“And it was so, when the days of their feasting were gone about, that Job sent and sanctified them, and rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt offerings according to the number of them all: for Job said, It may be that my sons have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts. Thus did Job continually.” -- Job 1:5
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We had wanted a child for so long. We ached to have a baby, one that would be ours to love, one that we could raise. I wanted to share my love of learning with a child. A child is a legacy. I wanted to leave a bit of me in this world by teaching another human being the things I felt were important.
I kept going to the story of Abraham in the Bible. I saw how desperately he wanted a child. I kept praying that I would have a child to raise.
“Heavenly Father, if You would bless me with a child I will care for him and raise him to bless Your name. If You would give me a child I would teach him about You and he would carry Your love, Your word through his life. If You would do for me what You did for Abraham, I will do the same as he did. I will give that child to You. I will dedicate my son to You and I will follow Your will in all that I do with him. Please give me a child, and I promise I will give him back to You. --Amen.”
And it happened. We got that child. We named him after me: Willy. He was born on my wife’s birthday, August 30th. Oh, it is hard to express the joy of that day. We had yearned for that child throughout the twelve years we had been a couple and he had arrived!
I kept my promise. I remembered how the LORD asked Abraham to give his son to Him and Abraham complied. I thought about this new life in my care and I took such joy in thinking how I would teach Willy about the Word, about Jesus, about eternal life. I thought about Abraham, how he followed the LORD’s will and gave his son to Him. I would be obedient, do the same.
In November, we had a feast in our home. We invited friends, we cooked a huge meal. We set tables end to end in our living room and filled the chairs with friends. I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving and dedication.
I shared our journey, our desire, and God’s faithful answering of prayer. I kept my promise. Before those witnesses I told my LORD I was giving this child to Him. I said that no matter what the LORD wanted my child to do, I would uphold His will. I gave my child, I gave my hopes, and dreams, and promises, to my creator.
Four weeks later I was standing at the end of my drive, watching for the ambulance to come, hoping they would be able to make that child breathe again.
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I didn’t understand.
As I sit here, tapping at this keyboard, something in my heart twists over slowly, a bruise rolls up into view. I think, “Oh dear LORD. I love You, but couldn’t there have been another way?”
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The LORD asked Abraham to give up the thing that most filled his heart. And he did it. But the LORD never actually took Isaac from Abraham. The offering was enough. But the LORD did take Willy. That morning Willy cried himself to sleep; and when his crying stopped, so did he.
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But I am not the only one who has given up a child. Even He provided a very difficult offering once.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” -- John 3:16
Though my heart aches when I think about that day, December 15, 1992, I know my Lord understands. That means a lot to me.
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So, here I am, thirteen years later, and though there is still a bruise where I was hurt, I am a little better able to understand.
Now I have two other children. Two children who need me and I find myself doing things that I didn’t know were part of the job description. (I should have though, it is clearly in the manual.) I am to pray over my children, just a Job did. And I am to place their needs first, before my own.
It is my job to intercede for my children, especially while they are within my home. I am to pray for them, pray with them, and pray blessings into them.
I felt awkward doing this at first.
My father is a tough guy, a sort of swaggering John Wayne sort of guy who doesn’t read books. He prefers to do tough things such as crush buildings with heavy equipment and cuss a lot.
It wasn’t so bad teaching my kids how to pray to God, but to put anointing oil on a finger and place my hand on their heads, well it seemed foppish, melodramatic. Not the sort of thing real men do.
But the look on their faces when I do it! A smile spreads across their faces and it seems something is flowing through me, they are receiving something through that prayer, that touch. I heard Jeremiah tell his psychologist that when I do that he feels all the bad things being pushed out of him.
And this goes for how I care for my spouse:
“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies.” --Ephesians 5:25-28
I am to strengthen my wife's faith through sharing prayers and scripture. I have started anointing my wife each night as well. Each member of my family has a vial of anointing oil on their headboard, the scent chosen to reflect who they are.
Again, it seems strange.
I was required to take courses outside of my major while in college. One such class was “Women in Culture.” A very strange experience. There were only four men in it on the first day, and by the end of that week I was the only one left. But I hung in there; I’m not a quitter. But golly, they hated men! Men were seen as the source of all that was wrong in the world (and they did have some persuasive arguments).
