Last week, Kara’s mama posted a beautiful video on Facebook. It was taken at Field Day for a mid-America elementary school, a mother filming her son racing. The little boy, Matt, has cerebral palsy, and because this race is long, he is told that he didn’t have to participate, but he is determined. The race begins, children sprinting from the starting line. There are so many kids, I’m not sure where I am supposed to look or where Matt is. Finally, the pack pulls forward, and I see Matt at the very end, his body doing its best to run as fast as it can. Matt continues along the grassy track, his mind triumphing over his tiring legs, fighting for each step. It’s beautiful but hard to watch, my mama’s heart so proud of this little stranger, so proud of how well his own mother has done to raise this young man of determination and character.
rom an article originally posted May 2, 2014...
Years ago my dear Mickey offered me advice at the just right moment. That advice took deep roots and has followed me through my parenting. Mickey was my greatest champion of nursing my babies. When I felt weary and wanted to stop I would call her for her encouragement.
But she told me children moved from nursing to nussing, as she called it. She explained that even when the special time of nursing stops, the gentle time with mama needs to continue. When Jason and I have our special places to sit and read, my chair is always the oversized one. Simply put, it has space for each of my babies to sit close. And this close time never ends.
Today is the first day of our Wednesday bookclub reading Scott Saul’s book, Befriend. If you don’t have a copy yet or haven’t started reading, no worries! You have all week to engage in the discussion. This is how it works: I’ll post some initial thoughts and recap some of Saul’s points, but then I will ask questions in the comments section.
What is care? The word finds its origin in the word Kara, which means to lament, to mourn, to participate in suffering, to share in pain. To care is to cry out with those who are ill, confused, lonely, isolated, and forgotten, and to recognize their pains in our own heart. To care is to enter into the world of those who are broken and powerless and to establish there a fellowship of the weak. To care is to be present to those who suffer, and to stay present, even when nothing can be done to change their situation.
I can’t stop thinking about Kara’s post from Monday (well, technically from April 28, 2014). I remember reading it when she first wrote it, shedding tears over her dream of having a late-in-life baby. While Kara was receiving her terminal diagnosis, I was having my baby girl. Once Ann was born, Kara would come over and ooh and aah over my her, snuggling her and making all the baby blankets smell like patchouli. One day she casually told me that dream of having a baby, maybe even two. At the time, we just shared sad smiles and praised God for his grace, even in the absence of our sweetest dreams come true.