Amidst the isolation of the pandemic, a silver lining has been time for us to think, and time to listen. To ourselves, and to the Lord.
As I purposed to do just that, the verse in 1 Peter 1:13 kept coming to mind. "Therefore, gird your minds for action, keep sober in spirit, fix your hope completely on the grace to be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ."
I thanked God that I had a mind to gird up after all the confusion! A mind to ponder and muse and grapple with the difficult things facing us during this time. Questions -- many of them -- flooded what gray matter I had left.
I began to wonder -- didn't Jesus enter dangerous territory all the time? To do radical things such as heal lepers? Touch and heal? I began to feel restless as I read my Bible. Would Jesus hunker down?
Make note of the fact that I am not Jesus -- just a follower of His. But suddenly (and it was a suddenly) -- I was done with hunkering down! Restlessness invaded my peace, and I could not shake it. Was I being disobedient? Was this my flesh? Or, was the Lord about to show me a new perspective? In hindsight, it was the latter, and he used six-year old Logan to show me something very important.
Logan came into my life as a baby six years ago. Logan's paternal grandfather is a close neighbor of ours who ended up taking daily care of his grandson because Logan's mother faced both mental and physical challenges. In addition to having a mother who could not care for him most of the time, he had a father overwhelmed by his wife's medical needs and his own job. So as Logan came to his grandfather's every day, my close proximity as a neighbor took care of the rest. Logan is gregarious and easy to love!
Naturally inquisitive even at a young age, Logan learned how to navigate his life with irrepressible joy, even in the face of hardship. He learned how to weave his way into my heart, and he learned how to ask the hard questions. Ask them, he did. "What is wrong with my mom?" "Is she going to die?" "If blowing bubbles is fun, why can't she blow them?" He loved our dog, locks, garage door openers, walks, being silly, cell phones (he had his first at a young age), and math, his favorite subject. He overcame his fear of our big dog by learning how to train him, and walk with us, commanding (well most of the time) control of our lovable Aussie. Math came easy to him, and at four years old, he quizzed me intently -- laughed with glee when I gave him the wrong answer.
But there were answers his young heart did not have.
His mother did not make it to Christmas in 2019. She had been in the hospital for months prior to her death. On his last visit to her, she told him good-bye and that she was going to heaven to be with God. Two days later, he arrived at his grandpa's house for the duration of December. His grandfather and I agreed that Logan needed all of us --my husband and I welcomed Logan whenever he came over, which was often.
Logan was in and out, marking my calendar with a five-year old's scrawl on his birthday May 31st to make sure he was not forgotten, crawling up in my lap and being rocked, looking forward to the Christmas present we had gotten him -- a cuddly elephant, which I figured he could squeeze for comfort.
He dubbed the elephant, "Mr. Elephant Man". We agreed "Mr. Elephant Man" would stay at our house, so that when he visited, he would squeeze and hug and touch a cuddly. "Mr. Elephant Man" became a major force in those daunting Christmas days after his mother's death. He held the toy in his lap when he asked me the hard questions, "So is my mom living up in the sky?" "Why does God live up there?" Why doesn't He live down here, so I can visit my mom?" And, after musing over our nativity scene for awhile, he turned to me, and exclaimed, "So, my mom is living in heaven being taken care of by this baby Jesus?!" There were times during these intense theological sessions when I would need to hug "Mr. Elephant Man"!
Life after Christmas took Logan to school where his kindergarten teacher, who adored him, took up a lot of his time, and "Mr. Elephant Man" sat all alone in the corner of my office.
And then Covid struck. Everyone hunkered down, including Logan and his grandpa, my husband and I. Days and weeks passed, but as Logan's birthday approached, I knew this was not a day I could or wanted to ignore. Logan's scrawled name on May 31st tugged at my heart. The plan was that I would deliver his present, give him a quick hug, and go back home. In spite of my restlessness, I still wanted to be user friendly to Covid. A quick hug.
Logan's birthday arrived, but events did not go as planned. Logan's grandfather called me the morning of May 31st to say that Logan's maternal grandmother "suddenly" injected herself into the day by announcing she was coming to take Logan out for a birthday treat. This turn of events was difficult for both Logan and his grandfather, because Logan's mother and her own mother did not get along; thus Logan barely knew his maternal grandmother who was soon to arrive to whisk him away.
For me, the timing caught me off guard as well, as I had planned to see him in the afternoon. Quickly I finished wrapping a few books I had purchased for him, signed his card, and dissatisfied that I didn't have time to get him a Baskin-Robbins gift card, I quickly grabbed Mr. Elephant Man, plopped a ribbon on the animal's head, and ran across the street.
Logan saw me coming through the front window, ran to the door, opened it up wide, and flung himself into my arms, crying out with joy, "Oh Mr. Elephant Man!" We disentangled ourselves from hugs, and sat down on the sofa, catching up. Grandpa had a few things to say too, but this time was clearly Logan and me! Both of us had things to say and we said them -- quickly because we knew his grandma, a woman he barely knew, was coming.
So we laughed, giggled, and Mr. Elephant Man was clearly the hit! The cuddly animal sat prominently beside Logan with the ribbon still on his head. Logan latched onto me as if he would never see me again, and I took it in. So much for a quick hug.
The sound of a car in the driveway signaled that his grandmother arrived. Logan looked with uncertainty toward the door. I chastised myself for not leaving sooner. I knew this moment would probably have some tension -- it was palpable in the room, and I planned a quick getaway, had I not?
Too late, like it or not I was a part of the event, seated next to Logan and "Mr. Elephant Man" with a big ribbon on top of its head. Logan's grandmother entered chattering in a high-pitched voice denoting her own anxiety it seemed. Before I could introduce myself, her eyes widened, her voice lowered and she said almost in awe as she approached Mr. Elephant Man, "Oh, what a darling toy!" She crossed the room to touch the stuffed animal, looked at me, and asked, "Did you give this to Logan?"
Taken off guard as I watched her reaction to this stuffed animal, I blurted out, "It's Logan's Christmas present from me. I bought it to comfort him the day your daughter died."
Shocked at my outburst, I rose from the sofa and said quietly, "I've lost a son. I know how it feels. How are you doing?" Without further words, I opened my arms to hug her, and as she fell into them, crying then sobbing, she spilled out her own pain, collapsing completely into my arms.
Logan hugged "Mr. Elephant Man" tightly as he watched his grandmother cry about how much she missed her daughter. She withdrew apologetically, dried her tears, and took Logan's hand, preparing to leave. She thanked me profusely for listening, for understanding, and for holding her. "I needed that touch! Thank you!"
All the while, Logan's grandfather watched, patted Logan on the head as he put on his jacket. But he remained seated in his old worn-out comfortable chair. Without a word, he stretched out his hand to Logan's grandmother and said quietly, his eyes glistening with tears. "I lost a child too. A crib death daughter, when she was only two months old. I remember all those times when I would struggle not to cry at my job. Sometimes I could not help myself." He squeezed her hand.
Silently but palpably the tension drained out of the room as we stood, soothed by the comfort of understanding and the power of touch. Logan watched wide-eyed, still clutching his beloved toy.
I prayed for Logan a lot that day after he left with his grandmother, and I came home. I cried for this six-year old who should have had a more celebratory birthday, but in my heart I felt that a deep healing had happened in that room -- and I hoped it would only benefit Logan's future.
My husband asked with a knowing smile when I came home, "A quick hug was it?"
No, some things cannot be transmitted over zoom.
Only by the power of human touch.
Thank you Jesus.
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