A heartbreaking but powerful Easter

Yesterday was Robert's birthday party, and today he was baptized. He wore the same gown his dad wore as a baby, even though Suzi fussed at us. ("He is a BOY. He needs to wear a SHIRT, not a dress! Am I clear?") The baptism, and being with our families, and the Easter music, it was all beautiful.

But then, as we stood on the playground after church, Megan and Jenn told me a friend of ours died last night in a car accident, leaving behind a two-year-old daughter and a six-month-old son. Utter shock. It made no sense to me. I didn't know her as well as I'd have liked to, but I loved her. We all did. Her family had already been through unbelievable heartache over the past couple of years. Right now, her husband is in the hospital undergoing chemo treatment for leukemia and waiting for a bone marrow transplant. He is isolated, five hours away, and can't even be with his children right now. My heart breaks for all of them.

We were chatting on Facebook just days ago. I kept telling myself that after this lonely winter, after I wasn't so afraid of passing germs to her family at such a vulnerable time, I'd invite her over for a playdate.

Last month she left me a message on Facebook:

also, i love you, thank you, and every picture of me since last summer has a flower in my hair. my gymnasts even commented on how they love that i dont wear barretts, only the prettiest flowers!

I made her some flowers recently. How glad I am now that I took the time to do that! She made me feel so good about my crafts, wore my flowers all the time with such enthusiasm. She was a bright spot. And perhaps more than anything, I looked up to her because she was so open and free-spirited. I recall several times hearing her say "I don't have a filter!" It was a good thing. I wish I could get rid of mine.

Lots of lessons today. If you love someone, go on and tell them. If you see an opportunity to help someone, make it your priority. Don't waste the time you have been given on things that will never matter.

Also, I've been trying to work out some confusion in my mind. I hear so many people talk about "God's plan," but I don't think God means for horrible things like this to happen. I'm pretty sure they usually happen because our collective free will has consequences for all and causes pain for those who do not deserve it. Our world is beautiful. There is so much good in it. But there are also things that are hard and cruel and make no sense, and we have to accept them both--knowing we can lose our good and beautiful gifts at any time. Once when I was a toddler, I crawled up inside a cabinet in the kitchen. It was a tight squeeze, a bad idea. My mom did not plan for me to do that. She said "Alright, Jenny. How do you plan on getting out of there?" I started crying. She got me out somehow. I think "God's plan" must refer to the never-ending work of bringing us through the tangled web we have woven for ourselves and others while helping us grow, find meaning, and find God.

After church, before I retreated to our van to cry over the loss of our friend, I listened as our minister's wife explained that just as Jesus' tomb was empty, so is hers. I can feel that this is true. There is no pain Heaven can't heal. No human mistake or problem that can't be redeemed. This Easter, I'm clinging harder than ever to that--for myself, my friends, my family, my newly baptized baby son.

I am still left with this song in my heart from this morning in church.

From life's first cry to final breath

Jesus commands my destiny

No power of hell, no scheme of man

Can ever pluck me from his hand

Til he returns or calls me home

Here in the power of Christ I stand.

Why don't I just say nothing at all? Part One: Jordan and me

When I began dating a cute, conservative southern boy in college, we had some interesting conversations about politics. They frequently ended in sarcasm and scowls and arms folded across chests. I remember talking about this with my mom one night, and she told me that discussing politics made for "strange bedfellows." Something like that, anyway, which her mother had told her and which meant that it's a bad idea to discuss politics with romantic partners because it starts fights. Well, when I feel strongly about something it's really hard for me not to discuss it with the one person I love the most. I continued to start discussions with Jordan, and instead of not talking about politics at all, we learned to be nicer about it. The other night we stayed up past midnight discussing the "ground zero mosque" and still went to bed and cuddled.

So what, you may ask, do I have to show for six or seven years of debating politics with my husband when I could have just left it alone? We've learned from each other and currently have what I see as a more thoughtful, unified view--although sometimes we do disagree. He's gone from calling himself conservative, and a Republican, to identifying as an independent. As a teenager he once volunteered for Joe Wilson's campaign. (You know the one, right? YOU LIE!!!) But now his political views are "moderate." (It's Facebook official!) He is quite knowledgeable about history and politics, not to mention the Bible, so he is a cool guy to talk to. Besides, it's a low-risk atmosphere for debate. If one of us says something stupid, there's no need to feel embarrassed because we already know everything about one another. (To be clear, I have no problem with conservative views in general. What I don't like is when people subscribe to a laundry list of opinions without researching and thinking about each one, just because it's the general view of their party. In short, I'm all for using our brains and hearts, and that's what Jordan and I are doing when we discuss things.)

What's harder is dealing with people who are not Jordan.

I originally posted more here, but decided to divide something so emotionally big into two parts. Part Two coming soon!