Worship Opportunities

Posted August 23, 2023 on my CaringBridge site, 8 months after MonaJean’s passing.

It’s football season (or preseason??). I’m not a football player. Never want to be and never will be. But there’s something fascinating to me about the game and players’ willingness to risk life and limb to receive an air-inflated ellipsoid ball. Truly, I do not know the strategies involved in moving the ball down the field, setting up an offensive or defensive line, or anything like that, so I can only comment on what I observe as an uneducated spectator. I’m guessing that one of the best strategies is to get the ball to someone who’s managed to get himself in a position where there is little to no opposition. Somehow he’s tricked the other team into being open, and the quarterback has an easy pass to his receiver. But sometimes I’ve witnessed those players who are some sort of superhuman dynamic duo of quarterback and receiver. Don’t ask me their names because I don’t know. I just know how choreographed and beautiful it looks to watch as the pair seem connected deep to the core…as if they are reading one another’s minds and can also anticipate what the defense is going to do. What is really amazing to me is when the quarterback throws a pass to a receiver who is surrounded by the enemy because it’s the best option for the team’s advancement. The defense is ready for the tackle. Both teams know it. As the the quarterback hurls the ball through the air, the receiver stretches his whole body up towards the heavens as if he’s diving into the sky, and his strong hands embrace the catch, quickly tugging the ball into his chest and letting gravity take it’s natural course on all things that go up (they must come down). His feet reconnect with the earth  with the goal of dashing towards the end zone only to be tackled by a two or three hundred something pound giant…all for the sake of crossing this little magical white line to score 6 points for his team. Wow. Just wow. Never. I’ll never.

Or will I? Sometimes life can feel like we are in a metaphorical football game. God’s the quarterback. He passes us some easy catches for our warmup. We might fall and get a little banged up, but nothing that makes us feel like getting out of the game. 

Then there are those seasons of life where we feel like we are that receiver reaching for that difficult pass because we have full devotion to our team, but every catch is met with a vicious tackle, surrounded by defensive players who are ready to do their job. But we keep advancing up the field. Continually moving. Sometimes just a little at a time…little by little for that first down…over and over and over again.

Memories of those seasons can do this to us, too. Sometimes we “watch” replays of the game in our minds and think “what if…” or “if I had only…” or “I didn’t see that coming,…” imagining that somehow we could have made it better. Or we imagine we could have somehow made the quarterback throw a different direction if only we’d run a different route. 

I’m in a bit of a replay mode right now, and was throughout the summer, reliving the memories of last year. Rhythms, routine, and the repetition of one year to the next often bring comfort and excitement. But when those rhythms are joined up with intense heartache, they don’t feel quite so comforting. It almost feels like catching that hard pass all over again, doesn’t it? It does for me. And to intensify things, sometimes we keep watching the replay while still trying to play in the real live game which includes difficult passes to catch. We can all relate to this feeling in one way or another because it’s called being human. 🙂

Wednesday August 17, 2022 is a day I can look back to and say “I didn’t see that pass coming.” Russ and I were bubbling with excitement that morning to go in for our big anatomy scan to find out if we were having a boy or a girl…to make sure he or she was healthy…check the boxes. I was expecting an easy pass. Gather the information about what baby clothes to be collecting and keep moving down the field. But instead, I left feeling like I’d been tackled. As the sonographer’s tone shifted from chatty to quiet in that dark room, I knew something was wrong.  She kept looking at the same things over and over. Measuring and re-measuring. And then the news: your baby might have a chromosomal abnormality. And if so, this would probably mean an early loss. I was sad, but in hindsight, I wonder how it was for that sonographer to bring that news. Or for the doctor to meet with us afterwards. I know these things are more familiar to them, but still, I know that has to be a remarkably difficult part of their jobs. Nobody wants to tell parents their baby’s chances of survival will likely be slim.

Throughout the remainder of that week and weekend I tried to push back the emotions of the unknown and wait until we had more information. “Think on what you KNOW is true, not the what-if’s.” I can remember trying to cling to that thought.  The weekend was crowded with planning for Sunday School and hosting a bridal shower. It was good to have things to give attention to so that I didn’t have to think too much about Monday when I’d go in for a more in-depth ultrasound. Or to have too much time to ask Dr. Google what he thought. 

The weekend rolled out and Monday August 22, 2022 rolled in. Though only separated by 4 days sandwiched in between those ultrasounds, it felt like months had passed. We’ve probably all felt that anxious anticipation of an appointment we needed to have. Maybe relief will come; maybe difficulty. But there’s hope of at least having more answers. I talked at length on the phone with the mom of a T13 little girl that morning while Elijah was at cross country practice. She helped me prepare for what to ask the doctor, and I was encouraged by the story of her daughter’s survival.

After getting kids situated back at home and fumbling through directions to get to the office, we finally made it and were ushered back from the waiting room to the sonographer’s room. That scan brought one of the greatest joys and one of the greatest heartaches I’d yet experienced in my life at that point. We were having another girl!!! And we had already chosen her name: MonaJean! But her tiny body carried with it a whole host of medical complexities that would probably result in a brief stay with us. That’s a hard catch.  Not one that I’d asked for.  I am so glad it was the pass we were thrown , though, as I grew to see that in life the greatest griefs and greatest gladness can hold hands together and do some amazing things as a pair. Strangely, they make a good team. 

I wasn’t anticipating such deep heartache as I step into familiar spaces from last year. I guess I thought since I was “just” carrying her in my belly the pain wouldn’t hit so hard as it did with my mom as the one year anniversary of her diagnosis and passing approached. But the physical tenderness still lingers from MonaJean and attached with it, so does the heart pain. And that feeling of responsibility of a parent lingers…the innate desire to protect your child from death…it’s a different sort of grief than I experienced with the passing of my mom.  

Maybe you’re trying to stay in the game while replaying the game of last year or 10 or 20 years ago. Here’s a passage of Scripture that’s been coming to my mind lately which brings comfort and I’m already writing another post about. But I’ll end with these verses for today. 

Hebrews 4:14-16 

“Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. “