Mudshot Eyes

Today’s post is by guest blogger Krista Barmer, a brilliant writer who happens to be my wife.

“You are the anti-curse. Death going in reverse.” ~ Derek Webb

There’s an Asian woman who walks around our apartment complex when the weather is nice, like it was today, this first full day of Spring. In front of her, she pushes a gadgety black wheelchair that carries her son. I’ve studied them many times from my driver’s seat, slowing to a near stop to respectfully pass them. I studied them today.

His face, as always, was blank with retardation. Drool traced the line of his jaw and had dripped onto his t-shirt. He sat slouched, his tall and robust body curved like an S, his legs dangling just off the footrests. He could be my age, or close to it. And, if he was, he might be a writer or a singer or reader who would cross my path and we would chat for a minute about Steinbeck or Billy Collins or Sting’s Labyrinth at the local bookstore while waiting in line on our tea and coffee. But, we won’t; he only has the mind of an infant.

And she, mom, stands barely five feet tall. With all her petite strength, she pushed this hulking, dead-weight child: her lower back arched, shoulder blades pinched, knuckles white, palms wet. Her leg muscles contracted with definition. But it’s her face that told the stories. Too many stories. Determination has formed her jawline. Courage and constance have carved her cheekbones. Tenacious-ness has lined her brow. And some kind of longing I don’t understand now (and maybe never will) has colored and crowded her eyes.

I watched them today, this holy & good Friday, a day to remember necessary death and imperishable sacrifice, lifesaving atonement and finished work, a broken Saviour, a satisfied Father. I watched this mother and her son and asked, “Why?” knowing full well it was the wrong question. Knowing full well that it was good to grieve this loss because He has wept all our tears with us. Knowing that where there is death and veil and mess, life and fullness and beauty lie in wait. They wait for the third day. And for the anti-curse.

(This article first appeared at Pendrops, Krista’s blog)

This article from the New York Times tells how many people from the battered region of Darfur, in Sudan have found a haven in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Fawzia Suliman, a mother and wife from Darfur, talks about how Fort Wayne has been a welcome place for her and a growing community of Darfuri people.

“I came fresh from the problem area to America and I did not know I would have so many friends here,” Ms. Suliman said. “So many people from Darfur come to help me, to say welcome here. I still cannot believe, every day, my God.”

Unfortunately, Fort Wayne is a place of in-betweenness for her. Though she and her son, Zakaria, are safe from the horror they left behind, she is still away from home. She doesn’t know where her husband is, and she has lost countless friends and family members to the slaughter of the government-sponsored janjaweed militants in that area. The tears come each day as she waits to hear news of her husband and others.

On this Saturday in between Good Friday and Easter, I am reminded that Mrs. Suliman’s experience has parallels to the tension that the disciples faced between the death of Jesus on Friday, and his resurrection to life on Sunday. After the crucifixion of Jesus, there was a strange quiet as they remained in hiding. What was next? How would this turn out? They were safe for now, but where is the victory Jesus talked about?

Anyone who follows Christ as His image-bearer will ask these questions.  There is a constant tension between the death to self and the resurrection to life that we depend on from God. No one keeps perfect faith, especially when the tension of Saturday seems to linger longer than 24 hours (the day-long wait between death and resurrection is often much more than a day). In fact, most of our lives are lived in this place of tension, which is why hope, faith, and love are strong allies for those who are learning to live in the “Fort Wayne, Indiana” of our walk with God.