Smarty, Smiley, Savior

“I’m assuming your friends are coming tonight, Mommy,” three-year-old Nyra asserted from the rocking chair across the room.

Assuming. Our three-year-old child just used the word assuming. Correctly. Spontaneously.

Dude.

Baby girl is growing up a little too fast for Daddy. Moments like this make us chuckle and shake our heads, but we’re honestly not surprised anymore. That girl is something else. The things that comes out of her mouth sometimes make her seem like she’s twice her age.

Jackson, being born in August, doesn’t have all that much to say for himself yet. But man alive, that little dude’s grin can light up a room. Check it out:

He’s been smiling for a few weeks now. He takes breaks now and then to eat and cry and poop, but otherwise he’s a smiling fool. This week he laughed for the first time in his little life! He does take an awful lot of those crying breaks, but they’re worth it when he belly laughs or flashes a gummy grin your way. Actually maybe I shouldn’t say that. I’m not the one who has to feed him, change him and burp him all the time. That physical responsibility has fallen on my wife’s pretty little shoulders. But I have a feeling she would say something similar. We love our son.

And Nyra loves her brother. She’s actually the one who made him laugh for the first time. I’m not a very experienced father, but I think she may still be in the honeymoon stage of having her very own baby that actually cries and actually eats with actual bottles and uses an actual stroller that she can actually push herself (being a big girl now) . Regardless, she’s an awesome sister and loves to help out (when she’s in the mood).

I have always called her my girl, because she is and always will be, but the fact that she really does come from me has become more evident lately. As well as having my brown eyes, she also has my short temper and my natural aversion to all things productive. Watching her rebellion blossom is difficult as her father, but I think it’s akin to my own rebellion against God. And your rebellion against God. And your parents, their parents, grandparents, your grandparents’ grandparents and great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandparents, all the way back to Adam and Eve when time began. Consciously or unconsciously, every single person since that fateful day has been in rebellion against God from birth.

Heavy, I know.

And why would bring up such a weighty subject in the middle of a blog about my cute kids? Here’s why: because they – and you – deserve to know a few things that are “taboo” but shouldn’t be. Here they are:

  • God made the universe. Whether you believe it was through evolution or in six literal days (I hold to the latter view), God pre-existed the cosmos and made everything beautiful in a state of perfection. 

  • God made humans in His image as the pinnacle of all His creation. He created Adam and Eve (and, by extension, you and me) for the purpose of dwelling with Him in perfect harmony and indescribable pleasure. 

  • Adam and Eve chose their own idea of what happiness should be instead of true happiness the way God designed it. While He was and is the fountain, the source of everything good, they (and we) believed the lie that the definition of good is relative to the one searching for it. 

  • Because of Adam’s and Eve’s foolish choice, we all have that same name nature, that sin nature. None of us has a natural desire to seek after God. Not me, not you, not my kids, not your kids. We’re all born with a natural aversion to our Maker, and there’s nothing we can do to stop our swift descent into eternal separation from the True Source of pleasure. The Bible says that everything “good” we did or can do is like a bunch of filthy rags to the One Holy God. Isaiah 64:6 says this pretty bluntly. We can only fall short of God’s standard.

  • In the middle of all this horrible, horrible news, God made a way for us to get back to the way things were, the way He always intended for them to be. The only way we could get to Him all along was if He pulled us out of the pit we dug for ourselves. So because He loved what He created, He came down in the flesh (Jesus) to do what we could never do – live a perfect life and die the death we deserved.

  • Jesus not only paved the way, He is the Way. The only way to God, the only way to Heaven, the only way to lasting, true fulfillment, peace and pleasure. 

So how do we get Jesus? Good question, glad you asked. I’ll tell you one thing, it’s a lot easier than lots of folks try to make it out to be.

You don’t get Jesus by doing good or trying harder – Jesus came because we could never try hard enough. 

You don’t get Jesus by not being a serial killer or child molester – Jesus came to save serial killers, child molesters and hypocrites who compare their sins to others’. Some of His strongest words are against the self-righteous (of whom I am chief).
You don’t get Jesus because your mama went to church – each and every one of us will stand before a Holy God one day to give an account of our own life. Mama won’t be there, money won’t be there, not even our own church friends or pastor will be there to help.
You do, however, get Jesus by one thing, and one thing only: believing. Believe Jesus is who He claims to be (God in the flesh), that He is the only way to God, and that He is enough to save you from the wrath of God that is pent up against all the sin inside you.
Can it really be that simple? Yes. 
But “Just believe” sounds like something only a child or a fool would say with confidence. I know it does. The Bible said it would.
Yes, there are a million and one objections to God, Jesus, and the Bible. I encourage you to weigh those objections against what is plainly laid out in Scripture. I don’t have all the answers, nor am I a practiced debater, apologist or theologian. Don’t measure the arguments of brilliant men and women against this little fool. Weigh them against the infallible and logically sound Word of the living God. I can’t answer your questions. God can and will if you seek Him where He can be found – His Word.

