Braun Marshall Powell

This past Saturday I spoke at the funeral of Braun Marshall Powell. Many of those who might read this blog will have no knowledge of this young man. Braun was 20 years old and had suffered and endured severe handicaps his entire life. It was a hard funeral to do in many ways–one of which is the similarity of Braun’s condition and life with that of our son, Cole.

The following are the words said during his memorial/ celebration of life… LFjr.

We are here today to do what no parent can ever really imagine. And what we are doing might be best described with two slightly strange words: Conundrum–mystery, riddle, challenge & Paradox–illogical, contradiction in terms

Today we share a conundrum and a paradox as we both mourn the loss of and celebrate the life of Braun Marshall Powell who passed Monday, June 28 at the age of 20.  He is survived by his mother Patricia Christine-Powell-Foreman and her husband, Reese Foreman; his father, Roger Lee Powell, Jr. and his wife, Marie Rose Powell; two sisters, Katie M. Powell and Amie M. Powell; two brothers, Ross M. Powell and Reed M. Powell; a half-brother, Nathaniel L. Powell; a step-sister, Dallas S. Foreman; a step-brother, Dallin R. Foreman; maternal grandmothers, Phyllis J. Whittaker and Mary Blair; maternal grandfathers, Terry M. Whittaker and Ed Blair; maternal great-grandmothers, Betty Davis and Emily Whittaker; paternal grandfather, Roger L. Powell, Sr.; and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Raising and living with a special needs child is a journey like no other. For parents it can be a lifetime of hurting and sorrow. The pain comes from seeing how much progress other children make against how little yours has accomplished. The concept of milestones and growth markers are difficult to endure. The pain comes from the well meaning words of folks who just can’t quite understand. As a special needs parent, I can remember thinking I was going to hit the next person who said “God only gives special children to special parents.” In that context, let me assure you, no Mom or Dad wants to be special! The pain comes from watching your child struggle with the desire to be like everyone else. The pain comes from the isolation child and parent often experience. The pain comes from twisted limbs and deformed joints–ours may not be the physical pain of our child, but the emotional pain takes a heavy toll. The pain of what can never be sometimes lead to anger and resentment.

Remember the conundrum? Remember the paradox? It applies here as well. Raising a special needs child is a journey like no other. For parents, it can bring joy beyond comprehension. The joy comes from a smile that can’t be much sweeter. The joy comes from a child whose nature is to love unconditionally and to give love unselfishly. The joy comes from the bond these children form with everyone who gives them the chance. The joy comes from the recognition that the simple pleasures of quiet moments and shared connections get no better than this! The joy comes from knowing without a doubt these children belong to the Lord! The joy comes from knowing Braun never spent a single day of his life outside the love of Jesus and in eternity, he never will!

Conundrum & Paradox. Paradox & Conundrum. And so today we join the Powell/ Foreman family in their grief. Because they hurt, we hurt. Because they are struggling, we struggle.

In Romans 12:15, Paul commands us to rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. 

Because you mourn we mourn with you. That’s what family does.

But there is another side to this conundrum and paradox. Amazingly enough this is also a time to rejoice. If you put it in terms of someone who has suffered, maybe you can understand. But today we rejoice.  We rejoice over ultimate healing. We rejoice over legs and arms and minds that now work perfectly. We rejoice with the imagining of a whole and well Braun running across the heavenly fields leaping and shouting in laughter and joy. We rejoice ad find added meaning in Dr. Martin Luther king’s famous words: free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, he is free at last.

Conundrum & Paradox.

Today we hurt. Today we celebrate the home going of Braun Marshall Powell. Allow us our tears. Allow us our joy. Hold our hand. Give us a hug. And know that our great God is with us on the newest part of our journey.

1 Corinthians 15:50-57, I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. 51Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— 52in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. 54When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”  55″Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” 56The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. 57But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Blog This! (The latest on Cole and other stuff too)

One of my oldest friends fusses at me kindly when I say things like what I will eventually say in this post. He means well and I understand where he is coming from…

At any rate, our family is undergoing some changes again. Yesterday was Cole’s last day on hospice care. And that really is good news. Physically, he has stabilized—he doesn’t seem quite so frail and has a bit more energy. We are thankful. However, we are going to miss the help and care.

While he is doing some better physically, mentally and emotionally, we think he is getting worse. There are days when it seems like he is sliding faster rather than slower into a state of pure dementia.