The militant lesbianism was uncomfortable, but I hung in there. I finished that class with an "A" and a deep respect for women and their struggles.
I think that experience made me feel awkward in taking a leadership role in my home, that I was being sexist, misogynistic. It somehow felt that in claiming the position of head of household I was saying that my wife is not as valued as I, not an equal.
But she is. And in praying a blessing for her I am not making her beneath me, or subservient. I am lifting her up to my LORD and asking Him to bless her. I am asking that she be given the resources to do all the difficult tasks that are placed on her.
And it isn’t as if I am elevated in any way. I am not the master of this home. My LORD is. I am a steward. I’m simply a manager of this franchise.
So I offer it all to Him. I know that can be dangerous. I remember offering Him something big once before. I didn’t like what He chose to do with Willy. But I am His servant.
I had an odd task to do this past weekend, and as uncomfortable as that was, it was the right thing to do. I first thought it was something that the elders of my church should do, or people in the congregation who seemed better versed in such things. But I was wrong. It was my job.
There were difficult moments, and I suspect more are coming. But I can tell you that in being obedient I feel lifted up. I feel a sense of joy and relief and... well, gratitude.
In that ultimate sacrifice of God's, in giving up His son, we can see the perspective of the sacrifice itself. A difficult task for God incarnate.
“And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation. And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.” --Luke 22:40-42
Sometimes we are asked to do things we don’t like. Abraham did not eagerly lead his son up that mountain in Moriah. But he was obedient. And it pleased the LORD.
“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.” --Psalm 19:14
That is what I want. I am the LORD’s (curious) servant.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I send my family off and I pray through my home. Perhaps I am making too much of this, but I am proceeding cautiously.
A couple of nights ago the son I was not so concerned with shared some things with me that showed there are things creeping about the edges of his consciousness as well. My wife is moody. I am irritable.
Little things have been popping up that are keeping me so busy I haven’t gone through my home and gotten rid of the minor things I feel need to be removed. Small things such as videos a friend sent that really aren’t so bad but... Things like the "Alien" trilogy, "The Highlander" series, stuff that really aren’t about blood and gore and evil, but I would not feel comfortable having on the tv if my LORD was sitting on the couch beside me. (Please take no criticism if you enjoy such things. This is just about me and my choices.) But I WILL get them out of the house tonight.
I have started anointing my family members each night and praying over them (including my wife). I have confessed and repented of what He has shown me as unworthy of a follower of Him. I have fasted and prayed and gathered scriptures, and I am almost ready.
In the morning I will rise early, go to the prayer room in our church and place myself in His care. I will see my family off and I will start in the most remote part of the house and work through it, as if I am pushing something out, room by room, closets, hallways and porch. I will pray in the shed and in the tree fort and on the roof. I will anoint windows and doors and eaves and peaks. I will pray over the corners of the property and with His guidance create a spiritual barrier about my home.
I know this is a strange post. And for anyone who has stumbled onto this blog at this point you may think I’m a little looney. But that doesn’t matter to me. I think this is all a little odd also, but I am convinced it is real and I need to do this.
“...Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints...” Ephesians 6:10-18
So, if you are inclined, and the time is before noon on Saturday November 19 Pacific Standard Time, could you say a prayer for me and mine?
I could use the help. I’m busy girding on the full armor of God and I want to be sure all the straps are secure.
We were in a mountain pass, snowbound. My family was wandering through nearby trees. The dark figure's soft sibilant voice was taunting, assuring me I would fail. I kept checking on each member of my family, he kept whispering.
I was putting off the confrontation.
The black carriage swept into the clearing, spoked wheels throwing snow, the breath of the black horses trailing in the air, floating before a backdrop of frosted evergreens. He stood up, dropped silently to the slush. A slight breeze swirled his cape about black clothing and lacquered breast plate, his face a shadow.
At my feet in the back of the covered wagon, was a golden sword and six large old fashioned Bibles.
