cho·ri·zo - A spicy Spanish pork sausage

Hola, chorizo. Como estas? Delicioso? Si.

- from Jeremy

Honestly, sometimes this blog is just one more thing that I don't have the time for. Or the energy for. Or frankly, the heart for. And I don't mean "heart" in that ministry sense like, "he's got a heart for the Congo," or "she's got a heart for reaching celebrities," I mean "heart" in that other sense. As in, "Fern had a bit of chorizo in her teeth, but I didn't have the heart to tell her since Wilbur was dead." It's probably something akin to courage, but not the courage that counter-poses fear as much as the courage that stares down emptiness and hopelessness. Mmmm, but now I can't stop thinking about chorizo.

We can talk about perspective and faith, and that's important and valid. I can no doubt convince you of the blessing of the sovereignty of a loving God, and how He has not given us more than we are able to deal with, granting His strength to help. I am quick to tell people what Pastor Karns said about how your life can shrink to the size of your problems if your not careful to keep your eyes on Jesus. And I am truly thankful knowing what C. S. Lewis said about pain being God's megaphone to the world, and we have certainly heard from Him through the struggles with our special boys. And I know, I mean know beyond any doubting, that my life was always going to be just exactly as it is, and any expectations I had for my future were daydreams and conceits. But some days it's so impossible and intimidating that I wish these boys had never been born. Or that I hadn't.

Does that shock you to read? I probably shouldn't write it, but it's true. There are times when the blessing that they are and the joy of fatherhood is totally eclipsed by the panic-level tension of living with them, and living with the people that have to live with them. Those times when Josiah has slept for three hours the night before in five sessions spanning three rooms, and he's wailed and flailed off and on for hours before he starts in with the head beating. And all I can think when I look at him is how this is going to be when he's fifteen. And meanwhile Jalen is in the back yard with a mouthful of dirt and a piece of plastic jammed in the key hole of the car door he just mutilated with a rock. And Christy is crying. Not a couple of silent tears, I mean really crying. A weary, plaintive sobbing as she pushes him in the swing. And Judah is screaming at Jack, whose big-brother playful aggravation would be overlooked in another setting, but because of everything else that he can't control and didn't ask for, it gets him in trouble and crushes his spirit just a little more. And Olivia is obviously angry. She still has to do her homework and go to bed on time even though she literally saved her brother's life today. Again. And I'm on the phone in the office saying, "I'm doing great, how are you doing tonight? Can I interest you in some life insurance?"

It's not the hardest situation anyone's ever dealt with in the history of the world. Not even close. It's not even remotely the hardest thing anyone is going through right now. But it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. To keep on going in the face of this. To have the heart to write about it. Oh, I just remembered something. Christy said the last couple of posts have been quite serious so I should write something light and funny. It's probably too late for light now. Chorizo!