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Counterfeit “Resurrection”

Ethan’s Mom: Tacky skeletons hanging out of windows or lounging in Adirondack chairs.  Kitschy faux tombstones in front yards.  A larger-than-life inflatable Grim Reaper on the corner.  A house just down from my parents actually has a full tableau that includes 4 skeleton pallbearers carrying a fake coffin into a full fake cemetery.

This is Halloween 2021, and I cannot wait for it to be over. Because the sooner it arrives, the sooner people can pack all that mess up for another year and I can go back to walking or driving around my neighborhood without Death mocking me.

For the past 4 years, I have tried to figure out the appeal of this decor and the overall fascination with the macabre.  Every year I remain completely flummoxed as to why I see even more skeletons waving from the yards in my perfectly nice neighborhood, why people who cannot even acknowledge death in its real context go all out to celebrate a cartoon version of it, and why the easy and fun neighborhood trick or treating of my childhood has turned into… this?   

The only new thought I had this year is that maybe this is all another example of Satan taking something that has a basis in truth and twisting it into something false, taking something that has real, eternal meaning and cheapening it to the point of casual “fun.”  In the process, he is able to desensitize and damage our very souls. 

Yes, the dead will rise again – but not as creepy skeletons or disgusting zombies.  

Our family recently planted fall pansies in Ethan’s garden at our preschool.  In the spring, we planted flowers with the students, but the garden needed a freshening up for fall after all the spring/summer annuals faded.  At the end, I read the Liturgy for the Planting of Flowers, just as I do every time we work in the garden.  I got choked up on this line, just like I do every time I read it aloud.

Though our eyes yet strain to see it so, these tiny seeds, bulbs, or velvet buds we have

planted are more substantial than all the collected evils of this groaning world.

They are like a banner planted on a hilltop,

proclaiming God’s right ownership of these lands

long unjustly claimed by tyrants and usurpers.

They are a warrant and a witness,

each blossom shouting from the earth

that death is a lie,

that beauty and immortality

are what we were made for.

Every Moment Holy by Douglas McKelvey

Death is a lie, not a joke.

The fake cemetery in the yard down the street may have headstones with funny inscriptions, but my baby’s name is inscribed on a real marker in a real (and actually quite beautiful) cemetery where his real body lies waiting for the resurrection of the saints.  And on that day, their creepy, bony arms won’t shoot out of the ground like those tacky skeletons.  They will be raised imperishable, fully embodying all that God designed for us to be.   Until then, it is a struggle to believe that His promise of resurrection is true, especially in October.  All the decorations make it hard to follow the command found in Phillippians 4:8.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable— if anything is excellent or praiseworthy— think on these things. 

Phillippians 4:8

I’m doing my best over here.  So can we just stick to pumpkins next year?  Please?

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Springtime in Ethan’s Garden

Ethan’s Mom: Happy Eastertide – here we are on the “other side” of the event that changes everything, Jesus’ death and resurrection. As expected, March was difficult, but again, I was surprised by the different manifestation it took this year. For some reason, I found myself really struggling to respond to the acknowledgements of friends and family when that hasn’t been an issue before. Sometimes the bereaved struggle to find words just as much as those who seek to comfort them. So if you are reading this, know that I read every text/email/card multiple times, and they each brought comfort to my heart. My precious sister-in-law expressed a desire to “take a little patch of the weeds and tear them down” in reference to the figurative language from my last post. Truly, knowing that people remembered Ethan, prayed for us, reached out to us, and said his name did keep the weeds from completely taking over. Thank you.

Yesterday, God lifted my gaze away from the weeds and onto the beauty of the garden. Our BSF study notes stated this week, “…if God takes away what we treasure, we can trust that His loving care and faithfulness will go with us into life with the loss…If something you once held dear is gone, how has God met your deepest needs?” I had to think about that one for a few days. One of our deepest needs as Ethan’s parents is to know that his life mattered. Another is reassurance of God’s love and design for us, which includes the consummation of His redemptive plan at Christ’s return. Both of these needs were met in a sweet experience at our kids’ preschool this week.

After Ethan died, family and friends who wanted to make a donation in his memory contributed to the preschool our children have attended, which is also a ministry of our church. In fact, many of the teachers have come to feel like extended family as they have cared for at least one of our children each year for the last decade. In 2017, our middle two children were in the crawler and 3K classrooms, and the school did so much in taking care of them (and us!) in special ways during that very difficult spring. Two years later, they welcomed Ethan’s twin brother to school and acknowledged our pain of not dropping off two boys to their first day of 2K.

It took a while to decide on something to do with the fund that would be both meaningful and useful. But eventually, both the preschool director and I came up with the same idea – a garden. The money was used to buy materials to rehab a small section of landscaping on the playground into Ethan’s Garden. Two master gardeners from our church (one of whom planted our backyard Ethan’s Garden) prepared the soil and planted a Japanese maple tree and a row of Lenten roses along the back. In the summer of 2019, Ethan’s Garden was dedicated in a small ceremony attended by preschool staff, church family, and other friends and family. Ethan’s dad made a beautiful speech, and I led everyone in “A Liturgy for the Planting of Flowers” from Every Moment Holy Volume I. We then planted flowers while a friend sang “Hymn of Promise.” It was a beautiful and bittersweet ceremony.