My unsure hands picked up the oversized sword. The handle was a foot long with a crown for a pommel. The hand guard jutted out a foot on each side, making the weapon a cross. The gold blade's first foot was a saber, a regular sword. In the next foot the blade widened out to a broad sword, giving it weight. In the last foot, the tip became a thin rapier.
A word came to me: "Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God" (Ephesians 6:17). I picked it up, and though it was too large for me, it moved easily to wherever I pointed.
I turned to face the dark figure waiting by the dark carriage. And the Bibles at my feet began to float. They moved out of the back of the wagon toward the Enemy.
I jumped onto them and sped across the open snow.
I was going to hack at him when I got close enough, but I felt directed to change tactics. ("Extend your arm. Drive the point into your foe.")
I was propelled at him by the Bibles and I aimed the tip at his chest; the blade pierced the breast plate...
And the clothes collapsed. They were empty.
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I know what I need to do. The dream is clear to me. This is going to be a week of prayer and reading the scripture. And starting Friday evening I will pray through every room of my home, every corner of the property, every corner of the building, claiming it and all within it for my Lord. I will anoint the doors and windows with oil and every time I feel a doubt or worry I will quote the word of God. I will defend my home with The Word.
I don’t like this stuff. I have been a long time in getting to this place, but I will not let him have a foot hold in my home. Strike that, His home. For all I have I give to my Lord. I am not going to shirk this because it seems weird or farfetched or... whatever.
The message is clear and I will obey. I am the Lord’s servant and there is no power that can pluck me from His hand. The word of God is my sword and it is time I picked it up and seriously practiced with it.
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Heavenly Father, bless my home and bless my children. I confess that I am a little fearful of what may be haunting my children, my home. But I know that if You are with me no one can be against me. I pray that You show me all my sins so that I may confess and repent. I pray that whatever is in my home that does not honor You, You will show me so I may remove it. Strengthen my knowledge of Your Word so that I may have the sword ready when needed. I claim the victory that You won on Calvary. --Amen
She set the steaming bowl of rice before the little boy and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the rest of his dinner. He stared at it with large eyes, his thin arms began to tremble. He looked up at his new daddy.
“Do you want to eat first?” he asked.
“We’ll eat together after we say grace,” I said.
He looked back down at the rice. Hesitantly he put his hands around it.
“Do you want the first bite?”
“No thanks, Mommy will bring me my own.”
He started to shake.
“This is for me? All of it?”
He couldn’t believe that the food was all for him, that no one was going to take it away.
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He sat in the tub and I came in to give him his first bath in our home. I wanted to make him feel that everything that had happened to him before was being washed away.
I grabbed the large plastic cup and dipped it into the water. I put my hand on his shoulder and raised the water over his head.
“Close your eyes.”
He looked up at me with a false grin and terror in his eyes. There was something terribly wrong. His arms were rigid. His legs straight and stiff. He looked at me and I could see the strain of trying to please me and fear of what may happen play across his face.
I washed his hair, explaining to him how to get the shampoo through his nappy hair. I washed his arms, showing him how to get the wash cloth saturated with soap and how to keep it away from his eyes.
I washed his feet, and some of his legs, but as the cloth swept up toward his waist he become rigid and the false grin returned.
I wanted to make the bath some sort of ritual of cleansing and new beginnings, but he didn’t trust me enough yet. I had him show me he could rub the wash cloth well enough and explained to him how he had to wash everywhere. I left him to his privacy.
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It was just a couple of days after they boys came to live with us. I thought I’d try horsing around with them like my father did with me when I was five. I hugged them, tried to get them to wrestle. They just didn’t get it. I lifted them up in the air and swung them around. Jeremiah started crying and got a nose bleed though he never bumped his nose on anything. I set him down on the couch and rushed to get some toilet paper.
As his new mommy comforted him and I could hear him say: “Daddy hurt me.”
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We couldn’t seem to get their hair picked out right. It hurt them despite the conditioners we rubbed into their scalps. So I bought some electric shears and tried to give them haircuts. That first time was a total loss. It takes practice to learn how to do it right. One side would get uneven and I would go over it again to smooth it out. Then they would shift or twitch or flinch, and the shears would dip too low, and I’d start going over it again.
