For His Name’s Sake (Psalm 23:3)

(Featured artwork above was created by my youngest son, Jonathan, around age 9…it is Jesus with Psalm 23 in his hand writing)

About three hours ago I received word that my granddaughter, apparently the first of Jonathan and Taylor’s twins (the other is a boy, as I understand things from afar) is about to be born at “any time.”

I will not say how I was made aware of this.

It was not from Jonathan.

It was not from Zach.

It was not from the man whom I was faithfully married to for twenty years, who was next to me when Jonathan was born.

It was not from his fiance.

I was not sure how word might come to me, since I am in exile, literally, from this joyful event.

An event that if not for the dark forces of spiritual wickedness in high places,(Ephesians 6:12) that continually seek our personal destruction and the un-doing of God’s works, I would have learned of in some other (natural and Shalomic way) and may have even been sitting somewhere now with others – and I don’t even know where this is happening, whether in Maine, Philadelphia or otherwise – in a waiting room or someone’s home.

Shalom (Hebrew: שָׁלוֹם šālōm; also spelled as sholom, sholem, sholoim, shulem) is a Hebrew word meaning peace, harmony, wholeness, completeness, prosperity, welfare and tranquility and can be used idiomatically to mean both hello and goodbye.

-Wikipedia

For all I know, my first husband, his fiance, my older son, and her parents are all together at the moment. Actually, I know very little about her or her family…nothing but a name and a few basic things found online publicly. I would welcome knowing her, truly, and embracing both her and these children! I reached out to my son about a month ago with a simple message…“If you are willing for me to be part of your lives, I would like that.   Please let me know the means and terms to have this, if this is what you want.  I am willing to listen to whatever you want to say to me so that I may hear you and understand that which you want to say.

I also have a gift for you – I have scanned and printed your baby album.  Please let me know the best way to get that to you.”

He did briefly respond that he would get back to me when time permitted. And, I understand, it’s a lot right now…more than I could ever know or imagine.

__________

I saw/learned in April that my son asked, publicly, that no information be given me. And for that reason, I do not ask many details of my older son, I don’t want him in a predicament. Occasionally, I say, “Are you an uncle yet?”

Yes, this is how this is all going down.

But, that is OK.

Well, I mean…it’s not okay…but I accepted well over a year ago and before then, too, that I cannot control the choices others make.

So, I turn to Jesus, as I have turned to Him for many, many years. And I turn to those I consider in my inner circle of particularly spiritually, emotionally and otherwise perceptively-attuned true friends and true family.

Two nights ago, I was inclined to write this piece AND THEN ‘IMAGINATION’ JESUS SAID TO ME, “MAKE READY YOUR DANCING SHOES, GRANDMOM!”.

Today, and this week, has been rough, I had to have a badly cracked molar pulled this morning.

But when I got word tonight that it sounds like, the awaited event is in active process, I knew that I must begin my own personal vigil in my own expressive way here, alongside the ever-presence of Jesus, and others, that truly care.

Several years ago I routinely called my son “Joni” and said “she,” though I was never quite comfortable with this. I did this for three years, before even, as I understand things, his dad had done the same. As soon as I had seen on FB that he had yet changed his name again, to Joni, I asked him what I should call him. As I understood at the time, he gave space for whatever, saying something to the effect of he will answer to anything. I chose to honor this name, and pronoun, at that time. I made every attempt to refer in this way, directly and otherwise, wherever possible. Of course, imperfectly.

At some point in this situation, I realized it was not about a name. What it is about, is subject to various perspectives, I suppose.

I have my own viewpoint, and have come to a place where I will not comply with anything I am not comfortable with, and I will not keep silent in talking about my own life, experiences and struggles.

The evil forces in this present darkness have one agenda – relational separation and destruction of all that is good and right in this world.

And this is yet another form of violence – violence to the Shalom of God.

Yet another form of violence to the Shalom of the family.

Yet another form of violence to our precious children.

About 10 pm tonight I knew that regardless of how I felt, I needed to make my way out to the back pasture…the meadow of sorts, between the apple orchard and the area where my lambs are kept.

I put a specific worship song on my phone, and attempted somewhat to slowly dance my way down through the wet grass, after kicking off my sandals.

Now what.

I looked up at the sky. I noticed two white streaks I was not sure if they were spotlight beams from somewhere, or clouds or what. Several things I noticed, but I could not get good photos. I noticed the white streaks were more arc-like, and I knew of nothing in the distance to the right that might be making these kinds of mark in the sky. Gradually they moved and dissipated, and there was another vertical cloud blob to my left, that also shifted…so…hmm…maybe they were airplane trails at night…that’s it…I just thought of that…

I walked around, praying, thinking.

I think the purpose of my son’s severing from me has been so fully accomplished. The wounding, so complete. This purpose is that of the unseen dark forces in this world seeking the spiritual and multi-faceted destruction of us all, not the stated purposes of my son.

