Chapter Seventeen

              They flew in their typical Canadian "V" formation with grace and style, each following the lead of the goose in front of them.  The crisp January air motivated them toward their warmer destination.  I watched the flock flying over the lake that lay in clear view below my bedroom window. This incredible phenomenon of nature, a group united together to accomplish the same goal, fascinated me.  Each fowl was capable of surviving on its own for a time, but for the benefit of the whole, hung together for strength as they advanced. They aided one another in their trek toward their destination.

              "God, let this new baby church fly with just as much harmony and clear direction under your leadership," I whispered into the quietness of the morning.  Closing my Bible, I sat at my little desk a moment longer, relishing my time alone in my bedroom cove.  As I gazed out over the huge reservoir before me, my thoughts drifted back to the events of the past month.

              Our relocation to a little town called Red Hill went smoothly – a small group of enthusiastic Christians greeted us and helped us unpack.  The home we moved to was unusual in its size and layout.  Four bedrooms gave us ample space to have Loie live with us.  Her bedroom and bath were conveniently located together at the other end of the house.  Because of the house's deteriorating condition, the monthly rent was affordable for us.  Soap and water did much to make the sprawling house a home.

              The folks that helped us unpack were enthusiastic about seeing an evangelical church started in their community.  Two months earlier, they began meeting Sunday mornings for worship but were eager for more consistent pastoral leadership.  Ron was more than ready to fill that role.

              We had little time to adjust to our new surroundings before the Advent season was upon us – a very busy month for anyone in the work of ministry.  Ron plunged into the duties of his new position, thrilled to be a part of a new church ministry again.  Along with preparing sermons related to the Christmas season, he spent time with people already coming to the church and attempted to get a feel for the administrative responsibilities needed for this work.

              The Sunday before Christmas, we hosted a pageant and an open house in our large home for the folks attending the new church.  Our living room featured a fifteen-foot stone fireplace and hardwood floor space that provided seating room for sixty adults and children.  The stairway to the second floor had a fifteen-foot long and four feet wide platform that served as a stage for the Christmas play.

              Two days before the holiday, Ron organized an evening of caroling on the streets of Red Hill as means of sharing the spirit of the holiday with the town.  On Christmas Eve, ninety-one people crammed into our little rented basement church facility for a holy candlelight service, which concluded our series of Christmas ministry events.

              Later that night, Ron and I excitedly talked about the successful service – how the church was growing so quickly and it seemed that God was adding His blessing. Ron glowed with enthusiasm as he talked on about the new ministry he was enjoying so much.

              Between our excitement and my preparations for fifteen people coming the next day for Christmas dinner, we got little sleep that night.

              The only cloud that cast a shadow over the active month of December was the task of nursing Kari through a nasty influenza virus.  I couldn't have accomplished all the ministry tasks without Loie's tireless support.

              With the New Year now upon us, Ron was focusing on what he was seeing to be the enormous task ahead of him – uniting this core group of families under a common vision, one that would be in line with the leading of Jesus Christ.  Everyone had ideas and desires of what the new church would accomplish, each one good in its own way.

              Bringing the group together to a common goal and purpose proved to be a challenging job.  Some days I saw him struggling with questions.  What was God's desire here?  Why had He chosen me to lead such an ambitious group?  Together we prayed for God's help and I encouraged Ron to keep devoted to the task God had given him.

              I knew that God had given Ron the abilities needed to evaluate the progress our small church was making, and then give vision and direction to this mixed group of people.  He was working with very talented and passionate people and he wanted to help foster their individuality even while uniting them as a church.  He was concerned that he not fail them, nor did he want to fall short of God's desire for the church.

              God was the one allowing him a second chance in this kind of work that Ron loved.  Because he did not want to disappoint Him nor did he want to be a failure, he worked seven days a week.  Loie's faithful service relieved him of helping me with the children.

              Ryan crying in the next room reminded me that the routine of the day needed to begin.  The first task was getting my children ready for school.

