Lisa Colón DeLay

Nathan is my little bunny

I have been observing the spiritual journey of my autistic son, Nathan, quite closely for the last three or four weeks. If you haven’t been following the posts about it, here, this is the short version of the backstory:

Nathan, as of a few months ago, professed to not believing in God. This is a  change from his former beliefs. He now claims that God, the Bible, and the stories of Christianity are “unbelievable stories,” as he says. It’s fake. A fraud.

The undertaking
To me, it seemed like the perfect time to more closely explore spiritual formation (a.k.a. discipleship) and theology as it pertains to disability. Besides encouraging Nathan in his spiritual formation (no matter how messy or personally unsettling or uncomfortable), I’ve hoped to learn from him, and share my findings. This includes studying on the theology of disability, and documenting Nathan’s time of exploration, with respect for my son’s unique spiritual growth process and experience of the world. For my readers, I’ve hoped to encourage deeper thought and consideration about spiritual growth, and the nature of God.

Where things are now
My attention to Nathan’s beliefs and journey, and the recording of them have reached a blockade. Nathan has expressed that he does not want to be filmed, and wants to not speak about the subject. He’s not ready to go about things this way. I will respect this. His basic sentiment is emotional, and preferential, not logical or given to dialogue. So, I will to put this closer study (at least of him, in a personal way) on hold, until a time comes when it seems productive to pick up with it again. I’ll post about it, occasionally, as insights, changes, or advancements occur. This story is far from over.

Bunny Studies
I got up early this morning and went out on the porch with my coffee to enjoy the unseasonably mild morning weather and take in the sights of the creatures that are neighbors with us. We have a few nests, some very vocal birds, several rabbit families, and a very clever chipmunk who has constructed an elaborate series of tunnels that I suspect could be a secret lair. This morning I saw him enter and leave two different homes, scale a brick chimney, shoot into the roof gutter, and out of sight, maybe to the attic of my neighbor’s home. Clearly, he’s up to something.

I saw a mother rabbit and her bunny nibbling at the dewy clover. They were relaxed in their surroundings, and quite hungry. It made me think of one of my favorite children’s stories: The classic called  The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown. The bunny hopes to be free from his mother, and tells her all the ways he plans to runaway. The mother rabbit does not tell him stay, but rather shows her steadfast love for him. She accepts his wild heart. She comforts him. For every idea he shares about leaving, she has a plan to love him faithfully and reunite with him. This story was refered to in a theological way profoundly in a  film I saw called Wit starring Emma Thompson. It’s a movie that changed me, and help me see God, better.

Wit was adapted from the play W;t, by Margaret Edson. ( In the context of the play, the semicolon refers to the recurring theme of the use of a semicolon versus a comma in one of John Donne’s Holy Sonnets.) Wit won the 1999 Pulitzer Prize for Drama. The main character, Vivan, a college English professor, is dying of ovarian cancer. At the end, Vivan’s admired, former-professor and mentor comes to visit while she is in town for her great-grandson’s birthday. She comforts her and offers to read to her a Donne sonnet. Vivian, scarcely conscious, declines. So instead, Dr Ashford reads from Margaret Wise Brown‘s The Runaway Bunny, which she had bought for her great-grandson. She remarks that it offers a lovely “allegory of the soul”: Wherever the soul tries to hide, God, comfortingly, will find it. (This section was taken from Wikipedia. Read it in full, here.)

God is our Mother Rabbit. For my son, I am a flesh and blood representation of God to him. I am his mother rabbit, and his is my beloved bunny.

I realize, even more thoroughly than I had realized before, that part of growing up includes the professions of and steps toward independence. Perhaps consistent love faithfulness are the most helpful things we can offer children who are not yet mature enough to make their own way in the world.

Thank you for coming along for this leg of the journey. Your thoughts or comments are quite welcome here.

Americans  love to be Americans, or they are embarrassed about it. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I can imagine visiting other places, and enjoying it immensely, but I wouldn’t trade my citizenship for anything. This land is my home. Independence Day is a happy day!

Do we take our freedom seriously? Do the picnics, firecrackers, flag shirts, and bbq help us realize what our country is about? What helps you reflect on what America is?

Patriotism is a sharp and slippery knife, though. And here’s why. It can rally us to be our best and most selfless, yet it can also make us blind and foolish. I’m not just talking about creative ways to don the American flag either (see above). I talking about seeing wrongly.

Americans have the terrible tendency to feel entitled because we have freedoms. We get complacent and think life should be easier. Or we may  spread the sentiment that abundance is a right, not a product earned of hard work.

