Everything Would Not Be Better

There's nothing rational about writing a note to your dad in Heaven on Facebook. I think it just shows what you're doing, which is trying to show everyone the hole in your insides so that they can...something.

Because what everyone's going to do is the only thing everyone can, and that is to tell me that hey, 77 years is a good long time. And Zoe wasn't supposed to be around too long.

These are both true statements. I'll even help with the true statements: Dad was so frail that I was afraid I'd break him when I hugged him, which was just strange. My favorite explanation of Dad's athleticism was when he assessed Andreas and me: we were better athletes. We played more sports well, had a wider muscle knowledge of lots of different things.

But, he said, he knew he could beat us in a race. Him in his prime, it wouldn't be close.

All bravado? I don't think so. I saw him run. And I also think he was being generous with his sports assessment. The point is, this was a guy who wasn't just good, he knew he was good and he was plainly unafraid-from a physical perspective-of anything.

So hugging him and feeling like I could snap his ribs wasn't right. I'll throw that in on our list of reasons it's grand Dad and Zoe are gone.. I'm of course not even mentioning how good he's got it now, and Zoe. How his heart only had to be broken for four days - four days from Zoe going home to his death.

I have no idea why I keep crying. Just all these jagged edges sticking out. Pride and pain. Missing. Dad and Zoe both had sweaty heads. So if my head sweats, I break down because I'm them and they are me and yet they are gone and I'm here and nothing is right.

Nothing would be better if they were here. I'd be sleeping less, owe a lot more. I'd be crying about their physical state.

But nothing is better now that they're gone. Not sure where to put it. Turns out the fist-sized hole in my wall was as cathartic as a Facebook post.

Dance In Peace, Michael Zechariah Clements

On my way home January 28, Jenny told me that I really didn't want to see Zoe's frail lifeless body. She wasn't there, she told me.

So I didn't. I hang on to the last picture I took and even now, I close my eyes and try to remember what her smooth face felt against my cheek. Hear her laugh - best she could - when we played.

I think what destroys us parents is that Zoe is all better and we have to wait to see her. She can sing now, sing better than her mama, but we have to wait to hear it. That she laughs and can't stop talking like her brothers, but barring Jesus' return, we're stuck with piecing together our projection of what she looks like. And wonder if we'll know her, and she'll know us. On this earth, even after 96 weeks and 4 days, Zoe could barely lift her leg with a shoe on it.

Now her form is glorified and if you'd meet her, if you didn't know better, you'd want to bow down and worship her instead of the Glorifier inside her.

Bittersweet. Sometimes...heck, all the time, that's the best we get as parents. I raise my kids to grow up and be God followers, to love each other and work hard, and believe. Zoe did. And so do the others. But...I don't want them to go.

Bittersweet is what I'd call my relationship with my brother, Shane Clements. I found him on Twitter, a little over a year ago, asking us all for prayers for little Michael, even before Michael was born. He, unfortunately...yet fortunately...shares my torture. Minus 92 weeks and a day.

I never met Michael but I figure he's like his daddy, pressing and seeking God's heart, even right now. He's complete now, and his dad saw him broken and loved him all the same. Shane wanted Michael whole again, and Shane got his wish. After 17 days.

Michael is dancing with Zoe and he never had to know what it's like to lose, never had to learn what torture even means. Glorify. That's what he knows. Magnify.

And when God sees Shane someday, Shane's going to hear words I'll tell him now, but nowhere nearly as perfect or complete: You did it right, Shane. I'm so proud of you. Well done.

Fly Away

We went to Destin almost two weeks ago. It's the last spot our entire family vacationed together, and it is, to a person, our favorite place in the world. The stretch of beach called Miramar has clear blue Gulf and powder-fine sand. When we visit, it's always idyllically warm, no bugs, just lots of suntan lotion and a day split between the beach and the pool.

Jenny walked down the beach, back to where we were last year, and as she walked, she discovered a little shell that we have all called "butterfly shell" because it looks like two wings joined almost invisibly in the middle. She brought her butterfly shell home.

A few days later, I went out at low tide. I just like it when the water's receded and sand bars protrude, as if you're there at Earth's first day, the first person to stand on a never-discovered island. I had no intention of doing anything but walking and listening to the waves, but I'm my father's son, and I saw flecks of beauty revealed in the receding water. Beautiful shells. I picked some up, and after a few steps, became selective. 

