The Room that Must Not be Named
So
the Fire Marshall is coming to our house this week. No biggie. He’s
coming to make sure our future daughter’s room is safe with the correct
amount of exits in the event of a fire. And yes, this is yet another
requirement for an international adoption. Apparently if you have a kid
biologically, the fire marshall doesn’t need to care about where they
sleep. Good thing because Elijah hung out in our dresser drawer for a
while. KIDDING! But really, sometimes I think all these checks and
balances for adoptive parenting should be applied to biological
parenting too! We could weed out the less appropriate candidates.
KIDDING (maybe?)!
About our daughter’s future room. There’s a hate history there. Let’s backtrack. When we were looking for a house, we specifically wanted four bedrooms. A bedroom for us, one for Elijah, a nursery for our baby, and a guest room. Upon moving into our home, the “nursery” became a room filled with random stuff. As we struggled to become pregnant, I began to actively hate the existence of that room. Considering it is directly across the hall from our bedroom, I couldn’t ignore it (or burn it down)-although most days I wanted to. We kept the door closed. I began to think of it as “the room that must not be named.”
Let
me explain something to those of you who have either been living under a
rock for the past 10 years -or- who aren’t complete nerds like my
husband and I. The villain in the Harry Potter book series was referred
to as “He who must not be named.” The characters avoided the very act
of speaking his name because it would recall too much pain, evil, or
heartache. To a small degree, that’s how we felt about the word
“nursery.” We avoided it like the plague.
Recent events have caused me to consider more things that we avoid “naming”. AIDS. Poverty. School shootings. Slavery. Genocide. These things don’t roll easily off the tongue-and they shouldn’t. By giving them a name, it almost seems to diminish their horror. Because now they are just another word in a sentence, just another line in a history book. These tragedies don’t deserve a name. We shouldn’t be able to use words to correctly classify the events that have left us completely shocked, heartbroken, and speechless.
The nightmare in Connecticut last week brought to mind one my least favorite, most overlooked parts of the Christmas story (found in Matthew 2:1-18). Let me summarize: Not everyone was thrilled about the birth of Jesus. Top of that list was King Herod. Based on the words of ancient texts, he was convinced that this boy from Bethlehem would displace him as King. After the wise men stopped for his guidance in seeking this new “king”, Herod planned to use them to find out where Jesus was staying so he could kill him. The short version of the story is: The wise men found Jesus, but they did NOT share his street address with Herod before heading home. So Herod, being the sadistic, power-hungry monster he was, killed all boys ages 2 and under in Bethlehem and the surrounding areas. Jesus and his family escaped, but many others did not. It was a slaughter of innocents.
When I read that section of Scripture after becoming a parent, I was beyond mad. The tragedy at Sandy Hook provoked a similar response in me. I was livid at God. I was shocked that people could be so evil. I was fearful for my little boy. I was sick to my stomach. I stewed about those verses for DAYS before God gave me a tap on the shoulder, as He sometimes does.
That cosmic tap (or divine smackdown) went something like this. God is a father. He is the perfect father, one who has complete knowledge of EVERYTHING that will happen in this world. And with that complete knowledge about the horrible truth of this world (Holocaust, Sandy Hook, World Wars), He sent his only son here. Jesus did not come to earth for his own well being. God sent him here knowing that he would be mocked, persecuted, beaten, and eventually murdered. And why? Out of love for the people who treated His son with such contempt. Out of mercy for ones He hadn’t even adopted into his family yet. He did it to give us a chance at real life. “This is how much God loved the world: He gave His Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in Him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life.”-John 3:16 (Message version)
I am blessed with many friends and family that I truly love. However I don’t love ANYONE enough to put my son, my baby, in harm’s way for them. It’s just not going to happen; I’d rather die first. But this is what God did for you. He put his only child in harm’s way-on this planet with these people-so that YOU could experience an abundant life. He allowed his child to suffer for your good. God broke His own heart to save yours.