Days go by where I may not directly think of him. He is like a dream. When someone intentionally removes their presence from us (something that Jesus never, ever does), this absence eventually does its dark work.

This is, actually, in a sense, what happens when we lose someone to death.

We grieve, but then…we slowly…struggle to remember the sound of their voice.

There is a gulf between us and them, with no communication.

They slip further and further from us and our waking lives, and we wonder things like, “Did I really have another son?”

There’s a surreal unreality to it all…though I am surrounded by many photos and internal/extermal memories and reminders of Jonathan, I have to really stop myself and be present to fully feel and intentionally overcome the intended impact of this action, beyond my intellectual knowledge and various responses to it.

There have been times, long before I knew that Jonathan had fathered twins with a woman, that I would walk outside at night to my prayer spot and put my hands on my stomach, close my eyes and try to recall what it felt like when I carried him within my own body. And I would pray things a mother would pray, because I believe prayer involves more than words and can involve all of our senses and body, mind and spirit.

I even believe certain symbolic acts serve as forms of prayer.

Sometimes, when I am at a loss for prayer words, I just breathe and speak the name of Jesus in a soothing and contemplative, prayerful or needful way. Because that name, in particular, is the ultimate power and in my view, a prayer in-and-of-itself, in some ways.

Eventually, I felt tired. I just felt like laying down in the grass. There are times I have done that, even at nighttime.

It is liberating, and child-like.

A friend told me that in yoga, they call it “grounding” and it is actually a way of soothing oneself, I believe.

So I did what I had a sudden inclination to do. I just lay down in the wet grass on my stomach, with open palms. I let myself smell the wet grass.

Such an interesting smell.

I had no fear, nor worry about bugs tonight. That is not always the case out there. But tonight, I listened to the sounds of the crickets and other things one hears in the night. And I just felt relaxed, peaceful…observing my surrounding with a view and sense of Shalom…and though I can’t say to what degree in the continuum one might say they feel God’s presence, I would say my mind was actively attuned to the fact of His presence.

As I lay in the grass, eventually Psalm 23 came into my mind.

Of course. I was literally laying down in a green pasture.

Smelling the grass. And could hear my lambs periodically vocalizing toward me. As they do.

This Psalm is often read at funerals, but I think its message probably was not penned with that intention, though I do not know. I’m not a bible scholar, of course.

When I was told that I shouldn’t use my son’s name, that it is a dead name, I kept asking in various ways, well, does that mean I have a dead son? I kept trying to lay out my own thoughts, feelings, faith issues and more…and be truly understood, and respected in this matter. When I revealed – to the extent I was willing to share with this individual, (oh but there were so many more despairing moments I did not entrust, that I struggle against) – the deep pain of this multi-faceted thing in multi-faceted ways, why would someone continue to be “in my face” pressing me for compliance?

Why???

It has opened up a whole new outlook in my mind on all this, expanding my focus now to include as often as I might speak this word in my expressions on this current social topic: COMPLIANCE

Just like in the recent documentary by Matt Walsh where people keep saying they identify as a woman but many, especially those most vocal on this issue, do not seem to be able to define what that even means.

What does it mean to be a woman? I do plan to keep writing about that particular issue because I think I have a lot to say about what it means to be a woman, since I am actually a woman.

In a spiritual sense, as it stands now, it would seem that in some metaphorical sense, the son I knew is in fact, gone.

The son I nursed at my breast until he was nearly three, who trusted me, turned to me in need, and I gave myself to him, has made themself a person of my past. And that does, in fact, have an impact on me, and others.

I could go on, from my view, about the child, the teenager, the adult son I watched develop, with all his tremendously sensitive qualities. I have a beautiful son.

Sure, there are always interpersonal issues as our children grow into who they want to be and as we gradually let go and both navigate new territories of life and its challenges. This tearing away was gradual and complicated by a number of things.

But I miss my son. I long for my son and mourn the loss of so much. Life is a precious gift, and Jonathan is a gift. The meaning of his name itself, is “God’s Gift.” And if I am only left for the rest of my life, this side of eternity, with memories of the time I had with him, rather than any active relationship, then that is in God’s hands. I wish that this grief and loss and suffering might pass from me, but I cannot sell my own soul, so to speak, in order to not drink from this cup.

I’ll be honest here…I am not looking for any type of reconciliation with “Joni” – as another has said they hope and pray for. I am looking for restoration to my beautiful son, Jonathan, and his family. All of them.

As far as I can tell, the life theme of Jesus seems to be resurrection.

I can only go so far, and I believe I have done that.

And so, I wait.

As I lay in the grass, I attempted to speak aloud Psalm 23 into the darkness. I think I had it memorized many years ago and surprisingly, I cannot recite it perfectly as the I can the Lord’s Prayer. But I think I covered it all, maybe not in sequence.