That day I found some beautiful butterfly shells. Must have been the season for them. I didn't want to crush them, and being improperly prepared, I just held my shells in my right hand as I wandered down the shore.

As I returned, my hand was mostly full. Incredible colors, some intriguing fossilizations, some just perfect. I kept the butterfly shells on the top of my stack, so I wouldn't break them. 

A funny thing happened.

A gust of wind would blow, and a butterfly shell would catch the breeze, and fly out of my hand. I'd stop, hustle to the shell before it was recovered by water and sand, put it gently back into my hand, and keep walking. 

And it happened again. And again. And being my father's son, I laughed. Because Dad always found the appropriate amount of humor in things by imagining someone watching himself as he was doing something. Here I was, middle-aged man, walking down the beach, chasing shells flying out of my hand. 

I couldn't hold the butterfly shells too tightly - they might break. And I couldn't keep them from catching the breeze. If I was going to take them back to our room, I'd have to keep chasing them.

We can't hold on to them tightly enough. We still can't. Whatever my dad and Zoe began as, they were made to fly away. 

Zoe's Birthday

I've started this entry three times, starting last night. And I've stopped and stared at my entry. It just wasn't good enough and I don't know. I don't know if I'm supposed to be happy or sad or if I'm supposed to miss her terribly or rejoice in her Heavenly home. I am all of those things.

But that's a lot of "I"s and that's what has made me stop writing.

This is Zoe's birthday, and from her first moment here, Zoe fought. Zoe fought and smiled while fighting. Zoe never said a word to me but I think if she could have she'd say that I'm supposed to be happy and rejoicing, and that I'm not supposed to quit. That she didn't quit. Her body was overcome by this sinful place but that, at best was a tie.

And now she wins.

I wish I could explain to you all of the things: the pressures and pain and temptations. The sadness that racks me almost instantaneously. The longing to look into her eyes. I wish I could explain how hard pressed I am at work, how Jen is staggering and stumbling - but bulling her way through her job.

But that's a lot of "I"s and it's Zoe's birthday.

Zoe lived simply and she loved completely and on her birthday, that's not a bad lesson for a mom and dad and family that are caught in a sea of stuff. Live simply and love completely. And smile.

On Zoe's birthday, she's given me a present.

He Knows

God loved His Son as much as I loved Zoe. More. So the being that can create the Nile River and the Grand Canyon with a word watched as His Son died.

And He loved His son as much as I love Zoe. But for me, I yelled for someone - for God - to do something. But He didn't. Just like when His Son died.

God knows. This is something He knows. I've wrestled my whole life if God knows, really knows what it's like to be in a bad relationship like i've been or to be tempted like I am.

But this is something He unequivocally knows.

Blessed

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. - Matthew 5:4


The sermon text last week was this verse, and the pastor went out of his way to explain that mourning might not just mean mourning a death, and that blessed doesn't just mean "blessed" but another word. 


If you google the above verse, you'll get more sermons and thoughts from very intelligent men who say things like mourning might be if you lose a tough game. 


I'm going to stick with the verse for mourn. I'm not the only man who has lost his father, and honestly, if the actuarial tables work right, many of us will lose one or both of our parents while we walk this earth. And you'll mourn. 


And...losing a child - hopefully most of you will never even have to consider that loss. But you're going to find an almost larger-than-it-should-be part of our world has experienced. 


So while mourn might mean a 3-2 loss, i'm good with leaving it mourning amidst death because that's where we live, you and I. In this terrible place where people leave every day. Every minute. 


And I think the Bible guys got pretty close with "blessed." To me, "happy" is a frail thin shell of "blessed." To me, happiness is fleeting and non-essential. But blessed is necessary and worth seeking. "Blessed" meaning God is near. Not an emotion, just a statement of truth. "Heavy are rhinoceroses." Heavy is just what they are. We could try to figure different words to mean the same thing but we might do just as well to understand what "heavy" means.


The part where there's bigger holes in the translation is "comforted." Mostly because I'm not sure we spend any time knowing what that means. Meaning that most of us don't stop and think of how we comfort or if we know how to comfort or if the things we think are comforting are truly comforting. 


Check this out: the verb is the same verb used in this verse in Matthew 18:9: "²⁹"His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, 'Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.'"


The verb is the same as the part where the fellow servant begged him. 


Ok, instead of "comfort",  we have this verb that means to "call to one's side, beseech, to beg."


Who's doing the begging?


