The Bride of Christ

Here's a piece I've been working on since Kitt's homegoing celebration, a celebration that so many of you helped make into a tender worship gathering instead of a somber farewell. As one friend's son said, "I'm surprised how much they talked about Jesus and how little they talked about Mr. Kitt." Amen. (If you'd rather not cry, stop reading now.) This is dedicated to the Rodriguezes, who continue to teach me what it means to love Jesus and grieve, and to their son Mark, who continues to inspire us to pursue our passions.


The Bride of Christ, by Adkittrell, 5/21/18

Distraught and spent, I trudged through our snow-draped backyard and flung myself down in my pajama pants in the middle of our woods, our beautiful woods that God gave us nine years ago when life was simple. There I wept - tears of disbelief, brokenness, elusive dreams of ‘happily ever after’ that had abruptly ended for us. My breathing reminding me that my body was healthy, my body continued to function, yet my soul hung limp and lifeless. As my snowy surroundings witnessed my private grief, I felt the Lord with me. He sat in the snow next to me, the cold no match for our anguish. The knotty bark pressing against my back, the snow numbing my legs, reminding me of my present home - earth, contrasted with Kevin’s present home - Heaven. Kevin and I were just united, how could we already be separated? I met him the first day of college; we had the same RA; lived in the same dorm; shared the same crazy adventures. We dated each other’s friends until the Lord revealed his perfect plan for us: each other. That was yesterday. And that yesterday seemed more real than the 14 months that had painfully passed from his shocking diagnosis to his last earth-bound breath.

My mind played through our 51 hospital days: hours spent waiting to catch a smile or read him a Psalm; quiet conversations about Heaven; clogged tubes from a contraband smoothie; lavender oil foot massages; farewell visits from faithful friends; in-law drama of epic proportion; surreal funeral home decisions, our children’s heartbreak; our lonely bed; shoes at the back door that would never protect his feet again. As I pictured my husband’s shrunken earthly body in his oaken casket, dressed for burial in his regimental Dress Blues uniform, I was reminded of a day 24 years prior when he wore the same uniform: our wedding day. With the January 1st date of our wedding, and the black and red color theme of the celebration, we knew his Dress Mess jacket with the crimson silk lapels would be the perfect complement to my white organza and lace gown. Although money was tight, we splurged to buy the uniform: $500, if my memory serves, a hundred dollars more than my wedding gown. Images of that day, the breathtaking beauty of the snow, the candlelit church, joyful friends, the anticipation of our new life together brought tears of joy to my eyes as it felt like that day was just a short time in the past. In the middle of the snow covered woods, as I wept, the Lord spoke to my shattered heart. He spoke to me so tenderly, barely louder than the swaying limbs above me: “Kevin is the Bride of Christ now. Thank you for loving him well on earth; He is with me now. He is my beloved.” These words followed by Holy quiet. And I understood with a resonant clarity that sliced through my tears, halting the movie track of my memories: Kevin is the Bride of Christ now, and he is united with his Groom - Jesus himself. They are eternally united. What a beautiful image.

Passages about the Bride of Christ (the Church) and her Groom (Jesus) have always intrigued and perplexed me. The enlightened Paul even admits to the “profound mystery” of the metaphor. In the New Testament, Paul tells us, “For this reason, a man shall leave his mother and father, and the two shall become one flesh. This is a profound mystery - but I am talking about Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5:31). There are so many functions of a marriage: procreation, relationship and intimacy, tag-team parenting and shared chores, binge-watching Netflix together, to name a few. Based on Ephesians, is it safe to assume that God’s greatest intention for earthly marriage is to help us understand the union that is to come? With that assumption, earthly marriage is a reflection, a shadow of the luminescent, eternal union of Jesus with his people. Metaphors inherently are tools to bring deeper understanding of some other entity or truth. Perhaps in this case the metaphor of the husband and wife’s union is an expression of God’s glorious heart and perfect design, a gift to help us experience on earth a taste of the perfecting union of Jesus and the church, one that we will perfectly experience only in Heaven. Paul expresses this longing aptly as he concludes his famous passage on love, “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). On earth we can only guess and wonder; in heaven we will possess the contentment and peace that comes from true understanding.

