Comes The Dawn

This beautiful poem has been attributed to at least a half dozen people, so I'm just going to call it anonymous.

Comes The Dawn

"After a while you learn the subtle difference,
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning,
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts,
And presents aren’t promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats,
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn,
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth,
And you learn and learn,
With every goodbye you learn".

I resonate with the entire poem, but there are two passages in particular that speak to me. "And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and  your eyes open, with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child."  And "and you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, and you really do have worth, and you learn and learn, with every goodbye you learn."

Accepting defeat is not easy for me. It never has been. I'm not so arrogant as to believe that I never make mistakes, but I'm enough of a perfectionist to think that I never should make mistakes. I find mistakes to be personally painful. And yet I've been told by someone who  cares about me very much, "Humans make mistakes. You are human. You will sometimes make a mistake." So I am learning to "accept my defeats with my head up." And I'm learning that these mistakes do not diminish my worth as a person one iota.

"And you learn and learn, with every goodbye you learn." I've said goodbye to many people over the years. Most of them I had no idea was a final goodbye till months or years later. Others, during the conversation I knew a chapter was closing. I knew that at some level it was goodbye. But with those goodbyes I learned.  I've learned to pay closer attention to goodbyes in case it's the last one. Frederick Buechner tells the story of helping move his older daughter into her college dorm.  He didn't realize that in the next few minutes all of their lives were about to change forever.  He got distracted by something and realized  later, "I said goodbye with my back turned." I've also learned that goodbyes, whether in the social sense or the final sense, are a part of the circle of life. After all,  half of the word "goodbyes" is "good."

The first three words are perhaps the most important words in the poem-- "After a while." An old backwoods preacher was asked what was his favorite verse in the Bible and he said, "And it came to pass."  "After a while" heals an abundance of pain. As for "sunshine burns if you get too much", I learned that a very long time ago.

NICU Clocks

My junior year of high school I had chemistry with Mr. Baker.  Behind his head was a large clock with a black hour hand and minute hand.   It had a red second hand that, as you already know,  made its complete rotation every 60 seconds. It had big black numbers to measure every five minute interval. The fact that I had no way of ignoring the clock made that third period class just before lunch the longest class of the day.  I remember one particular morning seeing the minute hand on the seven, twenty-five minutes till twelve.  I was hungry and ready for a break and time stood still.

All of modern science flows back to Albert Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity and his General Theory of Relatively.  In that theory, time became a part of his equations.  He called the phenomena of time and relativity, spacetime. He postulated that for an object traveling near the speed of light, time would virtually stand still.  Albert Einstein must have reached this conclusion in the NICU of a hospital.

In the NICU time stands still.  There are clocks everywhere. Big clocks, small clocks, wall clocks, digital clocks. Every wall and surface hosts a clock of some sort. The reason for this is that the charting of any particular baby includes the time.  This might be the time the baby eats. The time the baby poops. The time a particular medical devise is put on or taken off.  There are any number of reasons the nurse needs to know the time. Also for hygiene and safety reasons, the nurses don't wear watches.

The room where I cuddled a baby girl this morning had three clocks.  There was a clock on the wall beside me about the size of a clock radio.  It  had an hour hand, a minute hand and a second hand.  But I couldn't see that clock if I didn't turn and look over my right shoulder.   And then northwest of my field of vision was a digital clock on a monitor.  Besides constantly displaying the heart rate, respiratory rate and other bodily functions, there was this digital clock.  The display, about three quarters of on inch tall, ticked off the hour, minutes and seconds  one by one.  Under the clock, in smaller letters was the digital date. The digital hours didn't seem to be moving any faster than the digital date. I could see this clock while I rocked my little girl. But the clock that was the problem was the one right in front of me. This was the old-fashioned large wall clock,  exactly like the one in Mr. Baker's chemistry class.

I want to make something clear.  I very much enjoy holding these babies.  That's why I'm in the NICU. And I never have anywhere else I need to be or would rather be. The love I feel for and from these tiny infants is beyond description.I look forward to the experience week after week.  But when you are surrounded by three clocks all ticking at one second intervals and you're in a room by yourself (and a sleeping baby), two hours can get to be a long time. This phenomenon has given me much respect and empathy for nursing mothers.  Although "society" has relaxed somewhat about mothers nursing their babies in public, in many places it is still taboo. Or the nursing mother is modest and has no desire to nurse in public, In either case, this mother is segregated from other people for several hours a day. And I can tell you from experience that this sort of time is a long time.

