A hero's death, a heroine's life

Today will be the funeral of a hero.

It should also be a salute to a heroine.

On June 24, I opened my Facebook feed and braced myself for the posts both celebrating and decrying the overturning of Roe v. Wade.

Instead, I found at the top of my feed a post from Hayley Waldron, saying that her husband Harrison had died. Harrison's parents attended my church for several years. They've been missionaries both in Mexico and now in Honduras.

Harrison was 30. Hayley is 29.

They were married in 2014, right out of college, and at the time, I thought, "Isn't Harrison a little young to be getting married?"  (Bear in mind, I was a week shy of 30 when I got married. :-) )

Fourteen months after their marriage, on August 14, 2015, Harrison and Hayley took a trip for a friend's wedding.  While there, Harrison was involved in an ATV accident that left him with a devastating brain injury. At the time, Harrison's parents posted that they needed a miracle from God.

I'm sure the miracle everyone would have liked would have been for Harrison to be totally, physically healed. 

God, in His sovereignty, did not grant that miracle.

Instead, He gave us two people that showed the world around them, this is how you faithfully follow Christ in the midst of severe trial and hardship. 

Harrison would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair and would communicate with an iPad. Through that iPad, he would tell Hayley that he loved her. 

Hayley would spend the rest of Harrison's life loving him well. 

She also went back to school and became a nurse. 

I don't know if Harrison and Hayley would refer to themselves as "heroes". 

But there are those who, in their circumstances, would retreat into themselves and build up a wall of self-pity and resentment. (I know myself well enough to know that I'd be tempted to do just that.) 

From what I read of Harrison and Hayley, they did not do that. 

Yes, they had their struggles. They had struggles that many young couples do not have: health struggles, financial struggles, a struggle to find a niche when their lives turned upside down. 

They also had a God who did not leave them and whom they would not leave. 

Harrison endured to the end. I believe that when God saw him, he told him, "Well done, good and faithful servant." That's why I call him a hero.

Hayley, his partner in life, held true to her vow to be faithful "till death us do part". She exercised her faithfulness in her doing for Harrison and in her love for him. That's why I call her a heroine.

Today, Harrison will be laid to rest. His family and his friends will speak of him, tell memories of his life, and say goodbye. 

Today, Hayley begins her journey without her husband. She will cry at times and maybe she will even be angry at God and shake her fist at Him. 

And I also believe that she will remember the faithfulness of God.

So as we remember a hero today, let's also remember the heroine. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

VBS, Orlando, Hamilton, and the unimaginable

Most of what I knew about Alexander Hamilton was what I learned in school.

Namely, that he was a Founding Father of the United States, that he was our first Secretary of the Treasury, that his picture is on the 10 dollar bill, and that he died in a duel with Aaron Burr.

Last night I went to our Vacation Bible School.  Before our minister started the lesson, he talked about what happened in Orlando.  He shared the song, "It's Quiet Uptown," from the musical "Hamilton", which won the Tony Award for best musical on Sunday.

The song describes the grief of Alexander and Eliza Hamilton after the death of their son Philip.  Philip publicly called out a man who had insulted his father.  In the ensuing duel, Philip was shot and died 14 hours later.

I had not known that Philip, too, had died in a duel.  Philip died in 1801.  His father would die the same way in 1804.

Our theme for VBS this year is "Moses: Nothing Can Stop Us!"  I'm sure that our minister intended for us to learn about Moses, about how God was "I Am", and that He would always be with us.

Instead, I left with the words and melody of "It's Quiet Uptown" ringing in my head, and with perhaps a tiny taste of what 49 families are experiencing right now.

The unimaginable.

Lyrics:

Angelica:  

There are moments that the words don't reach
There is suffering too terrible to name
You hold your child as tight as you can
And push away the unimaginable
The moments when you're in so deep
It feels easier to just swim down.

Angelica/Ensemble:

The Hamiltons move uptown
And learn to live with the unimaginable.

Hamilton:

I spend hours in the garden
I walk alone to the store
And it's quiet uptown
I never liked the quiet before
I take the children to church on Sunday 
A sign of the cross at the door
And I pray
That never used to happen before.

Angelica and women:

If you see him in the street
Walking by himself
Talking to himself
Have pity

Hamilton:

Philip, you would like it uptown
It's quiet uptown

Angelica and women:

He is working through the unimaginable.

All men (except Hamilton)

His hair has gone grey
He passes every day
They say he walks the length of the city.

Hamilton:

You knock me out, I fall apart

Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)

Can you imagine?

Hamilton:

Look at where we are
Look at where we started
I know I don't deserve you, Eliza
But hear me out
That would be enough.

If I could spare his life
If I could trade his life for mine
He'd be standing here right now
And you would smile
And that would be enough
I don't pretend to know
The challenges we're facing
I know there's no replacing what we've lost
And you need time 
But I'm not afraid
Just let me stay here by your side
That would be enough

Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)

If you see him in the street
Walking by her side
Talking by her side
Have pity

Hamilton:

Eliza, do you like it uptown?
It's quiet uptown

Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)

He is trying to do the unimaginable
See them walking in the park
Long after dark
Taking in the sights of the city

Hamiton:

Look around
Look around
Eliza

Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)

They are trying to do the unimaginable

Angelica

There are moments that the words don't reacy
There is a grace too powerful to name
We push away what we can never understand
We push away the unimaginable
They are standing in the garden
Alexander by Eliza's side
She takes his hand

Eliza:

It's quiet uptown

Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)

Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?

