Losses and Riches

Today at our traditional church Labor Day picnic, we had a time of prayer and sharing ahead of the other scheduled activities because of the grief-filled turn our lives have taken since the accident yesterday that claimed the life of a 12-year old boy, and injured three other children. A TV station from Wichita (KAKE) had a cameraman and reporter on site at the church. I don't know how this happened. I do know that Cedar Crest had canceled their picnic, and there was no story to report on at their church site. Perhaps he stumbled upon the gathering and decided to capitalize on the opportunity to do this kind of story on an event he had set out to feature--the accident itself.

When we arrived I saw someone there in a white shirt and black pants who didn't look as though he was dressed for a picnic. David Y. talked to him briefly and then went in to open the service. During the service I saw out of the corner of my eye that a camera-man was filming from the overflow area. I tried to ignore him, which wasn't hard because he was also trying to be unobtrusive. The camera was pointed my way several times, however, as I saw when I viewed the footage, and many other familiar faces were identifiable also.

Shane led the group today in singing "Children of the Heavenly Father," a song that the children his age had sung 13 years ago at the funeral of Shane's best friend, Andrew, who died suddenly in an accident--also from having been caught under moving wheels. Shane spoke briefly about that earlier loss (Shane was 10 and his friend was 11.) , and how the song has been a comfort in the time since then. It reminds him that God is always there, even when hard things happen.

Children of the Heavenly Father
Safely in His bosom gather.
Nestling bird nor star in heaven--
Such a refuge e'er was given

Neither life nor death shall ever
From the Lord His children sever.
Unto them His grace He showeth,
And their sorrows all He knoweth.

Though He giveth or He taketh,
God His children ne'er forsaketh.
His the loving purpose solely
To preserve them pure and holy.

Andrew's mother remembers that Shane suggested to her that the children sing "Children of the Heavenly Father" at Andrew's funeral. Shane does not remember this, but Jo still remembers his tearful request. A plan for the children to sing may have already been in place with the song not yet chosen.

Jo was sitting in front of me, and seeing her and seeing Shane relive some of his childhood pain and singing the song brought back a flood of memories. I remembered how Shane had cried most of the first night after Andrew died, and how helpless I felt to comfort him. I prayed with him repeatedly and went to his bedside and gathered him in my arms until his sobs subsided and he fell into an exhausted sleep--until he woke again and cried. I wondered today how many parents did the same for their child last night. The next day was Sunday and Lowell taught the class that Shane and Andrew were both part of, along with other boys their age. They all cried together during that class. I can imagine that having school again, with Seth missing forever, and his siblings not coming back till after the funeral will be as difficult as that first Sunday School class was after Andrew died. Six of them were in Mr. B.'s classroom.

I also remembered today how healing it was for us to be with Andrew's family the next evening after he died. Although there were many tears that night and the parade of people who came and went at their home did not allow for much one on one conversation, we left feeling comforted. I felt some of that same comfort today in the presence of others who were also grieving. Grief shared really is grief divided--not multiplied, as gladness is multiplied when shared.

The KAKE photographer obviously did not close his eyes during the special prayer during which all the grade school children and their parents and teachers and several of the ministers were gathered up front today. I loved the inclusiveness and the care conveyed in this prayer-time gesture of support for those in our church who were perhaps most traumatized by the accident, and most responsible for comforting those who were traumatized.

In the TV broadcast I learned the welcome news that the Reno County Sheriff's Department believes the event "was simply a tragic accident." While any filing of charges seemed unthinkable to us who knew the people involved, we also knew that the world doesn't automatically extend forgiveness just because that is the right thing to do. My brother Marcus, who first heard about the event through the media, also heard some of the comments that others made when they heard the news. Forgiveness was not uppermost in their minds. While the word from the sheriff's office doesn't undo all the damage that occurred, it feels like a vindication of Darren's integrity and carefulness--something we already knew, but weren't positive that others would see.

Willard and Sharon were impressed with how kind all the emergency responders were. Lowell contrasted this with how things often are in Central America when there is an accident. If law enforcement shows up at all, it's not always clear whether they have come to help or to show their authority and make some extra cash.

I heard a few other details today that warmed my heart. One was something that Derek said. He said he felt a wheel go over his shoulder three times, but he was surprised each time how light the wheel felt. I have the mental picture of an angel lifting those wheels up as they passed over him. Derek was released from the hospital today, with no broken bones.

I also heard how carefully Darren had tried to cover his bases to make sure that the lever that controlled the bucket did not get jostled accidentally. That sounds like Darren. It seems that the very sensitive control stick may actually have been triggered when the tractor hit a bump in the road.

Some of the other details I heard today are the stuff of nightmares. I won't recount those here. I pray for a merciful blotting out of those memories, especially for the children who saw the details up close.

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The speaker for our Labor Day program was Justina Neufeld, who was born in Ukraine in a Mennonite village. As a child during World War II, she fled with others in her family and village ahead of the retreating German army, coming eventually to a refugee camp in Poland. From there, her mother sent her away to France, to live with a brother who had found safety there. Peter Dyck personally rescued the entire household, and carried them off to Holland, to save them from being sent back to Russia as Stalin had bargained for at the Yalta conference--the return of all Russian citizens who had found refuge in other countries during the war.

Justina's family in Poland did not escape the deportation, and ended up in labor camps in Siberia. She never saw them again.

Meanwhile, an MCC worker arranged for Justina and her brother's family to go to live in Minnesota. While this meant safety for them, it was hard to enjoy the bounty and blessing, knowing that others in the family were starving, and suffering otherwise.

Justina has written a book of her life story. (So sorry I can't remember the title.) While she did not wish to recall and record all the painful details, her husband believed it was an important project. Somehow, processing the details as an adult, she found a new measure of forgiveness toward her mother especially, who she blamed at first for having sent her away, in what turned out to be a permanent separation. Her mother's suffering became real to her, and she knows now that her mother's suffering in the separation was greater than her own. She also came to believe again in the goodness of a God Who she believed earlier had never done anything good for her.

Having sat through the grief processing we did at the beginning of today's service, Justina got up and said some kind words about the loss we are experiencing, then said, "I know about losses too. I have experienced the loss of . . . ." The list went on and on, with just enough detail to make the story coherent, covering a number of years in less than an hour. The longer she talked, the more clearly we saw that our own experience of suffering is not unique or even particularly unusual. By the end of her talk, we knew that we have been spared a lot of losses, and are richly blessed, even at this time of sorrow.

Justina's talk helped make this a memorable Labor Day. Having been together to remember has been a good thing. I wish everyone such a rich Labor Day--minus the tragedy involved. But that is perhaps impossible. Richness always comes at a price.