In a science fiction movie such as Interstellar, when a person gets back from a deep sleep in deep space, his family and friends may have aged 60 or 70 years, and yet the space traveler has only aged a few years. This is not just science fiction; it's science fact. It's a theoretical  phenomenon that has been proven by science in many ways. Einstein's theories are the law. But add to spacetime, NICU time. It is as equally bizarre and real.

That twenty five minutes in chemistry class must have eventually ticked by because that was forty seven years ago.  In some ways the forty seven years have gone by as fast as that twenty five minutes. The trip home from the NICU takes me about twenty-five minutes.  Although I was traveling well below the speed of light, it took no time at all.

Remember the Sabbath Day

"Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." Exodus 20:8

I spent the summer of 1971, the summer after my high school graduation,  selling family Bibles and Bible story books door to door near Fordsville, Kentucky. . It was rigorous work that involved knocking on doors twelve hours a day, six days a week. When  I knocked on their door, yes we were trained to knock on the door, most often  the homeowner didn't invite me in.  Sometimes the homeowner invited me in. Other times the person not only invited me in, but actually bought a book from me. Sometimes the homeowner didn't buy a book,  but offered something to eat or drink and engaged in welcomed friendly conversation. In this particular instance, the very nice lady didn't invite me in but engaged in conversation on her doorstep.   I was in a really good mood because it was a beautiful day and I had sold some books that morning. We got into a discussion about church and about worship and I said something like, "And you know, it doesn't matter much when you worship as long as you worship".  It was at that moment that I was introduced, up close and personal, to a Seventh Day Adventist.

The main point she made was  the directive to honor the Sabbath Day was a directive in the Ten Commandments. She reminded me that the Biblical Sabbath was from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday because in creation  God rested on the seventh day. God also commanded us to rest on the seventh day.   She said, "I know most Christians honor 'the Lord's Day' on Sunday, because Jesus was resurrected on Sunday, but the commandment is to honor the Biblical Sabbath". She then asked a very good question, "Where in the Bible  did God issue a different commandment?" I was speechless. I had no response.

I didn't become a Seventh Day Adventist, but I never forgot the conversation.  I never forgot her question of when did God change his commandment.  Christians changed their practice, but God had never changed his commandment.

Then over the years I noticed something. If the Lord's Day is a day of rest, Sunday for a dedicated Christian is anything but a day of rest.  They go to church morning, noon and night. And then they have all sorts of rules about what you can and can't do on the Lord's Day.  If anything, they go to bed tired on Sunday night. And then I noticed something else.  Most Christian's favorite night, like most people,  is Friday night. And their favorite day is Saturday.  On Friday night they get with their best friends over food and drink. And on  Saturday, they do the things that they enjoy the most. In other words, from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday is a day of rest and relaxation--the Sabbath. Meanwhile, the Seventh Day Adventists go to church all day and have all kinds of rules about what you can and can't do on Saturday.  So who is honoring the Sabbath Day?

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is actually one of the  most horrible stories in the Bible. It's not my favorite because it's horrible, but because it's a prime example of why you've got serious problems if you say you believe the Bible is literal. In Numbers chapter 15 verses 32-36 you will find a most gruesome story. You can read it for yourself, but in this story a man is caught "picking up sticks on the Sabbath Day."  He wasn't chastised or put in time out for an hour.  God told Moses to have him stoned. So they took him outside the camp and stoned him to death. If you've ever read about stoning, you know that it is one of the most cruel and most painful methods of torture. They did all this because he was picking up sticks on the Saturday. God forbid he had been mowing his lawn !

The famous mythologist, Joseph Campbell, says that whereas the stories of the Bible aren't literally true, they are, in their essence true.  It has been difficult for me to find a kernel of truth in this story, but I will offer this.  You need to find Sabbath in your life.  You need a day or at least a few hours to call your own.  You need to carve out some time for something you enjoy doing. If because of obligations and responsibility you have lost your ability to enjoy much of anything, then you need to cultivate that ability. Whereas God won't kill you, if you have no Sabbath rest then you will eventually die.  No, you may not be six feet under, but you will die to your true self. You will die to the things you enjoy.  You will die to the ability to relax. You will die.

