Easter is still here

Here's our Easter picture for 2014. It took us a few weeks to get one taken, due to the flu and the haphazardness of child collection and getting everybody to sit and look and smile, preferably all at the same nanosecond. We generally succeeded, I think.

What isn't pictured here is the talking-to the older kids got about listening in church and Small Dude's screaming for food and Papa and my's exasperation at normal kid misbehavior (Small Dude's need for sustenance doesn't count, of course). Saying we were exasperated is putting it mucho mildly ("spitting nails furious" is closer, at least for me). And, as every parent knows, just because misbehavior is "normal" doesn't mean we let it slide. We have to discipline. And discipline is hard because we wonder why they don't just LISTEN and TRUST US and DO IT THE FIRST TIME, FOR PETE'S SAKE. God knows that better than we do, He who put up with--and still puts up with-- broken command after broken command. And this is why we still celebrate Easter going on three weeks after the one Sunday most people see on the calendar. One Father's anger poured out on His obedient Son, and the rest of us benefit eternally.

So what is pictured here are six very sinful people. Six people who have all been baptized and forgiven and who still go to church every Sunday because we need Jesus--in His word, in bread and wine that are His body and blood. And someday, in His heavenly kingdom, we will sit and look and smile and bask in the presence of Christ. He will show us, like He did to His disciples, His hands and His side. And He will tell us, "Peace to you." And peace to you, dear ones, this Easter.

Broken Bones and Celestial Skydiving

What the last few months of our lives have contained.

Have mercy on me, O God,

according to your steadfast love;

according to your abundant mercy

blot out my transgressions.

² 

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

    and cleanse me from my sin!

Throughout Lenten services this year, a dear friend and I sang Kenneth Kosche's lovely setting of Psalm 51. The words have rattled about in my brain and in my heart; they have settled in my bones and in my stomach and even in my womb. Miracle of miracles, God's Word worked the way He says it will. It does what it says.

 

For I know my transgressions,

and my sin is ever before me.

Against you, you only, have I sinned

    and done what is evil in your sight,

so that you may be justified in your words

    and blameless in your judgment.

⁵ 

Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,

    and in sin did my mother conceive me.

⁶ 

Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,

    and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

During one of the last pre-Lenten weeks, I suspected that we were pregnant. Ecstatic and apprehensive, I took the test, mostly because Papa told me I should (I think my unknowing, near-constant speculation might have motivated, however slightly, his insistence er, encouragement). Filling the dishwasher as I waited on the results, my hope for a child suddenly vanished, literally struck with worry--worry about costs, worry about the baby's health, worry about our family's adjustment, worry about my varicose veins in pregnancy. Yes, even that. And I felt terribly guilty. I was, too. Here my sinful heart had already rejected even the possibility of a good gift because it turned selfishly, twistedly inward. In my terrible blindness, I could not even accept a gift without suspicion or grudging.

And then the test was positive. As I fought my conflicted feelings, Papa's face lit up and the boys squealed with excitement, especially our eldest, the Little Professor. When we told him the pregnancy test was positive, we asked him if he knew what that meant. "Yes," he said without hesitation. "It means Mommy can go skydiving."

After we laughed in surprise and perplexity, he explained that Mrs. Duggar had been pregnant, and she had gone skydiving, so naturally one was connected to the other. Actually, in that old episode of 19 Kids and Counting he'd just happened to watch a few days before, she hadn't gone skydiving because she suspected she might be pregnant. But no matter. Little Professor was more right than he knew.

 

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Let me hear joy and gladness;

    let the bones that you have broken rejoice.

A week or so later, on Sunday, February 10, during a snowy storm day, Papa and the snow blower belt tussled, and the belt won. Papa had to have emergency surgery on two broken, mangled fingers of his left hand that night, which went well. The anesthesia won that round, too. But thankfully, we expect him to make a full (if somewhat ugly and scarred for a time) recovery.

I teased Papa after surgery that he'd have a great topic for an Ash Wednesday sermon: that we all return to dust, sometimes one little piece at a time. He smiled (what a nice guy to take my pathetic humor at such a time).  But then said, "No, I think it'll be about pride."

And, of course, he was right. We all fear our physical death, our bodily decomposition as every hour and year passes. But we also fear our spiritual death--that we mean nothing, that we will disappear into a dark, endless, terrible void when our earthly lives are over. Dust is bad in all forms, from mangled fingers to decomposed flesh to meaningless lives. Snow can appear so clean--that day, I had marveled at its cleansing power on a dead, wintry landscape. But snow only magnified spilt blood. It highlighted brokenness. Papa needed far more than snow to cover his injury. And so we need far more than a surface covering to heal our spiritual death.

As we stumbled, narcotics-laden, pain-filled, nausea-and-fatigue burdened, in the first weeks of Lent, the Psalmist's words kept coming back to me. "Let the bones that You have broken rejoice." Who would? Well, we did. We were so thankful for the excellent medical care Papa received, for the surgeon's knowledge and skill, for all the friends and relatives who supported and cared for us. In our weakness we were reminded of our complete helplessness. Christ sent people to care for us physically and emotionally. He blessed the prayers of those who prayed for us. Yet only One could bear our spiritual helplessness. It was a difficult experience for me to see my husband suffer. I know he will not live on this earth forever, and neither will I. Neither will our children. We cannot prevent their suffering or ours. But even so, joy and gladness exist. We hear it and anticipate it. And this is a mystery.

 

Hide your face from my sins,

and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

    and renew a right spirit within me.

¹¹ 

Cast me not away from your presence,

    and take not your Holy Spirit from me.

¹² 

Restore to me the joy of your salvation,

    and uphold me with a willing spirit.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
    and sinners will return to you.

