Thursday, December 20, 2012

AVERYday: Paint it White - Part 16

A friend of mine sent me an article titled No, Everything Doesn't Happen for a Reason by Adam Hamilton with the note I'd like to hear your opinion on this one....

Immediately I felt defensive. As if my personal peace surrounding Avery's death was being called into question. I logically knew it had to be an article written in response to the Newtown, Connecticut tragedy where 20 six and seven year old children were killed in their classroom. But emotionally - well, I felt that just the title was calling my faith and beliefs into question. And so I responded before I had even read the article. Here is my response:

Without reading it [the article] yet, I will say this has crossed my mind. Absolutely.

Do I believe Avery's death was known by God? Yes. Do I believe that God took Avery in the best way he could have? Actually, yes. (Initially, no - but then I thought about it more.) Avery had a faith that could move mountains and He couldn't allow that message to be silenced. Do I believe that Avery's death is part of a greater plan? Absolutely.

But then Newtown, Connecticut happened and I thought: What the hell? I thought I had it figured out!

That's when my sister and I were talking about the fact that there is heaven and there is hell and there is earth. And on earth there exists slices of heaven.... as well as slices of hell. And we are given Free Will to decide whether or not we will be Warriors for God on this earth, Warriors for Satan on this earth, or warriors for no one.

The Warriors for God pick up paintbrushes of white and spread goodness all over the world. They paint light.

The Warriors for Satan pick up paintbrushes of black and spread evil all over the world. They paint dark.

And those who are warriors for no one dare not pick up a paintbrush at all.

Sometimes, as humans, we drop our paintbrush. Sometimes our arms are too tired to paint. Sometimes we get a flurry of energy and paint excited, broad stripes of white goodness everywhere our eyes settle! (This would be what I am doing right now.) And sometimes, God help us... sometimes we pick up those paintbrushes dripping in black, and - full of anger and rage and fury - we throw evil on whatever is standing in our way.

The soul who purposefully and deliberately shot twenty innocent 6- and 7-year olds was NOT the work of God. At least not MY God. That was the work of evil. That was the work of a soul that would only be comforted when everything around him was dark as night.

But my God was there. He was there holding His hand out to take each and every one of those precious children into his arms. He was there to comfort those who were scared and who cried out for help. He was there to calm the fears of the teachers who did not ever expect this sort of thing to happen in their school.

And He is still there. He is there in the community. In the homes. At the funerals. And at the graves of twenty tiny children. And my God will not leave.

My God is allowing discussions of faith to take place: on the street, in homes, at work, in the newspapers and on the Internet. My God is challenging people to think about the world we live in and encouraging us to be the change we want to see.

My God is asking us to choose to paint the world light again.


The night after Avery died, my house filled with people whose eyes were red and puffy from far too much crying, I answered a knock at my door. I welcomed in the officer who had placed his hand on my shoulder the evening before; a man whose task it was to tell a young mother that her 11-year old child had died. He walked in with several other officers who had responded to the accident that irrevocably changed the lives of three beautiful girls, as well as all the people who knew and loved them.

Somber they stood as My Officer (as I have come to affectionately and somewhat protectively refer to him) spoke. He introduced me to each and every man now standing in my living room as the rest of my house stood silent. Then he described how after each shift the team comes together to debrief and discuss the events that had occurred that night.

It was at this debriefing that my words would come back: You don't know her, but if you did you'd know that she loved Jesus. You see, while I was sitting in my living room telling strangers how much my daughter loved God, Jadrian was alone in the ambulance and again in the emergency room being tormented by the images of her sister and her friend and the fear of not knowing what was going on. No one would answer the question are they okay? To work through that fear she spoke of her sister's love for Christ to whoever would listen... and this was heard by the ears of another officer. It became clear at this debriefing that Avery was indeed a God Girl.

My officer explained how he remembered me saying that Avery had just given me her Christmas List... and that all she asked for was a new Bible and horseback riding lessons. "It isn't much," he said humbly. "But we wanted to do something."

And on behalf of the 2nd Shift Team that had been working at the Sheriff's Department that night, they presented me with a bible for Avery. "This way she has her Bible for Christmas," he smiled softly.