I thought about the words, “for his name’s sake…” and that choked me up.

Since there is all this talk about names…and I have several blog pieces in progress over this past year, incompleted…that touch upon thoughts about names and naming, and more…I paused here again…

I’ve come to the spiritual place where I know I must dwell, in order to follow the voice of Jesus, as I hear him. He is my Shepherd, truly, and ever-deepeningly.

I thought I would set forth the text below, and I selected from the Living Bible option, first pick…and it was surprisingly exactly the wording I want in this piece.

I’ve been thinking more and more of issues of honor and dishonor over these past months and years, especially, when I’ve felt pressed in any situation to “honor” a pronoun. That is such a huge topic, apparently, these days.

Surely I’ve done things, in moments of time and deep emotional distresses, in my lifetime, that I’m not proud of. I think a lot about the shameful and the dishonorable things, of sorts, and the respectful and the honoring things…each day we make numerous micro-choices about so many things. So, I’m focused on this particular translation of verse 3…“He helps me do what honors him the most.”

Psalm 23 (The Living Bible)

Because the Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need!

He lets me rest in the meadow grass and leads me beside the quiet streams. He gives me new strength. He helps me do what honors him the most.

Even when walking through the dark valley of death I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me, guarding, guiding all the way.

You provide delicious food for me in the presence of my enemies. You have welcomed me as your guest; blessings overflow!

Your goodness and unfailing kindness shall be with me all of my life, and afterwards I will live with you forever in your home.

About two weeks ago, I received a public comment on one of my blog pieces that (somewhat) shocked me. I was just shocked that this particular dispute would be taken publicly in this way, and I see no real basis for this in anything I’ve ever written here and expressed, as I have every right to do, in the distanced manner which I did it. When I saw this comment, I went into my WordPress admin features and “unapproved” the comment so it became hidden, temporarily, until I decided how I wanted to address it. Two days later, I decided to allow it back up, and thought, perhaps I should simply ask the person (as a courtesy and in curiosity, I suppose) whether they wanted me to address this publicly. There were some interactions, and then I decided to again “unapprove” the comments.

I wanted to “sit with” the issue a bit. I did begin a blog piece draft titled Contributing to the Shaping of Another’s Story and to the Shaping of Things Bigger Than Ourselves that I worked on and off for several days and then set aside. It was dense, and packed with a number of very deep thoughts about many things, on many levels.

Part of it, was considering, since I am currently exploring and writing out more of my life stories/memoirs of sorts, “what is the worst thing someone could say publicly about me?” I have sometimes wondered if I have guts enough in this entire writing journey to public share some of my darkest times, in specific? There are various people, including the individual that made this comment to me publicly, who know that I attempted suicide in 1992.

Would I “call and raise” so to speak?

What other evil might I fear in all this? And how might I honor God with continuing to tell my story – the beautiful and the ugly – not only for my own healing and in hopes one day, my children and grandchildren will better know both me and their own selves, but somehow connecting my own life narrative to a story much, much bigger than myself…and producing something that is relatable to others also and helps in some way?

Any time someone breaks the code of silence embedded in abusive and traumatic situations…it helps empower others to do the same in some way. Mommy Dearest and The Glass Castle I found in this category.

I suppose I just think about things differently than some people.

Since I was given some sort of tacit dire warning/admonition in this southbound interaction regarding what could happen if I didn’t honor pronouns or used a dead name… I’m now wondering…hmmm….maybe I should just begin speaking out on suicide issues, too, from my own experience. Believe me, I’ve seen the painful process from the inside out. And I’ve intimately known three friends that have taken their own life. Any speaking out about significant early childhood and adulthood traumas, family issues, relational issues and more…might easily meander into this dark alley, too…

It is a part of my past I owned years ago and left behind during that rough patch.

I do struggle with shame, though some do not. Apparently.

Awhile back I listened to an excellent book on this topic, from a biblically articulate and professionally sound perspective, called The Soul of Shame.

Tonight, I realized what people often say is actually the way it is: People will believe what they want to believe.

While I could “re-approve” the comments again tonight as I intend to do, and make some statement about context, accuracy of detail, quotations, sequence or more…I don’t need to do that, per se.

Because anyone who knows me has already formed their opinion of me, and I don’t think either this individual’s comments nor my own offering of specific defense would change any reader’s mind about me, and who I am.

That is a healing and powerful position for me to take in all this. To stand unashamed before God and others, in the face of this type of word violence.

I do ask, that care be exercised by any friends or others reading this, in any public response to anything. I am not looking for someone to come to my defense nor start an argument here.

Thank you for reading.

______

P.S. Around 11:03 (I looked at my phone), while laying on my back in the graze studying the stars above, I saw from the corner of my right periphery what I think may have been the first shooting star I’ve ever seen in my life…I will be curious to know the time of each birth, and hope that someday there will be Shalom in all of this.