Earlier in Ephesians, Paul discusses a man’s calling in marriage: “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless” (Ephesians 5:25-27). This is a high-calling, one to be taken seriously; glad I’m not a husband. What a powerfully intimate metaphor to describe our relationship with the Savior of the World. Gender issues aside, Kitt dressing in his wedding uniform - the most expensive, luxurious piece of clothing that he had - was profoundly appropriate as his soul in death joined with Jesus in eternal life. In fact in this verse from Revelation, the author John uses the reflexive pronoun ‘himself’ - a male reference - when talking about the bride of Christ: “For the wedding of the Lord has come, and his bride has made Himself ready” (19:7-9).
Tears on wedding days seem to be a common occurrence, every tear holding a different meaning: joy for new life together; sadness to release a child; bittersweetness to let go of childhood; gratitude for the gift of love and commitment, and the promise of the days and adventures to come. Tears on a funeral day are also common: joy for the life well spent; sadness to let go of a friend, a father, a husband, a son, a brother; celebration of the life eternal the beloved is now experiencing. January 1, 1994 and January 7, 2018 were two such days, both filled with tears of joy mixed with angst, both days of celebration for what was, what is and what is to come, a sacred union of the past, the present and the future.

Heartbreak and longing are the fees we pay when we give our hearts away, when we love abundantly without self-protection; selflessly, without regret. This fee is more costly than earthly treasure; this fee is a reflection of the mysterious relationship we are created for: union with Jesus, relationship with God. But as so many poets and country songwriters have said over the centuries: “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” (William Shakespeare) or “You’ve gotta love like there’s no such thing as a broken heart” (Old Dominion). These relational epiphanies aren’t limited to male and female unions, existing in the love between parents and children, and true friend to true friend. The joy of this love and intimacy, and the longing that comes from its loss are a taste of heaven, a foreshadowing of what could be, the perfection, the fulfillment that we will only truly reach “when we (one day) enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise.”

No mortal can pinpoint the time continuum for this Heavenly Wedding. Did it occur for Kitt as soon as the breath left his depleted earthly body? It reminds me of the biological concept of the ductus arteriosus. In utero, all babies have a valve that shunts the blood away from the lungs since the lungs don’t start functioning until after birth. Sometime immediately prior, during or shortly after birth, this ductus arteriosus naturally closes on its own. Doctors can’t fully explain how or when it occurs. It’s such a beautiful, mysterious occurrence, another indicator of the brilliance of our Holy Designer. Is that what Kitt’s Holy Wedding was like - a union no mortal can pinpoint, that occurred at a time existing outside of the time continuum? In the hospital, Kitt talked a lot about the definition of time in God’s mind, speculating that time in Heaven was nothing like our conception and understanding of it here on earth. As Peter says in this beautiful chiasmus, “But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8). One day Kevin roused from a nap in his palliative care room and said to a dear friend sitting at his bedside, “Maybe when I get to Heaven, you’ll all be there waiting for me and we’ll enter Heaven together.” Maybe, sweetheart, maybe.

I Should've Said No

“I should’ve said no.”
As we walked into the sprawling, low-lit house, a sea of lovely and excited women of all ages clutching warm cups of tea, leaning close to each other for intimate conversation, these words nagged at the back of my head: “I should’ve said no.” From the beginning to the end of Kitt’s cancer journey, worship and large crowds were difficult for me - too emotional, too raw, like surgery without anesthesia. Self-consciously, I made my way to a corner, briefly greeting a few friends as I hurried to get to a safe spot. Music began. The room swayed with worshipping women, raising hands, kneeling on the floor, sharing snapshots of answered prayers and prayers in waiting. A new song began.

“You’re never gonna let, never gonna let me down.

Ohhh, you’re never gonna let, never gonna let me down.”

Sweet, sincere worshipping voices filled the room, yet my heart was cold. The lyrics smacked false, falling flat in the face of my grief. Jaded grumbles filled my head:

“Go ahead and sing your cute song, sweet ladies. This might ring true for these girls, these 'youngins' with shiny, happy faith who have never endured tragedy. But that’s not me. That used to be me, but no more.”

The chorus repeated endlessly, igniting the coals of my grief, clouding my eyes and brain with tears - tears of anger, disappointment, fatigue.

“I can’t bear to sing any longer, damnit!” I cussed under my breath.

My feet propelled me out the door into the dank, cold evening. Where should I go? I couldn’t leave officially since I had carpooled with some friends. Defeated, I made my way to a swing set nestled between a grove of pine trees. Leaning on a beam, the tears flowing honestly, I yelled at Jesus. “Why, Lord? Why him? Why now? Why so young? What are we supposed to do without him?” So many questions, rhetorical questions without expectation of a response. In the cool of the dark, quiet night, my tears began to wane, my sobbing slowed. I lifted my head to the sky peeking through two pine trees in front of me, noticing Orion, my favorite constellation. Just days before, Sam and I had spent time discussing the rhetorical questions that Job asks, as well as the piercing questions God asks in return.