It says "they will be comforted." Me, the one who mourns. I am not the caller, not the one beseeching. Not the one exhorting. 


This God who catches each of our tears in His palm is coming to us and kneeling in front of us and calling us to Him. He's the one who's opening his arms and gently, emotionally, with great care, calling us to Him. Please, Greg. Please come here. Please, Greg. Come here and put your head on my chest and let me enfold you with the only thing that will make sense. Come.

Sacrifice

I'm using a cool iPhone app to try and read my way through the Bible. A lot stands out to me- a lot I thought I knew was slightly different than I remembered.

One of the most interesting parts is how early - by chapter 4 of the first book of the Bible - people are sacrificing to the Lord. And God's desiring it, even drawing conclusions about His people by their sacrifices. When Noah finally gets out of the Ark onto dry land, God makes his promise to never flood the Earth again - after he smells Noah's sacrifice. The way it's written, it's like God's promise was a reaction not to the severity of the flood, but to the sweetness of Noah's sacrifice.

Through all the stuff we've been through, I realize that our first reaction to tragedy is so childishly selfish, it's almost infantile. Jen called me last night. The van had a flat tire. I answered, "Oh...great." I was mad. we've had enough, haven't we? I don't want flat tires. When I found out about my father's tremendous decline, I was so angry. ANGRY. Is this the way God treats his servants? Lets them fall into terrible weakness? I was afraid. Afraid that in 30 years or so, that'd be me, and my kids would be struggling to deal with my weakness, and I'd be someone they'd be caring for.

Look, I don't want to sacrifice anything. I've been holding everything as tightly as I can. But the undeniable lesson is that what we're clutching isn't ours.

So it goes. I want Zoe back so I can hold her in her damaged body and feel her smiling face against my cheek. I want that. I want it so bad it breaks my heart. So does Nancy.

I never would have guessed life is this hard. But it's infinitely harder if we don't understand sacrifice, and how it pleases God and makes us somehow closer to the things He wants us to be.

The sacrifice He's asking for us us. To climb on to the altar and offer up our lives that we're so desperately trying to own and control. To learn the lesson that the earliest humans knew - that God loves a good sacrifice. It pleases Him. It draws Him close.

Take my sacrifice. I'm afraid I don't have much left. Make me new.

The Altar
by Nichole Nordemann

I'm at the end of myself, I just dropped out of the running
I don't recall when I last pulled the shades and said "here comes the sun, here comes the new day"
Someone remind me again that joy might show up on occasion
I'm sitting here with my hands on my head, and my eyes on the ground, wondering if I'll be found by You

Will you make me new? Will you take what's left of me?
I guarantee that it won't be a fair trade.
Will you set me free from what's keeping me afraid?
I know I've prayed it all before, but I'm back on the altar

I don't believe what they say about one foot in front of the other
If my life was a map, you'd see every last step just circling around, still lost, never found by You

So will you make me new? Will you take what's left of me?
I guarantee that it won't be a fair trade.
Will you set me free from what's keeping me afraid?
I know I've prayed it all before, but I'm back on the altar

Maybe last year I'd have made empty promises
Maybe last month I'd have tried to pull strings
But I don't have one single chip left to bargain with
The only thing left is me needing You to make me new

Will you take what's left of me?
I guarantee that it won't be a fair trade
Will you set me free from what's keeping me afraid?
I know I've prayed it all before
But I'm back
On the altar 

Better Days

I'm sure there are people out there who are pretty sure we're sleepwalking through these days. Tearful, sad. And that is true. 

But then, it's also true that life didn't stop and wait for us to work through something. It hasn't stopped once when I cry. It moves on and some of it is incredible, hilarious, marvelous. 

Aidan reported the other day that his butt felt better today. This was a relief, although we hadn't heard that his butt felt bad. 

Last night at the dinner table Ethan was trying to break out the "made you look" that he had just learned. So he kept trying to get Selah to look behind her. He had the fundamentals down, although there were two major problems with his delivery:

1. tell someone to look at something that quite possibly could be behind you. A spider is always a good one. Ethan told Selah there was a HEDGEHOG behind her. 

2. i capitalize HEDGEHOG to indicate that when Ethan said the word HEDGEHOG his eyes grew very large. He has big blue eyes, but now we would see the big blue eyes and lots of white. I was concerned I might have to pick an eyeball off of his plate.