We pray every day that our kids will understand and believe this someday. Not just because we believe it – true belief is in the heart, not “in the family” – but because they are fully convinced of the truth.

May you examine with an open mind and heart the claims of the Bible for yourself, may the eyes of your heart be enlightened to see the beautiful truth of God’s love letter to His creation.

I can only echo what the apostle Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 4:5-6 —

“You see, we don’t go around preaching about ourselves. We preach that Jesus Christ is Lord, and we ourselves are your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let there be light in the darkness,” has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is seen in the face of Jesus Christ.”

I can’t make you believe, but I do urge you to believe. And if you already do, I urge you to remember and always remind yourself of the great love with which Christ loves us.

See you on the other side,
Lane

Jackson MacLane Bargeron

Friday, August 17th – 4pm. “They’re here!” Nyra shouted as she thundered her tiny feet as fast as they could carry her to our front door. “GRANMA! ANNELISE!” She positively exploded into the waiting arms of my mom and oldest younger sister (my older sister, middle younger sister and youngest younger sister all stayed down in Charlotte). My parents were coming to Michigan for the weekend to drop my sister Annelise off for her first semester at Bible college in Jackson, Michigan. The school where Emily and I met. Much chatter, catching up and puppet shows ensued (featuring a tiny monkey our daughter inexplicably named Tonsil).

Saturday, August 18th – 9am. “GOOD MORNING, POPS!” Little Ny felt a lot bigger to my old man when she pounced on his stomach for a welcome-to-Michigan squeeze. Pops had gotten into town a lot later than my mom and sister thanks to a long day at work on Friday. Saturday was a full day of conversation, seeing pictures from their very recent trip to China, binge eating and Nyra spoilage. By the end of the day we all collapsed into bed, grateful and exhausted.

Saturday, August 18th – 11:10pm. “Lane, I think my water just broke.” Emily and I had just nestled down into bed and started to drift off when she felt a water balloon burst between her legs. She was due September 4, but it was time. My worry level went from 0-7,000 in 2.5 seconds. “Are you in pain? Are you having contractions? How far apart are they? Should we call an ambulance?”

While I hyperventilated in bed, Emily calmly packed our bags and took a shower because she knew it would be a couple days before she could shower again. This is why God made women, not men, have babies. No expectant father has the presence of mind to do things that actually make sense, like taking a shower when his wife’s water breaks. Fortunately, my wife takes showers at the speed of light and my dad was upstairs shortly after to get me from the bed to my wheelchair.

Emily’s mom was over in a heartbeat and a half to drive us to the hospital while my parents stayed at our place with Nyra.

Sunday, August 19th – 2:30am.
“Babe, are we agreed on his name?” Emily asked me from her hospital bed. The name of our son was something we hadn’t been able to settle on for months. Of course we had a name all picked out for a girl as soon as we discovered we were pregnant in December. Then we found out we were having a boy back in March or April. From that point on, the name-searching frenzy was in full swing. Months passed with us throwing out name ideas as varied as “Cecil” and “Sebastian”. We found some great names and some not so great names. Probably the worst decision was getting a book of 100,000+ baby names. Good thought but it only served to make us less decisive by adding more names to our ever-increasing list. In the end, Emily had the fantastic idea of naming him Jackson. Jackson, Michigan was where Emily and I met, at New Tribes Bible Institute, and where our story began. The more I chewed on it, the more I liked it. His middle name was the next step. Emily wanted it to be MacLane, my full first name, from the start. I was reluctant, thinking it almost prideful to name my son after myself. I know myself, and there’s nothing in me aside from Christ that’s worth naming a future man after. Then one day it hit me: that’s precisely the point. The name MacLane isn’t anything significant or life-altering in itself, but it represents a weak, sinful man whom God saved by the blood of Jesus Christ and who is now and forever held fast by His grace. Because of Jesus, when God looks at MacLane, He sees Christ in Lane’s place. I came to realize that giving my own name to my son had nothing to do with my legacy, and everything to do with Christ’s.

