“hey larissa,” he yelled from the living room.

“what?”

“i’m uncomfortable.”

“can you ask caleb to help you,” as i prepared for tomorrow’s dinner.

“caleb, i’m uncomfortable.”

“one second,” said Caleb.

“one second,” he said, clearly keeping track of time for caleb.

this repeated probably five times - ian yelling from the living room that he was uncomfortable or that he needed his wifey. and all that i could see in my mind was walking into the hospital room the first time he was taken out of bed and put in a seated position, back in 2006, back in the ICU.

he looked....awful. i remember that being the first time that my then-boyfriend truly looked completely disabled, vegetative. and what made it awful was that i remember it being the first time that i realized he truly might not ever be the same again. i remember being with mary, and they had him in a special chair, with a special helmet on, and he was different.

“bless the lord, oh my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy” psalm 103

ian will know this in the fullest measure in heaven, but we have tasted a glimpse of healing here. and while i know in my heart that my hope is not that ian was shown mercy and has improved, and that at any moment either of us could become sick or disabled, we get to enjoy these moments for the gifts that they are.

“forget not all his benefits”

always,

larissa

"Before me, as behind, god is, and all is well."

Praying that our souls would be well.

Merry Christmas

I know of a Name,
A beautiful Name,
That unto a Babe was given;
The stars glittered bright
Throughout that glad night,
And angels praised God in Heav'n.

Grateful

Ian told me that I should post about gratefulness. Today's is simple, really.

"Ian I wish I had something interesting to tell you about my day."

"tell me anything about your day and it will be interesting to me."

Today, I'm
just glad that he can talk and that we made it through the years that he couldn't.

Thank you, always.

A special post from our senior pastor:

I’m honored that Ian and Larissa have invited me to write a guest post on their blog. Ian and Larissa (as well as Ian’s Dad who went to be with the Lord a couple years ago), his mom Mary and his brothers) because for years they have faithfully glorified God in the midst of unimaginable suffering.

I’m humbled by the topic they asked me to write on - “an encouragement for some of our readers who may be disabled and have felt the impact that has on their ability to serve the church and what their "new" or "ongoing" role looks like.”

First of all, though I have experienced various trials, some harder than others, I don’t consider myself in the same league as Ian and Larissa and many other believers I know. As a pastor for over 30 years, I have seen many of God’s people suffer extraordinary trials. I’ve tried my best to enter in with many in their afflictions, but can’t possibly know the pain they’ve experienced. So I write on the authority of God’s Word and as a witness to a number of saints who have glorified Jesus in the midst of incredible suffering.

First, God knows best what will glorify him. God gave Paul a “thorn” in the flesh to glorify himself:

So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:7-10)

Paul wouldn’t have chosen his thorn, but God knew what would best glorify him. Not only did Paul’s thorn keep him humble and dependent on God’s grace, but it formed the black velvet background to showcase the diamond of “the power of Christ.” Knowing this helped Paul find contentment in weaknesses, insults, and hardships, because in his weakness, the power of Christ shone through.

Somehow God will use your disability to display his power and glory. He does this as you rejoice in Christ and his salvation despite your affliction. As you display joy when the world would expect you to be depressed. As you to look to the interests of others instead of being consumed by your own suffering. As you continue to come to church, small groups and the life of the church. As you encourage others even when you are suffering.

We tend to evaluate our own “usefulness” based on what we can do for God. But God doesn’t evaluate us on that basis. As Oswald Chambers says,

God plants His saints in the most useless places. We say, "I should be here because I am so useful." Jesus never estimated His life by the standard of greatest use. God puts His people where they will glorify Him, and we are not capable of judging where that is. -- Oswald Chambers in My Utmost for His Highest

God planted Joseph in an Egyptian prison for 13 years. God put Moses in the desert for 40 years before calling him to deliver Israel from Pharoah.

David too spent lots of time in “useless places” - desert caves and strongholds hiding from Saul before God exalted David to became king.

Jesus spent 30 years in obscurity before a short 3-year ministry, then died a “failure” on the cross, having had seemingly little impact on Israel.

Paul spent lots of time in prison. He could have viewed his jail time as useless, but through his imprisonment the gospel spread to prisoners, guards and beyond. And Paul wrote a number of his letters from prison which we might not have had God not put him in a “useless” place.

My wife and I adopted our youngest son almost 21 years ago. He came to us through the ministry of a disabled woman named Eileen. Eileen had a form of dystrophy that bound her to a wheelchair much of her life. Eileen suffered a LOT. Yet she was always joyful and filled with faith. She must have been tempted to self-pity at times, but I never heard her once complain. Eileen was active in her church, counseled women and children, took foster children into her home, and adopted children. The last time I saw her before she went to be with the Lord, she was unable to swallow anything, even her own saliva, because of a particular physical affliction. Yet she was still cheerful and praising God.

You may not be able to glorify God in some of these ways because of your condition, but here are a few suggestions.

By reading or listening to God’s word and praying.

By whatever ways you are able to participate in the worship and life of your church - even if it’s just being there.

