A Mother's Day Story

Once there was a young, beautiful mom named Margaret, who lived in West Virginia, and she had a daughter, her oldest child, named Helen.

Helen was joined by a brother (on the pony with her here), and then a sister, and then another brother, and then another sister. As the big sister, Helen got some good practice taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, which gave her some preparation for eventually being a mom.

First, though, she married Ted.

Helen and Ted had a darling (if I do say so myself) and smart daughter named Annette (in the picture to the right), who could apparently read when she was about two. Then they had a boy named Tim, who clearly loved having his big sister read to him. This was good practice for the daughter, who would one day read to her own children. Seriously, Helen supported Annette in her love for books, and she taught Annette how to read before she went to kindergarten. This was one of the best things anyone ever taught Annette to do. Thanks!

After awhile, they had Kristi. And then Helen, the mom, had three children. She made sure that they went to the doctor, dentist, and got glasses when they needed them.

Annette, Tim, and Kristi grew up, and their mom loved and helped them all the way. This is Helen at Annette's high school graduation with her mom, Margaret. Three generations of women, all of whom at some point, became moms.

And if Helen was excellent at being a mom (she was and is), she was and is just as excellent at being a grandma, when Annette became a mom. This is Katie, the baby, the first grandchild. Eventually there were Jonathan, Elizabeth, and Garrett, all of whom love their grandma very much.

And this is that baby Katie, with her grandma, Helen, and her grandpa, Ted, at her high school graduation a couple of years ago. And while Helen doesn't hold Katie on her lap anymore, Katie does know where to go when she can count on being loved and metaphorically held on a lap.

And I think we'll just say, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" You are loved! (This story is starting to make me feel old, and there always will be more to add to it, so I think we'll stop here.)

Not So Hard

I was talking to a mom of two little ones, and we were watching the younger one exercising his newly discovered walking skills and the older one was trying to tell me something, using her newly discovered skill of saying words. The mom observed that my Jonathan would be graduating from high school in a few weeks and asked how far Katie had to go before she was finished. I told her that after Katie finished her internship in Kalamazoo in September, she would have one more semester, and then she would be finished with college. She had a sad look on her face, and she commented, "That must be hard, having them grow up."

Hard. I understand what she's saying. Having cute little ones who are learning something new literally every day, who love you and want to be with you more than anyone, whose greatest thrill is crawling into your lap with a favorite book is an amazing thing. And I loved experiencing all of that with my children. But hard for me was having my daughter come home from kindergarten with the "homework" assignment of counting all the coins in daddy's pocket--and this young widow didn't quite know how to get that one done. Hard for me was reading all of the reports about fatherless teenage girls who often engage in premarital sex and get pregnant as they seek the male attention they aren't getting from a father. Hard was having to be the adult in the passenger seat trying to teach a teenage girl how to drive--a job I will always maintain is a father's.

And hard was knowing that no one was helping my boy learn to play sports. Hard was wondering if it was the right thing to let him go to the men's room by himself when he was too big to go to the ladies' room with me, but still so young. Hard was realizing that he wasn't having the opportunity to do "guy" things: go camping, do auto repair, hammer, and use a screw driver. Hard was wondering how this boy would ever learn how to be a man growing up in a home with two of the girliest mom-and-sister girls there ever have been. Hard was worrying about how I would get him through the teenage boy hormonal things (of which I knew nothing) and teach him how to shave and tie a tie. Hard was wondering how I would punish him once he was bigger than I was. When Dorothy of the movie Jerry McGuire complained to her sister Laurel, "Do you know what most other women my age are doing right now? They are partying in clubs, trying to act stupid, trying to get a man, trying to keep a man.... Not me. I'm trying to raise a man," I was whispering, "that's me" to the TV--after the kids were in bed and I was spending another evening alone watching a movie I had watched at least five or six times before.

I think, for the most part, hard is not the word. Perhaps it's relief some, and thankfulness even more. Thankful that God knew my limits and brought a father into Jonathan's life who has taught him to shave, tie a tie, and mow the lawn (okay, he's working on that one). Relieved and thankful that in a couple of weeks he'll be graduating from high school and plans to go to college in the fall. Thankful and relieved that he attributes his understanding of the gospel to that father. Thankful and relieved that the daughter has been spared the pitfalls that many teenage fatherless daughters fall into and is developing her gifts and finding her place in this world. Thankful and relieved that despite our driving challenges, she has her license, and thankful and relieved that when she's had a couple of accidents and some car issues, she's had a father to help her through.

So I understand where you're coming from, mom of two adorable little ones. It's hard to fathom a day when those little ones will no longer need you like they do now, when they own their own cars and would rather not spend Friday evening with you. But for a once-single mom whose kids have made it through to a place she feared they might never get to, it's actually feeling a lot less hard.

An Apology

Some readers of this blog may be aware that I have recently posted regarding conflicts in the church and classis of which I am a member. So as not to cause further damage and offense, I will not go into any more detail here regarding them. If you have read them, you know what I am writing about today. If you have not, I am thankful that you have not seen them.

The posts that I wrote grew from anger and frustration that I felt toward a situation and group of people. They did not demonstrate proper respect for the authority that God has placed over me, and they did not seek "to guard and advance my neighbor's good name" (Heidelberg Catechism Q and A 112). They were not words fitly written like apples of gold in settings of silver (Proverbs 25:11).

To those who were wronged by my words, I heartily apologize. I also apologize to all my readers. I am amazed whenever I learn that someone actually reads my blog (and I'm not ever entirely sure why anyone does), and I should have been more careful to serve all of you, and especially God, more lovingly with my words. Repentance is a sad (and yet good way--perhaps to be addressed in another post) reality of "being Christian in creed and deed," as is forgiveness.