When we experience dark, terrible times, it is easy to feel like God is distant. I mean, how could He possibly be present in the midst of tragedy? And if someone claims to have the “perfect” remedy for this heartache, please do us all a favor and deck them (Okay, don't actually do that-just imagine doing it. In slow motion). Because the reality is-there is no easy answer. No perfect words or remedies. And I don’t have that catch-all, spiritual solution for you either. But when things don’t make sense, I find comfort in the Father heart of God. He’s the Daddy who understands how it feels to lose a child. Your pain has not escaped his gaze. He knows your hurt, He has experienced it. And as a good friend reminded me, there is a name for this: Emmanuel. God with us.
 |
| Okay, maybe he got in a drawer once.... |
About our daughter’s future room. There’s a hate history there. Let’s backtrack. When we were looking for a house, we specifically wanted four bedrooms. A bedroom for us, one for Elijah, a nursery for our baby, and a guest room. Upon moving into our home, the “nursery” became a room filled with random stuff. As we struggled to become pregnant, I began to actively hate the existence of that room. Considering it is directly across the hall from our bedroom, I couldn’t ignore it (or burn it down)-although most days I wanted to. We kept the door closed. I began to think of it as “the room that must not be named.”
 |
| Some doors are better left closed. |
Recent events have caused me to consider more things that we avoid “naming”. AIDS. Poverty. School shootings. Slavery. Genocide. These things don’t roll easily off the tongue-and they shouldn’t. By giving them a name, it almost seems to diminish their horror. Because now they are just another word in a sentence, just another line in a history book. These tragedies don’t deserve a name. We shouldn’t be able to use words to correctly classify the events that have left us completely shocked, heartbroken, and speechless.
The nightmare in Connecticut last week brought to mind one my least favorite, most overlooked parts of the Christmas story (found in Matthew 2:1-18). Let me summarize: Not everyone was thrilled about the birth of Jesus. Top of that list was King Herod. Based on the words of ancient texts, he was convinced that this boy from Bethlehem would displace him as King. After the wise men stopped for his guidance in seeking this new “king”, Herod planned to use them to find out where Jesus was staying so he could kill him. The short version of the story is: The wise men found Jesus, but they did NOT share his street address with Herod before heading home. So Herod, being the sadistic, power-hungry monster he was, killed all boys ages 2 and under in Bethlehem and the surrounding areas. Jesus and his family escaped, but many others did not. It was a slaughter of innocents.
When I read that section of Scripture after becoming a parent, I was beyond mad. The tragedy at Sandy Hook provoked a similar response in me. I was livid at God. I was shocked that people could be so evil. I was fearful for my little boy. I was sick to my stomach. I stewed about those verses for DAYS before God gave me a tap on the shoulder, as He sometimes does.
That cosmic tap (or divine smackdown) went something like this. God is a father. He is the perfect father, one who has complete knowledge of EVERYTHING that will happen in this world. And with that complete knowledge about the horrible truth of this world (Holocaust, Sandy Hook, World Wars), He sent his only son here. Jesus did not come to earth for his own well being. God sent him here knowing that he would be mocked, persecuted, beaten, and eventually murdered. And why? Out of love for the people who treated His son with such contempt. Out of mercy for ones He hadn’t even adopted into his family yet. He did it to give us a chance at real life. “This is how much God loved the world: He gave His Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in Him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life.”-John 3:16 (Message version)
I am blessed with many friends and family that I truly love. However I don’t love ANYONE enough to put my son, my baby, in harm’s way for them. It’s just not going to happen; I’d rather die first. But this is what God did for you. He put his only child in harm’s way-on this planet with these people-so that YOU could experience an abundant life. He allowed his child to suffer for your good. God broke His own heart to save yours.
 |
| Me and my only son. |
When we experience dark, terrible times, it is easy to feel like God is distant. I mean, how could He possibly be present in the midst of tragedy? And if someone claims to have the “perfect” remedy for this heartache, please do us all a favor and deck them (Okay, don't actually do that-just imagine doing it. In slow motion). Because the reality is-there is no easy answer. No perfect words or remedies. And I don’t have that catch-all, spiritual solution for you either. But when things don’t make sense, I find comfort in the Father heart of God. He’s the Daddy who understands how it feels to lose a child. Your pain has not escaped his gaze. He knows your hurt, He has experienced it. And as a good friend reminded me, there is a name for this: Emmanuel. God with us.
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