Michael Gungor, the lead singer for the Christian band Gungor posted a blog two days ago about the birth of their daughter, Lucette, who they discovered was born with Down Syndrome. It is painfully beautiful. Having a brother born with Down Syndrome, I resonated with much of what he wrote. Michael writes of the shock that hit him and his wife when they were confronted with the news of Lucette having Down Syndrome. He also notes how their friends and family who came around him and his wife with love and support helped them recognize that their daughter was a gift, a different gift than they were expecting, but a gift nonetheless. By the time I finished the blog, I was crying.
I couldn’t help but think of an essay that brought hope and comfort to our family as we struggled to make sense of our new lives with Daniel, my brother. The essay, by Emily Pearl Kingsley, is called, “Welcome to Holland!” In it, she compares having a child born with a disability to planning for a trip to Italy and ending up in Holland. All your thoughts, plans, and dreams vanish with the first gust of wind when you step off the plane. You expected to visit Italy. Now you’re in Holland. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just different. And the more time you spend in Holland, you’ll always wish you could be in Italy, but you come to love Holland for all it’s peculiarities.
The more I’ve thought about this description of life with a child with a disability, the more I find it is an apt parable for the Christian life. When we enter into the new life that Christ offers, it’s similar to stepping into the travel agency, announcing you have plans to travel. You find, to your surprise, that the travel agent will travel with you, be your guide, not just your planner. As you describe all your hopes and desires for your time in Italy, for that is where YOU want to go, the travel agent listens and lets you know that its nice to hear your thoughts. But you don’t end up in Italy. You’re in Holland.
Even when I come to accept the fact that I am in Holland, that these plans were not what I expected, I still must submit to the agent as the good tour guide. I can wrestle and fight with white-knuckled fists, insisting that we see that sights that I want to see. I can grumble and complain and intentionally sleep in so we miss the scheduled tour. I can resist and refrain and remain closed off to all that Holland has to offer. Or I can let the agent take me on his tour, let him direct my eyes to the sites I was too blind to see, prick my ears to the sounds I was too deaf to hear, and remind me of the surrounding beauty my complaining couldn’t appreciate. The Christian life is the process of putting down our tour books and trusting the tour guide.
Whatever we thought when we started journeying with Christ, we had grand expectations of what it would be like. We get caught up in the joy of our newfound relationship with God, the beauty of freedom, and the abundance of grace and peace that we are now swimming in. We jump into this new pool and swim with vigor and energy. And then a friend dies. Or a family member is diagnosed with cancer. Or we lose our job. Or the friends we thought we had aren’t what they seem. And we wonder if this is really what the Christian life is supposed to be like. Our expectations are shown to be the wishful thinkings they were.
I’ve come to realize that those families who have had children born with a disability, mine included, have a unique insight on learning to live with disappointment. It is a common feeling. And yet, I wonder, if those families are guides for all of us in the Christian life, helping us make the transition from our Italy’s to our Hollands.
I will be praying for Michael and Lisa Gungor. I, along with many others, want to welcome them to Holland. I pray that as they follow the Good Guide, they may come to see the beauty of this new land. And may all who call Christ as Lord follow Him into this new land we never expected to be in.
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