After a frustrating 45 minutes I just put the clippers to the scalp and ran it over the whole head. It was summer anyway.
Once the curls had fallen around the stool I saw the marks. There were scars running across his poor scalp. There were little dents where the bone beneath showed a dip or lump. Terrible things had happened to this boy’s head.
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There are more stories. Some hint at or reveal other terrible things that this boy has experienced. But I wish to share just one more story, one with a different ending.
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We were sitting at dinner, talking about school pictures and how there are few pictures from before they came to live with us. Brenda ran to her hope chest to get their passports, containing the earliest pictures we have of our boys.
We passed them around. There is a look of terror in the boys’ eyes. We can only guess at the horrors reflected in those eyes. They don’t know why they are posing for those pictures, that this photo is a step toward taking them out of Haiti.
I examined the places they had been, the times and dates and notations. There was the customs stamp showing when they left their birth country. The time and date struck me.
At the exact moment they were boarding a plane from that awful place I know what I was doing.
I was sitting on my couch, the sun was coming up. A new day, a new beginning. I hadn’t slept all night. I wasn’t sure what I should be doing. I had gotten up early the morning before to feed our baby. He died later that morning. As the dark of night turned into the dark of a day of grieving I sat numb. All my dreams of what I would teach my child, all the years I had foreseen, all ashes. I felt like my heart was breaking, like it was some living thing beating loud and strangely in my chest. I felt that it would ache forever. It didn’t seem that I would ever smile again, that I would every be able to love a child again.
3,400 miles away two small, frightened boys were being ushered onto a plane. They were leaving all they had ever known.
I wasn’t ready for new children. They weren’t ready for a new daddy. But He was moving Heaven and Earth. He was preparing me and He was preparing them.
I love those boys fiercely. I kiss their heads each night (even though they are in high school). I lay my hands on them and I pray blessings into them, and I lay them on the altar of my heart before the LORD constantly.
Whatever challenges they bring to my home, it is because He has given me that task to do. Therefore I cannot fail. He works His Will through me. His grace is sufficient.
The LORD said to Satan, "Where have you come from?"
Satan answered the LORD, "From roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it."
--Job 1:7
I’m trying to make sense of something. It’s like reaching into a nasty old koi pond and trying to pull out a fish. It’s all too murky and stirred up to see anything. And when I touch something it’s slippery and slimy, and almost certainly smelly. When I am able to get a grip on something I’m not sure I want to pull it into the light.
Human beings generally believe in God, or at least a god (goddess). Christians believe in a personal God, one who cares and loves and suffers and sacrifices for His creation. We also believe in Satan. Maybe not a comic character who dances about on our shoulders, but perhaps some vague force opposing God. We might see it as some sort of Star Wars thing with two sides of the force battling across time and space. But since we aren’t Jedi knights we don’t worry about it too much.
We don’t want to live in a world where evil is personified. We don’t mind that sometimes things are bad, and sometimes there are bad people. And we don’t mind sometimes acknowledging that we are naughty. But we don’t want to think that under the veneer of beauty the world is manipulated by some evil force who seeks us harm. Personally seeks us harm. We don’t want to be some pawn on a spiritual chess board.
Reluctantly I can see that there are dark forces in the world, sliding just beneath the reality we know. They move about unseen, like oily things gliding beneath the surface. Occasionally they create ripples in my world.
I written before about those whispers in the dark. Could there be something creeping about the edge of the light of my home? Might there be shadows within my home, places where the light of my LORD does not shine?
My eldest son felt compelled to play with fire. He burned much of our church down. He says he heard voices telling him to do it. For weeks. What does that mean? The psychologist says he isn’t schizophrenic. Could there be something evil lurking about my son, whispering to him, tempting him?
I know that my children have come from a place where darkness rules openly. But in the land of iPods and Big Macs getting a grip on cruelty and voodoo rituals doesn't come easy. What dark things might be lurking near my home because of the evil visited upon my children? Someone took a baseball bat to Jeremiah’s feet, crushing them. There are dents in his head. When he first came to us he didn’t believe we would let him have his own bowl of rice to eat. Isaac has scars all over his face. Someone had ritually burnt him to ward of werewolves. I've heard worse stories from the woman who rescued my children. I’m not sure what to make of it all, but I want to figure it out.