              Shortly after arriving in Red Hill, I explored the therapy school options for Kari and Ryan.  The program I chose for them was situated close to our new home and they were in their first week of attendance.  In just two short hours, the van would arrive to pick them up and transport them to the school.  I had much to do to get them ready on time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              The phone rang just as I was ready to deliver a meal to a family whose mother was in the hospital.  I carefully placed my box of homemade food next to the door and grabbed the phone.  "Mrs. Denlinger, Could you come pick up Ryan here at school?  He is having terrible seizures.  We think you should get him to a doctor."  Before hanging up, I reassured the school nurse that I would be right there.

              I stuffed the car keys in my pocket, called Ron from his office, and asked him to deliver my food while I went for Ryan.  Once in the solitude of my car, I began to cry.

Throughout the four weeks in their new school, Kari and Ryan had managed to stay healthy.  With February's chilly weather, I expected them to have colds, but out-of-control epilepsy was not what I wanted to deal with.  The recent increase of his seizure medication seemed to be making little difference.

              I quickly dried my tears as I arrived at school.  Ryan was lying on a cot in a quiet room.  His body was rigid and he made no response to my voice.  He struggled for air between each rhythmic body contraction.  I scooped him up and rushed to the car.  Ron met me at the door of our home.  He had already contacted Loie to see if she could be home in time to meet Kari when she came home from school.  He took over the wheel as we drove to A.I.  Dupont Hospital, an hour-and-a half away.

              The emergency physician took one look at Ryan and immediately started an intravenous line.  After several doses of Valium, Ryan finally stopped seizing and fell asleep.

              His neurologist arrived.  "Mr. and Mrs. Denlinger, I want to admit Ryan.  We must find something that will better control Ryan's seizures.  We cannot have him doing tricks like this again."  Ryan remained in a Valium induced sleeping state for the rest of the evening as I prepared myself mentally for another stay in the hospital.  Ron needed to leave, but reassured me that he would bring me fresh clothes the next day.

              Five days into the hospitalization, one of Ryan's new seizure medications caused his respiratory muscles to relax so much that his airway collapsed.  It was Saturday night and I was holding him when he started gasping for air, his whole body crying out for help.  The roommate's mother pushed the bell for the nurse and within minutes an entire emergency team was working to reestablish his breathing.

              I stood shaking in the corner of the room watching the action before me.  "Oh God, I would rather die than watch my son struggle for air!  Please don't take him, I love him so much." I cried silently.

              Within thirty minutes, the doctors informed me that they had stabilized Ryan's condition and he was breathing well.  His big dark eyes looked wearily in my direction as I picked up his weak body and cradled him tightly to me.  His lips were pink and medicine flowed through his intravenous line to keep him breathing freely.  A few minutes later he was asleep.

              "Lord," I whispered as I rocked. "I see myself in Ryan.  When I'm struggling with my own pain or sin, I know you are there for me just as I am for Ryan.  Thank you for going before me and dying on the cross so I never have to face eternal death."

              The hall lights grew dim reminding me it was late.  I needed to call Ron and Loie to inform them of Ryan's traumatic experience earlier in the evening.  Loie was at home taking care of Kari.  Ron was in his office preparing tomorrow morning's message.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              "Ron, listen to this!"  I spoke enthusiastically as we sped along the interstate coming home from a week long RHMA Conference.  The April sun beat down on my open Bible.  "I will open the eyes that are blind, and release captives from prison and those who sit in darkness.  I am the LORD!"

              I finished reading the Isaiah passage.  "Won't it be thrilling to see that happen in Kari and Ryan?"  He smiled and nodded as he concentrated on the traffic around us.  He was happy to see me so relaxed; the conference was a much-needed break for both of us.  Loie had offered to stay at home with both kids so we could enjoy the time without them.

Trying to keep their feeding, bathing, medicating, diapering, and therapy schedule intact would have been too overwhelming for all of us with a 900-mile-trip.