Anyway.
“Jackson MacLane? Yes, we’re agreed!”
We were sitting in the triage room on the third floor of Sparrow hospital, the floor where babies are born. Apparently a lot of babies wanted to be born that night, because we sat in that room for what seemed like a week. Eventually the powers that be decided we could come back to one of the labor and delivery rooms. None too soon either. Emily was starting to feel the contractions and was quite ready for an epidural (I’ve sworn by epidurals since Nyra’s birth. Nothing makes a man feel more helpless than seeing his wife battle a pain he can’t fix). The spacious labor and delivery room was much better suited for my clunky wheelchair than the cramped triage room where the hospital staff literally had to climb over me to get to Emily.

Jackson put up quite a fuss not wanting to come out, and after nearly twelve hours of trying to get him to come like a good boy, the doctor took us back for a C-section. Man, we’re beyond thankful for that doctor and the nurses and technicians that helped get Jackson safely home to us. From the time we were told we were going back to the time we were holding our son in our arms, less than half an hour passed. The nurse and anesthesiologist covered my entire chair in a sanitary gown, gave me a hair net and a mask, I wheeled up next to Emily, and the “fun” began.

“You won’t feel any pain with this, but you’ll probably feel a large amount of pressure down by where Baby is. Ready?” Emily nodded to the anesthesiologist who was by her head explaining the procedure.

August 19th, 6:18pm. “Okay, here comes the pull, sweetie.” Emily’s body lightly jerked forward as the doctor pulled out our son, and we heard our son’s voice for the very first time. Tears streamed down Emily’s face as she gently sobbed out of pure joy and a fierce love for the boy she had carried in her body for nearly nine months, praying every day for, and was now finally able to meet.

I first laid eyes on my son as the doctor peeked him out from the other side of the sheet that had been protecting him from any of our trace germs during the surgery to get him out. He was bawling like a baby lion, a strong little boy cry. They brought him out quickly, and gently laid him on a warmer to clean the excess fluid off and make sure he could breathe. He sure could breathe and made sure we all knew it with his welcome-to-the-world wails. Seriously, this kid could howl.

 Nyra’s newborn cry:

Jackson’s newborn cry:

As I gazed lovingly at my baby son, I made myself a promise. I will protect this boy with my life and fight for him with everything in me. I will raise him to be kind to and protective of his mom and big sister so he might be a man who has a high respect for women. I will show him the infinite beauty and worth of Christ over the fleeting pleasures of sin. Then I started to pray silently: “Sweet Lord, make my son a man after Your heart. Let him taste Your goodness and want more. Let him chase after You with a fiery passion. Protect this little boy from everything I can’t protect him from .”

After Jackson was safely born, they took us back to a recovery room where we caught our breath for a few minutes.
Then.
In came Nyra Jane, suddenly solemn and responsible. I gave her a squeeze and called her my squirrel (a recent inside joke and a play on “My Girl”) and was swiftly reprimanded. “Daddy I’m not a squirrel, I’m a big sister!”

She embraced her new identity as a big sister as if she’s been one since birth, and hasn’t stopped loving on Jackson (at least not yet).

We are trying our best and leaning into the arms of Jesus as we learn how to parent two kids and relearn how to care for a newborn. Sweet mama bear Nyra has already been a huge help in all this, it’s so cool to see how mature she became overnight. God is good and faithful, in the hard times and the great times, and we trust Him with our precious kids.

Oh, for grace to trust Him more!

May Happenings

May was a big month for us. It usually is, what with our anniversary (6 years!), Emily’s birthday (less than 31) and Mother’s Day (first with two offspringers). But this May was of particular note.

My brother got married on May 19th. We drove down to North Carolina to make sure the good times rolled. They sure rolled. My brother Graham and his beautiful bride Lizzie made sure of that. They even made us a part of it. I was one of the groomsmen and Nyra Jane was the pretty little flower girl. We were very glad to be able to bring a caregiver with us to help with the driving and my care. Fortunately for me, he was a guy familiar with dressing up, which worked out nicely for the wedding because he was one of the only guys back in the dressing room who knew how to tie a tie. Watch and learn, fellas, watch and learn.

I rolled in like a suit on wheels, the food truck in the middle of a smorgasbord of manly dishes. We men stood there in our tailored grey suits with our brother (whether in blood, through adoption, by marriage or in Christ) and watched as the bridesmaids floated down the aisle and took their places opposite us. We all watched and awwed as little Ny took her sweet time tiptoeing down the aisle grinning at every face and gently dropping the occasional flower petal until she finally made her way up to Uncle Graham and ran into his waiting arms. Once she was back in her seat and out of the spotlight for the moment, everyone turned their attention back up front and listened to the pastor’s charge to Graham: 


“Graham, do you choose to reject passivity, accept responsibility and lead courageously?” 
     “I do,” Graham solemnly replied. 
Then, “Graham, behold your bride.” 