The day I had that fateful conversation with that nice lady was a Saturday.  I guess it wasn't work for her to talk to me about her faith on the Sabbath.  I, on the other hand, according to her beliefs was violating the Sabbath by selling books.   And yet there she offered no lecture or condemnation. She offered kindness and understanding. Today is Saturday.  I've listened to some of my favorite music, finished reading a book I've been reading, but I've also been working on a book that I am writing. Now I'm writing this. So did I violate the Sabbath Day? My friend in Kentucky might say "Yes."  I say "No." In  the first place, I'm pretty sure that God has no problem with it.  In the second place,  I honored the Sabbath because I was enjoying what I was doing.  But you can be sure that I didn't go outside and pick up sticks.

Flight DL1613

My wife is my travel agent.  It's not that I am  lazy or incapable of making my travel arrangements. It's that she seems to enjoy it and I certainly appreciate being spoiled in that way.

Friday, September 1st, was a travel first for me.  Until that day I had never flown to and from a distant destination in the same day.  All my flights until then were to get me somewhere to stay several days and then to fly home. It felt very strange walking into the terminal with no luggage. Not even a tooth brush. It felt more like I was there to pick up someone than as a flyer. My first flight that morning was Chattanooga to Atlanta. Then Atlanta to Indianapolis. The return trip that afternoon was the opposite.  Those two connections north were very important because my nine year old granddaughter would be waiting in the airport in Indianapolis. There I would gather her up and bring her home with me for a long holiday weekend.

Because my wife does such a good job, as normal I  was just taking one flight at a time and had not bothered to look at the itinerary. Although we were delayed a few minutes in Chattanooga, the Chattanooga to Atlanta flight was only about a 20 minute puddle jump and my travel agent always built in a cushion of time in  Atlanta. At about 11:15 am, about halfway there, I pulled out my boarding pass to see my boarding time for Atlanta to Indianapolis.  To my horror, it read "Flight DL1613 boarding 11:25 am". Then in fine print --"Departing 12:15pm." EGADS ! My Atlanta flight boards before we land ! The panic started in my toes, crept up my legs then my spine and toward my brain.  I immediately employed the techniques I have been taught to deal with panic, and throughout the whole ordeal I never let the panic into my head.  Stress? Yes !  Concern? Definitely !  My life passing before me? Probably. Imaging my granddaughter and her babysitter stranded in the Indianapolis airport for hours?  Of course.  But not full blown panic.

I told the nice man beside me my predicament and he said, "Well, I doubt you can make that. You need at least an hour between flights in Atlanta.  And if you miss it you'll have to fly standby and they may not have a seat available."   Little comfort in that.

It was now 11:25, my flight, flight DL1613 was boarding,  and we were still in the air. I knew we had to land, taxi, and  disembark. And all of that took time.  Time that I didn't have. Before we landed, I learned two things. We were arriving at Concourse A and my departure Gate 33 was at Concourse C. Two concourses may not seem like that much of a hike, but in Atlanta it's about a mile and a half. When my feet hit the ground in the airport, it was 11:45.  I had twenty minutes to make my flight.

The voice in my head talks louder at times than others.  It emphatically stated, "Do not run over people!"  And I agreed. I had hoped that the gate of arrival would be close to the escalator to the tram. That was not the case.  I ran through most of the concourse to the tram.  At least the tram is very fast. I hoped that my Gate 33 would be close to the escalator. That was not the case.  It was 11:55 and I had about 20 gates to negotiate on foot. In true O.J. style, I ran and dodged and cut back and forth finding a crease, a seam, any opening  in the pedestrian traffic. Again, this may not seem to be a challenge, but this is the Atlanta airport, one of the busiest airports in the world. Finally, Gate 30, Gate 31, Gate 32 and by luck and the grace of God, Gate 33. I looked at my watch and it was high noon.  I arrived five minutes before they shut the doors of the aircraft and shut the doors on my travel plans.  The nice Delta representative scanned my boarding pass, smiled and said, "Have a nice flight."

On the return trip, Indianapolis to Atlanta was uneventful. I read my book and my granddaughter watched the Lego Movie on my phone (She's the one who figured out how to use Delta's WiFi).  In Atlanta, we had about an hour between flights and took our time finding the gate. About the time we were supposed to board, they announced that the flight was delayed forty minutes.  How much did that bother me? Not at all.  My granddaughter was by my side and we had nowhere we had to be until Monday afternoon. We passed the time by exploring the shops and then relaxing at the gate. I checked the news on my phone and she resumed her movie. I'd seldom been happier in my life.

