This is one of a series of chapters from my book about life with our special-needs daughter, Catherine.
Part 4 - I do
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| Jim and Nicole Hahn August 19, 2000 Wedding Photo |
I ducked behind the sofa just in time as a Nerf dart whistled by my head and slammed into the wall beneath the image of the Sacred Heart. Slowly I crawled on my belly between the wall and sofa as I made my way toward the kitchen under heavy fire. The war was the result of a misunderstanding, a misfire maybe, or unsafe gun handling. Moments ago my finger had slipped launching a blue dart with a reddish-orange whistling tip straight into the center of Nicole’s back as she stood stirring a pot at the stove. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn’t. I’ll never tell no matter what you do to me.
In those few moments since the unfortunate “incident” she was able to arm herself and rally a small group of guerrilla fighters. I was outgunned and outnumbered but confident in my abilities. I took a throw pillow and tossed it up in the air hoping to draw their fire while at the same time I jumped up and took aim at one fighter who was caught out in the open gathering ammo. I quickly grabbed the next dart and reloaded. A barrage of darts sped by me as I quickly made my way backwards down the hall and into the bathroom. I frantically locked the door, fumbled for the light, and assessed the situation. Two darts left. Fighters in the hall gathering spent darts. Dang it! I should have grabbed those before hunkering down. I stood in the bathtub, behind the shower curtain, waiting for my opponents to bust down the door or at least use the key to unlock it.
I treasured times like these. I loved roughhousing with the boys and playing with Nicole. It was a great deal of fun and took our minds off of Catherine. The four boys were unaware of what was going on in the hearts and minds of their parents. Most kids are I think. They had no idea of how scared we were. Thankfully they never experienced the thoughts of what may or may not happen in the next few months. The boys were young enough that they would remember little of this time and love Catherine unconditionally. They’d know no other way, no other Catherine.
In the days after the second ultrasound we began sharing the news with friends and family. I was blogging steadily at the time and shared the news with my readers. An army of prayer warriors began to form. Prayers, well-wishes, and offers of help came from all over the country and beyond. Parishioners at St. Michael where I worked and our home parish of St. John poured themselves out for us in prayers and compassion.
What did we pray for? That’s a good question. I wish I could say that “
thy will be done” was the only prayer on my heart and lips at that time. It wasn’t. I’m human. All too often I prayed the earlier part of that prayer, “
take this cup from me.” I prayed for everything to go away. I prayed that both ultrasounds were erroneous. I prayed that this would simply be another case of science getting it wrong. They did get it wrong often, right? Doctors often informed the parents they were having a boy only to find themselves six months later remodeling a bedroom, pink paint can in hand. I’d read stories of doctors and nurses breaking the hearts of parents with news of a severe birth-defect found during an ultrasound only to have the parents cry tears of joy when a perfectly healthy baby emerges into the light of day. It had happened before, right? It could happen to us too!
I knew that this wasn’t just going to go away. Have you ever hoped, when you were a kid, that a friend or sibling might get an awesome gift for his or her birthday or Christmas? Did you hope that they’d get the gift not out of pure charity but because you wanted the gift? You wanted so badly to have it or play with it but knew your family couldn’t afford it or wouldn’t purchase such a thing so you hoped someone close to you would get it. I prayed for that too. I prayed that Catherine would be miraculously healed. I reasoned with the Lord…
Think about it, God. Right now thousands of souls know about Catherine and her plight. Imagine what a miraculous healing would do for the faith of so many. I don’t want this for me or Catherine. I want this for You and others. It would be great publicity, boost your ratings which, to be honest, are a little low right now. Come on, let’s do this. A good old-fashioned miracle just like you did in the Bible. Those are true, right? I’m sure there’s a saint who could use a strong miracle in his or her cause for canonization. You can even pick the saint! Just let me know who and I’ll spread their devotion far and wide. It could be the beginning of a massive conversion here in the United States. It could spark a revival that hasn’t been seen for who knows how long. Come on, what do you say? This could be a win-win-win for everyone.
It didn’t seem as silly at the time. It was real. It was raw. I was desperate. I was on the uphill side of a roller-coaster that I hadn’t chosen. Or did I? I did. I’d chosen this roller-coaster on August 19, 2000 when I said two words, “
I do.” Good times and bad, sickness and health, richer and poorer. I’d said “
I do” to the joys of marriage and the sufferings. “
I do,” to whatever God might send our way. “
I do” to happy, healthy, vibrant, energetic children and tiny, frail, feeble, helpless ones. The “
I do” on that hot day in August was like the bar of the roller coaster as it swings down from above your head and locks you in place. Is it a trap from which there is no escape or a strong, comforting, protection for when times get tough, when it feels like the world has dropped from beneath your feet? I’d say, with grace, it’s the latter.
