Prayer for Hallie

UPDATE (5/7):

She's home!!

She's on quite a few medications to ward off infection, and needs to keep weight on, but hopefully all will remain calm in this sweet little girl's road to recovery.

Once again, I thank you all for your prayers.
Blessings to you and yours..

Jeff

UPDATE (5/1):

Hallie is out of the ICU and is currently in the pediatric ward. The intricate pattern of tubes and IV's are starting to fall away one by one.
Hopefully my next update will be that Hallie is at home with her family!

Biliary Atresia isn't something that can be completely healed, but the surgery she just endured will allow her to lead a mostly normal life. A liver transplant may be necessary in the years ahead.

I'm so grateful for all of you and the time you're taking to pray for this sweet little girl. Thank you!!

UPDATE (4/27):

Each day is better for Hallie! Her temperature is holding steady, kidney function is still good, and she's quietly recovering from her surgeries. She's been opening her eyes from time to time and the Dr.s hope to get her off the ventilator over the weekend.

The power of prayer is undeniable. Thank you for the part you've played (and will hopefully still play) in her ongoing recovery!

UPDATE (4/24):

Thank you SO much for your prayers and your encouraging e-mails. Currently, Hallie is stable. They've been able to get her kidney function under control and her fever has broken, which the doctors were pleased with. She's not out of the woods yet, and so much seems to change at any given moment, so I'd appreciate your ongoing prayers! ~ Jeff


Hey everyone ~

Could you lift up a prayer for my niece Hallie? She's 2 months old and was born with a condition called Biliary Atresia. She needed surgery last week to repair the bile ducts in her liver, and since that time she's needed a second surgery to repair an intestinal kink. I received a call this morning that she's not doing well at all .. kidney function is not where it needs to be.

Any prayers you can offer on Hallie's behalf, as well as my sister Jodi, brother-in-law Jeff and family would be much appreciated.

Please also pass this on to others that you know will pray. I will post updates as I get them.

Blessings, and thanks ~

Jeff

Chapter 16 The Right to Refuse Him, Part 2

So I lift the net as my brothers watch, and I throw it. As it hits the water, almost immediately there’s a churning, like a tremor beneath the surface. I wonder what I’ve caught, for this is highly unusual, and actually, quite impossible.

I plant my feet against the edge of the boat and I start to lift it out of the water. I stumble from the weight and my brothers rush to my aid. Soon, they too are struggling from the enormity of our catch; so many fish are trapped that I lose count and I know this net won’t hold the bulk. The spray from their flopping and flailing hits our faces and we laugh at the miracle in our hands.

Before I can appreciate what is happening, John squints toward the beach and cries out, “It’s the Master!” and instantly, I know this must be true.

With the sunlight now, I can see his face across the sea and he’s beaming. He’s piercing the distance between us and seeing right into the center of me with overwhelming love and compassion.

My first reaction is to hide, as if I could. I still cower a little.

I’ve forgotten my nauseating hunger as I lift the net with all of my might. Others jump out of the boat and swim to greet him as I stay behind to drag the load myself. It’s another miracle altogether that the net still hasn’t ripped.

He’s prepared breakfast and the fire is strong and healthy. The aroma is promising of a fisherman’s feast, and if it wasn't for my sin and shame, I couldn't imagine a more perfect moment than this one.

Most of the fish are still living and trying to escape as I haul them on land, but it’s an effort in vain. We eventually count 153 of them, caught in an instant, after an entire night of nothing. For me too, it's obvious now that my efforts without him are always in vain.

How soon I forget.

There’s an awkward pause, at least for me as I approach him. The symbolism isn’t lost on me as he hands me some bread. I stand nearly naked before him and the heat from the fire is swirling the cool morning air.

I sit and literally devour my breakfast. Never has there been so much satisfaction in warm bread and freshly fried fish. Still, I can’t escape the feeling that I’m the center of attention. My brothers seem intent on reading his face, looking for some disappointment in his eyes, some preparation for a scolding which I’m sure I'll receive.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it—a lashing, some type of punishment for my behavior so I can know resolution. But nothing will distract him from his leaning posture of grace and forgiveness toward me.

Not even my denial of him.

We finish and he leads us again, much like he used to; he is walking down the beach, and we follow. I'm in front, as I should be, and, as if knowing my earthly hunger was now satisfied, I'm hoping he'll address deeper cravings inside of me.