Job 38
“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades?
Can you loosen Orion’s belt?
Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons
or lead out the Bear with its cubs?
Do you know the laws of the heavens?
Can you set up God’s dominion over the earth?

We were both struck by the inclusion of the constellation Orion in the ancient text of Job. Turns out Job was written approximately six centuries before Jesus was born. Anyway back to the story at hand: as Orion caught my eye, I immediately saw a vivid star shooting through Orion’s belt. As I marveled at this beautiful gift, one given seemingly just for me, I heard the still, small voice of the Lord say,

“I have come to bring you abundant life. You will have abundant life. You and the kids will have abundant life again.”

Sacred, redemptive words. After living such a fulfilling and rich life with Kevin, it’s so hard to imagine a life without him. Yet the Lord spoke to my deepest fear, reaching into the shadows of my soul: just because His plans for Kevin’s life on earth are complete, doesn’t mean the Lord doesn’t have more plans for us - for me and individually for Sam, Ben and Emma Grace.

Had a I said no, I would’ve never experienced this intimate moment with the Lord. He saw me. He wooed me. He spoke hope to me. He was “the lifter of my head,” (Psalm 3:3). I’m so thankful I said yes.

Ouch! Need some ice to go with that burn?

Grumble grumble grumble. My teenager makes me grumble from time to time. Bite your tongue. Don't yell. Stay patient. This morning was especially trying when I came downstairs to an ant party in my kitchen. We've been struggling with ants for the last month, just like most households in the southern hemisphere this time of year. Last night Sam had a brilliant idea to create his own varieties of custom soda. (Perhaps he's frustrated I won't buy him the Soda Stream.) So last night he made some super sweet, delightful concoctions with a surplus of fructose and grenadine syrup. I'll admit, the soda flavors were very yummy, but like me he's very good at the project part, but not the clean-up part of the activity. As soon as we turned the lights out for the night, the ants discovered the sweet aftermath of his experiment and told all their buddies in our zip code that our house was the place to be.

Grumble grumble grumble. The negative thoughts filled my head as I was clearing off the counter and preparing to go to battle with my ant foes. In perfect God timing, this verse came to mind, "I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him" (1Sam1:27). Ouch! Need some ice to go with that burn? 1Samuel is the passage that inspired me fifteen years ago as a 20 something newlywed longing to be a mom. This is the passage that spoke to me as the Holy Spirt woke me in the middle of the night all those years ago and led me to kneel on the floor of our designated nursery after another unfruitful month. This is the passage that Sam, my creative and brilliant patience-testing 13 y.o., is named after. The cliché, "Be careful what you what wish for" is so appropriate here, for sure. I don't think I really had any clue what I wished for when I prayed for kids, but I am so thankful for all of my kids, even my teenager! ;) Thank you, Lord, for a good reminder of your blessings and answered prayers. Help me turn my grumblings into gratitude.

D Day

Today is our D day: deployment day. Kevin leaves for Afghanistan for nine months today. Nine months... so much can occur in nine months. Human babies grow from conception to 9 lbs of wonder. Students move from knowing nothing about Algebra to mastering quadratic equations. What will begin and take flight during Kevin's nine months? I'm camping out in Romans 8 today and I anticipate for the net (broken key on our keyboard! Who knew how often I'm going to miss the key that comes after w!) nine months that God will use this passage to encourage and bolster our faith. These verses resonate with me especially: 28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[i] have been called according to his purpose. 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? 36 As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”[j] 37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[k] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:28 is such a life verse for me, almost to the point of being cliché. But I was reminded of the depth and richness of God's word when I began seeing the relevance to this trial in our life. I don't want us to see this challenging year as a deficit - a "lack" of Dad in our lives. I want to see it as an opportunity, an accelerator of sorts. How can we embrace our unique situation and let God use it for HIS GOOD in our lives? How can we reach out to others instead of withdrawing into our own self-pity? It will be tough, no doubt, but as Kelly Clarkson says, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" (I'm sure she's not the coiner of this phrase, but her rendition certainly beats in my head with a memorable crescendo.) We've already ewperienced (missing key again!) some 8:28 goodness in our lives: we recently visited Kevin for a week in Tewas (ugh) during his appointed leave time from training at Ft. Hood. We had such a great cowboy adventure of sorts: pulling armadillo road kill off Highway 35; swimming with the nibbling minnows at Reimer's Ranch; eating our weight in barbeque; indulging in a real set of cowboy boots. More than just these ewperiences, we reconnected with a college friend that we hadn't seen in decades. What a joy it was to see God renew bonds so quickly with Rich and his amazing family, Tracy, and their three fantastic boys. The time we spent at the Steinle Ranch splashing in the pool, catching critters and talking in depth about Christian parenting and teens renewed our sense of gratitude in a God that wants good things for his children in spite of tough circumstances. I am touched by the Lord's tender hand in our lives and look forward to seeing Him use this time to mold us more into His likeness.