              Loie was such a godsend.  We were becoming very close friends and confidants.  I was eager to see her and the kids after spending a week away from the routine of their care.

              The church-planting conference was special.  We were introduced to Warren Wiersbe.  His was the quotation I had treasured since Kari's first hospital admission: "Yard by yard life is hard, inch by inch life's a cinch."  Dr. Wiersbe spoke at the main sessions and was a wonderful encouragement to our thirsty, tired souls.

              I scratched a few lines in my journal before I threw it in a bag with my Bible.  "Jesus, you are showing me lessons in life that others may not see.  My children possess a mystery and sweetness.  I want to see in them what you see!  Have you made them blind so my eyes would be open to your desires?  Have you made them mute so I would speak for them and show the world what holy joy is – joy that does not come from temporary pleasures in life?"  We continued down the highway, back to our busy life in Red Hill, not knowing the roadblocks we would face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              The door slammed behind us as Ron kicked a rock up against our brick house.  "Why didn't you tell me you were worried about these things?  You never talk to me anymore!"  He threw the words into my tearstained face.  Although we had taken our heated argument outside beyond the earshot of Loie, she was well aware of the growing tension between us.

              Our discussion began when I described the "tip of the iceberg" fears I was having concerning a problem at the church.  By now a huge mountain of anxiety revealed itself.

              "How am I supposed to know or understand you, if you are only telling your feelings to Loie?"  I cringed under the truth of Ron's words.

              The helpful insights we had received at our conference a month earlier regarding communication with our spouse, now seemed distant and confusing to my stressed mind and emotions.

              The church was continuing to grow and, with it, Ron's added responsibilities.  I was happy for his success but along with growth came a tremendous influx of spiritually needy people.

              The straw that broke the camel's back came the Sunday before.  A gentleman visited our service and, in conversation with him afterward, Ron found out that he was a minister from Baltimore who had heard about our church.  This should have been a red flag since our new church was not well known.  In his customary hospitable way, Ron invited him home for Sunday dinner.

              The second red flag appeared when he declined having lunch with us.  He instead waited in our driveway till we were finished eating.  I was sufficiently suspicious of this man that I decided to remove my children from whatever might unfold.  I asked Loie to help me carry them upstairs.  I was glad I did.  Although they communicated nothing orally, Kari and Ryan seemed perceptive in their spirit and often reacted negatively when conflict was present.      We settled the kids in bed for a nap.  Loie offered to stay with them while I went downstairs to be a moral support to Ron.

              When the man came into our house he began with theological small talk.  I wondered what his real purpose was for the visit.  As the afternoon wore on it became evident that our visitor held to heretical teachings.  To these, Ron remained calm as he responded with Biblical instruction.  After another hour of conversation, our visitor was completely frustrated in his inability to convince Ron.  There was rising intensity in the man’s voice.  His final obnoxious attempt to change Ron's mind was to threaten to destroy our ministry.  I stayed on the couch, silently praying for this evil man, with his curses, to leave.  Ron, realizing the man wasn’t getting the point that he had long overextended his welcome, escorted him to the door and with a firm hand and a good push, threw him out of our house.

              When Loie heard the man's car pull out of the driveway, she reappeared.  "What was going on down here?  Kari has been convulsing with seizures ever since that man came.  She has now finally stopped!"

              In that instant, I knew that, although my daughter's mind and body were disabled, something within her was not.  It was as though she sensed an evil presence had been in our home.  To see what my children were being exposed to frightened me.

              This attack came from outside our congregation.  Although it was a disturbing circumstance, the situations that caused increasing dread in me were disgruntled people within the church.

              Some people's ideas of ministry were not being developed as they had hoped.  As a result, they verbally attacked Ron's vision for the church. I knew that every leader experiences criticism, but seeing my husband mistrusted by some of those he was serving dismayed me.  These were the same people I daily rubbed shoulders with and loved.  I felt powerless to change the situation, so I said nothing to Ron.  Instead, I expressed my fears and frustrations to Loie over bowls of ice cream late in the evening while Ron was out at meetings.

