"Venite Ad Me Omnes"

In the center of the University of Notre Dame campus, not far from the law school, stands a statue of Jesus with his arms stretched out and the inscription, "Venite ad me omnes" ("Come to me all") on a plaque. The simplicity of those words always filled me with a deep peace back in the days when my only worry was finals. It wasn't until May 12, 1993, the day after I completed the requirements for law school graduation, that their meaning began to take on a whole new significance.

May 12, 1993 was the day that redefined "normal." When Ingrid, not yet five months old, had her first seizure.

Fast-forward three months: Rick and I drove back to Illinois from Minnesota with a sedated eight-month-old Ingrid sleeping in her car seat. In three months, she had gone from a beautiful, communicative baby to one who could no longer cry or smile, and whose right hand was fisted and unusable from constant seizures. I knew that the seizures would start up again as soon as the Valium wore off. But the children's hospital had sent us home. She was not a candidate for surgery and none of the experimental medications had worked.

But more devastating than any of that, God had not come through and healed her, in spite of our frantic, all-consuming prayers. The laws of nature had prevailed as I feared they would, and I found myself standing over the precipice of a terrifying new reality.

The strange thing about evil is that we all know it's there, but most of the time it doesn't seem real because it stays at a safe enough distance. Theologians write countless books on The Problem of Evil, trying to make sense of it. But when it encroaches on your personal space for the first time, when the knowledge of evil becomes part of the fiber of your soul, explanations mean nothing. The safety rails are off and you realize the magnitude of the stakes. A place called Hell could really exist, because you've been there.

My first reaction when Ingrid wasn't healed was, "So God isn't real after all. We're in this nightmare all alone." I had no explanation--no defense of God. Watching Ingrid having a seizure was like standing by as wild dogs tore my baby apart. How could God allow that? My worldview was shattered.

But I was even more shattered. I started having panic attacks, and darkness hung like a curtain around me. The only way I could get through the day was by leaning more heavily than ever on the God whose existence no longer seemed intellectually credible.

And he was there, more real than ever before. He told me to lay down the burden, to stop praying for Ingrid so obsessively and come. Come without asking for anything except his presence. Surrender everything at his altar. "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)

I clung to him like never before, releasing everything into his hands--Ingrid, my precarious mental state, and my faltering faith. His light spilled into my life, more powerful than ever, filling me with a joy and peace that could only be supernatural. The darkness that had lurked in every corner fled at his presence, and the panic attacks disappeared and never came back.

A few days later, an untried combination of medications stopped Ingrid's seizures enough to bring us out of crisis mode. And God began to rebuild our family's life.

The problem of evil has many moving parts, and all the books in the world combined can't do justice to it. But it has only one solution: Christ. Having experienced that first-hand silences many questions.

"I hurl you into the universe and pray"

We just dropped Chelsea off at college. I've only called her twice in the two hours since we got home, so I'd say I'm holding it together remarkably well.

She's ready, though, even if I'm not. In the past year, Chelsea has metamorphosed from a teenager into a woman. She took care of all the planning for her move, occasionally taking me along for shopping trips. She ordered her pink bike on-line and even assembled it herself. (All right, so she put the fenders on backwards, but who's perfect? We had the bike shop do a "tune up." Not that we thought it would fall apart or anything.)

It goes without saying that I miss her, but the strangest part is permanently giving up the illusion of control. I say "illusion" because nobody ever controlled Chelsea. She grew up to be a wonderful young woman with far better judgment than either of her parents at eighteen (and arguably either of us now), but only because she chose to be.

Until Chelsea was eight, The Strong-Willed Child by James Dobson was my child rearing bible. He said that strong-willed children take comfort in knowing that their parents are in charge and that there are consequences when they step out of line. The problem was that Dobson had never met Chelsea Acker. "I shall never surrender!" was her battle cry. And she never did, no matter what the consequences.

One night, Chelsea and I had just finished locking horns about something when in desperation I asked God for guidance. (Yes, it's typical for me to wait until I'm desperate to ask God for help. But I'm getting better.) The answer he impressed on my mind was clear. "If you're under grace, why are you putting Chelsea under the law?" I suddenly realized that "Because she's a child" didn't cut it.

Through Chelsea, God taught me a powerful lesson: The law cannot change a person, including a child. That is the whole point of the Gospel. Only God's grace, working from within to mold the heart, can transform a life.