I don't know if this is normal protocol for a police department... to come back with a bible for a grieving family. But I know this: these men - these men God holds tightly in His hands. They did  the work of angels the night of October 24, 2012. And they chose to humbly stand before me the next night to let me know they heard.

As a grieving mother, the moment they stood before me and handed me a bible with a front cover inscribed for my daughter would be absolutely critical to my healing and I can never, ever thank them enough.

They could have nodded at each other, filed the paperwork and gone home to their families, chalking it up to a bad thing that happens on the job...

 Instead, they chose to paint with light.

A couple days later our local newspaper would print a beautiful article about Avery on the front page of the newspaper:

The woman who wrote the article?
She chose to paint with light.

As a family we had agreed (well, relented) to get a "real Christmas tree" for the first time ever. Avery wanted one so badly. After she died I told Matt that we needed to get a real one, but that it made me sad because Avery wouldn't be here to enjoy it. That's when Geneva Trees, LLC, a local Christmas Tree business, stepped in and donated a special tree for Avery that we could put at her graveside.

They chose to paint with light!

Do you see all those ornaments on that tree? Those have been placed by friends and family and, yes, even strangers - people whose heart is tugging to do a little something to make a heavenly angel's Christmas a little sweeter... and to bring a small amount of comfort to an earthly family who is having a really hard time  this time of year. These people.... they chose to paint with light!

I'm not so naive to believe that everyone will proudly pick up a white paintbrush and lighten the world around me... already I've seen people with paintbrushes dripping in black come to my door. It's a disappointing part of life here on earth. It makes me sad. Nervous. Anxious. Upset. Scared to death over our future.

But I have no control over the paintbrushes they choose to place in their hands... it just makes me more determined than ever to paint my world white! 

Give a Little Love

Her is the link to No, Everything Doesn’t Happen for a Reason by Adam Hamilton (just in case you haven't read it yet). You should.... "If we follow God’s lead, our work is to push back the darkness."


Tina, said...

Beth Moore has a few books and studies out about arming ourselves against evil. I remember in the serious I did "When Godly People Do UnGodly Things" it talks about how the work is left in the hands of Satan until Jesus returns. It is up to us to as you put it "paint the world in light". I agree with everything you said.

gradydoctor said...

Hey Bridget. Wow. That was just so, so beautiful. I love you explanations and I love the idea of painting light. Yes, yes, and yes!

Unknown said...

This blog is one of the most beautiful and most enlightening essays I have ever read. And not only that, it makes me more determined than ever to keep that brush with the black paint not only out of my hands, but out of my sight. YOU, Bridget McCarthy, are doing something--YOU are painting with light. You are showing the world, by example, how to grieve in faith. God must be so proud of you! And Avery? She has got to be beaming with joy at the lessons her mother is teaching the world, with an eleven-year-old girl lighting the way. Well done!

Chiconky said...

This was so beautiful and made me cry the "ugly cry." I wish I had the right words to describe what an inspiration you, and Avery, have been to me. So much love to you and your family.

Anya Marie said...

I mirror what Chiconky said to a T! This post gave me goosebumps. The good kind. I am amazed at how rapidly and strongly your faith has grown in just a few weeks. Seems to me that you are quickly becoming a God Girl yourself! Praise The Lord that your heart was softened towards Him in such a dark time and that you are so willing to Paint it Light!

Rachel Lewis said...

I really like your analogy and think it helps so much.

I don't think everything happens for a reason.... But I think our God is the most amazing redeemer there is. I think sometimes we call "reasons" what could be better termed "redemptions." God taking something awful and bringing good from it.

As far as grief and faith, I must admit I struggle to think that there is a "good" way to grieve as a Christian and a bad way. I think maybe one of the most important parts of grieving and being a Christian is just bringing everything to Him. The anger, if it's there (for me, it was.) The sadness, the questions, the loss of control, the loss (at times) of faith. Just bringing it to him and saying ... "i may not understand. I may not agree. I may be mad and hurt or accepting. But I just give it all to you and trust you'll walk with me through this."

Anyway. Those are my two-cents on grief. And, the picture of the Christmas tree almost made me cry. What a beautiful gift to Avery and to your family.

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