Through Lent, our circumstances kept reminding us of our true state. I could not force away the debilitating fog of early pregnancy, its physical or spiritual manifestations. My condition was light compared to many others--including Papa's!--but often I could only think of my own burdens. At one point, I naively thought, "Okay. If Jesus could fast in the desert for forty days and endure direct temptation from the devil, then I can handle another day of this." But I couldn't. I realized, again and again, my complete and utter helplessness and my utter worthlessness in the sight of God.

Thank God in His Son, Christ Jesus, Who suffered physical pain and spiritual torture for our sakes, and Who knows exactly what our sufferings are like. While we can feel chagrined or silly or downright dumb for mistakes or choices we make, feel guilty and damned for rejecting good gifts and even hating them, our fatal flaws that no doctor or midwife can ever fix plague us still more. Despair and guilt bury us, for we know we are ill with an illness that ends in the grave. But we do not suffer without any hope. For we can rest in the knowledge that Christ heals all things--from fingers to selfishness to pride to sinners--through His suffering, death, and resurrection.

Why do people skydive? For exhilaration, for excitement, I suppose. But people who do it implicitly communicate trust--trust that they will be safe, that the parachute or diver to which they're affixed will keep them from harm. And Christ, in rising from the dead, has affixed us not to a descending fate but to an ascending one. We will all suffer in this life and die, unless He first comes again. But we trust that He will uphold us, that He will not cast us away. He who has made Himself our Brother and His Father our Father names us in baptism and cleanses us. He has already won all things--for Papa (and even unto his fingers), for me, for every one of our children, even the littlest. And even as we live in uncertain, unknown worldly days, in his scarred, resurrected hands we leap, and we rest. Happy Easter.

New Life. Wow.

The Olson's had a great Easter -- early, early morning; subdued and joyful service celebrating Christ's resurrection; delicious church breakfast; FUN Easter egg hunt (see below); more good eating (smoked ham with orange-honey glaze, sour cream mashed potatoes, green bean bake, Jello, strawberries and bananas, deviled eggs, choco-chip cookies courtesy of Gma E and P!), naps almost all around. Then we--well, J--moved on to the next big project; moving furniture and tearing up flooring in preparation for Monday's carpet install. From Jesus triumphing over death to 80s-era marblized carpet kissing the dust. Fun!

So P completed his official first Easter egg hunt (last year he wasn't quite old enough or conscientious enough to participate) and he LOVED it. Gpa E and J hid the plastic eggs around the living room and dining room while we drove to get some milk. P didn't even want to take off his coat when he walked into the house; he went right for the eggs and put them in his basket in the middle of the room. After a few deliveries to the basket he spontaneously adopted a kind of half chicken walk, half scoot (we'll just call it his hunting pose): arms behind his back, hands flpped up, his torso bent, feet shuffling, neck stuck out. He thought he was something, and so did we. Now Daddy will adopt the hunting pose and P will get a big grin on his face and copy him.

One last P thought, related but unrelated to Easter: P found our copy of A Child is Born early this week, and we looked at it for a few minutes before he lost interest. [Quick ad here: This is an amazing, amazing book--awesome photography that leaves no doubt that babies are people from their first moments.] Anyway, then P found the book again a day or so ago and wanted to "read" it. He sat on my lap (what's left of it) and we looked at pictures of babies in utero, and I'd say, "P, this is what baby S looks like." P looked very carefully and turned pages, and we got to the end, and I said, "Pretty soon you'll get to see baby S like this baby [pointing at the book]." He watched very carefully, and after a moment of quiet, he said, "Wooooooooooooow." It was perfect--unprompted and so appropriate. We couldn't say it better ourselves. So here's to new life, Easter, meeting babies face to face.

Ducky, Dirty, Rockets, Wrenches... and Jesus

I realized in the last few days that one of the most common questions I get about P from family and friends is about his language development. Wait, that sounds way too technical--really, most people are just asking, "So what's P saying these days?" You can see a few of his latest words above (he articulates the first two with excellent diction--the way he practically spits out the name "Doc" from the Cars flick so clearly--a movie and an obsession fit for another post. The last two are understandable but also toddler-garbled, making for adorable moments. He's so proud of himself!).

P "babbles" a lot, too, which basically means he's practicing speaking in sentences. Sometimes we actually understand him, like tonight at dinner when he identified some cake for dessert and said quite distinctly, "I do [eat] cake." "I do" seems to be a preface to pretty much everything he says. It's been incredible to see and hear his comprehension and articulation in the last two months--some weeks we've noticed a new word or words every day! He obviously understands far more than he can say, which means he can follow directions excellently AND throw frustration fits when he can't say what he means.

Along with the language explosion, P made big strides today when he took his first nap on his "big boy" bed! We received his twin mattress set yesterday and made it up with his cute-as-pie sports-themed Crayola bed-in-a-bag. He loved it immediately! What he didn't love today was learning--after about twenty confrontations with Daddy and Mommy (I'll let you imagine what those entailed)--that nap time still means staying in bed (you know, the way he had to when he had bars around the mattress). He kept getting up and trying to play (with toys that were put away) and reading books. Finally he gave up and slept for about an hour and a half! AND he didn't fall off the bed! We anticipate a few more days of adjustment to nap time and then we'll go for nights. Wish us luck!

I won't posts in the next few days as we head into the end of Holy Week. What a great time of the church year--our favorite by far! J and I and P hope you enjoy a blessed Easter as we celebrate our redemption through the death and resurrection of Jesus (or, as P says, "Tsussus." Kind of like "Cheez-Its.") Who knew Matthias Grunewald's gory painting of Christ's crucifixion and processed cheese could be connected -- kind of like us sinners and God.