              I knew the conflicts at church troubled Ron so I didn't want to bother him with my own anxiety.  I didn't want him to think that I was afraid.  On this spring day when I couldn't contain my apprehension anymore, Loie persuaded me to talk to my husband.

              As Ron and I aired our frustrations, a sober question began to form in each of us.  "Was life returning to the unmanageable pace we experienced in Connecticut?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              "Dear Journal, it's June of 1992 and I'm sitting in a hospital room again – the fourth time this year!  Ryan is having surgery tomorrow.  He needs his hip muscles and right shoulder muscle lengthened so he can move his joints again.  He is in much pain now and his surgery will result in more pain until he recuperates.

              “Lord, will my son ever be relieved of pain?  The suffering of a child is unbearable!  How can I avoid this?  Can I hide?  Can I turn my face away?  Will I ever see an end to all this pain?  Ryan fights this horrible war with pain. His eyes question me, ‘Why don't you help me?’  If only I could.”

              I'm so jealous tonight of Ryan's roommate.  The child smiles and responds to his parents' attention.  Forgive me Holy Father!  Give me the eyes and heart that you have so I can see beyond the suffering of this little boy who reflects your character.

              Separated again from our family, Ryan and I are confined to a sterile hospital environment battling questions in life that have no answers.  I look forward to Ryan's discharge from this place filled with suffering children.  At least at home my attention is pulled in many directions and I can avoid these questions that slap me in the face every time I'm restricted to these hospital walls.

              I too feel completely estranged from my husband's world of ministry. The growing emotional distance I sense from him is so evident when we are apart.  At least when I'm home, there is some appearance of a normal relationship.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              The fulfillment of my desire to be at home was short-lived.  Within six weeks of Ryan's discharge, he and I were back at Wilmington's Dupont Children's Hospital.

              The phone rang, startling me.  As I straightened my drooping neck, my stiff muscles reacted, sending shooting pain down my back.  Ryan laid quiet in my lap.  His intravenous line draped over my legs and the humidified oxygen mask dangled to one side of his face.  We must have drifted off to sleep while I rocked him.  The phone rang for the third time as I reached for it, my hand accidentally knocking off a suction catheter lying on the bedside table.

              "Hello Honey, this is Ron.  How is Ryan doing?"  I quickly glanced at the clock realizing I had been sleeping for half-an-hour.  The hospital room was dark and the IV continued its droning tap while delivering fluids into the dehydrated veins of my son.

              "We got back from the gastrointestinal (GI) lab a while ago," I responded in a fatigued voice.  "Ron, the doctor was unsuccessful again in getting the J-tube in Ryan's intestine.  It looks like he's heading for major surgery."  We exchanged a few more pieces of information then Ron assured me he would come to visit after services on Sunday.

              I said good-bye, cutting off the only outside contact I had in two days.

              I had brought Ryan to duPont two weeks earlier with pneumonia and weight loss.  His breathing had improved but he continued to vomit profusely and was aspirating much of the regurgitated feeding into his lungs.  Medication and various other techniques were unsuccessful in getting his food into his intestine where it could be digested and provide nourishment to him.  Our only solution left was a surgical procedure to tie the stomach closed at the esophagus so his G-tube feeding would only have one direction to go – down.

              My only comfort to spending more time in this prison was that it provided an air-conditioned room during the sweltering days of August 1992.  I had been glued to Ryan's bedside twenty-four hours a day, his wrenching body needing constant assistance and comfort.  I had exhausted every lullaby and nursery rhyme I knew and resorted to repetitious melodies to calm his rigid muscles.  His fingers grasped my thumb and he held tight to the one stable source he knew.  He cried in fear when I pried my hand away for just a few minutes.