So am I going to fire my travel agent?  Not on your life. My travel agent is the best in the business.  It was my fault for not looking over the itinerary before she booked the flights and for not noticing the predicament I was going to be in in Atlanta.  My wife was trying to get me to my granddaughter as quickly as possible. But regarding my flight schedule, to quote our neighbor after he got the $600.00  bill for the ambulance we had called to help him, "We're not doing this again."

Strangers' Children--The Plight of Foster Parents, Foster Children and Those Who Love Them

"I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, though I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea." Sara Teasdale

These foster parents  have four children. Two of them are their biological children and two are foster children. The power of her words to me hit me hard.  Even this morning as I write I am processing what she said and what she might have meant by it. She said, "It's hard what we do. Taking in strangers' children."  This family has been involved in foster care for several years and we have been involved with them for nearly two years. Our association with them and their children has opened our hearts, at times almost to the breaking point. Until this association, I thought fostering was a sort of surrogate love, a not quite as real as real love love. I thought that foster parents cared for the children in their care until a "real family" could be located.  I thought that surely foster parents protect their hearts knowing that the child could be taken from them by "the system" at any time.

At least in the case of this family, I had never been more wrong. When a foster family accepts a child into their home, they lay their hearts on the table. It might be trampled by "the system" or trampled by the child; they have no control over either possibility. It's  a calculated risk, a chance that they are willing to take.

But "taking in strangers' children" summed it up for me in a new way. The foster parents share no history with these children.  There is no DNA, there is no relationship with the parents and grandparents or any other family member. There is no natural support group. This family accepts this baby, child or teenager for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. There are no strings attached;  there are no guarantees.  There is simply a needy child knocking on their door saying, "May I  come in. I need somewhere to live. I need a roof over my head.  I need someone to take care of me. I need someone to love me. I have nowhere else to go." The foster parent standing at the door who knows absolutely nothing about this child, with no hesitation says, "Please come in. You are welcome here. Please make yourself comfortable. We want  you to live here with us. We need your love as much as you need ours."  The child's family may be strangers, but this child is not.  As soon as she walks over the threshold she is welcomed into the bosom of the family. "There is no distinction between 'our children' and you. For as long as it is possible, you belong to us. Would you like something to drink? Are you hungry?  Would you like to see your room?"

As a foster parent, if you think there are risks to "taking in strangers' children", imagine how this child feels standing at the door of a stranger. They have no history with you. They share no DNA. They have no natural support group. They take their heart in their hands and hand it to you and say "I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. But please love me for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. I have nowhere else to go."

So there you have it. Fostering is a community of strangers. But strangers can become family and friends very quickly. Lifelong friendships have started when children play in line to visit the FBI building in Washington, D.C. or on a thirty minute flight from Atlanta to Chattanooga. Our foster family is in the process of adopting both of their children, a teenager and an eighteen month old. The teenager asked to be adopted. The eighteen month old, who has no legal say, certainly has a say. His first two words were "Mommy" and "Daddy"  He feels quite at home.

This foster family has also taken us in. We stood on their door step and said, "We have no idea what we can do, but we want to help. We want to learn to love your children, all of them, like you love them. Our children and grandchildren, those to whom we are or are not related,  live far away from here. We miss them and we are very homesick. We have a roof over our heads, but we need a roof over our hearts. We need children in our lives. I know that we are strangers, but we would love to be your friends."  And they said, "Please come in; you are welcome here. You are no strangers to us. Our children are your children.  Our home is your home. Would you like something to drink? Are you hungry?"  That was two years ago. Just like it's hard for us to remember the first five years of our marriage before our son was born, it's hard for us to remember our lives before being a part of this family-- these parents, these children.  We've asked to be adopted.

"I am not yours, not lost in you. Not lost, though I long to be." When you take in "strangers' children" you risk getting lost. You risk allowing your emotions to get lost in theirs until there is no difference, no separation.  When he hurts, you hurt. When he laughs, you laugh. When he cries, you cry.  So you learn to not only risk getting lost,  but to embrace it. "It's hard what we do", she said, "but I wouldn't have it any other way."