Unfinished Stories Series:: (Joy Bennett)

by Joy BennettJune 10, 2013

unfinished banner

For the book launch, we are continuing with great writers on the theme of their own unfinished stories.  The post below is written by Joy Bennett from Joy in this Journey.

__________________

“It is not easy for me to be a Christian, to believe twenty-four hours a day all that I want to believe. I stray, and then my stories pull me back if I listen to them carefully. I have often been asked if my Christianity affects my stories, and surely it is the other way around; my stories affect my Christianity, restore me, shake me by the scruff of the neck, and pull this straying sinner into an awed faith.” Madeleine L’Engle in Walking on Water

When Scott and I wed in 1998, we had multiple conversations about how our story was ordinary, maybe even a little boring. We were young, in love, gainfully employed, strong in our faith, and healthy, even if I was also a little cynical and disillusioned by the hypocrisy I’d witnessed at my private Christian college. Despite the bitter taste in my mouth, we couldn’t see anything but clear skies and straight roads ahead of us.

We felt the first bump in our road the day our firstborn, a baby girl we named Elli Renee, slipped into our arms. She was a little blue and sluggish, and when the doctor checked her, he said the words “heart murmur” and “cardiologist.” I refused to believe it was serious until two nights later under the fluorescent lights of the ER, when the full magnitude of her condition appeared on an ultrasound screen. But before we had a chance to adjust to that news, the bottom dropped out. Her heart stopped beating the next morning, only restarting after 30 minutes of CPR. We were in free fall. (I’ve written more about those earliest days starting here.)

My memory of the next eight years is fuzzy. When conversations turn to events or movies or the like from the decade of the 2000s, I rarely know or recall them. I can count on my fingers the number of times I slept through the night, especially after 2004, when Elli developed a seizure disorder right after we learned we were expecting a third child. In 2007, our fourth child was born with a serious medical condition of his own. I was past my capacity, in over my head, desperately trying to care for one child in a wheelchair who couldn’t walk or talk, two able-bodied children, and a newborn who needed two major surgeries his first year of life. I lived terrified that my sleep deprivation and chronic fatigue would cause me to forget something really important, and the consequences would be devastating.

During these years, we witnessed the barely-comprehensible suffering housed inside children’s hospitals. It’s tough enough to accept your own child’s situation, let alone take in the tragedies of others. My neat and tidy Christian worldview disintegrated under the pressure. I couldn’t fit the stories of these children and their families and the injustice of life with the way God describes Godself as good, merciful, and loving. This was a far more serious question than the one about people living inconsistently with their faith. And it led to some potentially faith-shattering questions like “Does God really exist?” and “If so, who is God and what relationship, if any, does God have with humanity and the world?”

In October 2008, Elli died unexpectedly, in her sleep. While our grief was still raw, we closed the doors of the church we’d poured into for five years. The people of this little church had been our second family, holding us close in those darkest of days with our children. It was a second death, seeing these people scatter.

In the midst of all that death and upheaval and pain, I couldn’t help but ask what was it all for, anyway? And what do we do now? On the outside, we once again look ordinary, and maybe a little boring. Our grief is invisible, and though it will always be with us, it is less raw and gritty today than it was. We have three children who are growing and learning and maturing. We are working in our preferred fields. Scott and I are happily married, celebrating our 15th anniversary this fall.

My angry questions of five years ago have settled into a restless disappointed idealism that envisions and hopes for better even when life and people fall short. I don’t have answers, and faith is not easy. But disappointment has become a crucial ingredient of my faith, not its death knell. As C.S. Lewis said, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

If our lives are a story, then everything we experience builds on what happened before. We’ve lived a lot of life in the past fifteen years. We’ve learned to be parents of a medically fragile child and parents of that child’s siblings. We’ve learned about getting along with people as members, leaders, and teachers within a church. We’ve tried many different ways to balance faith, career, and family. And Elli taught us that no one is too small, too young, too weak, or too insignificant in God’s kingdom. None of this and none of us are wasted or useless. In this story yet unfinished, whether it’s big (like preaching or writing books or activism) or small (serving where we are, day after monotonous day), someone in our future will need these stories.

It very well could be me.

[ts_fab]

3,395 Comments

  1. A Story Unfinished | Joy in this Journey on June 10, 2013 at 5:47 am

    […] Head over to The Atypical Life to read the rest of my Story Unfinished. […]



  2. matt mooney on June 10, 2013 at 10:05 am

    Joy, thank you so much for sharing your journey with Elli. Your words shine with love and hope. Thank you so much for them.



  3. pastordt on June 10, 2013 at 11:39 am

    Yes, we need your stories, Joy. Thank you for sharing part of them so very beautifully in this space. You are a personal hero in my life and I’m grateful for your honesty and grace.



