So much unfairness of things

This is (obviously) a really long blog post, and mostly written to get it off my mind (which didn't work), and I honestly have to say that I don't mind if you don't read it. It's too heavy for my own heart sometimes; I don't expect anyone to dive in and eat it up!

That's not really an appropriate title, if you've read Bryan's short story, because it's about a boy who cheats on his Latin exam to earn his father's approval, and gets expelled from school. Not really unfair, but somehow you find yourself feeling sorry for the kid, and it really does seem unfair once he admits his transgression. But I digress. What is on my heart tonight seems truly unfair, and I wonder if writing about it will make me feel any better. 

I recently mentioned (sort of offhand) to my brother that "I'm kind of burnt out on tragedy lately." An obvious response to this is, Um, yeah, aren't we all? ...because who really wants more tragedy in their life? But somehow I feel surrounded by it lately, and I'm not sure why.

When Ben was several months old, I came across this blog by clicking through from another that I follow. It is the story of Audrey Caroline, a sweet infant girl who died too young: just two and a half hours old. Somehow, those precious hours were viewed as a delicious blessing, as her fate had been known long before her birth day. To spend such a solid chunk of time before having to say goodbye was special, and her family was able to capture hundreds of pictures of her short little life. I sobbed when I read this blog. I stayed up way too late reading it, and when I had caught up all of the blog posts about Audrey, I absolutely lost it. I went to bed heartbroken, and I've never even met any of the people involved.

Much more recently, I learned about a similar situation occurring in the lives of friends of ours from when we lived upstate. Josh and this man share the same job, they shared a room at Academy, and spent the first two years of their career working night shifts together. His wife is one of those people who is so still and at peace with herself that she makes you feel like you are a Mexican jumping bean when you aren't even moving. They've been blessed with two beautiful children, and then their third was given the same devastating diagnosis as the previously mentioned Audrey Caroline. I found out tonight that Wade was born on April 14, lived nine hours, and passed away on the 15th. Devastating. These are friends of ours, people on our Christmas card list, people whose faces I've actually seen and whose voices I have actually heard.

I have a friend from college who is also pregnant at the moment, and due to deliver about the same time that I am. Her middle-of-the-pregnancy ultrasound, instead of revealing gender and inspiring tears of joy at the miracle of life, revealed a ventricular-septal defect and a pleural effusion, a possibility of Down's syndrome, and a likelihood of stillbirth. In this case, drastic improvements have taken place, and the child's prognosis is significantly happier! But the news came at a time when I was swimming in stories of tragedy.

Back to Audrey Caroline. Her mother, Angie is a devout Christian. (In fact, all of these mothers are.) Not the kind that makes you want to swear in her presence just to ruffle her feathers, but the kind who pursues God with such drive that she spurs you on to do the same. I've been hooked on her blog for months now, and it was from her blog that I clicked through to read the story of Stellan. 

OK, I know what you are thinking, here, and I don't care. It's crossed my mind, too. STOP SEEKING OUT STORIES OF BABIES WHO DON'T LIVE. Yeah, I get it. It's like I'm obsessed with morbid thoughts and need something more than the usual to make me anxious about my own pregnancy...

...but that's not the case. I haven't sought out any of these stories. I blog-stalk dozens of blogs, some about kids, some about how to feed your family for $.47 a day, some about motherhood in general, some about jewelry making... hopefully you are getting the point. I'm not looking for this stuff; it falls in my lap and I can't let it go. (And if that's where you choose to criticize me, the not letting go part, then I have no defense. I am an emotional person, and I've been sensitive to the struggles of others all my life. I don't even know if I want to defend this. As annoying as it sometimes is, I kind of like it about myself.)

Stellan's story is a really amazing one. I've mentioned him briefly on this blog before, and I have his button in my sidebar on the right. He was diagnosed with SVT while he was still growing in his mother's womb, and his parents were given the heartbreaking news that he most certainly would not live. Lots of prayer and medication and time later, he was born - perfectly healthy and 'normal.' Truly a miracle baby! Unfortunately, five months later, sweet Stellan is again fighting the sickness of his heart, and has spent nearly a month in and out of SVT and all of that time in the hospital. He is currently in Boston, awaiting an ablation to correct the problem. A rather risky procedure for such a tiny little heart to endure... I don't even know what to pray for this little guy. 

I have to sort of break and back up. Each of these four mothers have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, and all four of them have clearly vocalized that they neither blame, or are angry at, God. All four have expressed that weird peace that passes understanding about the whole thing, obviously not happy about their given cross to bear, but willing to take it up and follow Him. You know, Him. The one who can heal all of this stuff? Yeah, Him. 

I'm stuck. These aren't even my children, and I am angry at God. I question him. I cry out (internally) in anger. I weep defiant tears of misunderstanding. Why, God, why?! It is so senseless. People in these situations are often heard to speak, "I just want to glorify the Lord in these circumstances..." and I think, I don't! I want him to heal your baby! I know that God teaches us lessons in the trials of life, and that we grow most when we are hurting and become more dependent on him. I get it. I know that these are times when God's power and majesty are truly revealed. That peace that passes understanding, that is so mystifying even to those of us who can call a relationship with God our own, is also striking to someone who isn't a believer. God can use these circumstances to show himself to a world whose heart is also breaking. 

But I still don't like it. 

Can't he, like, strike lightning in the middle of a terrorist compound? Or maybe give a heart attack to a pedophile, instead of someone's sweet grandma? Seems like that would demonstrate his omnipotence pretty well. 

And back to the present, how is one supposed to feel when she learns of stories like this? I know in the past when tragedy has struck one of our little ones locally, moms have said things like, "Makes you hug your own little baby just a bit tighter, doesn't it?" and I think to myself... no! It makes me feel ... I don't even know, numb? about things. Why have I been spared this heartache? Or worse, When will it be my turn? And how can I be happy and feel blessed with my own child's health when I see the struggle of others?

I once believed that I had witnessed child abuse. I was young at the time, probably 15 at the most. I didn't know what to do; it happened right in my own neighborhood and I felt really afraid. I tried calling each of my parents at work with no luck, I considered dialing the police but didn't know where that would get the poor kid and frankly, I was afraid to do that... so I called my neighbor. I told her what I had seen and asked her what she thought I (we?) should do. And do you know what she told me? She told me she didn't doubt it a bit that this person was abusing his child, she'd suspected it before herself, and recommended that in this situation a person should count her blessings and be thankful that it wasn't she. (With a healthy dose of MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.)

I felt the injustice in her words then, and I feel them all over again now. I haven't a clue what I should have done back on that day, and I still don't feel like "Be glad it's not you" is good enough. It didn't apply back then, and it doesn't apply now.

So where does that leave me? I sure as heck don't know.

PS - Pray for Stellan. His ablation is very soon!