The Flood

“I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.

I used to not like God because God didn't resolve. But that was before any of this happened.”
― Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

He was 33 years old.  A man in the camp prison with Rick.  He died this week.  No one knows why.  He was having symptoms and going to the health clinic every 2 or 3 weeks…whenever they were able to see him…and had no definitive diagnosis.  Just new symptoms…more waiting…and apparently he was getting sicker.  And it wasn’t until he was critical…beyond help…that they took him to the hospital.  

He was a talented artist.  A father.  A broken soul at a broken place paying a debt.  And now he’s gone.

 

My heart sank when Rick told me this.  Fear creeping in like a dark shadow consuming hope.   

Our last visit was a couple of weekends ago.  It started off bad from the beginning.  Our plane was late taking off Friday night so we didn’t get into Midland until late and then almost got ran off the road by two dueling trucks carrying out their road rage as we traveled the long narrow highway to Big Spring.

 

We got to the hotel after midnight and had a hard time getting out the door in the morning.  We arrived at visitation right at 9:30am in which they told us they stopped taking inmates at 9:30 so they could do “count”.  This is where they call the men to stand by their bunks and take inventory.  Apparently it takes awhile because we had to sit there for about 50 minutes.  Waiting.  

The guard who informed me of this was about as sweet as a rotten lemon and had the grace of a venomous snake.  He got up in my face with a smirk and an invitation to spar to which I responded in my finest British accent, which always makes things sound more polite, that all was well.  Wanted...To…Hurt…Him….

When Rick finally came in we were all so happy to see him.  But tired.  The kids were restless and edgy and it took me awhile to calm down after that shot of adrenalin anger poison. 

His skin was ravaged.  Scabs and red rash remnant covered his arms.  He was still itching.  Apparently it can take weeks if not months for the scabies itch to stop.  There was a man who came in on crutches who recently lost a couple of his toes.  How do you lose a couple of toes?  Where’s the accountability?

My 8 year old son, Saxon, recently got an expander and braces.  The expander is a piece of hardware on the top of his mouth that enlarges the palate so his teeth have more room.

Rick and I were watching him chow down on some Dorito chips and thrusting about 5 whole ones in his mouth at the same time.  We started laughing as he was grinning and shoving to make them all fit.  Then all of the sudden, he stood up with a look of horror and no sound or breath coming from his mouth.  I’m asking him if he’s okay and if he can breath and he’s not responding.  He starts making a noise like he’s gagging and is falling into chairs and the guard, who stepped away from his porn surfing, runs over and performs the Heimlich maneuver right there before an audience of 100 inmates and their families and then Saxon vomits all over the floor.  

Of course I get another nice pump of adrenaline.  Poor Saxon was quiet and somber the rest of the visit.  He was scared and embarrassed and worn out.  His daddy comforted him on his lap and he soaked it up.  

The next morning we only had a few hours to see him before we headed back to the airport.  It was day light savings change and we lost an hour so we were struggling to get there by 9:20am as we had been instructed to do so that we wouldn’t have to wait an hour to see him while they did “count”.  I walked in the door at 9:19 and filled out my paperwork and turned it in and then sat down and waited.  

He hadn’t come in by 9:35 so I went to ask the guard what was up and he gave me the spiel about not taking prisoners after 9:30 in which I replied that we had been there early and the day before they had told me to get here by 9:20 in which I did.  Another guard comes over telling me that I wasn’t there on time and that we’ll have to wait and then lays into my attire claiming that my velour drawstring pants were sweat pants and I was lucky I wasn’t kicked out because you’re not allowed to wear sweatpants in which I responded these were not sweat pants but nice lounge pants and even as I’m trying to shut myself up continued to inform him of the material and design of the lounge pants and how I was in “code” with wearing them and that I wasn’t arguing with him but explaining myself and I kept trying to diffuse the situation as I was getting more dramatic and I just…needed…to walk…away.  Please Lord, teach me to walk away.  This defensive heart of mine who needs to explain and defend myself just…needs…to die.  

I was having a really hard time not freaking out.  I did exactly what they told me to and wore what I thought was appropriate attire and then I was being reprimanded by someone who obviously got off on his little power trip.  And injustice and anger lit up my heart and it took everything in me to surrender and walk over to my seat and wait another 45 minutes to see him.  I just wanted to cry.

The visit was brief.  Apparently Saxon’s episode the day before was the big talk of the camp.  I felt bummed because of all the drama and emotional rollercoaster and exhaustion that accompanied our time with him.  Wish we would have laughed more.  Wish we could hug more.  Wish there was more time.

Coming home always feels like a big load on my back.  One of the hardest things in going thru something like this is to not become apathetic.  To stop caring so much.  And I mean about life.  There’s a propensity  to want to throw my hands up in the air and say “what’s the point?” and want to lay in my bed and zone out and not think about anything and just go numb.  

But I know that is fertile ground for depression and self-destruction and opening up the door to all kinds of decisions that I might not make if I didn’t feel that way.  It’s a killer of joy and hope and deadens the spirit.  And it’s the easy lazy way out.  

No…the Lord won’t let me go there.  His Holy Spirit beckons me and convicts me when I start to tread those waters.  Psalm 69:1-18

1 Save me, O God!

For the waters have come up to my neck.

2 I sink in deep mire,

where there is no foothold;

I have come into deep waters,

and the flood sweeps over me.

3 I am weary with my crying out;

my throat is parched.

My eyes grow dim

with waiting for my God.

4 More in number than the hairs of my head

are those who hate me without cause;

mighty are those who would destroy me,

those who attack me with lies.

What I did not steal

must I now restore?

5 O God, you know my folly;

the wrongs I have done are not hidden from you.

6 Let not those who hope in you be put to shame through me,

O Lord God of hosts;

let not those who seek you be brought to dishonor through me,

O God of Israel.

7 For it is for your sake that I have borne reproach,

that dishonor has covered my face.

8 I have become a stranger to my brothers,

an alien to my mother’s sons.

9 For zeal for your house has consumed me,

and the reproaches of those who reproach you have fallen on me.

10 When I wept and humbled my soul with fasting,

it became my reproach.

11 When I made sackcloth my clothing,

I became a byword to them.

12 I am the talk of those who sit in the gate,

and the drunkards make songs about me.

13 But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord.

At an acceptable time, O God,

in the abundance of your steadfast love answer me in your saving faithfulness.

14 Deliver me

from sinking in the mire;

let me be delivered from my enemies

and from the deep waters.

15 Let not the flood sweep over me,

or the deep swallow me up,

or the pit close its mouth over me.

16 Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good;

according to your abundant mercy, turn to me.

17 Hide not your face from your servant;

for I am in distress; make haste to answer me.

18 Draw near to my soul, redeem me;

ransom me because of my enemies!

“He commands the flood and preserves those who walk with Him.” –Jen Wilkin.  The waters will recede.  Meanwhile, I’ll stay afloat in the truth of His Word and through the lifeline of prayer and the Hope.   Of Christ and His salvation and redemption.  Hope born of suffering.  “For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.  In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”  Romans 8:24-26

God’s got us exactly where he wants us.  Scabies, angry guards, injustice, full house, uncertainty, instability, and all.  And it's all Grace.  He’s recreating and reshaping and fleshing out what’s beautiful and good.   And I will rest in the Grace and Mercy of His love.  For “he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Phil 1:6