The crowd turned, the music rose, and Graham’s eyes leaked like a broken faucet as he watched the girl he’d waited five and a half years for walk toward him, clutching her daddy’s arm. Their eyes met, their hearts spilled over and for a moment they were blinded by their own tears.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the pastor asked Lizzie’s father.

“Her mother and I,” was the reply.

Lizzie gave a long, sweet hug to the man who’d raised her and turned to face the man who’d stolen her heart.

Graham and Lizzie had written their own vows. I can’t remember them well enough to do them justice, but suffice it to say there wasn’t a dry eye in the room as they read them aloud to each other. Except Nyra, who was too busy looking at pictures of herself on Grandma’s phone to notice there was a wedding going on. Then came the rings. And, “Do you take this woman?” “Do you take this man?” 


“I do” from Graham. “Absolutely” from Lizzie.“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Smoooch! 

And just like that, they became one. 

It was simultaneously crazy and awesome to see my little brother get married. I was honored to be a small part of it and I was proud to see him start his new life with his perfect match. He made a tremendous choice in a life partner, but so did she. Lizzie, if you’re reading this, I know I speak for all the Bargerons in saying we’re blessed to have you as a part of our family. 

After the wedding, which was in Durham (unfortunately the home of Duke University), we drove down to Charlotte, the city where I was born and bred on sweet tea and biscuits. We spent the next five days there in my parents’ house soaking up time with my five other siblings and other family and friends who stopped by to say howdy.

One day we got to go visit a guy with a traumatic brain injury quite like my own. Josh Ziner was in a car accident last year with a drunk driver and sustained multiple injuries, the majority of which have healed. Just not his TBI. Like my injury, his left him with all the ability to think and reason, but very limited ability to express it physically or verbally. And due to some complications with his tracheostomy, he’s not yet able to speak. He and his family are waiting for insurance and funds to come through for an accessible van so they can take him to go get the rehab he needs to not only walk and use his arms, but to at least be able to talk again. 


I can remember back to when I wasn’t able to verbalize my wants and needs following my own accident. It was far and away the hardest period of my injury. For me it only lasted a month or two, for a few reasons:
1) Every TBI is as unique as a fingerprint. 2) My trach was able to be removed the month after the accident with no issues. 
3) Michigan’s law requiring auto insurance to cover all the medical expenses of someone injured in an auto accident ensured I could receive all the treatment and therapy I needed (and still need).

A month of not being able to speak was nearly unbearable. For some, only a day without talking would be enough to drive them batty. For Josh it’s been eight months. What a horrific trial for Josh to go through, and for his family as they seek to care for his physical needs and come up with the funds constantly needed to ensure he gets the rehab, medical attention and equipment he needs. Emily and I often take for granted the tremendous blessing of Michigan auto no fault until we’re confronted with a story like Josh’s, where financial needs are exceedingly greater than our own. 


The Ziner family has a fundraiser page for their ongoing expenses. I know we’ve asked you all so many times for so many things, and honestly I get tired of asking. Not because you’re crummy givers or need to be nagged; on the contrary, I’m always staggered by the fact that God has provided for our every need since the accident through you all. The only reason I get tired of asking is because I’m (still) too proud to admit I need help. But I’m not asking you to help us this time. The Ziners need help. 

When I got to meet Josh, God made my heart hurt for him like he was my brother. I want him to have the opportunities I’ve had: the opportunities for rehab, for technology that enables me to use a computer and a phone, for communication. I stand with the Ziners in the confidence that God will do as He promises in His Word and provide for their every need (whether or not that includes the sweet gadgets I’ve been able to collect over the years). What God has promised, God will do. 

But I also know what a blessing it is to be a part of that provision. Check out his story on the fundraiser or on their Facebook group and see what you think, what you can do. I know they also have T-shirts you can buy and will be hosting an online auction soon. I don’t know details for the auction yet, but if you have Facebook you can join the group and find out when they start the auction. If you can help financially, sweet. Please do. But whether you can or can’t give, please pray. God works through the prayers of His saints – those who believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and their Savior. He makes this abundantly clear in His Word. Pray for Josh’s healing, yes. Pray for a full recovery, absolutely. But pray that Josh and his family would see Christ in a new light through this unexpected disability. 

Pray the same for us.

James 1:2-4 Consider it all joy, brothers and sisters, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

2 Corinthians 12:9 But he said to me [Paul], “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

Out of Control

As I look back on the past two months since I last wrote an update, one word comes to mind: control. Since my last post, God has been using different circumstances to both grant us more control over our lives and show us that He is the One who is ultimately in sovereign control of everything.

