Chapter Nine

              The warm sun’s rays flooded through the large window of our little cottage in the woods, chasing away the dampness of the morning.  I rocked Kari as she sucked contentedly.  I loved our surroundings.  After only one month, rural Connecticut felt like home.

              Our house nestled among others in this munchkin village, an old Methodist summer camp meeting.  It was a fascinating experience, living in this unique community, on top of one of Connecticut's rolling hills.  Half of the one hundred homes, including ours, had insulation for the winter.  "Snow birds" occupied the other cottages and would migrate to Florida for the winter.

              Kari was the object of adoration by the senior residents of this community.  Her disabilities gave them all the more reason to spoil her.  During our walks around the shaded grounds, someone always stopped to talk and fuss over my now contented baby.

              Kari was thriving in her new home.  She was healthy and eating better.  Along with controlling her seizures, her new medication also acted as a sedative.  She was actually sleeping through the night!  Her new adopted grandmas appreciated her calm demeanor, almost as much as her mommy did!

              Ron was at church today.  He served as an assistant pastor at Scotland Christian Fellowship.  RHMA recommended this church to Ron.  He would do intern work here before starting another church nearby.

              Kari finished her bottle and I placed her in her infant seat.  We were expecting a morning visitor, a physical therapist, who worked for the state of Connecticut.  Nervously, I straightened the pillows on the couch.  I wanted everything to be in order before she arrived.  We had to make a good impression during this evaluation so we could receive the free services that Connecticut offered to special needs children.

              I brushed back my hair as I heard Diane knock.  Her friendly demeanor instantly put me at ease.  She had beautiful dark hair and eyes.  She spoke softly and wore a type of clothing and jewelry that made her appear to be of native-American descent.  After we settled in the family room, Diane began asking questions about our family, focusing on Kari.  Her facial expressions conveyed genuine interest in my answers.  Before I knew it, an hour of conversation had passed.  She then asked to hold Kari.

              I watched her calmly move Kari through various exercises, making notations on a paper as she worked.  How professional Diane seemed!  My face reddened.  I had just shared my intimate feelings and emotions with this stranger.  Feelings I had never even shared with my friends.  Oddly enough, she seemed to understand everything I said.  My honest confessions had not offended her.

              "Joan, I believe Kari is a very good candidate for our early intervention program.  Today, let me explain the range of motion exercises you can do with her until our official program begins."  With that, Diane showed me how to gently work Kari's muscles.  Diane became my trusted guide over the next six months through the world of caring for a disabled child, a realm that often overwhelmed me.  I couldn't have asked for a better teacher and friend.

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

              I flung the door open to Diane's smiling face.  "Good Morning," she spoke cheerfully.  "I think it is time we provide support for Kari so she can sit up."

              Kari, at almost a year old was very normal-looking lying in her stroller but she continued to have no head control or back support.  Out in public, people thinking she was three to six months old, would comment what a perfect "Gerber" baby I had.  I enjoyed the attention she received from them and never bothered to correct their misconceptions of her.  This type of impression Kari left with people was about to change.

              Out of the trunk of her car, Diane pulled an odd contraption and placed it in Kari's stroller.  It was ugly!  The wooden padded mold had various straps and buckles and head support – all designed to hold Kari in a sitting position.  She tightened the straps over Kari's shoulders, making her sit perfectly.  Feeling pleased that she had provided Kari with adequate seating equipment, Diane went home.

              I stood and stared in disbelief at my daughter, swallowed up by this uncomfortable looking chair.  It was more than I could bear.  I turned away from her in distress.  I collapsed my head against the wall, crying.  "Oh God, no!  This is something handicapped children use.  What is my attractive daughter doing in a seat like this?"

              I vowed I would never take her out in public in this hideous chair.  People would no longer be able to see my Kari.  They would only see this equipment that amplified her disabilities.  They would turn away from her as I did.  "I can't let my little girl face this rejection!"  She did have some severe disabilities, but I wanted others to be able to look past them.  I wanted them to focus on her strengths not on her weaknesses.  They'd never see the real Kari when she was in this horrid chair!

              I remembered what Kari's new neurologist had told us a few weeks before.  Dr. Russman at Newington Children's Hospital was honest with us, providing more straightforward facts about Kari's situation.  He wanted to prepare us for the future.  He said she would need a wheelchair.  Her seizure activity will continue to be hard to control throughout her life, and her extensive care may require her being placed in an institution.  Joan the registered nurse calmly nodded as he spoke.  Joan the mother heard nothing.