Am I alright by him? Will I do this again? How can I be so strong in some aspects of my life, and then fail him so miserably? If my choices of late have been destroying me, what choice must I finally make to end this torture?

Apparently, the denial is not a topic of concern for him, so I wonder if he’s already forgotten about it. Instead, he dials in and asks me if I love him. Three times in a row, in fact, in rapid succession, much like those who learned of my betrayal first hand. I wonder if it’s intentional and if I’ll use the same knee jerk, skin deep reaction that I did then. He’s asking me so fast that of course I tell him I love him. Of course I love him more than my brothers love him. I love him as much as he already knows I love him.

I love him. Period. How can he even ask such a question? And how many times must I answer him? How can he doubt my word and my affection?

I wonder, for with each response, I’m charged with a responsibility.

To feed his lambs.

To feed his sheep.

And to follow him.

Rough translation: Don’t just tell me you love me. Anyone can do that. Show me you love me.

He turns to look at me and in an instant, I know my love for him will always pale in comparison to the love he has for me. Why did I spend so much time wallowing in my guilt and shame? What can separate me from his love?

Nothing.

And so I must follow, because somehow, he knows that by giving him lip service, I retain my right to refuse him. And I often will. I must choose to physically follow after him and do what he does, or remain the steward of my own destiny.

And that may be my toughest choice of all.

Chapter 15 The Right to Refuse Him, Part 1

The dawn is mostly black, but for a few tinges of light on vague clouds that conceal the horizon. Generations before me have promised that the night is always darkest before dawn, and I know this to be true.

Especially on the water.

Despite the last minute rush of deep and lonely darkness, though, this has always been my favorite time of the day. I've spent many nights like this on the sea as the steward of my own destiny, and I still rejoice in something that is beyond me; something that is ever steady and true.

But, on this particular break of morning, I find no joy in the promise of it. Whatever light or hope may exist, I’ve entered the darkest period of my life and I’m not sure I can even make it to the dawn.

My choices have been destroying me.

Oddly enough, this livelihood of mine is all I have now, and it's all about choices; this spot or that, this side or another. I can rely on my own ability and strength out here, and, of course, I can always count on the fish to be stupid. But, today, despite my years of experience, I’m coming up empty.

Anymore, it seems I can't do anything right.

I should have eaten by now, but I’ve been so consumed with guilt and shame that to eat anything at all seems like another betrayal. Surely, I can’t be satisfying my own hunger in the wake of this.

I’m starting to feel sick.

Still, all I know to do is to pour myself into work and hope this passes. I’m stripped nearly bare out here, both literally and I suppose figuratively, perhaps as a penance. I've been at this all night and nothing. Maybe I'm being punished.

So, what exactly did I do? I denied a friend. Said I didn't know him. It was deliberate and even I was surprised by it.

Of all the people for me to refuse, I chose him.

One time, I could live with, but then, I did it a second time. And a third. My world was spinning and quite frankly I might have done it again and again if given the opportunity. But, it stopped. Gratefully, it stopped with a startle. The shrill and echo of it still shrieks in my ears.

I had been spared.

The thing is, I'm afraid I'll do it again and I can't live with myself much longer if that's the case. If I couldn’t control myself then, who's to say I ever will? He made his point, you know--that I have the ultimate power to choose and the right to refuse him.

Perhaps I should run away and stop embarrassing myself.

And him.

Without breakfast, the chill in the air seems almost unbearable now. I start to shiver uncontrollably. But I stay with the task at hand, because I will figure this out by myself. The black sky is turning deep purple and it's giving way to slivers of orange and shades of gray as I steady myself. Voices of friends and brothers are murmuring in the background and I know they're talking about me.

Of course, I'm intimidating. I always have been, so no one will come out and say what they're thinking to my face.

They're afraid that I won't ever forgive myself. Could they think I'd be foolish enough to end it? Judas did. Maybe that's why they're never too far from my side. They don't want to leave me to my own fate.

The wind picks up and as it does, smoke reaches me all the way out here, so I turn around. Off in the distance, on the beach, I see the flickering of a fire. A man is crouched over it, fanning it and giving it life. I keep my eyes on him as I pull the net out of the water and it's empty, again.

He gets up and walks ankle deep into the shore, puts his hands up around his mouth and shouts to me:

“Try the other side!”

And just like that, I'm distracted from my feigned confidence and self loathing. My gut reaction is to question how he knows better than I, for I’ve been to this spot before, hundreds of times, and I’ve controlled my own destiny with my own hands and my very own choices. I’ve trusted my discernment and crafted my own judgment.