Last week, we had daily and nightly freak outs over Karen going to a Mother’s Day Tea this past Saturday. When I say freak out, I don’t suspect you can come close to imagining how crazy it is.

Last night was another physical battle with him trying to hurt anybody he could grab… and none of it makes any sense.

It is heartbreaking and stressful and well, painful for all concerned (his brothers feel a whole different burden).

Rather than indulge in self-pity, my typical response is to deal with it, shrug it off, and accept that at this point in time, it is what it is. We can’t change it, but we can love him anyway, pray for strength, hope for tomorrow and trust that God is doing something in all of us in spite of our extraordinary fatigue and normal feeling of helplessness.

Life goes on. The world rocks on. And Cole? One day, this will all be better–he will no longer be subject to frustration.

Please keep him and us in your prayers.

On the other hand, life is still sweet. Conner turned thirteen last Saturday, four year old Casey keeps us in stitches–the laughter kind, and Kyle turned twenty-four today. We are looking forward to his wedding on June 19th to the greatest future daughter-in-law imaginable… Seeing Kyle and Karissa embark on a life of ministry and service is simply the best feeling in the world.

So while there is pain, one can still have and behold great joy–I am thankful!

Les, Jr.

Snapshots of Jesus: Will You Walk?

The following sermon is from a on again/ off again series for 2010 called Snapshots of Jesus From the Gospel of John. This particular sermon was a bit revealing and painful, but I choose to use some difficulties from my life to illustrate–I hope the reading of this sermon encourages you to walk…

In 1991, the first commercially successful alternative rock band, R.E.M released their song Shiny Happy People. It was a pretty good song except for one simple fact: many didn’t see themselves as shiny, happy people–and the song was ridiculed, mocked, and parodied.

And I think I get why. Take a look at the people sitting around you? What do you see? When you visited before services or during meet & greet, what did you hear? Did you come expecting to find well dressed, happy, adjusted people? Did you come looking to find a place of light and life, joy and peace? Did you come thinking the good vibes of folks who are doing well and living life might somehow rub off on you? Did you come hoping to hear a word to alleviate your pain or somehow elevate your life?

Another preacher, Marshal Hayden paints a sobering word picture of a church: Over here is a family with an income of $550 a week and an outgo of $1000. Over there is a family with two children who, according to their dad, are ‘failures.’ ‘You’re stupid. You never do anything right,’ he is constantly telling them. That lady just found a tumor that tested positive. Sam and Louise just had a nasty fight and each is thinking of divorce. Last Monday, Jim learned he was being laid off. Sarah has tried her best to cover the bruises her drunken husband inflicted when he came home Friday night. This teen feels like he is on the rack, pulled in both directions. Parents and church pull one way; peers and glands pull the other. “Then there are those of us with lesser hurts, but they don’t seem so small to us: an unresponsive spouse, a boring job, a poor grade, a friend or parent who is unresponsive … on and on the stories go.

The lonely, the dying, the discouraged, the exhausted, the imperfect, they’re all here.

Our snapshot of Jesus today is one of joy and happiness as a need is met and a life is changed. But you need to understand the focal character interacting with Jesus is just like the modern churchgoer–tired of being lonely, discouraged, exhausted, and imperfect.

And if this man was like me or maybe even you, it would be so easy to find hope non-existent or at the very least overwhelmed by circumstances and situations outside of his control.

John 5:1-15…

I get the man at the pool. He’s a searcher, hoping, looking for the magic answer, the easy solution to the major obstacle in his life. I get him because when you have spent the majority of your life overweight, you develop a sixth sense for every gimmick and every pill that offers an easy way out. I get him because I am a parent of a handicapped child desperate for answers that differ from the prevailing medical wisdom. I get him because even if you are not fat, handicapped, blind, paralyzed, or lame, all of us have issues we feel powerless to change!

Can I get an Amen here?

When we meet the invalid–have you ever noticed that one way of pronouncing invalid is in valid–we find him lying by a pool with his particular brand of contemporaries–the blind, the lame, and the paralyzed. The first time we did Special Olympics was a gut wrenching day. That was the day I realized that all these special needs people were my son’s peers–and most of the world would rather shuffle people like that off to a place where they are best unseen. Did the man lying lame for 38 years feel that way? Every fiber of my being knows he would have been hard pressed to feel otherwise. And so here he is, lying by a pool where local legend has an angel from time to time stirring the waters and providing the first one in with the healing they need.