So I’m “boning up” on the dark side of the force. That sounds a little flippant, but that’s my point. I prefer to think of evil as a dark figure with a cape who is into heavy mechanical breathing and sounds like James Earl Jones. But I think that usually evil does not grab our throats with an invisible grip. Usually it just whispers to us the things we want to hear, the things we desire, the self doubts, and what our rights are. It hints that our conscience doesn't matter. And the biggest lie he whispers is that he doesn't exist. I’ve gotten used to not thinking about the evil side of my theology. Which is just the way he wants it.
Now I’m reading books on spiritual warfare, and generational curses, and demon possession. Not a comfortable topic. I don't like it.
There was something in a book I was reading yesterday. It was a chapter on evil objects. It suggests that there are things in our lives that attract evil, push away what is good. I wondered if there was anything in my home that I needed to remove. There isn’t any pornography, or drugs, or voodoo dolls. Then I remembered. On the top shelf of my bedroom, in the corner, are some books and mementos.
When I was eighteen I wanted to learn about world religions. I took a stack of books and went off where there weren’t any people and read them. I have some of them still. And there are books from when I was a monk in a yogic ashram. But books can’t be bad. They are just information, and I love learning things. And oh, yes, there’s that little wooden box. It has a picture of Sri Ramakrishna, a stone from India, a few Rudraksha beads, and a candle from a hindu temple. So it’s not like I have any porn or any... Wait a minute. Those things? He wants me to get rid of that stuff?
Yeah, that stuff. And not just that stuff. I need to sift through my home and really take a look at what is in it. I am my LORD’s servant and everything I have belongs to Him. And frankly, there’s a lot of stuff He doesn’t want.
My dad has a few bucks. He lives in Southern California and is very successful. (If you can call divorcing his fifth wife, giving away one of his houses, and spending most nights with his former maid successful.)
He takes pride in throwing stuff away. I don’t give him things anymore because when he tires of something he throws it away. He takes pride in paying extra for garbage service. He hauls five or six cans of trash to the curb every week and it is often filled with stuff that people give him. After a birthday it might hit six trash cans and seven large plastic bags. After Christmas... well let’s just say it is astonishing.
But I think Jesus would just as soon haul five or six cans of the stuff I have given Him to the curb.
I thought that those books and mementos are just that, mementos. But why do I have them? I’m not going to read them again. I know all that I want to know about that stuff (actually, more).
So, out with The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. Out with The Autobiography of a Yogi. I don’t need to read Patangali or The Baghavad Gita or Surathji. I certainly don’t need the beads or the candles. There's even a fragment from a Mayan temple my father-in-law gave me. That stuff is dead, and it is nearly forgotten.
Nearly, but not quite.
That is how he works. He whispers in my ear: “That’s not important. That doesn’t mean anything.” And so I let it sit on the shelf.
There are a lot of things I know I need to do with and for my kids. And I am working on it. I'm reading the gospels out loud to them, to be sure they hear the good word about the Living Word. There's the reading I have taken on. I’ll finish up those books. I'll go to that seminar this Friday on spiritual warfare, and I’ll enlist friends in helping me through prayer. But there are a lot of things that I can do to clean up my own act.
I don’t need any Schwarzenegger movies, or horror movies or any of that stuff. I don’t need any books on mysticism or mythology. And I don’t need mementos of a life that is dead to me.
Hang on a second, LORD. Let me help you haul those cans to the curb.
UPDATE (Tuesday 10/8/05):
My first thought was to burn that stuff. Seemed a little dramatic, and I thought, why not just let it rot in the landfill forever? So I wrapped it all in a paper sack to make sure it didn't fall out, and put it in the trash.
Well, the can didn't get picked up today! Strange. First time for everything. So it is still at my house, outside, in the trash can. I'm tempted to dig it out and do something more permanent with it.
I've got to say this whole thing is giving me the creeps. I don't like dealing with this sort of thing. But I can't deny it since scripture is very clear here.
Thank you, all of you, who are saying that you are praying for me and my family.