“Go ahead. Try it!” he shouts again, through laughter, as if knowing my inner struggle is almost always in vain.

Well, nothing is going my way, so what can it hurt? The fish may be stupid, but I’m not. The breaking of the night is eerily timed as the sun peers over the eastern sky.

So I lift the net as my brothers watch, and I throw it…

To be continued

Weezer, Redux

I seem unable to find the time or energy to write anything new these days. Call it a royal funk, if you will.

So, indulge me as I post something old as new again. This, written some time last year, seems to fit where I'm at.


My Handsome Sweater

If you want to destroy my sweater,
pull this thread as I walk away.
Watch me unravel, I’ll soon be naked.
Lying on the floor, I’ve come undone.

Weezer

It occurs to me, right about now, as I’m listening to the angst-ridden lyrics of Weezer, that I too wear a sweater. Thankfully, mine is still intact, but it seems I take this for granted, when in fact I should count it all joy and be forever grateful, if only for the simple reason that I’ve been adorned with much splendor.

Still, I casually but confidently dither about in these garments of grandeur—the very regalia of the One who loves me. Certainly it’s a leap of epic proportions to jump from Weezer to God, I know, but you'll just have to trust me, and I promise to stitch it all up by the end.

You see, He, being in fact God, fills my lungs and suggests my pulse this day—and, come to think of it, yours as well—and He clothes us in such a fashion that we are quite beautiful to Him. So, to expand upon this darn of consciousness, Weezer got me to thinking that even as God weaves amazing and stunning beauty into His design, the stark reality is that we're always just one string pull away from becoming drastically and quite conclusively undone.

Indeed, I'm but a mere moment away from being discovered—naked and prostrate, lying face first on the floor next to a bundle of yarn that used to be my handsome sweater.

I say all of this because it seems, in my audacity, that I have ignored this notion, and I am perhaps not alone—especially in the Church—because we've reached a supreme level of self-sufficiency and superiority, and for lack of a better word, superciliousness.

Somehow, in some way, Weezer is enlightening me, and hopefully you, and revealing in no small way that we need to dispense with the misplaced and long-held presumption that God, in His infinite wisdom, saw fit to love us more than the next group of people. Certainly, He loves you and he loves me with a passionate, unrelenting and often unrequited love, but he loves you just as much as he loves me, and yes, he really does love that man or that woman or that group of individuals you’re pondering right now, which is certainly unthinkable, but it is ever true.

I have a hunch that in our circles, we don't give this much consideration. At least I don't, as I toss stares of judgment at the stylistically challenged and repeatedly render guilty verdicts in the fashion trials of my mind.

We go to great lengths to muster our own strength and we elbow our way to the front of the line and we endeavor quite smashingly to do it all on our own; we smugly assume that we're entitled to more favor in the eyes of our own private Creator, more favor than perhaps He would or should show for the next guy. We conclude that we're more pleasing to Him and more obedient, and with that affection and preference locked in for a lifetime, we set about to capably and confidently choose our own outfits and attempt to accomplish much through our garb and gear and accessorizing.

And this ability, this self-sufficiency, this cavalier independence, whether we like it or not, has its way with our denominational dress, our righteous and regal religious trimmings, our chic bias and our prideful and prejudicial panache.

But somehow we must repudiate the notion that these new trends we fashion and these styles we strut are exclusive reflections of God—the very One who, lest we forget, became a common, unadorned man, by choice, two thousand years ago, without pomp and circumstance. The very One who, right about now, in my imagination (and maybe yours), is seeking and loving all as he circles our respective towns as an unassuming Harley-riding peacemaker, wearing a leather vest that has some dried mud on the back of it, jeans that need a good wash, and boots that are beyond polishing.

Malign others for their inherent differences and their errancies if you must, but beware, for each of us bears the unfortunate but true unraveling point—that dangling, hanging string. We are, in fact, a mere stitch and pull away from being stripped naked on the floor, our destroyed sweater in a pile next to us, crying out to a Maker who sees mankind as His creation, a Stylist whose vogue is ever now; his love, ever true and unchanging.

Indeed, there must be acceptance and humility, a nimbleness and flexibility of spirit, a darning of a gentle mosaic manner, especially as a new kind of church that serves not merely to tolerate, but to appreciate and integrate, for our world is increasingly made up of those who don't always fit into or match the clothing we pull from our collective closets.

And that, my friends, in a thimble, is what Weezer taught me today.