The beginning of February ushered in a very significant life change for us. After just over five years of sitting in a manual wheelchair completely dependent on other people to move me, I’m finally using a motorized wheelchair. I’m not able to use the joystick controller you typically see on power wheelchairs; my motor skills aren’t advanced enough. Over the years I’ve trialed multiple control methods (I’ve actually had this power chair since 2013) including a modified T-bar joystick, a single-switch scanning system, and a head array system. Eventually, my therapists and I discovered that the best control method for me and my level of disability is a system called sip and puff, where I actually drive my chair with a straw.

Sound Crazy? It is. It’s a little hard to explain without showing you, so that link will take you to the most relevant YouTube video I was able to find. Driving a wheelchair with a straw definitely is as hard as it sounds, so it’s been a pretty steep learning curve involving an inordinate amount of dents and scratches on our brand new walls, the backs of Emily’s legs and Nyra’s left foot. But as I get better and less accident-prone, this new independence (something we didn’t have physical space for in our previous apartment) has taken a huge load off Emily’s shoulders. It’s amazing how big a deal it is just to be able to get around independently. Matter of fact, I had grown so accustomed to sitting stationary for extended periods of time that for the first week of being in my power chair I had no idea where to go or what to do. Now I’m getting used to being able to control where I go and what I do whenever I feel like it. I had no idea how much value there is in independent mobility until I lost it five years ago and regained it six weeks ago. This new sense of control over my life is heartening for both of us.

But just like everything else, there are two sides to this coin we call control. The side everyone likes is the side where we control our lives. Nelson Mandela was fond of quoting the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley. The most well known stanza is this:

 
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

I enjoy this poem, including this stanza, but it’s simply not rooted in truth. Granted, the poem itself is less a theological treatise than an assertion of grit and courage in the face of insurmountable odds. But were I truly the master of my fate and the captain of my soul (I thank the Lord that I am neither), not only would my life look vastly different (for the worse, I’m afraid), but I would have no true life at all. All I would have is a dull shadow of the true, full, shining life of adventure that’s found in Christ alone. The “life” offered to us by the world is one consumed by the desperate drive to distract ourselves from our own mortality. Of course we will die someday, but by golly let’s not think about it. Entertainment, food, drink, activities, even good things like service and relationships—in this system— exist for the purpose of distracting us from our imminent end, or otherwise making us feel more comfortable with the end we know must come. For that reason, the thought of being the masters of our fates thrills our souls. But there exists a Master, a Captain much higher, better and wiser than ourselves. God, our Creator and the lover of our souls, is in control of our lives and our circumstances.

Last Thursday around midnight on her way home from an eight-hour shift at Sparrow hospital in Lansing, Emily was in a car accident. Driving through a green light less than a mile away from the hospital she had just left, Emily’s Subaru was blindsided by a vehicle that fled the scene immediately after. Fortunately some onlookers stopped to help her and called 911. Less than an hour after walking out of Sparrow, she was rushed back in an ambulance. Emily was physically fine aside from some whiplash and bruising from the seat belt, but her first thought was for the baby growing inside of her. Was he or she alright? One ultrasound later, a wave of relief rolled over her as she watched our little baby wave its tiny arm at her through the “camera”. Neither Emily nor I was in control Thursday night (or December 26th, 2012 when I became disabled) but Somebody was. And that Somebody has been in control all along. I don’t have any easy answers to the question of why God determined Emily’s accident or my accident were necessary, but the why is far less important than the Who. When we come to terms with the fact that God is the one in control, not us and not chance or karma, we can rest. I’m not trying to advocate a fatalistic attitude of “Why bother with anything if everything is out of our hands?” No, but when circumstances truly are out of our control (as they often are), I rest in the fact that they’ve never left the hands of the One who created it all.

Thank you to those of you who have been praying for us to find a new vehicle. Emily and her dad found one today and brought it back this afternoon. God showed us His perfect provision in 2013 when He supplied us with a 2009 Subaru Forester, and He did again today when He supplied us with a 2013 Honda CR-V. He is the able, we are grateful.

Emily and “Sandy” (Nyra named our new car)

Stretchy Souls (+1!)

Last month (actually on Christmas Day) God gave us a spectacular gift.

Here’s how it went down. Nyra was in the middle of a Christmas afternoon nap and I was sitting in our living room when I heard Emily gasp from the direction of the bathroom.

A bathroom gasp is generally a harbinger of something unpleasant, so I was relieved when Emily rushed out to show me the two lines on the pregnancy test she had just taken, and graciously explained what they meant: after months of trying and praying, we were pregnant!