              How could I accept such statements about a child that I loved dearly?  None of the things Dr. Russman described were close to what we were experiencing, so I disregarded his advice.  Didn't he see how well Kari was doing?  Almost a year old, she was healthier and stronger than ever.  She was improving.  After months of showing her how to roll to her side through patterning exercises, Kari had done it.  Naturally, Ron and I focused on the encouraging progress.

              There was more good news.  One Sunday evening during a church service, Kari got our full attention.  A young man shared that he had left a life of drugs and alcohol when he came to know Jesus as His Savior.  As he spoke, Kari started to giggle.  She had never done this – even her smiles were rare.  Stunned, Ron and I watched her as her whole body shook with joy.  Ron could barely contain himself until the young man finished talking.  He jumped from his seat and announced to the congregation that Kari was laughing for the very first time.  The entire congregation burst into applause.

              I sat there, holding my giggling baby, enjoying the celebration going on around us.  "Dear Jesus, look at this child you have created," I thought as the clapping subsided. "Somehow her heart understands the joy of a life set free from sin."  I pulled her close to me as other thoughts crept into my mind.  "Kari will never willfully disobey You, Lord. She will never deny your existence.  She will never pay the consequences of a bad choice.  She'll never be bitter, jealous, or have hatred, or the selfish emotions that I struggle with.  She is innocent, but needs you to save her from this world that is so corrupted by sin.  God, You are protecting her mind from understanding how vile life can be.  Maybe within her inner being she is more in tune to your wisdom than I ever will with my functioning mind.  My selfishness interferes with a pure relationship with you."

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

              I awakened early, eager to begin my morning project.  I gathered the supplies needed to decorate the cake I baked the evening before.  Today was Kari's first birthday and nothing would interfere with our celebration.  Three hours later I emerged from the kitchen, hands aching from squeezing the decorating bag, but satisfied with the iced lamb that had emerged.

              The gifts lay arranged on the living room floor.  Kari sat contentedly in the beanbag, waiting for attention.  Her eyesight was still deficient; showing no signs of improvement in her vision over the past few months.  Therefore we chose gifts for her that we hoped would capture her attention in other ways.  There was a yellow record player, complete with 45's of Big Bird singing his ABC's and other wonderful songs.

              Ron added wood to the fire then curled beside Kari on the floor.  "Joan," he said, "do you remember how the doctor misread Kari's CAT scan and told us she won't live to see her first birthday?" I nodded and he continued, "I never want to take for granted how precious her life is and that we have the opportunity to know her."

              Later we packed her in her stroller and hiked through our little quiet village and down the hill to the mailbox.  The dry leaves crunched under our feet as I sang to Kari.  Daddy took videos of our little adventure, to record this special day for years to come.

              The trip to the mailbox was rewarding.  Kari received forty cards and gifts.  One exceptional card from Grandma Weaver told Kari what an important role she had filled her first year of life.  Grandma explained that whenever she held Kari, she felt the joy she had missed because she hadn't had been able to hold her own very special first-born child.

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

              The same season of Kari's first birthday, Ron sought a location in need of a new church.  Usually groundwork for a church plant involves much survey work by the church planter, to locate a town that would be a potential area for such a work.  God helped shortcut Ron's process through a connection with a family who were members at the Christian Fellowship Church in Scotland.

              The Calderwood family had been praying for years that God would raise up a new church in their home town of Lebanon, Connecticut.  While waiting for an answer to their prayers, they attended the church in Scotland, thirteen miles from their home.  It seemed God was putting together Ron's desire to be involved in church planting and the Calderwood's vision of a new church in their town.  We prayed and talked about this possibility.

              Lebanon was a picture perfect New England town complete with town green, historic buildings and cemetery stones dating to pre-Revolutionary War days.  Although the community had several mainline churches, the Congregational Church in the center of town being an especially beautiful building, the timing seemed good for the planting of a new church.  God was preparing Lebanon for our ministry.

              The Calderwoods met weekly with us to share a meal, pray, and strategize about how this new work would begin.  We also began a Bible study from the Gospel of John.  Another family of six joined us in our mission.  Individuals seeking fellowship also gradually became part of the group.

              As we approached the fall of 1988, we realized that we had enough committed families attending the weekly Bible Study, to begin Sunday morning worship services.  We would hold our first morning service in September at the Lebanon Elementary School.  Our dream of ministry blessed by God and the birth of the new Lebanon Bible Church was becoming reality.

              Ron and I believed that it would be helpful to our ministry to become part of this town.  That meant moving from our home in the camp meeting village.  We would put down roots in Lebanon by purchasing land on which to build a home.