And I can’t help but think that the way our country was birthed is both a blessing and a curse. We told the British empire, “You are NOT the boss of us!” That brazen attitude has dogged us as well, in our country’s history. Americans are generally good people, and quite bullheaded.

We prize independence and resist authority, yet this can shortchange lessons learned only a more formindable way, through community and mature conference. Our rebel roots are all too visible when it comes to finding common ground, and making thoughtful and incremental changes for the better. We long so often for revolution instead. May it not undo us, friends.

On this July 4th day, the thing I am most astonished by is the high cost of freedom through the lives and sacrifice of those who defend us. Our liberty has been paid for by the most precious thing, blood.

Such a high price should give us pause as our hearts fill with the joy and satisfaction (some term “pride”) from living in such an amazing place.

Have a happy celebration time today, friends. Let freedom ring.

What is your favorite aspect of the celebration of Independence Day?

. . . when Moses was grown . . . he went out to his brethren and looked at their burdens —Exodus 2:11

Have you thought about discouragement in this way?

Your thoughts or comments are encouraged.

Francis Chan

We don’t just have upon us a crisis of faith, but also a crisis of faithfulness.

We’ve been reviewing Francis Chan’s book Crazy Love. I encourage everyone to read it. It’ll do you good. Also, it makes an interesting and thought-provoking small group study, or Sunday School class.

"Crazy Love" by Francis Chan

This last lesson was on Risk and Faith. Chan asked everyone to do something in their regular life that requires faith. He asked that we abandon the typical planning we do to minimize our risk. We should do something others could think of as silly, and allow ourselves to live and act in a more vulnerable way. We shouldn’t rely in our stuff to satisfy us. We should live bigger lives.

Along the same lines, Rolf Potts leads this sort of recommended simpler type of lifestyle. He calls it vagabonding. (I found out about Rolf through the Tim Ferriss site. Thank you, Tim.)For Potts, a travel writer, his style is not just a method of travel, but a way of life. It’s unlike the American way of life, because it does not trust in stuff.

I’ve wondered if it’s the case that in America we seem to act like “in god we trust” refers to the money itself, or the things we can buy with it.

We do a lot to feel safe. We buy insurance to minimize various kind of threats. We buy things we feel sure will help us, or at least soothe us. What is the lasting consequence of this approach? A false sense of control? Feathering our pillow of self-sufficiency? Other things…

Rolf Potts takes the theme of traveling light to a whole new level, as he now begins his No Baggage Challenge: Traveling to 12 countries in 6 weeks—With NO baggage (not even a man purse/satchel). [His blog details his travels, and his packing techniques are also quite useful.]

The journey of faith is the same way. When we seek out the comfortable, and we travel heavy, by preparing (mentally or physically) for every potential event, challenge, or threat–something important gets left behind. Perspective for one thing. But what else?

In the life of faith, “taking nothing for the journey” means that one must trust in God’s provision (and his way of providing), trust others, and build relationships. It’s not about what we’ve packed (prepared) for, it’s about the trip itself. It’s about being brave, and opening up to others, and the experience of not being weighted down (both literally and figuratively) by our presuppositions: What we think the trip should look like, and feel like.

You don’t like bumps, you say? Sorry, it’s bumpy. You just might have been insulating yourself. For some perspective… Think: padded cell.

The spiritual journey (journey of faith) is undertaken so optimal preparedness is removed as an option: It’s a method of living, not to be comfortable, but to survive, live, and eventually thrive, where you are, as you are. You come as you are. When the going gets tough–and it will–you stay. [The only thing you "plan on" is love and loyalty.] You work it out. You don’t let yourself have but that choice. You live has though you don’t have a chance/option to flee–like we are too often ready to do. We trust others, and God with abandon, despite the risks, or pain that may/will come.

Why? Because it is the surest way to growth, more rewarding experiences, and a sense of being in a Story bigger than yourself and your self interests. In spending ourselves, we gain our lives.

When we take a risk to help or love (without examining the our potential losses, and assessing all the personal risks) we live by and in faith, not by sight.

[Now, realize, I'm not talking about a life of folly, or veritable reckless behavior. I'm talking about being okay with discomfort, and sacrificing the known and manageable, for something greater at stake.]

What could that look like for you?
Please-Leave your ideas.

Maybe giving away the extra car to someone who needs it? Opening up your home for someone else to live in? Inviting a family to your home for supper once a week? Using a paycheck to buy someone groceries?

What kind of faith will you live by?

In this sense, a little pain goes a long way. Soon, our sights move away from ourselves in pursing selfless faithfulness.

AND-How light can you travel? (on vacation, etc.)

Comments, thoughts, and questions welcome.