And Jesus shows up. The lame man is just looking for a helping hand to beat the crowd into the pool, but instead of hoping against hope that a legend or superstition would be his answer, Jesus gives him his health.

John 5:8-9a, Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked.

Instant healing. Instant restoration. Sometime later Jesus sees him and says, “See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.” Physical difficulties sometimes happen as consequence of sin. And for some, life brings heartache and pain because it is a product of a broken world–it’s why bad things happen to good people through no fault of their own.

But there is something worse. There is something worse than the pain of being an invalid for 38 years. Because even if the doctor cures your cancer or restores your sight… even if the best surgeons in the world can repair your heart or rid you of paralysis, only Jesus can restore us to spiritual health–only Jesus can truly heal a heart broken by the absence of God!

Isaiah 53:5, But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.

Jesus came and offers life.

He gives us the ability to stand up and walk with Him.

Will you walk?
 

A Conversation With My Wife

Yesterday, my sweet Karen and I had a short conversation with a Taco Bell time out in the middle. It will be a conversation we have again, and one in which the roles will reverse. At any rate, it went something like this:

Me: “Karen, you cannot be sad all the time. Somewhere, somehow, you have to find a way to smile and live.”

Karen: “Do you want me to get us something from Taco Bell?”

Me: “Yes, those five layer burrito thingies off of the dollar menu…”

And off she goes.

On her return:

Karen: “You are right, Les. I cannot be sad all the time. It is not good for any of us.”

Me: “You’ll have to tell me the same thing, probably over and over again.”

The reason for this conversation is obviously our struggles with Cole and his ever declining health. But the context yesterday was particularly compelling.

I had just signed for the both of us a “Do Not Resuscitate” order as well as a “Do Not Intubate” order. I have to tell you, that’s some weird, crazy stuff for any parent to contemplate. But the good news in all of this is it came about during admitting Cole to hospice.

That’s another strange perspective as well. But, getting Cole in hospice means we and he will get some good support. Already today they brought him some new wheels! He will have help bathing three times a week–giving Karen a good break–and he will have a nurse who will be our personal liaison for all things medical.

There are other benefits as well and we are grateful.

This is a 90 day trail run. At the end of that time, his condition will be re-evaluated and if he is better, hospice will pull out.

And yes, we can’t help but be sad. But life goes on and Cole still has some good living to do!

Those of you who know him will smile at what he said about his nurse: “She’s hot.”

Sick or not, some things are just worth noticing!

Thank you for your love and support–we have the best friends and family ever–not to mention the fact that our Father owns this world!

Come see us.

Keep praying.

And smile.

Les, Jr.

My Son, My Son!

King David of Old Testament fame understood heartache. He understood firsthand what it felt like to lose his way and get sidetracked with God–he experienced it himself and suffered it in his family.

2 Samuel 15-18 tells us the story of Absalom, King David’s son. This was a young man who had everything and yet, he wanted more. He conspired to become King and broke his father’s heart in the process. Absalom ultimately died as the result of his rebellion and upon hearing the news, David wept: “O my son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you—O Absalom, my son, my son!”

I don’t have a son who is living in rebellion.

I don’t have a son who has died.

And yet, the words of David are resonating in me like the taut wires in a piano.

My son, my son.

To some of my three faithful readers, it may seem as if I am wallowing in a bit of pain and pity.

I am.

Furthermore, it may very well be too much for you to read as a result.

I understand.

Really I do. If you choose to read no farther, you’ll not offend me in the least.

Cole’s progression/ condition is not drastically worse than it was last week, but still it hurts.

Cole never had the chance that most of us have had and still get. He has always been physically and mentally challenged but it never stopped him from wanting to do and be like everyone else. I have dealt with that pain over the years–mostly by sticking my head in the sand and trying to pretend otherwise.

Excuse my lack of proper English: There ain’t no pretending anymore… and it hurts.

It hurts to tuck a twenty year old man in the bed as if he was a small child. It hurts to say Cole is a small child stuck in a twisted body that is twenty years old.

It’s not healthy to have a constant pity party for me, him, and the rest of our family–and I am trying to deal with this in positive ways–writing about it helps. Talking to you helps.

But at the end of the day, in the quiet of the night, I feel so akin to King David.

My son, my son!

If you got through all of this, thanks… and God bless!

Les, Jr.