We went out and bought a second test the next day, on the five-year anniversary of our life-changing accident. It was positive again. How about that? In 2012 the day after Christmas marked the end of our lives as we had always known them, but in 2017 the day after Christmas marked the very beginning of a brand new life the world has never known.

Recently I started reading a book called A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser. The author writes about losing his wife, daughter and mother simultaneously in the same car accident. He chronicles the utter devastation, depression and ultimate restoration he experienced following this unspeakable horror. Here’s a quote that I found particularly resonated with me:  

“The soul is elastic, like a balloon. It can grow larger through suffering. Loss can enlarge its capacity for anger, depression, despair, and anguish, all natural and legitimate emotions whenever we experience loss. Once enlarged, the soul is also capable of experiencing greater joy, strength, peace, and love.”

I’m not really an emotional guy. Never have been. But the bitter soul-taste of suffering makes joy taste all the sweeter.

Examples: God wanted me to be disabled after twenty-one years of health and vigor. Bitter taste.
God also wanted me to have an incredible wife by my side every step of the way. Sweet taste.  
Further, God wanted us to become parents of a beautiful little girl. Sweet, sweet.
Now we see God wanted us to be married through a rocky valley and become parents of two lives made in His image. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

We’ve been learning over the past five years that even when we don’t understand why God does what he does when, where and to whom he chooses, we can always trust him with it. Because everything he does is good regardless of our capacity to understand it or willingness to agree with it.

God giving us two kids is good. That’s an easy one because we like it and it makes us feel good – it tastes sweet. God giving me a severe physical disability is also good. That one’s harder because there’s literally no physical aspect of my TBI that I enjoy – it tastes bitter. If there was a pill I could swallow or a button I could push that would restore my physical state to where it was before the accident, I would have done so years ago. But I know that everything God does is good because he is the very source and definition of good, so I trust him with the fact that my injury is good because he gave it. He only gives good gifts (Matthew 7:11, James 1:17). Some of those gifts taste bitter at first, but no good father gives his kids candy every day. But what God gives us is always the best thing. Always. And in time, as we fix our eyes on Him, even suffering becomes sweet.

God has given us the gift of suffering and stretched our souls like balloons so now we can experience the joy of being parents with a capacity we simply didn’t possess before.

Simply put, we’re stoked to be pregnant! Right now our baby (which Nyra has already claimed as her own) is a little bigger than a blueberry and growing every day. The due date is (roughly) September 4.

It’s amazing to see how quickly babies develop in the womb. And from what we hear, it’s amazing to see the way a child’s outlook on life can change once they have a sibling and are no longer the center of attention.

Would you please join us in praying for this precious new child, his or her big sister and wisdom for us, the happily overwhelmed parents of two spectacular kids? Thank you!