By trusting God and declaring to others that God is sovereign, good and wise.

By setting an example of faith and perseverance.

By rejoicing in all things and not complaining.

By depending on God.

By encouraging others.

By being content in Christ as your treasure even above your health and comfort

Activity doesn’t glorify God as much as patient trust in him. I love this quote by Charles Spurgeon and hope it encourages you:

Many who can labor without weariness cannot suffer without impatience. Men are seldom equally skilled in the use of the two hands of doing and bearing. Patience is a grace that is rarer and harder to find than activity and zeal.

The bottom line is that all of us must daily commit and devote ourselves to the glory of God, wherever he has us, whatever we must go through.

"We need to deal with God... that God may be glorified in our condition, whatever it is. If he wills for us to be rich and full, that he might be glorified in our bounty; if he wills us to be poor and low, that he may be glorified in our patience; if he will have us healthy, that he may be glorified in our labour; if he will have us sick, that he may be glorified in our pain; if he will have us live, that he may be glorified in our lives; if he will have us die, that he may be glorified in our deaths" (Romans 14:8). -- Thomas Manton

he notices

ian had just gotten to the table, and i was standing at the counter working on dinner. he started a conversation,

"what are you doing"

"working on dinner"

"no, on your phone"

"oh, just emailing somebody"

then i had to walk over and give him an excited hug. "you can see me. and you can tell that i'm on my phone. and you're asking me what i'm doing."

in a non-brain injury relationship, that exchange wouldn't happen. it probably wouldn't be that exciting that your husband asked what you were doing. but for us - it's huge. sometimes i'm not sure that ian can even see me. he has one crazy eye from the accident that isn't normally in line with his left, and we've always been puzzled now by his eyesight. my typical test when he says he's looking at me - "is my hair up or down?" or "what color is my shirt?" He sometimes gets it right, but he also sometimes gets it wrong.

so as i was standing on the other side of the kitchen from him, his question took me back to the hospital rooms, back to the therapists comments, that he needed to initiate more, needed to be aware of his environment. and he is. he doesn't always ask those questions - but when he does, it is so sweet.

and these are the types of moments that are beauty in our marriage. we don't have moments of ian surprising me with cleaning the house, or making dinner, or planning a special date night. he can't serve me by setting the mouse traps in the attic or setting up the christmas tree. so our joy is added to in these little glimpses of mercy and little glimpses of ian's care for me - which really aren't that little for someone like ian.

grateful today that he notices me.

thank you, always,
larissa

A View from David

Below is a small first glimpse of hopefully many from David, Ian's best friend, who has been a more faithful friend than we could have imagined.

I'm at the Vinegar Hill studio and I'm tap dancing. Ian is watching me, silently, a face that says "I'm completely unamused..."

I finish my routine and look to Ian. "What do you think?" I ask. Ian's response, completely deadpan: "Stop dancing."

We both laugh.

Ian and I hatched the idea for Vinegar Hill in 2006, less than 2 months before his accident. We had both returned from summer internships (Ian had crewed on an independent film and I had worked for a TV production company) and were dying to make a film together. I wanted to dive in, start writing, start prepping, and figure out the money thing later. But Ian was smart. He said that we needed to start company, to learn business, to get a good reputation (it's not that we had a bad reputation, we just had no reputation). I reluctantly agreed.

But then Ian had his accident and everything changed. I was faced with a decision. Go get a job at a production company out of town (there wasn't much film happening in Indiana, PA at the time)...or stay in town and start to build Vinegar Hill while Ian began working towards recovery. I stayed, compelled by this thought: if it was me who was in the accident, Ian wouldn't leave...

That was five years ago and by God's incredible kindness, Vinegar Hill is continuing to grow. There are four of us now: Ian, Mike Hartnett, Shep Ahlers, and myself. Ian comes in to the studio every afternoon. We drink coffee, listen to music, and hang out while I work. I've stopped asking Ian who he wants to listen to because he always says the same thing — "Switchfoot" (sorry Ian...I'm Switchfooted out right now...I need a break...)

God has done so much more than I thought possible that day of the accident, the doctor's said my best friend was going to die and now we get to spend time together every day. But there's still much sadness. Ian isn't able to play as active a role in the company as we would like. I think this is probably the hardest on Ian. Here I am, doing what both of us spent our childhood dreaming about, and in many ways Ian can only watch...

It would be so easy for him to be bitter and jealous. I probably would be. But here's the thing — Ian comes to the studio every day full of joy. He comes ready to laugh and joke and drink coffee and encourage the guys and me. How is that possible? It's possible because Ian has been transformed by Jesus. It's possible because he's not living for the things of this world, but for heaven. It's possible because he considers others more significant than himself.

I am so grateful to have Ian as a business partner. Every day, he is a picture of Jesus to me. I'm so grateful to have him as a best friend.

I finish my dance, Ian gives it the thumbs down, we laugh, and I get ready to dive back into work. I ask Ian who he wants to listen to. Without giving it a second thought he answers: "Switchfoot..."