              "I love you Ryan" I kissed his cool forehead, tasting the salty sweat beading on his brow.  "We're going to get you better buddy.  Mommy is here and I won't leave you!"  I whispered reassuring words as I settled him back in his steel caged crib and wound the music box to let the soft melody soothe his spirit.

              I stretched my sleeping muscles and arranged the sheets on my cot.  "Oh God, I'm so lonely.  I know you are my constant companion but right now I need arms to hold me up, and a listening ear.  You say you are collecting all my tears but does anyone else see the pain I'm in?"  I walked out into the hallway towards the soda machine.

              Loie arranged her home health, nursing job to be available to help care for Kari while I was away.  She was working hard at keeping Kari healthy and bringing her for weekly visits to Ryan and me, so I knew I shouldn't disturb her with a phone call from a lonely friend.

              Ron was in the tangled organizational web of administering our church's first Vacation Bible School for children.  Our church had recently purchased a facility. Although renovations were in full swing, it would not be ready to house the weeklong adventure.  Somehow the cramped quarters of the rented basement would have to do.

              Ron's attention was needed in many areas to keep everything running smoothly.  The extra activity within the church revealed stressed and frayed emotions of the ones who were giving their all to the life of our church.  Ron spent time consoling those who were feeling burned out.  He also continued the hour-and-a-half trips every third day to the hospital.

              The thought of what Ron was experiencing pulled an aching muscle in my soul.  I knew how much he depended on my emotional support when he was in the midst of making decisions that were not always popular.  I listened on the phone, as he would tell me the struggles of his heart.  We always ended our talks with prayer, acknowledging before God that we were weak, but He was strong.  We committed our stresses to Him.  Even so, here I was confined in the hospital during a rather stressful time at the church, not fully available for Ron's needs.

              I sipped my soda and prayed as I strolled back to Ryan's room. "God, I know by Ron's voice he is stressed out.  His son is seriously sick, his daughter is severely disabled and I'm here having no extra energy to give to him.  Lord, we are trying to do what you have called us to do.  Please give us courage to not withdraw from one another.  Please give us supernatural strength to go on!"

              As I entered Ryan's room, the verse that I read earlier in the morning crossed my mind.  "God looks down from heaven… to see if there are any who understand or any who seek him."  I grasped the railing of Ryan's crib and looked down into his cherub face and whispered, "I'm sorry Lord.  I know I'm in the pit of depression.  Look at me and find a woman who desires to do your will.  Refresh me with your Living Water!"

              Ryan did recover from his major abdominal surgery.  On his fourth birthday, a few weeks later, we celebrated his ability to be fed again.  His slender body slowly filled out and he appeared healthy.  We rejoiced that our family was able to be together again after the disruption of the long hospitalization during the month of August.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              Autumn brought with it a demanding church schedule and hibernating viruses waiting to attack my children's weakened immune systems.  Ron did his best to keep on top of the ministry.  I took aggressive action in keeping the kids environment as germ free as possible and away from those who were obviously sick.  Our desire was to prevent our work, church and kids, from causing further stress in our home.

              Despite our efforts, we both felt like we were losing ground in each of our areas of responsibility.  Five families within the church were facing major crises and Ron was called upon to minister to their intense needs.  He loved these people.  To see them struggling through difficult situations, added to his own tension.  Ron and I spent sleepless hours many nights, crying out to God to give us wisdom and courage to know how to help in their time of trouble.

              On the home front, Kari and Ryan continued to have frequent seizures and constant colds.  Shortly before Thanksgiving, I realized Kari was losing her battle with her most recent infection.  I drove her to duPont where the doctor immediately admitted her.  He placed her on oxygen and ordered pulmonary treatments every two to four hours.  An intravenous (IV) line was started and slowly dripped antibiotics into her vein, as we waited to see if she would improve.

              Three days later, on Thanksgiving Eve, I threw myself a major pity party.  The respiratory therapist had just completed another pulmonary treatment where he flushed out Kari's lungs with deep suctioning.  The energy it took to help Kari through this horrific procedure had used up all my emotional reserves.