If you see him in the street
Walking by her side
Talking by her side
Have pity
They are going through the unimaginable.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Can't deal, can't shuffle

I had several blog posts mentally written last week.

I was going to write about my first "Bye, Felicia," delivered to an unsympathetic male about the Stanford rape case.

I was going to write a serious post about that same case.

I was going to write about some of my observations about faith.

I was going to write about what I planned to do between now and Election Day (which includes, going off the grid on Election Day.)

But after yesterday?

After fifty dead in a pool of blood, the victims of slaughter at the hand of someone who, because he was angry at two men kissing in front of his young son, decided to take it out on an entire group?

After this same person claimed allegiance to ISIS in a 911 phone call?

After the outrage that has exploded on social media, and rightfully so?

I cannot.

There are people dead.  There are cell phones ringing in the pockets of dead people that will never be answered.  There are text messages that will never be responded to.

There is a city in shock and anguish.

Our President has, once again, gotten up to address a mass shooting, and called for tougher gun laws. It's the same cycle that has repeated itself too many times.

Since December 14, 2012, when 26 people died at Sandy Hook, there have been 1001 mass shootings in the United States.  This statistic comes from the Gun Violence Archive, which defines "mass shooting" as an event where four or more people, not counting the shooter, were shot at the same general time and location.

Yesterday, I listened in shock and outrage.  I whispered, "Oh, my God," when the news alert came over my iPad that 50 people were dead.  I listened to the radio while I was waiting for my husband to come out of church.  I listened to the radio again while I was lying down during the afternoon.  After my husband and son went to bed, I watched CNN.  I posted on Facebook.  I read reactions.

Today's headline in the AJC simply reads:  MASSACRE.

My heart is sad and broken.

And I am numb.

I have become numb to the reports of shooting, of terror, of hate, of anger and fighting.  Shooting and violence and terror have become a way of life.  Such reports are almost to be expected.

Today, I grieve.

And I also have to take my son for his senior portraits.

And I have 87 pages to proof.

And I have dinner to make.

And I have told my son that I will take him to our VBS.

And I need to get my prescriptions.

And I need some more frozen berries and eggs.

And I need to return two library books.

I can't deal.

Not only can I not deal, I cannot even shuffle.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

After yesterday's shootings, I am lamenting . . .

I am tired.
I am numb.
I am in grief.
And I am lamenting.

I am borrowing some words from the book of Daniel, from the book of Ezra, from the book of Habakkuk, and from my own thoughts.  For what it's worth, this is Tina's Psalm of lament:

Oh, God, I am too ashamed to lift up my head to you.  For we have acted wickedly.  We have not kept your commands to love you with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

I shake my fist and demand to know why the way of the wicked prospers.  And yet, I know this is not your fault.  It is the fault of us, who go our own way, ignore you, ignore what you would have us to do.  We ignore your love.  We ignore your commands.  We wish to go our own way and do things our way, what seems right in our own eyes.  We do not look to you for guidance.

My sin is great and the sin of my people, of this country, is great.  I struggle with pride, with prejudice, with judgmentalism, with believing that I am better than others.  And I struggle with believing that you will listen and answer prayers according to what is best.

We honor what is vile among men, and that is why wicked people freely strut about.

I cry out for the souls of those who were lost yesterday, for the souls that have been lost in too many shootings this year, for the souls of those who commit murder, especially those that commit murder and acts of terror and claim that it is in Your name.

I cry out for those who would heap blame on groups of people when it is only certain members of those groups that are guilty of such acts.

I cry out for those who are fleeing evil, and for those who don't want "those people" anywhere near them.

I cry out for your justice, and for your mercy, and for your action.

Please listen.  Please, if it is your will, please save this nation before it is too late.

For us who are Christians -- for me, because I claim to be Christian -- make us, make me, your hands and feet.  It is only in that way that we -- that I -- will ever be able to show the love of Christ, the love that compelled him to die for us, and the love that compels us -- that should compel me -- to love him and to serve others.

Help us not to hate.  Help us to be fearless in condeming evil, but compassionate towards those who commit the evil.  Help us to erase the hate and the prejudice.  Help us only to commit love in the name of Christ, not evil.  Help us to be prudent, and yet compassionate and fearless.

I weep.  I lament.  This is a time of lament and not of rejoicing.  It is a time of grief.  For we have sinned, for I have sinned, and we -- and I -- desperately need your forgiveness.  We -- I -- do not deserve your grace that you give as a gift to us.  But we -- but I -- need it.

I can do nothing more but throw myself upon your mercy as a compassionate and merciful God and pray, and beg, please listen.  Please act.

I know that the Lord is good, and his mercies are from generation to generation.  As angry and impatient as I get with you, and as angry as I have often been over events in my life, time and time again you have shown your mercy and your grace by granting me blessings I do not deserve, by answering prayers in spite of my attitude and my unbelief.

Your mercy is great, and you are a God of compassion.
You are holy, and cannot tolerate sin.
I grieve, I lament, for my sin; for our sins.
Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.

In the name of Jesus, may this be so.
Amen.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.