Books on the night stand and shelf sit ready. They have so much to say. Eager to offer up advice and insight, they look content. That is, if you judge them by their covers. Most aren't extra thick but they're deep. I'm judgmental by practice. Fat books don't appeal to me. They're heavy. What takes one author 1000 words to say could be said in 235... or in a picture.
Friday nights are not too exciting around our house. Chelsea says we have to get out and "get wild". Cathy stays up and waits for Patrick to get home. He's always on time. We can hear his Civic vvvbbrrrrrmmmmm vvbbrrrrmmmm as he comes up the hill, down shift, around the corner, down shift, vvbbrrmmmm vvbbrrmmm, back up into the garage. Garage door closes, door opens.."Imm owhmm", teen age for "Hi Mom and Dad, I'm home." With Patrick safe and sound, off to bed, Cathy continues her ritual. She stays on the couch waiting for Aaron to come home. I suppose his curfew is well after midnight by now. Eventually she falls to sleep. I've put the book down hours ago and sleeping soundly with Molly tucked in where ever she's most comfortable. The bed is big on Friday nights.
Last Friday I went up early. Tired, I looked at the books on my stand. Reaching for one, I picked up another. The Bible. Purchased in 1984 to select readings for our wedding, the Book was first read in 1998. A book mark is the Tyme card receipt--a half-size heavy paper computer punch card looking relic-- for the $10.00 I withdrew to buy what would become our family Bible. King James Catholic version. From 1984 to 1998 our Bible stayed pristine. More dusty than read. Since the summer of 1998 when I heard our priest tell a joke about Catholics not reading their bibles, mine has been read black and blue. The broken back is surgically repaired with duct tape of course. We are connected in brokenness.
On the surface it appears books wait for us to pick them up so they can pick us up. On Friday night, this book must have selected me. I flipped through reading highlighted paragraphs and sentences. Wisdoms and words which guided me over the years through the mountains and valleys. Children appeared to be topics relavent to my past as I had circled and underlined, starred and commented, on verses where Jesus spoke of innocence and importance of children. Mourn with those who mourn appears in several books of the Bible. The house of sorrow is more sacred than the house of joy because in the house of sorrow we are closest to God. A concept I came to know intimately.
I closed my book, turned out the light and slept until 7:30 am Saturday, when Cathy came into the room. "Tom, Brad called." she was crying and stumbling over the words and to the bed. I couldn't think of who she was talking about. My mind was running through the archives to find a connection. "Jen and Courtney and Zach were in an accident. Jen died and Courtney's not expected to make it." My mind caught up. Jen is a dear friend. She and Cathy shared a passion for learning about challenges facing Zach and Aaron. They became the best advocates they could be together. She and her ex-husband Brad had asked us ten years ago to be Courtney's God Parents. Zach is their son. Brad and I have a bond I value tremendously. He was a very young guy when I was a younger guy. They live in Oconomowoc. We left home within an hour. Courtney died later that day. Jen was seven months pregnant. Her unborn baby is Sophia. Zach and a friend of Courtney's survived with injuries. Zach's at home. Courtney's friend should be home this week. A funeral is set for Friday.
Mathew 18-5 Whoever welcomes one such child for m sake welcomes me.
Ecclesiastes 7-2, 3 It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, for that is the end of every man and the living should take it to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, because when the face is sad the heart grows wiser.
God bless Jen, Sophia, and God bless the girl who blessed us as a God Child. You are God's child, Courtney Bella.
Prayers for moments of peace and contentment for the families.
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