Five Years of Life

December 26, 2012 was the twenty-second day of our seventh month of newlywed bliss. The day after our first Christmas, it began with breakfast at the little table in our apartment on the third floor of the old converted elementary school where we lived at New Tribes Bible Institute. We had packed our bags the night before so we could get an early start on the grueling 12-hr drive from where we lived in Jackson, MI down to see my folks in Charlotte, NC. Our trip started well and we made great time until we encountered a blizzard on the Ohio turnpike.
The highway faded white in the snow storm and our memory faded black as we were both knocked unconscious by the semi that smashed our car to smithereens and left me with a traumatic brain injury, rocking our perfect little world and changing our lives forever.
After emergent brain surgery and a week-long induced coma, I opened my eyes to a life completely different than anything I had ever planned for or imagined. God chose to spare our lives and use our weakness to show His grace, love and power. I know that now. But year one of  a complete physical disability was the absolute hardest of our lives.
Starting with 2+ weeks in an ICU outside Cleveland, Ohio, my journey as a medical patient continued for 14 of the longest months in my life. After two more weeks at a long term acute care hospital in Lansing, we moved to Mary Free Bed, a rehab hospital in Grand Rapids where I spent 8 months doing therapy 6 days a week (taking breaks now and then for a few more brain surgeries at the hospital next door). Following my discharge from Mary Free Bed, we lived an additional 4 months at an inpatient rehab facility, where I learned how to live with a disability outside a hospital.
February of 2014 saw us finally leaving inpatient life behind us in favor of a home of our own. We moved to a wheelchair accessible apartment that same month and embarked on the adventure of life with a disability.
Therapy continued for me, but as an outpatient, I was able to return home after my sessions and enjoy a somewhat regular life. That December God gave us our baby girl Nyra Jane, bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase “it’s the little things that matter.”
As we got used to being a family of three, we soon realized the walls in our apartment weren’t quite big enough for all three of us to stay long term. Nyra was growing and my wheelchair wasn’t getting any smaller, so we started looking and praying for a place more suited for our needs. God answered that prayer nearly two years later. In the middle of 2016, our dear friends heard we were searching for a house and did everything in their power to make our desire a reality. They started a fundraiser for us, and it soon became apparent that building new (rather than buying and modifying an already built house) would our best option. So God worked in the hearts of a lot of people to donate their time, work and money to build us a house to accommodate our family’s unique needs for years to come.
When we moved here in July, I was still doing outpatient therapy in Howell, nearly an hour’s drive from our own home in Saint Johns. Our goal from the start was for me to have therapy in our home, but that wasn’t even a possibility until we built this house. This month I started therapy with a service called Rehab Without Walls. The therapists come to our home at the times and days we agree on and work with me in the room we designed in the basement specifically for my therapy. Our new everyday conditions are ideally suited for raising a family as well as my long term rehabilitation.
As we look back today on the past five years of a traumatic brain injury God placed in our lives, we can only look to Him with thankfulness. We’re not thankful in spite of the insanely hard things He’s put us through, but because of them. That’s not just a cutesy “I’m a Christian on Instagram” hashtag statement. It’s the reality that we’ve seen played out in our lives and relationship with the Creator of the universe: hard things sweep the rug of our comfort zones out from under our feet so we’re forced to fall into His waiting Daddy arms. One thing we’ve been shown and have to keep relearning is that the tighter one grips the helium balloon of ease and tangible success, the easier it becomes to lose one’s foothold on the strong mountain of God’s sufficient grace.
That’s not to say that those of us not in the midst of trials are less important to God than those who are, or that God’s grace changes when our lives do. No, God has been the same since before time began and will remain so even after the end of all things (Psalm 90:2), and His infinite grace and love is available to every person regardless of circumstance (Titus 2:11). This grace is found only in the Person of Jesus Christ, and is available to all who come to Him believing that He is the only way to God and ultimate happiness.
God in His infinite wisdom puts some of us through the ringer and others of us He allows a little bit easier lives (both have their joys and dangers). It’s not ours to ask why – He knows better than we ever will or could know (Isaiah 55:8) – but we trust Him, knowing He has our best in mind however that looks in our lives (Jeremiah 29:11, Romans 8:28).
Five years. Five years of hardship. Five years of hospitals. Five years of therapy.

Five years of unexpected, sweet surprises. Five years of a kindling love in marriage burning brighter every time God throws a new log of grace on the flames. Five years of hard lessons learned. Five years of a new, clearer and better understanding of family (and three years of learning through parenting). Five amazing years of seeing God’s faithfulness firsthand.

He is the reason and the rhyme behind our suffering and thriving. He is the Author of our story, and the Author controls the end as much as the beginning.

On water stations and the value of Christ

When I was in high school I ran a 10k with my older sister and our aunt. Well, ran is a broad term here – our aunt ran the race (literally in circles around us) while my sister and I dragged ourselves from one water station to the next. For those unfamiliar with distance running, water stations are blessed little oases located in strategic spots along the race course where volunteers hand out small paper cups of water and Gatorade to passing runners. Our aunt, an experienced long distance runner, was well conditioned and focused on finishing the race. To her, the water stations were simply little stops on the way to the finish line. To us, each water station might as well have been the finish line. Whenever we, red-faced and gasping for sweet oxygen, made it to one station, every ounce of our being bore down on the task of getting to the next one.

That race seems to have been a microcosm of my life to date. Just like my sister and I focused only as far as the next water station, I find that I often look only as far forward as the next tangible milestone in my life. Just gotta graduate. Just gotta get a job. Just gotta get married. Just gotta have kids. Just gotta get a house. Just gotta, just gotta, just gotta. Things will be better once this or that is accomplished. Life will be complete. The race is finished at the next water station.

I find that I need to check myself more often than I want to admit and ask a question maybe everyone should ask: am I letting God’s gift of “real life” water stations distract me from the “real life” finish line of God himself? In Philippians 3:7-11, the apostle Paul said he considered everything to be trash compared to the value of knowing – truly knowing – Jesus Christ.

In Philippians 3:12-15 he goes on to say this: “Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus. I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Paul’s eyes were on the finish line of Christ, not on the passing water stations of life. Are mine? Are yours?