On this Easter weekend, as I am reminded of my sin, I give thanks for a righteousness that comes apart from the law that I could never keep, that by Jesus Christ's "resurrection he has overcome death, so that he might  make us share in the righteousness he won for us by his death" (Heidelberg Catechism  Q and A 45).

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! (Romans 7:25).

Pray for Michael

Back in fall 2008, my cousin Michael, a resident of West Virginia who is in his mid-forties, was charged with sexually violating the two-year-old daughter of his nephew. (I know, you're shuddering right now--but read the rest of the story.) He was read his rights and arrested and during interrogation confessed to committing the crime. The only problem with all of this is that Michael is severely mentally disabled; professionals have placed him mentally at the level of a seven-year-old. Michael's mother, his legal guardian, was not present when he was questioned by the police or when he made his "confession." And when the toddler was examined at the hospital, there was no evidence that she had been violated in any way. (I'm trying not to be too graphic.)

From that time to today, Michael's situation has made One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest look like a Disney family film. Michael was judged incompetent to stand trial and was ordered to a mental hospital for an undetermined length of time. It has seemed, in our family's opinion, that the psychiatrist who oversees the hospital has gone to great lengths to keep Michael there, even though by now he has more than served the time that others who had been judged competent would have served for a similar offense. Michael is not violent, and he has no record of previous offenses. Remember--Michael has the mental ability of a seven-year-old. The psychiatrist has used tests written for those of average intelligence to test Michael and label him a pedophile. There have been periodic hearings to determine if Michael should be released to his mother or to an adult home, but every time one of those hearings nears, the hospital staff suddenly begins reporting all kinds of bad behaviors on Michael's part--clear evidence that is a dangerous criminal who should be locked away. They also accuse family members of being uncooperative.

In the time Michael has been committed to the hospital, there have been two violent incidents. In one, another severely disabled patient (I believe he is both deaf and mentally disabled) was raped and hospitalized. He was then released from the mental hospital--into a group home, perhaps. In an interview, his mother commented that it was a terrible thing that her son was raped, but at least it got him out of the hospital. At Christmas time, another young patient was killed when guards were restraining him. This is his story. The incident occurred on December 28, 2011, and I have heard that the coroner still hasn't released a cause of death. This hospital is a scary place, and Michael's family fears for his life. There is no distinction made between those who are mentally ill and those who are mentally disabled. It would seem that the state of West Virginia remains in the dark ages in the way it handles these cases.

Gradually Michael and his mother have had their rights taken from them. When Michael was first hospitalized, she and other family members went to visit several times a week. At the last hearing, the judge in the case determined that my aunt was the only family member who could visit Michael for only a half hour a week. Typically some sort of evidence is concocted to demonstrate that the family is uncooperative or that Michael's behavior requires his being locked up.And the reality is that my aunt and all the family members have bent over backwards to be cooperative because they are well aware that they are dealing with a corrupt system.

Why would this judge and psychiatrist work so hard to keep Michael in the hospital? We can't be sure, but here are some realities. The hospital now receives Michael's disability income. On top of that, the hospital receives $1200 a day for its "services." And this is how taxpayers' dollars are being used to keep "dangerous criminals" who have the mental capability of a seven-year-old off the streets.

The whole ugly situation has taken an especially ugly turn. My aunt went to visit Michael after the most recent ruling that only she may visit for a half hour a week. She is in poor health, so her ex-husband, Michael's father, accompanied her. When they went in, hospital staff invited Michael's father to come in and visit as well. My aunt reminded them that Michael was allowed no visitors except for her. After checking with staff at a couple of levels, they told Michael's father that he was permitted to visit; they had no orders to the contary.

So now my aunt, Michael's father, and my cousin (Michael's sister, who has maintained a very active Facebook account of the situation) have been summoned to appear in court tomorrow morning on contempt charges because Michael's father visited him in violation of court orders.Apparently my cousin no longer has the right to free speech on her Facebook account.

This poor family has turned to anyone they can think of for help--the media, West Virginia lawmakers, charitable organizations. While there have been a few valiant efforts, no one yet has been able to overcome the efforts of the judge and psychiatrist who have made it their mission to keep Michael hospitalized and keep his family away from him. Michael's family simply has seen and know too much and are a threat to the system.

Is there anyone out there reading this who can help? If you're reading this and you know of someone in the media, in law, in some organization for the mentally disabled--please send them the link to this post. And pray--for Michael, his parents, his siblings who are fighting so valiantly and courageously for his rights. Pray that the charges against my aunt and her family members will be dropped tomorrow morning.

It's hard to believe that this can happen in America. Please pray for Michael and his family.

Friday afternoon: Like everything having to do with this case, today's events are confusing and bizarre. When my family members showed up for the hearing today, they were told that they were mistakenly charged with contempt. Instead, today's hearing would be a status meeting for Michael, which is strange because he just had a status hearing about a month ago, when my aunt was told that her visits were restricted to a half hour a week. I don't recall how frequently status meetings have been held, but perhaps, at most, once a quarter? At any rate, the ruling stands that only my aunt may visit Michael for a half hour a week. Immediate family members (like my cousin) cannot post information (I have no explanation for this since it seems a breach of First Amendment rights, but there are certainly plenty of nonimmediate family members who are willing to take on the task). But we feared the worst, that perhaps the courts would take custody of Michael away from my aunt or even throw my accused family members in jail. So we heave a sigh of relief, thank God for this protection, and pray that there will be soon be freedom for Michael.

On Lent

I wanted to write a post about Lent, but my friend, pastor and author Jeremy Walker, has said it all so much better than I ever could here.