There's something a bit crazy about 2 conservative Christians taking their 14-month-old baby boy, whom they had tried for 2 years to conceive, into a home of troubled kids in hopes of not only financially providing for themselves, but winning some to Jesus. Yep, pretty nuts. But through our ignorance and the grace of Jesus we did it.. 3 years ago...
We also became pregnant with and housed a baby girl in that home for a couple months, and although it was tough, I wouldn't trade the lessons learned there for any amount of money.
As the Zimmerman trial came to an end, I got the opportunity to hear some of the 911 tapes and to see the face of the 17 year old boy, gone from this world and the middle-aged Zimmerman, who no longer will ever be truly free. I didn't really follow the case, and I've read a very small amount about this teenage kid, but what is interesting to me personally is how in the last few days as I've seen the unavoidable trial coverage, God has led me back in my thoughts to that house and those boys, into whom we invested almost 2 years of our lives... my husband much more than I.
I think there's so many reasons for the flashbacks, but let me hit on a few in hopes that you might gain a better perspective of the great ironies that have come to mind. Maybe you'll also be able to weave them into the Martin Zimmerman case, the way my spaghetti brain and heart has:
1.) While there were times I struggled with a deep fear and anxiety over our children being around the influences of the boys in the cottage, we loved them deeply. There is no question that we would always choose our flesh and blood, whom we have a biological, biblical, first obligation to over the boys. If one of them would've hurt our children, all you would've seen is our dust as we high-tailed it out of there. However, that didn't change the God-glorifying, grace-giving affection that we had for each of them, even when they were driving us completely mad! It also didn't change the fact that as tough as they were, when they played with my babies, I couldn't help but envision their last pinky finger clinging to innocence and their deep desire to be loved as a kid ( at 16, 17, 18 years old) all over again.
2.) I can remember so often when I was pregnant with El, having single moms, grandmoms, and dads of these boys come into our home and rejoice with us over the new life growing inside. I remember wondering if they wanted a do-over, if they felt cheated or like a failure because they had to give their babies over to us. And then, I thought, "they" could so easily be "I". I mean, I had a spouse, a mom, a dad, and two supportive in-laws. I would venture to say that not one of these parents had anywhere close to what I had, namely Jesus, and it broke my heart. I'm so weak, so guilty, so broken.. no more holy or righteous than them, but for some reason they were standing there and I was standing here and I wondered why in the world God had chosen someone as naïve, weak, and failing as me to speak into the lives of these families.
3.) I can remember sitting in on several occasions listening to Ryan tell a boy that his actions could get him in jail, or worse, killed and hoping that that would never happen. Although they probably would've had it coming, I never wanted that for them, not even the ones I butted heads with daily.
4.) When we moved here, and as the mild PTSD of our formerly crazy life wore off, I began to see the world, my Savior, and those around me with new lenses. All the way from the babies I cuddled in the nursery at church to the college age kids were someone's baby. My heart both broke and praised Jesus when kids started opening up to Ryan about things they'd never told anyone before...that's why we had been led to the boys' home...so that we could see even the toughest, hardest, snottiest teenage kid as a beloved child, the way God sees us. There just not as intimidating anymore.. I can look at the beautiful, "somewhat" innocent eyes of my four-year-old boy and see the same sparkle in the eyes of a too-cool-for-school 17 year old. There's virtually no difference except their brains may be a few years closer to full growth. They want to be loved and told their worth something. They want to be disciplined. They want to know that they matter.
Now... Trayvon.
I don't know how he was raised. I know Dad was tough on him, but no more than that. I would venture to say that his mom and dad loved him, despite the fact that they didn't live in the same home, despite the fact that he had weed and suspensions in his background, I believe they were doing all they knew how... which is all any of us can, really.
I would venture to guess that he probably made some really bad choices that night. Inexcusable for a man, expected from a 17-year-old who wants to believe he's a man.
Did he deserve to get shot? Nah, probably not.
From the sound of the 911 calls before the confrontation, Zimmerman seemed a little too amped up already to me. I mean, we live smack in the middle of town where "interesting characters" (of no one specific race, gender, or stereotype)go right past our house on a daily basis. Although I'd guess some are junkies, I don't think one of them would harm us. Besides, with God on our side, I think we'll save 911 and gunfire for immediate danger only. :)
For me, my heartbreak has nothing to do with identifying Martin as a race, and everything to do with seeing my baby boy in his eyes, hardened or soft, as they are flashed on the T.V. screen.
What a depraved, sinful race we are, fighting with and killing one another for fear and pride, wasting hours of our precious time on this earth complaining that a man we didn't even know who shot a boy we didn't even know walked free, rejoicing that a man was declared "Not guilty" while the reality is t hat there is someone's little boy 6 feet underground, and another man and his family will live in guilt and fear.. forever.
Why are we living in these extremes, these disgusted and elated emotions? Why aren't there more of us who follow Christ mourning over the depravity this case brought to light and trying to glean from it what our Father is trying to teach us?
I do not have an answer for that, but what I can say is that we can all learn something.. as long as there's breath in our lungs...
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