Until He returns,

Lane

Home

I’m writing this as I sit in our beautiful new house. Designed and built by incredibly skilled and goodhearted professionals (not to mention the many selfless and hardworking volunteers), it was completely paid for by hundreds of donors. What was left of our house payment that wasn’t covered by the fundraiser was paid for by anonymous donors. We moved into our debt free home this past Saturday with the help of many dear friends and family. Time and writing space would fail me to attempt to acknowledge all who made this house a possibility, but suffice it to say that God has worked in the hearts of many people to supply our every need, as He promised in His Word.

July 22, 2013 – the summer after our accident – found us rolling back and forth between my rehab hospital room and the emergency room next door for various and sundry reasons. July 22, 2017 found us rolling back and forth between our little old apartment of three years and our new house of however many years the Lord allows, moving everything we own (I had no idea we had so much stuff) into our new home.

Nyra is having the time of her life running around and exploring our new abode. I think she especially likes the extra running room (our house has a lot of wide open space to make it wheelchair accessible) and the elevator I use to get to and from the basement (Nyra calls it the alligator, so we do, too). I’m looking forward to watching Nyra grow up in a little country town, where the smell of cow farms blows through the corn fields as you wave to your neighbors on the way to church.  

There’s something about Saint Johns, something about this house, that gently whispers “home.” We are immensely grateful for his place, and so relieved to finally have a place to call our own, but ultimately this is not our home.

So where is home? Some would say home is wherever you lay your head at night, while others hold to that old saying “home is where the heart is.” When Emily and I were living in hospitals together that first year after our accident, we were fond of saying that home was wherever we could be together. Still others, perhaps those more established in a certain house or neighborhood, have a specific, tangible place to point to and say “this is my home.” While there is some element of truth in all these thoughts, the ultimate truth is found in the Bible, God’s letter to us. It’s there that God tells us where home truly is.

If you are a believer in Jesus Christ as the one and only way to eternal life in paradise, your true home is in heaven. This is true both now as you walk this earth, and that glorious day when you leave this world and dance into the one God made for you. If Jesus is anything less to you than God’s Son, the Savior of the world, then what you see around you right now is the closest to home you will ever be. Whether you find the message of the cross liberating, offensive or irrelevant, Jesus is who He is, and He is the only way to the home we were all created for.

Where is your true home? Your reception or rejection of Jesus as your Savior will determine that. He waits for you with open arms and an open, albeit narrow, door. 

Work Update

Last summer I wrote about looking for work. The response was immediate and I lost count of all the suggestions, references and offers. I’ve been meaning to post an update since then, but apparently my time management skills aren’t advanced enough to both work and keep this blog up to date…

 One of the opportunities presented to me was a chance to write blog articles for Smart Barn, a company that creates and provides wireless monitoring systems for the agriculture industry. The owner and staff were and have been gracious in working with me from the start despite my lack of education or experience (especially considering that my farming knowledge doesn’t exceed singing “Old MacDonald” with Nyra).

They also set me up with a freelancing website called Upwork, through which I’ve been able to find small writing jobs here and there to gain experience and build a portfolio. Thus far I haven’t been raking in the dough by any means, but I’m gaining experience like a college freshman gains weight. Experience doesn’t pay bills, I know, but I’ve learned the hard way what every young man hates to learn: there is no such thing as “fast money” for people willing to earn it honestly (Jed Clampett ain’t real, y’all).

Since I was a kid I’ve always had this dream of going out into the world every day from 9-5 to slay dragons and bring home the bacon for my wife and kids. I think that desire to provide (however exaggerated the dream) is good, right and grounded in the Word of God. But when God in His wisdom saw fit to take away my ability to work at all (much less to provide for my family), my lifelong assumption that I would always be my family’s breadwinner and bodyguard was smashed to pieces like so many other things were.
But I’m learning that, although His provision often looks different than we expect or may desire, God always provides what we need (Luke 12:22-31). For the past four years, He’s provided for us through insurance, Emily’s job(s), and the generosity of friends and strangers. We’re confident in His faithful and continued provision, whatever it looks like.

But I’m also really enjoying being able to work again.

-Lane

Thankful

As I write this on Thanksgiving Day, a number of things come to mind for which we are thankful. I’m not going to take the time to write them all out (though that’s probably a good thing to do now and again), but thought it might be good to share a couple things here.

We’re thankful to look back on the past year and see God’s provision for us. I don’t mean just with the house and the fundraiser and insurance, etc. All of that has been God providing for us, no question. But we’ve seen his provision for us in so many other ways this year as well. Emily’s job, our apartment now, a fantastic caregiving agency, a new and effective rehab facility, to name some of the more obvious things.

Mainly I wanted to write to tell you how thankful we are for you all. We’re thankful for you praying for us, supporting us, following us through these first few years of life with a disability. Thank you.

Lane