Just like in a roller-coaster, that bar protects you but it can also be a sort of tough love. When you are flying at breakneck speeds over hills, around corners, and into loop-de-loops, it’s what saves you from certain death while at the same time it causes stress and maybe even bruising. It hurts like hell when you turn upside down and slam into that bar but you are thankful it’s there to protect you. That’s the “
I do” of my marriage vows.
I’ve never made any vows before, not counting crossing my heart, hoping to die, and sticking a needle in my eye. I don’t think I’ll make any other vows in this life so this one has to count. I’m a dreamer, a man of ideas. My personality and temperament, for better or worse, is one that is constantly churning ideas and jumping from one to another. I know that about myself and so when making that vow, I knew it was the one I promised to Nicole, God, my family, my future children, and my restless self never to break. I set my face like flint, as they say.
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| Boys shooting Nerf dart guns |
Even with Catherine’s diagnosis I was never tempted to negate that vow. Oh yes, I’ve been tempted to run, to escape, to take the easy way out but it has been that vow that has kept me anchored in the stormy sea of this life. There are days when I’ve wanted to just walk out the door and disappear for a few days or weeks, but not for good. I’m sure Nicole has felt the same way. It’s understandable and I’ve done my best to make time for breaks and retreats for both her and me. These times are needed in any relationship. Time alone with God. Time away from the stress of work and children. Time to put some distance between myself and the situation, gain perspective, but not to plan an exit strategy. Like Jesus, we all need time away on the mountain to pray, regenerate, and then re-engage.
These Nerf dart wars were a chance to do that. They were a chance to step out of the stress in some small way and enjoy the moment. Dart wars, hikes, fishing, gardening; they were all little ways of escaping both the stress outside and within. These activities were a type of prayer in their own right. It helped us praise God for what we had instead of what were may be losing. The laughter, the exercise, the joy, and excitement that accompanied each activity somehow gave glory to God and pulled us out of our worry and stress if only for a few moments or a few hours.
As the day of Catherine’s arrival drew nearer, we did pray. We prayed for healing, for strength, for it all to go away. However, these prayers always, always, as difficult as it was to pray, had an asterisk… “
if it is your will.” A wise priest once told me that it’s okay to cry out to God, the saints did. It’s okay to argue, bargain, and wrestle with God, the patriarchs did. It’s perfectly normal and human to whisper from the depths of pain, “
why.” Why me? Why this? Why now? Why? Yet this learned priest said that I should always follow my WHY question by reversing the letters of that word YHW….Your….Holy...Will. It’s the toughest prayer to pray, period. It’s a prayer that accepts whatever happens as good and part of God’s greater plan. It’s a prayer that accepts the sufferings ahead and asks for the courage to see as God sees. It is also the most comforting prayer when you can finally, and with an open heart, utter those simple words without reserve. You holy will, your will be done, are prayers that say to God, “
my cross is so heavy, can you help me with it for a bit. I trust you, help me to trust. I do believe you love me, help me to believe.” And he will.
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| Blessed Margaret of Costello Shrine in Columbus, OH |
On April 5th, 2008 we began a novena, one of many to many saints for Catherine. Our novena was to Blessed Margaret of Castello. Margaret was unwanted from the beginning not only because she was a girl but also because she was born a blind, crippled, hunchback dwarf. Today Blessed Margaret would not have made it past her second ultrasound. Her parents hid her in their castle afraid of what their friends and the world may think of her and them. When she escaped the confines of her room they had a door-less cell built adjacent to the parish church. Here she lived for 10 years hearing Mass, learning the Faith, and studying at the side of loving priest until she was 16. Her parents, moved by grace or attempting to help the Lord with his ratings, took Margaret to a local shrine where many miracles had occurred. When nothing happened to Margaret, when no miracle came, her parents returned to their castle, abandoning the poor, blind, crippled girl. She was taken in by Dominican nuns and grew in faith and the love of Christ and her neighbor. Despite her lot in life thus far, Margaret brought joy to all who met her. She visited the sick, the dying, and those in prison. Over 200 miracles are attributed to her intercession. The novena is a wonderful meditation on abandoning ourselves to the will of God. You may find it and more information about Little Margaret, patron of the unwanted, at
www.littlemargaret.com. Oh, and her body is incorrupt! How ironic, don’t you think?
I heard the bathroom door rattle as I continued to stand in the empty bathtub. This was it, my number was up. On the other side of that door that was beginning to open stood 5 armed warriors who had their prey cornered. There would be no parlay, no mercy, no quarter would be given. I loved these moments. I hoped they would continue, maybe, somehow even Catherine could join in. I prayed a quick prayer for my wife, for our four heavily armed boys, for little Catherine who in her own way was playing the game as well in safety of her mother's womb. With my prayers said, I flung back the shower curtain and launched a dart toward the opening door. It missed. I slunk down into the tub fresh dart wounds covering my body.
“
Do you surrender Dad?”, said the oldest.
I replied, “
I do.”
Read the next chapter,
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made, here.
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