He was 33 years old when He made the triumphal entry. 33 when he saw what was before Him and cried drops of blood. 33 when He was betrayed by His closest friends. 33 when He was accused of awful crimes against powerful, hateful, jealous, scared people just like us.
33 when He was arrested for no reason and was never released.
33 when He stood in front of Pilot (who could have let him go) and did not say a word in His own defense. 33 when He was flogged to the brink of death, mocked, ridiculed, bullied beyond belief, and His existence seen as the world's biggest threat.
He is love. He is patience. He is kindness.
He keeps no record of wrongs.
He was 33 when He was put on a cross to die a slow, excruciatingly painful death in front of His own mother. 33 when He comforted the men dying on either side of Him. 33 when He made provisions for His mother's care upon His death. 33 when He took the sins of the world He created on His shoulders. 33 when He knew it was finished.
And 33 when He rose from the grave having defeated Satan and conquered death to unite us with Him. 33 when He changed the world and all of eternity forever.
I have always thought that 33 sounded old...until now. On October 31 I will turned 33.
A new wave a gratitude has crashed over me.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Welcome to Holland
This post is my reflection on an article written by Emily Kinsley in 1990. My writings cover the five stages of grief.
Welcome to Holland
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try and help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this.
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip—to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, Michelangelo’s David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?!” you say. “What do you mean Holland? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guidebooks, and you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a while new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy going to and from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” The pain of that will never every go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.
Kinsley, Emily P., from the Rocky Mountain News, October 29, 1990.
No
I don’t want to go to f***ing Holland. It’s not where I’ve been saving my money to visit. It’s not the place I pictured and it’s not where my hopes and dreams live. It smells funny there. People wear fake smiles. They are overly friendly in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable and suspicious.
I don’t know how to talk to the people there. I try to be polite and the message doesn’t seem to get through. I yell and they get this look of confusion and anger mixed with hurt. The message still doesn’t seem to be understood. Why does it feel like I’m the only one that is being forced to change? The tulips are pretty but everything else is ugly and scary. Will I ever feel differently???
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: anger, September 12, 2012.
Layover
This stop is just a layover. We’ll be out of Holland and back on course to Italy soon. It’s just gonna take a little more effort that I originally thought. I’ll have to get a team together so they can explain my options.
These maps I have may not work for my new situation but, if I look hard enough, I’m sure I’ll be able to find the map I need. I’m not sure what language they speak in Holland but I’m still going to teach my child Italian because that’s the language he will need to know to be independent in Italy. We can stay in Holland for the first couple of years and then we will move. I’ll invite some Italian families over to play so the transition will be easier. Holland has its beauty and charm but Italy is where we are supposed to be.
I’m told by the airlines that they can’t fly us to Italy. We will see about that…
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: denial, September 17, 2012.
Hmm…
Holland is where I live now. It’s lonely here. I’m never quite sure how we will make it through each day but somehow we manage. I try to look at the positive side of things. It’s true that it’s less crowded here and the pace of life is different than it looks like in Italy. It’s hard for me to feel connected and at home in Holland. I don’t want to feel this aversion to the people here but I can’t seem to shake it.
The tulips have died. The windmills have stilled. And the Rembrandts are few and far between.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: depression, September 18, 2012.
The Plan
Holland is so much more beautiful than I thought it when I first arrived. I’m starting to learn the language and haven’t gotten lost in two days! I’m putting all my energy in to making the most of my time in Holland. Every day presents new challenges but I’m facing them one at a time and keep thinking “this too shall pass”.
I haven’t told my family or friends where I am. All I said was that I arrived safely and I just let them assume I’m in Italy. They are asking if they can visit. Maybe if I show them the tulips, they won’t notice the lack of pizza. I’ll put up some Da Vinci’s and maybe order one of those statues of David. My location can be my secret burden to bear. Everything will be fine once we get through these first few years.
Maybe if I forgive the airlines for bringing me here, they will reconsider and let me go to Italy. Then I can share with people the amazing lessons I’ve learned while in Holland.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: bargaining, September 24, 2012.
Part of Me
Holland is part of me now. It is the very best and the very worst part of me. I’m in love with this place that was once so foreign and scary. Now that I feel more comfortable and familiar with Holland, the eyes of my heart have been opened and I see differently. I am able to appreciate, and sometimes even celebrate, accomplishments I was blind to before I got here.