We also have our first driver in the house. Isabel went to get her drivers license in a snowstorm. I told her as she went out that if she failed her test, and that was the worst thing that happened this week, then it'd be a good week. But she passed and now...now we don't really see her very often, but I hear that she's doing well. 

Teia's been steadfastly cleaning stuff in our garage for a project she has in her sights. This is good because the project pays money and because our garage is getting cleaned. Teia is always steadfastly Teia, with both feet firmly on the ground. 

Kellen's feet left the ground a few times last night while I almost lost my voice at his basketball game. I'm excited at how hard he plays and how he's beginning to understand that this life will demand so much of him. Yes, I'm one of those dads who believes athletics is a gateway to life. Would it surprise you to know that I was violently sick before a college tournament game but showed up for pregame, and coach told me to go back to my room, but i looked him square in the eyes and told him, "Coach, I'm playing." So I started and played the entire game. I remember none of it. 

Selah earned a speaking part in her play, and did it incredibly well. Selah is an inspired liar. I guess it's best to describe it as "improv." She'll tell stories with so much energy and animation that you aren't sure what percentage is made up. Surely 50%. Surely she didn't stab Benny in the thigh with a pencil. But is Benny a real person? We keep listening, and she's smirking and giggling at herself mid-lie. 

But there's still chats like the one I had with Elises above. And Jen, still in bed right now, clutching a little teddy bear that Zoe knew was hers. It's like the water's beautiful, inviting, warm. But there's a part that is so deep and cold. 

Purple Paraments

It's Lent, which is a better season than we give it credit for. There was a time, long ago, when i led a Bible study at my house, when we'd focus on the weeks and days that preceded Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem. It just put my heart right, and it was always wonderful to walk with Christ...kind of understand his state of mind. If any of you out there were with me back then (i doubt it) ...i miss you.

One thing I know is that the season of Lent has 40 days, but is actually 45 days long. That's because the Sundays aren't included in Lent. Lent is a time of sacrifice, of focusing on Jesus' suffering. But on Sundays, we have to take care of business. Sundays are when we celebrate Easter.

So I was wondering if the paraments on the altar changed on Sunday. A complete Lutheran nerd question. I asked a few people and realized...as I pulled out of church...I'd just call dad.

I know that death happens to everyone and everyone who faces it runs into that moment. It happens when i come home from work, put my keys down, and turn the corner. And there's no baby. But the fact that we all share that moment of absolute loss means nothing to me. It sucks.

Anyways...let me share a song that I accidentally fumbled across on the way up to Dad's funeral. It was perfect...it still is. Bat and Zoe had the two most infectious smiles I might ever encounter. If you know what I know, you can't wipe their smile off your face.

There's A Reason
by mercyme

Now's the time
Let the redeemed celebrate
If you know what I know
You can't wipe the smile off your face
Oh people, stand up and praise

There's a reason to dance
There's a reason to sing
Of the sacred romance
With our Savior and King
We lift up our hands
We fall on our knees
To the Son of Man
The reason we are free

There's a reason

All glory to
The King of Kings, Lord of Lords
Oh the value of Your worth
No worldly treasures can afford

And we praise You forevermore

There's a reason to stand
There's a reason to shout, to shout Your name on high
So we take up our cross, there's a reason to die
Because Jesus is alive

There's a reason
You are the reason
The reason we are free

Song and Dance

Amid my anger this morning, Jen's weak stomach, the Pediasure coupon that came up with my receipt at the store, the huge snowflakes silently falling and melting on my face that mixed with my tears, this song is the only thing louder. I am trying to hear the holy rhythm. He's still giving.

Song and Dance
 by andrew peterson

David's on his throne at sundown
His paper and his pen are in his hand
He's waiting on a song at sundown
As he gazes out across his holy land

And he thinks of old Goliath and he smiles
He can barely keep from laughing
He says, "great is the Lord and greatly to be praised"
He can hear the rivers clapping
Well, they're still clapping
To the same old song and dance

Well the cadence of the sea is just as steady
And the chorus of the hills is just as strong
And the faithfulness of God is just as mighty as it was
When the shepherd slew the giant with a stone

You can close your eyes and listen to the sea
You can feel the holy rhythm
Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised
For the mercy he has given
Well, he's still giving
It's the same old song and dance

I can hear creation singing his praise
That his love is everlasting
It's the same as it was a million years ago
I can still hear David laughing
And the rivers are still clapping
It's the same old song and dance