              I was alone with no shoulder to cry on, and feeling abandoned.  I knew I was missing another exciting event in the life of our church – a Thanksgiving Eve Service.  Ron was there now, leading the service, and directing the people's thoughts towards thanksgiving and praise to God for His abundant care in their lives.

              Anger rose within me and I allowed it to take full control of my thoughts.  "How could I be thankful?  Suffering children and anxiety-ridden parents surrounded me.  Who could explain suffering?"  Even while Ron preaches, his daughter lies in a hospital bed, gray and dusky, as a thirsty suction catheter relieves her lungs of the thick infected secretions.  She vomits and gasps for air as she struggles to breathe.  "No six-year-old should ever have to face this much suffering!" I justify my angry thoughts.  Her body is weak and hot from fever.  "No God, I refuse to be thankful on a night like this!"

              For two hours I hardened my heart, tossing and turning on my miserable cot.  My thoughts rambled; my body ached and allowed me no sleep.  I refused to pray and I had little strength to help my daughter when she cried out.  I was the perfect picture of an ungrateful, ugly, angry spirit who had cut off contact with God.

              It was a dark and lonely choice I made that night until I gave in and yielded my anger to the One who created me, and I acknowledged before God that I desperately needed Him and His forgiveness.  He filled me completely with inward joy.

              That night I realized that all those who suffer, ultimately have two options – to receive suffering as though it is a curse from the pit of hell or to accept it as a gift from the hand of heaven, a gift that builds character and makes us more like Jesus.  The choice we make determines the outlook of our lives.

              Thanksgiving Day on the pediatric floor was somber and quiet.  Working on a holiday did not thrill the staff.  We parents sat by the bedsides of our children – mindful of the festivities we were missing.  The children lay bored in their beds, saddened by sickness, pain, and loneliness.

              Amidst this atmosphere of hopelessness, I felt contentment and peace.  Despite serving time again in my prison called duPont, watching Kari suffer with another case of pneumonia, God was coming alongside of me.

              The abundant joy that my Heavenly father showered on me the night before overflowed to my daughter and those around me.  Kari started to improve so I walked the halls pushing her wheelchair and IV pole and chatted with other discouraged parents.  God knew I needed an extra dose of strength that day for I was about to face a different type of hospital experience.

              Before Kari was discharged the Sunday after Thanksgiving, she got a new roommate, someone she knew quite well.  Her brother Ryan was admitted to the same semi-private room.

              Ron brought him in with high fever and projectile vomiting (something that was supposedly impossible because of his August surgery), and uncontrollable seizures.  Despite large doses of IV antibiotics, he continued to have dangerously high fevers and severe vomiting.  His liver enzymes were highly elevated.  The doctor gave us several possible reasons why this may be happening, but none of the further testing confirmed any diagnosis.  Ryan's symptoms totally perplexed the doctor.  He was running out of options in treating Ryan.

              Would we lose our son?  The ominous question rose in our minds.  Ron stayed at the hospital with me as we watched and waited to see if Ryan could again fight an unknown destructive invader.  His pathetic cry and big dark sunken eyes elicited the sympathies of the nurses too.  His was a little life that never spoke an audible word.  Yet, he communicated volumes to those that knew and loved him by his very presence.  Ryan's teachers from school called daily to inquire of him.  Our church family prayed for strength for Ron and me and health for Ryan.

              One day a hospital volunteer dropped off a card at Ryan's bedside; enclosed was a scripture quote from Philippians 3:10.  It said, "That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His suffering."  I bowed my head over Ryan's feverish body, and prayed, "God thank-you that you are not abandoning Ryan or me during this horrible suffering.  I know you share my pain."

              Just when Ron and I thought we couldn't bear Ryan's agony any longer, he started to improve.  His liver enzymes miraculously dropped to more normal levels, his vomiting ceased and his fever disappeared.  No medical explanation could be given, but God convinced us that He was not finished with Ryan or us.  The night before Ryan's discharge, I paraphrased the beautiful Psalm 66: 10-12 passage in my journal to fit my family's experience of the past few weeks.

