep our family in your prayers.