              We bought a three-acre grassy field not far from the center of town.  Then we began the hard work of preparing the site for the delivery of our modular home in September, the same month in which we were planning to begin formal worship services.

              Ron worked diligently removing rocks from a section of the wall that beautifully marked the front boundary of our property.  He developed a great appreciation for the early settlers who had probably built the wall by hand as they cleared their land to farm.

              He also acted as general contractor for this building project.  The excavator pushed dirt around our piece of land creating a hole in the ground.  Days later concrete poured into the forms that framed the basement walls.  After it dried, the foundation was prepared for our modular home.  We dug a well that produced an abundant supply of fresh water.  Friends from the church in Scotland and from the developing church in Lebanon donated many hours in their areas of construction expertise.

              On the eve of our proposed house delivery, we received a call from the manufacturer.  They had made a mistake in scheduling so it would be a few weeks before our house could be delivered to our property.  As a way of apologizing for their error, they provided us with a consolation meal at a fancy restaurant.

              Our disappointment faded away as we reflected on God's goodness to us.  We trusted that He had orchestrated this for a purpose only He knew.  An evening of fine dining would be a wonderful reprieve from the past few months of preparations for the church and home.

              Because of my physical condition, I hadn't been much help to Ron over the past few months on the land preparations.  Along with a new church and a new home I was also expecting our second child during the busy month of September.

              Ron and I sat enjoying each other over the glow of a candlelight dinner.  Our conversation was carefree as we talked about our new home.  We laughed at a couple next to us who were trying to keep their two year old from destroying their dinner completely.  It was fun being together without having to fuss with Kari, who was with a sitter.  We acted like we were teenagers, falling in love again.

              As we left the restaurant we stopped in front of two fun house mirrors and giggled some more as I stood in front of the "short and fat" mirror and inspected my magnified waistline.  Ron weakly flexed his muscles in the "tall and skinny" mirror.  We felt pity for this child soon to be born as we considered his pathetically silly parents.

              We had lived in Connecticut for over a year now and it seemed as though God had paved a successful road for us.  Ron's career was progressing beautifully.  The money we had saved from my nursing career became a handsome down payment on our first home, and now we were on the verge of expanding our family to welcome another member.

              Kari had been in and out of Newington Children's Hospital over the past year for various illnesses and tests.  After each discharge, she was a little stronger.  We were more confident that soon she would be through her vulnerable baby stage and therefore requiring less medical care.  During this time we also continued to have her tested for various genetic and metabolic diseases but all the results were normal.

              During one of those appointments with Dr. Russman I asked about having more children.  Dr. Russman leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.  "Mrs. Denlinger," he replied confidently, "if you were my wife, I would not hesitate at all to have more children.  This condition of Kari's appears to be a fluke of nature that I'm sure will not be repeated!"

              This news was promising, so soon after that assurance from our neurologist, I became pregnant.  Despite the long, hot summer of 1988, my pregnancy was uncomplicated.  All my prenatal tests were normal and our hopes were high.

              Surely God was blessing us because we had not cursed or doubted Him through our difficult trials.  We felt we had passed His test of our faith.  Others recognized how well we had accepted Kari's situation.  Even Diane had asked us to visit parents with newborn disabled children because she was impressed with how well Ron and I managed our circumstances.  We were confident that God would give us the privilege of having a healthy child.

              We would raise this child to have the strong moral and spiritual characteristics that we had often talked about as being important in the training of children.  Before Kari's birth, we had discussions along those lines, and now we again resumed those conversations.  We talked about how easy it would be to teach this child to be sensitive to others because of his or her sister's disabilities.

              Perhaps we would have a son who could follow the footsteps of his father into ministry.  We could teach him the importance of defending the cause of the weak in our society.  Many from our church were praying for us to have a son who would someday be strong and able to help me in caring for and lifting Kari as she got older.

              If the baby were a girl, she would be compassionate, knowing how to connect with Kari as only a sister can.  They could share a bedroom, clothing and smiles.  Maybe some of the dreams we had for Kari could now be fulfilled through another baby girl.

              September 9, 1988, I awoke to a warm muggy morning like many mornings over the past few months.  My due date was two days past.  I rolled my awkward body out of bed and showered, washing away the sweat of my restless night.  The cool water felt good on my aching muscles.  As I dressed, I heard Ron rescuing Kari from her crib.  She had been crying for someone's attention.  Ron responded to her.  He was a good father.  He met Kari's needs with compassion and gentleness, never complaining that she had so little to give back to him.  I hoped it would be soon that I could provide him with a child that he could play with, wrestle with, teach, and pass on all the admirable qualities that he himself displayed.

