When his little sister died, Lyndon dealt with his pain in a way that was totally opposite to that of his siblings. While the other kids talked of Connie and remembered her days with us through tears and sometimes giggles, each trying to stay connected to her, Lyndon walked the road of denial.
In a valiant attempt to protect his damaged emotions and the grief he didn’t know how to process, he boldly proclaimed that Connie was no longer his sister.
His words shocked and disturbed me at first. I tried to reason with him but to no avail. In his 11-year-old mind, it was the way he chose to cope with the circumstances life had dealt him.
Then one day we started pursuing an international adoption. The kids were elated, each one longing for the presence of a baby in our house again.
All except Lyndon.
Again, he argued loudly that we were not going to get another baby. He would never, ever have another little sister.
I had learned by now that trying to reason with him or convince him that something good was around the corner was pointless.
There were many ups and downs, trials and setbacks, and as the months passed, things began to look rather bleak.
Watching the rest of us struggle with the delays and unmet expectations, Lyndon was even more convinced that he was right.
But after several years and many tears, one day we received three pictures of a beautiful little girl in a faraway land. The atmosphere of the household changed to one of contagious excitement. All hearts were overflowing with joyous exuberance.
Except for Lyndon.
Even now he wasn’t convinced. He steadfastly held to his notion that pictures proved nothing. He didn’t have a baby sister and he was not getting one now.
More weeks passed and one day an envelope came by FedEx, bringing two airline tickets and the final paper we needed for travel to China.
Looking at those items in my hand, the truth was undeniable. He reached out and touched the papers and when he did, something broke loose inside of his young teenage heart.
In touching the evidence, he was finally convinced! And such a shouting and running and jumping and dancing I had never seen from him before.
The evidence had made all the difference.
This morning while reading the story of the Resurrection and Thomas’s response to the claim that Jesus was alive, I was reminded again of my son.
Thomas takes a lot of flack from us for doubting the other disciples. But I think I understand him and his reaction to the situation.
Thomas was like Lyndon in many ways.
He loved the one he lost in a very real way. The pain he felt at Jesus’ death was disappointing and disorienting. Jesus was supposed to live, not die.
Now the hurt was too deep to allow hope to enter. If it turned out to be false hope, it would make matters worse. He would hurt worse.
So, Thomas denied that Jesus was alive. He was protecting his heart.
When the other disciples excitedly told Thomas that they had seen Jesus, he flat-out refused to accept their story.
“I won’t believe it unless I see the nail wounds in his hands, put my fingers into them, and place my hand into the wound in his side,” he said.
Then one day he reached out and touched the evidence.
When he did, he was finally convinced.
And his joy was uncontainable.
“My Lord and my God!” he exclaimed.
Sometimes deep love causes strong reactions.
Tears fill my eyes as I try to place myself on the scene. I imagine the air held all the emotions similar to that of our household on the day when Lyndon finally believed that what God had promised he was bringing to fulfillment.
Only Thomas’s joy and belief had a far superior reward.
He was granted eternal life, and now he is at home with Jesus, and he will never be separated from him again!