              "For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver.  You brought us into prison (the hospital) and laid burdens on our back (bad lab results and illness).  You let men ride over our heads (worry consumed us), we went through fire and water (Kari and Ryan being hospitalized back to back) but You brought us to a place of abundance (our children are going home)!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              It was Advent season again.  Our family had survived a challenging first year of ministry in Red Hill and another grueling year with the health of our kids.

              Ron and I quietly talked at the dining room table, two candles from the Advent wreath granting us our only light.  Kari and Ryan lay on opposite ends of the couch, their gurgled breathing providing our only background noise.  Both of them had been sick all day with fever and congestion.

              During the past week, two sets of parents we knew lost children through unexpected death.  The one child attended school with our son Ryan.  His name was also Ryan.  When the word went over the school's phone chain that Ryan died, it was assumed that it was our son.  The second couple was serving as missionaries in Haiti and their newborn died an accidental death.  Our thoughts were drawn in compassion towards their incredible pain.

              "Ron," I said softly, "what do you think God is preparing us for?"

              He stared into the candlelight a few moments longer before answering. Then as though he had received wisdom from heaven, Ron responded, "He is preparing us for Jesus' return to earth."  His dark brown eyes pierced my heart as he continued.  "Joan, we are privileged to know first hand the suffering of Christ.  We are constantly aware of the destruction that sin is causing in this world.  We never lose perspective of eternity, our hope lies there and not in some superficial happiness here on the earth."

              Ron looked out a window into the dark night than continued.  "Christ is coming again to rid the world of this horrible evil, pain and suffering, and to claim His kingdom forever."

              I said no more; I knew his words were true.  I extinguished the candles as I rose from my chair and walked over to the couch.  My children lay, unaware of how difficult this world could be.  They just innocently put their trust in us.  Ron joined me as I picked them up to prepare them for bed.

              I prayed over Kari and Ryan as I rapped on their backs to loosen the congested mucous from their lungs.  "Oh God, in your compassion hold our family together so that we can be overcomers in the life you have given us, until you return.  I want the same innocent trust in you as my children have in me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ron's Reflections...

              God called us to be in ministry.  He also called us to care for our very needy children.  We’ve found that it is difficult to do both and be a close family.  During this period of our lives especially, the needs of each were so great, the cries so strong, that Joan and I felt pulled in different directions.

              When Joan and I experience things together, it is relatively easy to understand one another, to have a good idea of what the other is feeling, and to know what it takes to encourage one another.  But when the bulk of our time is spent in two worlds so different, each with their own set of challenges and struggles, being in sync with one another doesn’t come so easily.  What does come easily is misunderstanding and conflict.

              When the pressures of life are bearing down on us, we are in great need of mutual love, care and compassion.  At the same time, the greater the stress, the more focused we become on our own problems and we often fail to put the concerns and interests of others before our own.  The result is isolation.

              The goal and the essence of marriage is oneness.  Every marriage is either on a path of increasing oneness and therefore knowing intimacy or it is on a path of painful isolation.  Joan and I know each path pretty well.  We’ve spent enough time on each.  There is no doubt as to where we want to be.  The question is: How do we stay on the right path?  The answer is: sacrificial love.

Conventional wisdom says that, when we’re under stress and overwhelmed, I need to take more time for me, to pamper myself, to meet my needs.  The truth is that, when we’re under stress, we benefit far more by meeting the needs of one another.

              When Joan and I were preparing to be married, Pastor Fred insisted that we remember two verses of Scripture: Eph 4:2  “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.”  And Philippians 2:4  “Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.”  This is great advice for any relationship at any time.  It is especially so for a family under stress. 

A successful family maintains intimacy in times of stress.

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Copyright (c) 2002 by Ron and Joan Denlinger