              I said good-bye to my little family after breakfast and drove to the obstetrician's office.  During my exam, the doctor stripped my membranes, a technique that often encourages an overdue labor to begin.  Within the short distance of the ride back home I noticed that the procedure had been effective.  The contractions soon were regular, though still very tolerable.  I contained my excitement when I walked in the door, calmly telling Ron to go to work and I would call when I thought I needed to go to the hospital.

              I packed Kari in her carriage and set out to walk around the hilly campground in hopes of encouraging my contractions even more.  The sweat dripping off my brow and the long pauses during each contraction drew the attention of some of my neighbors.  They took turns walking with me.  The campground was humming with excitement.  "Their" baby was soon to be born.

              The snowbirds had hoped this moment would come before it was time for them to return to Florida.  They desired to share in the joy of this birth.  Two weeks earlier, these women had surprised me with a baby shower that included lace tablecloths, Victorian teacups and a variety of hand-knitted baby clothing.  Everyone was cheering for us.

              Ron arrived home from the church around five o'clock to find me in active labor.  I packed Kari's bags and delivered her to friends in the campground.  Ron ate dinner while I showered and cleaned the house.  Then we left for the local hospital, arriving in the emergency room around 8:00 PM.  The secretary told us to go directly to the maternity floor.

              As we got off the elevator and entered the unit, we faced a dark hallway and a deserted nurse's desk.  All five of the birthing rooms were vacant.  I started to panic.  Where was everyone?  Ron found a phone and called the main lobby to inform them that no one was here to assist us.  Soon a nurse and doctor burst through the door, apologizing for their absence.  They flipped on the lights and the nurse busied herself preparing me for the birth.

              Dr. Larmane was a short stocky man with a calm personality and catlike smile.  He chatted with Ron about world events and offered him coffee and a sandwich.  Glancing at me, the doctor saw the panic in my eyes and realized he should direct his attention to the fetal monitor and me.  Everything seemed normal and according to schedule – no concern showed on his face.

              Dr. Larmane believed in "natural" childbirth.  The thought of providing me with some "unnatural" pain relief did not cross his mind.  The only sedatives I received were his relaxed voice and Ron's reassuring face, both of which were telling me, with each contraction, that I was doing a great job.  I still would have preferred a shot of Demerol!

              The pain was unbearable.  As the baby progressed down the birth canal face forward, it pressed its head into the nerves in my back.  With this back labor I had no relief between contractions.  The awkward position not only caused pain, it slowed progress.  But no one seemed in a hurry since I was the only labor patient in the town of Willimantic, Connecticut that night. 

              After four more grueling hours, Ryan Keith Denlinger entered the world at 12:31 am, September 10, 1988.  Ron shouted, "I have a son," over the cry of our newborn.  I was proud.  I had made it through this horrible delivery and God had given us a baby boy.  All felt right with our world on this special night!  As Ron worked his way through the long phone list of friends and relatives, I snuggled my newborn son and reflected on God's goodness in answering our prayers.

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

Ron's Reflections...

              Life seems to come to us in seasons.  There are the seasons of planting, even sowing in tears.  There are seasons in which we wait, wondering if anything will happen to our dreams.  And then there is the season in which God seems to give us so many gifts, showering them upon us in large quantities.  We experienced such a season in Connecticut.  The thing to do at such a time is to enjoy it, to be happy, to sing songs of praise.

              No season is pure in the sense that everything that happens is typical of the season.  That was true of this period in our lives.  Not every moment was a happy one.  There were setbacks and disappointments.  But overall it was a time of healing for us, a respite from recent, difficult months.  At the same time, it is true that previous seasons of trial were not completely dark and dreary.  Even then, God gave us good gifts.  There was always something for which to be thankful.

              When things are going well, I’m tempted to guard my emotions, to keep myself from enjoying life, telling myself that it probably won’t last, that another trial is just around the corner.  With a handicapped child with a prognosis that is less than encouraging, there is reason to be cautious, to brace oneself for difficult days ahead. 

              While it may seem prudent to approach life that way, it isn’t really a good way to live.  It is based on the thought that God is out to get us, as though with each happy day he is only setting us up for disappointment.  Instead, we should remember that God gives us good things to enjoy.  Every good and perfect gift comes from above.  He loves us.  He is gracious to us. 

              In a fallen world the truly happy times may seem to be rather few and far between.  But when they do come, take advantage of them. 

A successful family reflects on God's provisions and enjoys them.

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Copyright (c) 2002 by Ron and Joan Denlinger