Screaming Through The Long Haul of God’s Call (a personal reflection with Matthew 11.7-9)

In 2007 my wife and I began seriously considering adoption. We understood this to be divine prompting based on biblical verses such as “A father to the fatherless… God places the lonely in families” (Psalm 68.5-6). And we opened ourselves up to the possibility of one of these “fatherless” being placed into our family.

The story that we heard soon after praying the above, was of a baby girl who had suffered tremendous trauma in her early months of life. She was in need of significant care and attention. We were told that there was definitely some kind of supposed learning disability, but it was too early to tell exactly what was going on. Approaching one year of age, she had shut down from human interaction and the only sounds she made were her screams lasting well into each night.

That was our girl! And from the moment she first entered the family some months later, she belonged. She truly had been supernaturally placed in a family. Our family. There was honestly not a single sense that she was not our own biological child. To this day we claim it as a miracle and some kind of confirmation that we have been, in a sense, “called” to be her parents.

Now, on her very first day with us our little girl had been happy to receive cuddles and love, but quickly the immense change taking place in her life became all too much. She screamed if picked up by anyone at all. She screamed if put down in her bed. Eventually, I found one spot in the house where she was happy and I was stuck there for most of the second day.

Well, she got used to us after a while and soon enough was able to sit up, use a spoon to feed herself, and all of those usual baby things, just a little late. Time went on, the family grew in number, and everyone got older. But then in 2010, a significant change occurred resulting in the family being separated across different continents for four months. Although only three and severely developmentally delayed, our little girl could sense something was happening. And, on the very night that my wife and older daughter left the country, the screaming started again.

As a (temporary) single father with work and other children to worry about, there was little I was able to do. So, she screamed herself to sleep every night for four months while I paced around the darkened house, waking after just a few hours. I learned how much you can get done on no sleep!

Early in 2011, with the family reunited, in a new house, and things settled down nicely. Well, the screaming stopped anyway. Our little girl was diagnosed with autism. In 2012 a couple of tonic seizures had her briefly hospitalised and then treated for epilepsy which continues to this day. Later, in 2016 an MRI revealed brain damage on one side from trauma in her first weeks of life. The following year, when she had smashed windows, turned over multiple tables, and kicked the odd member of the public in the street, we received assistance from our local mental health team who prescribed medication for managing violent behaviour.

By this time she had developed a reputation as being the funniest, cheekiest, cuddliest kid in her school, and she remained at the very centre of our family, charming every visitor who dared to cross the threshold!

++++++++++++

I think back over those earlier times now as we are in another season of screaming. A volatile combination of increased absence seizures, anxieties, and some good old fashioned teenage hormones, has resulted in an almost constant cycle of repetitive behaviour, self-harming, and… screaming. Only now, the screams at six in the morning seem much louder. And the aggressive outbursts feel much harder to manage. And the 3 a.m. starts to the day are much more draining as we’re a little older than we once were.

Of course, the various lockdowns, and other stops and starts from the past year have made their contribution as well. While none of us in the family has actually experienced Covid firsthand, all of us have been somehow damaged by its presence. It means we are just that little less able to cope and bounce back and thank God in all circumstances than we once might have been.

Indeed, it must be said that life as a carer during the pandemic and its immediate aftermath, is an extremely, painfully lonely experience.

++++++++++++

But what did we go out into the wilderness to see? (Matthew 11.7-9) Did we imagine that the very act of adopting a vulnerable child would be some kind of fixer, an end unto itself? Surely not! If you go out to the wilderness you will have a wilderness experience. That is, you will not find a reed swayed by the wind or someone dressed in fine robes, but a prophet. You will be confronted with truth. You will be faced with injustice. You will be connected with the divine.

And our daughter, that little scrap we took in fourteen years ago, has played a prophetic role in this household.

The continual challenge of caring for her reveals the truth of our own limitations; our own dependence on sugar, caffeine and other comforts when the days are long and difficult; our own tendencies to wait until the lowest point before turning to the divine helper.

Further, I wonder whether her screams are some kind of crying out in the wilderness – an earthy, base cry to injustice: the trauma experienced as a baby; the numerous disabilities she has been left to wrestle with each day of her life; our inability as parents/carers to fully understand and sufficiently help. She screams and rages and shakes with anger voicing the unfairness of her own situation which somehow points to the larger picture of vulnerability and unfairness in the world.

And somewhere in the middle of it all we meet with the divine. In pure moments of joy. When she is blessing a stranger with a enthusiastic “hello!”. In the brokenness of her body. In being faced with our weakness and impatience. In being forced to recognise the crappy deal offered to so many vulnerable people. In all of it – if we pay attention – God is present in the most extreme and challenging way, yet so easily missed.

++++++++++++

There is an important prophetic word that John the Baptist says to the people from the wilderness of Judea:

“Bear fruit worthy of repentance” (Matthew 3.8)

This reminds me of another verse:

“Lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called” (Ephesians 4.1)

In other words, responding to God’s call is not a one time event but an ongoing way of life that must not be entered into lightly. I, personally, cannot say that I responded to divine prompting and adopted a child with learning disabilities. I think rather, I should say that that I am responding to divine prompting, etc. The work of response requires constant revision, rethinking, repentance. It is the exhilarating-often-heartbreaking adventure that begins with “come, follow me” at the shore of Lake Galilee, and spills outward from Jerusalem, to Judea and to the ends of the earth. The apostles were continually changed, broken and built up again, as they lived their response to the Lord. So too are we… with screams to accompany us on the journey.