Write No More

White foam spat from the can, coating the web, incapacitating her perfectly formed legs. Yellow and black stripes quickly disappeared from sight, encased in noxious, nerve-stilling gas. Like a child in the fetal position, she rolled into a ball, but the poison was her mortal foe, trapping her in her own web. Wrapped in silk, a brief moment of empathy for her prey, but no one’s dinner tonight. Her beautiful danger lurks silently no more. I think of you, Arachne, in my empty victory, how your only flaw was your perfect gift; your beautiful weaving brought not admiration from others, but ultimate tragedy. Perhaps you and my Writing Spider are not so different. Her beautiful web, so precisely located and immaculately designed, drew me to her, eliciting fear coursing through my veins like a triple espresso, fear paired with awe at the beauty of your work and your fierce presence triumphant upon your masterpiece. Now I am writing and you will write no more. Have you siblings that will seek revenge? Do pheromones release like a rallying cry? But wait, my skin twitches so lightly on my spine. Simply a chill or silent revenge crawling up my back?

Kiev revisited

These are some of the sights I found when I googled Kiev. It's amazing how we literally have the world, and our failing memories, at our fingertips with the web. Although the pictures are lovely, touching and thought-provoking, what speaks louder to me are some of the faith stories. Here are a few that my aging brain somehow managed to file away... Bleach blond, coy blue eyes peeking out of a heart-shaped face, my roommate Lena had such a gentle spirit and sweet laugh. She giggled often, at my silly questions, at my appalling lack of Russian, at my bratty whining. One day as the summer morphed into weeks, one day after we'd bridged the gaps of small talk, one day I asked her about my favorite topic at the time ... boys. "So, Lena," I teased a bit, "is there a special boy on the trip for you?"
Under a cerulean Ukrainian sky, we sat on the edge of the windmill, swinging our legs off the side, probably violating some Soviet statute.
"Uh, no." She emphatically responded. "Don't be crazy."
"Come on," I continued, "There must be someone you like... David, Brian maybe?"
"Anneka (her Russian nickname for me), Anneka, I do not have time for such silly things like boys."
"Why not?" I wondered, genuinely baffled.
"I have Jesus in my life. He's the only boy I need."
I came halfway across the world to learn one of the most profound messages a girl can ever know. Thank you, Lena, for showing me the real secret to happiness.

Melancholy grace

Today I caught a glimpse of a shadow of God's grace... my husband is traveling, something he does quite often. Usually our little life continues on back home; this time was different.

"Where's your next trip, Honey?" We leaned over the family calendar, filling it with the details of our life together.

"Kiev," he replied.

I had a catch in my spirit. Kiev. That's the city of my senses - the smell of woodsy, red and yellow matroushka dolls sold by street vendors, the vivid blues and yellows of the austere buildings, the gruff sounds of the melancholy language whispered on crowded street cars.

"Kiev," he said again wistfully, knowing my attachement to this far away land. I stood speechless, lost in the memories for a moment...

I paused a moment and the wheels starting churning. How could I go with him?? If I could replicate myself, maybe, but as I'm no Jane Jetson, I released my fleeting idea. I've traveled with him before to exotic places as a tag along on business trips - Hawaii, Italy. Some lovely memories we've made on our journeys together. Those were simpler times. So I sit at the computer, googling Kiev. This time he is in a city that God used beautifully and humbly in my journey with Him. I was barely twenty; it was half a lifetime ago, and yet it feels like... yesterday. It's a cliche, but rings so true in my heart. He asked me where he should visit... my mind was fuzzy, as there seems to be little spare room in my gray matter for details other than clean jerseys and what to do with the defrosting chicken in the fridge. (To be continued...)