So from that moment on, we focused on our relationships with our children, making sure above all else that they know how much we love them. And we prayed for them, trusting that God alone has access to their hearts. The other three children have always accepted guidance a lot more easily, but Chelsea needed to make her own mistakes and learn from them. And by the time she hit her teenage years, she seemed to have gotten the rebellion out of her system. William Sears analogizes strong-willed children to high-risk, high-yield investments. If so, we've really hit the jackpot on this one!

The only real power we have over children is on our knees, because they may choose to go their own way when the rules are gone. But the power of prayer is infinite, and not limited by proximity. I won't know where she goes, when she comes home at night, or whether she wears a bike helmet, but I can ask God for his shield of protection. Not just during the next four years, but always.

"I hurl you into the universe and pray."

--Netta Gillespie

An Aspiring Plumber

I have posted something about all the kids except Stein, so I figured I would give him his time in the sun. (Lucky kid!)

Stein is now a very dignified eleven-year-old who has long since shelved his extra-curricular plumbing activities. But he has the sense of humor to let me post this story on my blog.

One Saturday when Stein was two, I was nursing baby Ryan and heard some splashing noises. I asked Rick to go check on Stein. A few seconds later Rick exclaimed: "Oh, no!"

"What happened?" I feared the worst.

Rick came back and asked me for my digital camera. (That was one of the really early models, so please forgive the quality.) "I think it would be better for you to see this," he explained.

When Rick returned and showed me the picture, I quickly finished nursing and went to see Stein who was having the time of his life. "That's gross!" I said, trying very hard not to laugh.

"Gross!" he agreed with a huge grin on his face.

To Chelsea, the High School Graduate

I asked Chelsea if she would like me to post a tribute to her on Facebook, like I did for Rick. She said, "I'd appreciate the thought, but not the abject humiliation." So I'm just posting it on my blog, where I can safely assume that none of her friends will read it. I know that there's nothing worse in the life of a teenager than a proud parent.

Especially a teenager like Chelsea, who never wants to draw attention to herself. She couldn't understand why the school made a big fuss about her becoming a National Merit Scholarship finalist. "The SATs are stupid anyway. Nobody can help how they do." I don't know what happened to the award statuette she received--it never made it home from school.

Chelsea has always been an independent thinker who challenges my assumptions. One time when she was in kindergarten, I explained to her that daddy was voting in an election to make sure that there would be enough money to make her school look nicer. (I'm not a U.S. citizen, so I can't vote.) "And who will pay for that?" she asked.

"The people who live in Glen Ellyn."

"What if someone can't afford it? I don't think nice buildings are more important than food."

And that is how Chelsea has always been--a compassionate person who thinks rationally. Around Chelsea, we never get away with hypocrisy or faulty logic. She has a fresh and thoughtful perspective on everything. We are much better people for having raised her. 

With, perhaps, a few more gray hairs. One of Chelsea's many "talents" is her amazing ability to pull things off at the very last minute, without the slightest increase in blood pressure. She finished her UC application at approximately three minutes before the deadline. I can't count the number of all-nighters she has pulled. I'm just grateful that when she goes off to college, I'll know nothing about the near-misses. 

Congratulations, Chelsea! We love you.

Mackinac Island, 1992

To Rick, on Our Twenty-First Anniversary (And yes, we tied the knot at the age of twelve)

I knew I had a keeper a few months after our wedding (all right, I was twenty-three, but stop with the math!), and I had to make a confession. Rick held two jobs and I had one, so I was responsible for the finances, even though I had never before balanced a checkbook. And I had fallen a little behind on my deposits. So I had to tell him that I had bounced some checks.

“How many? Two or three?”

“Um . . . no. Twenty-two.” I thought for sure this would be grounds for divorce.

But Rick just started laughing and laughing. No anger. No worries that his new bride would drive him into bankruptcy some day. The only thing he did was threaten to tell this “funny” story to the whole family. I pleaded with him to keep it our little secret, and he agreed, as long as I would let him tell the story when I was thirty-five and fiscally responsible (note that he still had faith in me). Well, as you all know by now, I passed that milestone some time ago (without any bankruptcies), but Rick still kept the secret. So here it is, for the whole family and anyone else who cares to read this.

And over the years, Rick’s love has given me room to grow and make mistakes. He tells me I'm beautiful first thing in the morning, without makeup and with unwashed hair. To him, I’m always perfect, to the point where I have to fish for insults. “What about the fact that I never finish putting the laundry away?”

“Well, yes, there’s that.” Somehow he manages to see my flaws and still think of me as perfect.

So happy anniversary to my best friend, whom I love with all my heart, and who actually is perfect!

Maui 2009