The Box

After the first forty-five days it seems we have fallen into a familiar pattern.  It is a pattern of unpredictability.

Yesterday morning was the first morning in over a month and a half that I woke up feeling joyful.  As I laid there in the moment contemplating whatever pleasant thought I had awakened to,  I found myself surprised by the way I was feeling.   But, I knew that it could not last.  In fact, I have found that most "good" days (by which I really mean "tolerable") are followed by rather horrific ones.

A couple of nights earlier I saw Jonathan's door open, and found I Pam inside beginning the process of cleaning his room out.  Jonathan had only taken the essentials to his new apartment, and his room was still full of things.  Some of those things had lingered far longer than they should have, and now were destined for donation somewhere or even the trash.  But mixed in were a number of possessions that carried special meaning and value to him.

As I pawed through his closet, I came across a wooden box I had made in junior high school.  The top of the box was decorated with mementos from my days in Boy Scouts, including a souvenir from the 1973 Jamboree.  Once upon a time that box held some of my own boyhood treasures.  But somewhere along the way Jonathan had decided that he liked the box and asked if he could have it.  I was glad he wanted it, and happy to give it to him.

As I opened the lid I discovered that the box now held Jonathan's boyhood treasures.  I doubt there was anything in the box with any intrinsic value, but clearly everything in it had some special significance to him. Among his treasures was a necklace his "Papa" had bought in Africa, a souvenir coin from Stonehenge he had gotten on a family trip a long time ago, two ribbons he had been awarded from some type of musical performance, and an Oscar Meyer Wennie Whistle that came from who knows where.

And then there was the watch.  It was, I am sure, relatively inexpensive -- a Seiko with a gold exterior and black lizard band.  But it was a watch I had worn for many years (I believe during and after law school) and which he had worn too.  As he grew older and his taste in watches changed, he stopped wearing it.  But apparently it was sufficiently important to him to make it inside the box.

As I thought back to the origin and significance of each of the treasures, as I thought back to the times and places that each represented, my stomach turned.  I began to gag violently, and I ran out of the room fearing that I was about to be sick.

This is, at least for now, the new normal.  We talk about Jonathan frequently, we celebrate his life and we thank God for the time He gave us with him.  But it is impossible to think of Jonathan without contemplating the magnitude of our loss.  The pain of losing him is so vastly different from anything I have experienced in my life.  I pray Pam, Christian, Dani and myself never have to endure this type of pain again.

In the next few days Christian and our "adopted" son Tommy will be leaving for India for about ten weeks.  We really want the boys to move forward with their lives, and hope this adventure will be a nice diversion and change from the pain of the last month and a half.  But, that does not mean that seeing them go will be easy.

We will miss them terribly.  But like it or not we will also worry about them more than we might have once upon a time.

One of the things that changed for us on February 2, 2014, is that we stopped being the family that bad things just don't happen to.  Like most parents, Pam and I worried about our kids but never really thought something like this could happen to us.  If you are a parent, maybe you are the same way.

So, if you are continuing this journey with us -- at least in prayer -- please pray for Christian and Tommy and their safe travel and return from India.  And, please pray that Pam and I handle their departure well.

Some people have told me that they have focused a lot more on their own families since Jonathan's passing, and I am glad for that.  In fact, I hope that this tragedy will cause many people to refocus their priorities in life.  Above everything else, I hope that people will be drawn to, or closer to, God because of our loss.    

God bless,

John

The Dream is Over

Like millions of other people around the world, just under a year ago I read the tragic news that Pastor Rick Warren had lost his son.  I knew a little about Pastor Warren from his book "A Purpose Driven Life" and I knew a little about Saddleback Church -- having spent many years in Orange County California.  But I really knew nothing about the man.  I did not know that he had a wife named Kay or a son named Matthew.  For that matter, I knew nothing about his family at all.

Like so many others, my heart went out to Pastor Warren and his wife when I heard the news.  I remember briefly and feebly trying to put myself in their shoes.  I remember contemplating the fact that no one is immune from the tragedies of life.  And then, I went back to my life as usual.

Today, of course, I no longer have the luxury of experiencing passing sympathy for the Warren's, or for any other parent who has lost a child for that matter.  Pam and I are ourselves now, as they say, part of "a club no person would ever want to join."