  4. […] Unfinished Stories Series:: (Joy Bennett) […]



unfinished banner

For the book launch, we are continuing with great writers on the theme of their own unfinished stories.  The post below is written by Joy Bennett from Joy in this Journey.

__________________

“It is not easy for me to be a Christian, to believe twenty-four hours a day all that I want to believe. I stray, and then my stories pull me back if I listen to them carefully. I have often been asked if my Christianity affects my stories, and surely it is the other way around; my stories affect my Christianity, restore me, shake me by the scruff of the neck, and pull this straying sinner into an awed faith.” Madeleine L’Engle in Walking on Water

When Scott and I wed in 1998, we had multiple conversations about how our story was ordinary, maybe even a little boring. We were young, in love, gainfully employed, strong in our faith, and healthy, even if I was also a little cynical and disillusioned by the hypocrisy I’d witnessed at my private Christian college. Despite the bitter taste in my mouth, we couldn’t see anything but clear skies and straight roads ahead of us.

We felt the first bump in our road the day our firstborn, a baby girl we named Elli Renee, slipped into our arms. She was a little blue and sluggish, and when the doctor checked her, he said the words “heart murmur” and “cardiologist.” I refused to believe it was serious until two nights later under the fluorescent lights of the ER, when the full magnitude of her condition appeared on an ultrasound screen. But before we had a chance to adjust to that news, the bottom dropped out. Her heart stopped beating the next morning, only restarting after 30 minutes of CPR. We were in free fall. (I’ve written more about those earliest days starting here.)

My memory of the next eight years is fuzzy. When conversations turn to events or movies or the like from the decade of the 2000s, I rarely know or recall them. I can count on my fingers the number of times I slept through the night, especially after 2004, when Elli developed a seizure disorder right after we learned we were expecting a third child. In 2007, our fourth child was born with a serious medical condition of his own. I was past my capacity, in over my head, desperately trying to care for one child in a wheelchair who couldn’t walk or talk, two able-bodied children, and a newborn who needed two major surgeries his first year of life. I lived terrified that my sleep deprivation and chronic fatigue would cause me to forget something really important, and the consequences would be devastating.

During these years, we witnessed the barely-comprehensible suffering housed inside children’s hospitals. It’s tough enough to accept your own child’s situation, let alone take in the tragedies of others. My neat and tidy Christian worldview disintegrated under the pressure. I couldn’t fit the stories of these children and their families and the injustice of life with the way God describes Godself as good, merciful, and loving. This was a far more serious question than the one about people living inconsistently with their faith. And it led to some potentially faith-shattering questions like “Does God really exist?” and “If so, who is God and what relationship, if any, does God have with humanity and the world?”

In October 2008, Elli died unexpectedly, in her sleep. While our grief was still raw, we closed the doors of the church we’d poured into for five years. The people of this little church had been our second family, holding us close in those darkest of days with our children. It was a second death, seeing these people scatter.

In the midst of all that death and upheaval and pain, I couldn’t help but ask what was it all for, anyway? And what do we do now? On the outside, we once again look ordinary, and maybe a little boring. Our grief is invisible, and though it will always be with us, it is less raw and gritty today than it was. We have three children who are growing and learning and maturing. We are working in our preferred fields. Scott and I are happily married, celebrating our 15th anniversary this fall.

My angry questions of five years ago have settled into a restless disappointed idealism that envisions and hopes for better even when life and people fall short. I don’t have answers, and faith is not easy. But disappointment has become a crucial ingredient of my faith, not its death knell. As C.S. Lewis said, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

If our lives are a story, then everything we experience builds on what happened before. We’ve lived a lot of life in the past fifteen years. We’ve learned to be parents of a medically fragile child and parents of that child’s siblings. We’ve learned about getting along with people as members, leaders, and teachers within a church. We’ve tried many different ways to balance faith, career, and family. And Elli taught us that no one is too small, too young, too weak, or too insignificant in God’s kingdom. None of this and none of us are wasted or useless. In this story yet unfinished, whether it’s big (like preaching or writing books or activism) or small (serving where we are, day after monotonous day), someone in our future will need these stories.

It very well could be me.

[ts_fab]

3,395 Comments

  1. A Story Unfinished | Joy in this Journey on June 10, 2013 at 5:47 am

    […] Head over to The Atypical Life to read the rest of my Story Unfinished. […]



  2. matt mooney on June 10, 2013 at 10:05 am

    Joy, thank you so much for sharing your journey with Elli. Your words shine with love and hope. Thank you so much for them.



  3. pastordt on June 10, 2013 at 11:39 am

    Yes, we need your stories, Joy. Thank you for sharing part of them so very beautifully in this space. You are a personal hero in my life and I’m grateful for your honesty and grace.



  4. […] Unfinished Stories Series:: (Joy Bennett) […]