The depths of my sorrow may have deepened but the weight of it has lightened. I find myself smiling and laughing on a regular basis. I can even make fun of Holland and it’s silly tulips now. It’s not offensive anymore. It’s where I belong and I have become protective of it.
When people come to visit they are usually uncertain and most fumble through clichés and well-intended advice for the first few days. I feel offended but then I recognize myself in them and realize how much Holland has taught me. I’m never quite sure how to explain or express what I’ve learned but last night there was a windmill in my dream.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: acceptance, September 26, 2012.
Welcome to Holland
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try and help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this.
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip—to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, Michelangelo’s David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?!” you say. “What do you mean Holland? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guidebooks, and you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a while new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy going to and from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” The pain of that will never every go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.
Kinsley, Emily P., from the Rocky Mountain News, October 29, 1990.
No
I don’t want to go to f***ing Holland. It’s not where I’ve been saving my money to visit. It’s not the place I pictured and it’s not where my hopes and dreams live. It smells funny there. People wear fake smiles. They are overly friendly in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable and suspicious.
I don’t know how to talk to the people there. I try to be polite and the message doesn’t seem to get through. I yell and they get this look of confusion and anger mixed with hurt. The message still doesn’t seem to be understood. Why does it feel like I’m the only one that is being forced to change? The tulips are pretty but everything else is ugly and scary. Will I ever feel differently???
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: anger, September 12, 2012.
Layover
This stop is just a layover. We’ll be out of Holland and back on course to Italy soon. It’s just gonna take a little more effort that I originally thought. I’ll have to get a team together so they can explain my options.
These maps I have may not work for my new situation but, if I look hard enough, I’m sure I’ll be able to find the map I need. I’m not sure what language they speak in Holland but I’m still going to teach my child Italian because that’s the language he will need to know to be independent in Italy. We can stay in Holland for the first couple of years and then we will move. I’ll invite some Italian families over to play so the transition will be easier. Holland has its beauty and charm but Italy is where we are supposed to be.
I’m told by the airlines that they can’t fly us to Italy. We will see about that…
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: denial, September 17, 2012.
Hmm…
Holland is where I live now. It’s lonely here. I’m never quite sure how we will make it through each day but somehow we manage. I try to look at the positive side of things. It’s true that it’s less crowded here and the pace of life is different than it looks like in Italy. It’s hard for me to feel connected and at home in Holland. I don’t want to feel this aversion to the people here but I can’t seem to shake it.
The tulips have died. The windmills have stilled. And the Rembrandts are few and far between.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: depression, September 18, 2012.
The Plan
Holland is so much more beautiful than I thought it when I first arrived. I’m starting to learn the language and haven’t gotten lost in two days! I’m putting all my energy in to making the most of my time in Holland. Every day presents new challenges but I’m facing them one at a time and keep thinking “this too shall pass”.
I haven’t told my family or friends where I am. All I said was that I arrived safely and I just let them assume I’m in Italy. They are asking if they can visit. Maybe if I show them the tulips, they won’t notice the lack of pizza. I’ll put up some Da Vinci’s and maybe order one of those statues of David. My location can be my secret burden to bear. Everything will be fine once we get through these first few years.
Maybe if I forgive the airlines for bringing me here, they will reconsider and let me go to Italy. Then I can share with people the amazing lessons I’ve learned while in Holland.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: bargaining, September 24, 2012.
Part of Me
Holland is part of me now. It is the very best and the very worst part of me. I’m in love with this place that was once so foreign and scary. Now that I feel more comfortable and familiar with Holland, the eyes of my heart have been opened and I see differently. I am able to appreciate, and sometimes even celebrate, accomplishments I was blind to before I got here.
The depths of my sorrow may have deepened but the weight of it has lightened. I find myself smiling and laughing on a regular basis. I can even make fun of Holland and it’s silly tulips now. It’s not offensive anymore. It’s where I belong and I have become protective of it.
When people come to visit they are usually uncertain and most fumble through clichés and well-intended advice for the first few days. I feel offended but then I recognize myself in them and realize how much Holland has taught me. I’m never quite sure how to explain or express what I’ve learned but last night there was a windmill in my dream.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: acceptance, September 26, 2012.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Here I go...
In the past I've felt like I needed to have a family in order to have something to share on a blog. Turns out all I need are thoughts and opinions. So here I go...watch out!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)