Yesterday we planted petunias with the 3K class that our boys should be in together. The children experienced God’s creation as they dug holes, scooped dirt, and watered the new plants. As we smelled the fresh leaves, felt the moist soil, and observed the delicate roots, we talked with the children about how God satisfies the needs of each flower with sun, rain, and nutrients from the soil. Some asked about the caboose bird feeder in the center, and we told them it was a reminder of our son. I think it was a special experience for the children; it certainly was for me.

After the children went back inside, Ethan’s dad and I read the same liturgy from the garden’s dedication. These words brought tears to my eyes:

“[These flowers] are a warrant and a witness, each blossom shouting from the earth that death is a lie, that beauty and immortality are what we were made for. They are heralds of a restoration that will forever mend all sorrow and comfort all grief.”

After the darkness and doubts of the past several weeks, I needed the testimony of these delicate witnesses. Through them, God met my need for a reminder of his faithfulness.

The liturgy then moves on to a request for God’s blessings on the newly planted flowers and closes with this benediction:

“Let these flowers, O Lord, bear witness in their deepest natures to eternal things. Let our lives also, O Lord, do the same. Amen.”

As Ethan’s dad said at the garden’s dedication, “it is our hope and prayer that a tiny mental seed will be planted of God speaking to [the children] about life and growth and how death is not the end of the story: that God gives new life to all who believe in Jesus.” These flowering witnesses were planted in a garden created because of Ethan. His short life bears witness in its deepest nature to eternal things — on the playground, in our home, and in my heart. God used this small garden to show me that Ethan’s life mattered and matters still as God uses him to bear witness to His love, just like the flowers in a springtime garden.

Springtime by Chris Renzema

You’re the resurrection
That we’ve waited for
You buried the night
And came with the morning
You’re the King of Heaven
The praise is Yours
The longer the quiet
The louder the chorus

We will sing a new song
‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter
We will sing a new song
Let “Hallelujah’s” flow like a river
We’re coming back to life
Reaching toward the light
Your love is like springtime

You’re the living water
God, we thirst for You
The dry and the barren
Will flower and bloom
You’re the sun that’s shining
You restore my soul
The deeper You call us
Oh, the deeper we’ll go

We will sing a new song
‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter
We will sing a new song
Let “Hallelujah’s” flow like a river
We’re coming back to life
Reaching toward the light
Your love is like springtime

Come tend the soil
Come tend the soil of my soul
And like a garden
And like a garden I will grow
I will grow

We will sing a new song
‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter
We will sing a new song
Let “Hallelujah’s” flow like a river
We’re coming back to life
Reaching toward the light
Your love is like springtime

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Planting Seeds

SERVICE_BERRY_TREE

Ethan’s Mom: Two years ago today (March 15th), I buried my son.

There have been so many hard memories floating to the front of my mind this week. Many of them are of dark and terrifying moments. A few from today were moments of grace and beauty in the midst of extreme tragedy. The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. It was an unseasonably cold day but the sun was shining brightly, and I was so grateful it wasn’t raining or gloomy as it had been the preceding days.

Today was another sunny March day, only it was about 20 degrees warmer. It was a great day to be out in the backyard, and the kids and I ended up doing a spur of the moment gardening project. I have been fascinated by gardens ever since two special friends from church made an “Ethan Garden” for us. They took an overgrown, messy garden bed in our backyard and transformed it into an abstract heart shaped area that includes the hydrangea and calla lilies that our parents sent to the funeral home. Last fall, I made my first attempt at growing something back there, and a few weeks ago, sunny yellow daffodils started peeking out from around the perimeter. I look out the back windows countless times a day to gaze at my cheery buttercups.

Today was less about the anticipated results and more about the act of digging, clearing, and planting connecting me to the bigger picture. I don’t know what kind of blooms we will see from the wildflower mix purchased from the dollar store, but I know preparing the soil and planting the seeds was what my heart needed to do today.

The three bigger kids helped me clear out and till up a patch of earth back under their little treehouse platform. We dug and pulled weeds but we also found a few “creatures” as my daughter kept calling them. We sprinkled seeds and talked about how they would grow into flowers. We watered them in while talking about what kind of butterflies we might see, as the box assured us that the included flowers are favorites among butterflies.

The daffodils and the wildflower seeds brought to mind this sweet hymn that I learned in college. Who knew the words would become so meaningful to me almost 20 years later?

In the bulb there is a flower;
in the seed, an apple tree;
in cocoons, a hidden promise:
butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter
there’s a spring that waits to be,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence,
seeking word and melody;
there’s a dawn in every darkness
bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future;
what it holds, a mystery,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning;
in our time, infinity;
in our doubt there is believing;
in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection;
at the last, a victory,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.
(Hymn of Promise, Natalie Sleeth)

Gardens are places where the veil is thin, and we can see beautiful imagery of incomprehensible truths. When you start seeing signs of new life burst forth this spring, I hope you will join me in marveling at nature’s foreshadowing of the coming joy when “up from the earth, the dead will rise like spring trees clothed in petals of white…and we will always be, always be, always be with the Lord.” (Remember Me, Andrew Peterson)

Come Lord Jesus.