Up to this point in my life, with rare exception everything has been relatively good -- or as we say in the Christian world "blessed."  Its not that there haven't been ups and downs, or even situations where I felt desperate or that life had gotten out of control.  But, every time there was a storm it eventually passed.  Almost without exception, I could always look back at the trials and conclude that there was never really anything to worry about in the first place.

The last ten years in particular have been nothing short of incredible.  I have seen God do amazing things in my life.  Even more, I think God has given me perspective on things like what "success" really means.

During these last ten years I successfully transitioned from lawyer to pastor (mostly).  I have been fortunate enough to have a wife who has not only been understanding, but has embraced God's strange call on our lives.  I have watched my kids grow into healthy and accomplished adults.  Among other things, Jonathan graduated from Baylor, Christian from Pepperdine University, and Dani has been going to school, doing Kung Fu with Pam (and more recently with Jonathan) and has fun working with dogs several days a week.

But more importantly, during this time rather than drift apart, our family has if anything grown closer together.  While all of our kids have had (and still have) great friends, our family has by and large remained central to their lives.

But everything changed on February 2, 2014.  Now, of course, we are facing a storm unlike any we have faced before.  And, I am afraid, it is a storm that will never completely pass.  I hate to say it, but in many respects the dream is over.

I am not saying that we will now be in a perpetual nightmare or state of angst.  I am not even saying that we will never experience joy again.  I am just saying that this loss is something that will NEVER heal completely -- no matter how much we would like to believe differently.

I happened to read two posts on Facebook today that really caught my attention.  One was from Kay Warren.  I will not repeat the entire post here, but part of her post was to say that at nearly the one year anniversary of her son's death she is nowhere close to "healing."  Another theme was that people should not expect her to heal quickly, or indeed for the old Rick and Kay to come back -- ever.  They are gone.

The support was utterly amazing. But for most, life never stopped – their world didn’t grind to a horrific, catastrophic halt on April 5, 2013. In fact, their lives have kept moving steadily forward with tasks, routines, work, kids, leisure, plans, dreams, goals etc. LIFE GOES ON. And some of them are ready for us to go on too. They want the old Rick and Kay back. They secretly wonder when things will get back to normal for us – when we’ll be ourselves, when the tragedy of April 5, 2013 will cease to be the grid that we pass everything across. And I have to tell you – the old Rick and Kay are gone. They’re never coming back. We will never be the same again. There is a new “normal.” April 5, 2013 has permanently marked us. It will remain the grid we pass everything across for an indeterminate amount of time….maybe forever.

The other post was from a woman who is seven years out from losing her son.  Her comment was specifically to me in response to one of my blogs.  Again, I won't repeat the entirety of what she had to say, but this is part of it.

I'm sorry you have to endure THIS pain and suffering...yes i said suffering...because that is what it is like. It has been a little over 7 years since my son was killed.....and I still struggle daily with my pain and with my grief. I'm sorry to say this, but it DOES NOT get EASIER, it only gets tolerable...and even THAT takes time and will take it's toll. I think I finally came out of the SHOCK just last year. The only advice I can give you is this....be PATIENT with yourself, your spouse and your other children....grief is mysterious....and needs TIME to process.

My point in all this is that from very early on I knew not only that life had changed, but that Pam, Christian, Dani and I were going to change as well.  It is far too early to know what that means, and I truly hope that the "new" me one day will be better than the old me.  I hope that somehow my faith grows through this, and that my perspective on life and its priorities will become more clear, more accurate.

But, in the meantime life is unpredictable.  Emotions come and go frequently and quickly.  In one moment I think I am doing well, and in the next I am overcome with grief, anger, frustration ....  you name it.  

Pam, Christian, Dani and I went out for frozen yogurt today.  We were having a nice time, when suddenly a pained expression appeared on Pam's face.  As she looked across the table at Dani and Christian, the thought jumped into her mind that the picture she was seeing was not right -- our family was broken and incomplete.  She began to talk with tears in her eyes about how perfect our family had been when it was the five of us.  It is a thought that all of us probably have daily.

I saw a blog the other day about how Christians should grieve.  The blog was well thought out and the author referred to plenty of scripture.  The problem, however, was that there was nothing in the blog to indicate that the author had ever experienced catastrophic loss in his life.  No offense, but from where I sit there is only one way Christians should grieve, and its a way that was never mentioned in that blog.  It is simply this:  as best they can.

 +Kay Warren 

+Rick Warren