April 25th, 2022
I don’t remember a lot of crisis in my childhood. We went through our own family crisis times, certainly, those I remember clearly, because of how they shaped me. But I wasn’t privy to the all the crisis times happening in other families as they so often do.
My parents protected my gentle & easily bruised heart often from the weight of broken promises, broken families, the fallen world with its sickness, hardship, and death. Though it’s not that we didn’t see it at all when they wanted us to.
I could tell you the stories I remember of hurting people, because when I was allowed into that world my parents wanted to teach me, or let me watch, how to be a friend, sister, a prayer support, a person who was there.
I saw them bring meals after friends lost babies, they let us kids get our hands dirty helping weed & keep clean a local widows lawn, and when a friend in chemo - who was also living in a difficult marriage - needed friends to talk to, our home was open and my parents welcoming.
I remember when she died. It felt impossible because she was so young and beautiful.
So, yes, there was crisis, and yes, I remember it. But it wasn’t a part of my daily life. They’re not beyond what I could recount to you with detail.
In adulthood I am more tuned in to crisis and how often it touches communities. It’s everywhere, it’s in every family, church, neighborhood. And it’s every day. Someone, somewhere today feels like the world has stopped, or should, because their has in some breathless, heart-skipping-beats way.
The continual access to heartbreak and tragedy online, at the tip of my fingertips is overwhelming. I have to tune the noise out at times, not because I don’t care, but because I care too much and it feels like I will break under the weight.
This has taught me to look carefully, paying attention to our real life circle of friends and community though. I can’t bear the weight of every hurting person, but what about one friend, today? That’s possible.
Earlier this year a dear friend was bathing her baby boys and just for a minute, maybe two short minutes, stepped out of the room. Not because she was distracted or selfish or a careless mother, quite the opposite. She’s an attentive mother and there was mess in the kitchen, the mess that made the bath a morning requirement this Saturday,
she was just going to quickly clean it so their bath time wasn’t rendered useless as soon as they got out.
But it’s just like that, isn’t it. One moment your life is normal, it’s Saturday and you’re giving the boys a bath and then all of a sudden, everything is wrong. The story has gone all wrong.
Callan’s under water when she returns, he’s only 6 months and she’s giving CPR and calling 911.
We’re at brunch when we get the text. They’re at Texas Children’s hospital, he’s alive, not awake, they’re in the hospital and they have immediate needs for their 3 year old, Levi.
A group chat message gets sent out, Sydnie’s picking up Levi, my sisters and mom & I are going to Cassie’s to clean up.
The bathtub is still full when I get there, and there’s water, a lot of water, in the bathroom. It’s why I wanted to go. I didn’t want her to come home and have to look horror, death, or near-death, right in the face, to relive those forever minutes of waiting for help while she tried to revive her baby on the bathroom floor.
The least we could do is give them a clean, safe home to come home to.
I was doing dishes when a woman from her church arrived, the Bluetooth speaker played worship music as we thanked God for the goodness of sparing Callan’s life.
More women arrived, more serving hearts, we prayed together, worked together, bonded in the weird way you do in crisis.
New sheets and a new comforter on the master bed. All of their laundry was bagged and delivered to the laundry fairy — a miracle worker who washes, dries, and folds clothes quickly as her very business. What a concept. We cleaned out the fridge & pantry, got food and baby formula, flowers for around the house.
That very evening Cassie and her husband Josh got to bring home a healthy baby and we got to be there to hug them, cry with them, praise with them, and then leave them in place they wanted to be as a family.
You know how we all have the place we’d probably never want a friend to see in our home? I have that shame. Like please, please, don’t look under my bed because I definitely haven’t cleaned under it since we moved in, and even with my love of minimalism my closet is still a disaster.
We’ll I’ve seen inside, cleaned even, under the sink in Cassie’s apartment. Any dark place she my have hidden previously was not a thought this day. I’ve picked up her dirty laundry, literally, and you know what? I love her all the more for it. Her crisis was an opportunity to see her, truly, and that makes me feel close to her.
Crisis bonds in a way good days can’t.
As much as I can, I’m going to protect the childhood innocence of my children, they won’t be bombarded with the grief of the outside world daily, but when there is crisis in someone’s life nearby and we can do something to help,
I want to give them the opportunity to serve alongside us and learn what it means to be the Church.
Special thanks to the women of Restoration Church for all the kindness extended to the LaDuke family.
