Joy, Pain, and Paradox

Joy, Pain, and Paradox

Kara Holmes
Down syndrome, motherhood, Joy in the Unexpected

I sit here this morning as drops of fresh rain dance upon our aluminum rooftop. The coffee in my mug has gone nearly cold after sitting by my side for a while, but I will remedy that soon enough with a fresh cup from the French press. On the other side of our home, my family still rests. I nursed Alisa in the early hours of the morning, and she sleeps in my bed now, her stomach warmed and full. I carry my bucket to the wellspring of life, drawing the waters of eternal, soul-quenching salvation. I drink of the Living Water of Christ.

Joy Comes with the Morning

Joy Comes with the Morning

Kara Holmes
Down syndrome, Joy in the Unexpected

Have you ever experienced that unnerving feeling in your spirit that something isn’t right? No matter how hard you try to ignore it or to snuff it out, the feeling is persistent and insistent. 

I hate that feeling. 

Last week, I loaded Alisa in the minivan and took her to an appointment with a pediatric ophthalmologist. We had been waiting to see a doctor for her eyes. For the last month or so, we noticed that Alisa’s eyesight did not seem to be what we’d expect at this point. Lack of eye contact and little eye tracking were among the other outward symptoms prompting that feeling of discomfort to arise within me. As a parent, I’m not sure anything is more unnerving than realizing something might not be working correctly with your child’s eyes. 

The Question God Will Answer

Kara Holmes
Christianity, suffering

In the summer of 2003, I served as a summer missionary at a church plant in Manhattan. While the distance of time has caused many details from that summer to diminish in my memory, one experience stands out to me after all of these years. It was a hot July day, and we were doing an outreach event in a park on the Upper Westside. As the event was in progress, I stood on the outskirts observing our group interact with others when I noticed a man up on a hill that overlooked the park. Dressed in biker’s gear, he stood straddling his bike as he watched our event with curiosity.

If Only...

If Only...

Kara Holmes
Down syndrome, suffering

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

Near the end of my pregnancy, the specialist who did my weekly sonograms at the hospital performed a 3D ultrasound for me. I didn’t tell her why I asked for one, but I desperately wanted to see Alisa’s face to search for any features of Down syndrome. I needed to see just to prepare myself for her birth. One of the nurses I had become especially close to wanted to be a part of the sonogram, so she walked down the hall with me early that morning. While we were waiting for the machine to warm up, the nurse, who had just looked at my chart, commented that she’d seen Alisa had a cyst on her brain earlier in gestation. She’d never heard of that type of cyst and asked what it meant. The fact that Alisa had anything abnormal in her brain at any point was news to me.

But God...You Broke Her

Kara Holmes
Down syndrome, suffering

“Your daughter is going to live; I am so sorry.”

These are the first words the surprised doctor uttered to the parents of Judy Squier on the day of her birth. Born in a time before the technology and convenience of sonograms existed, Judy’s condition of proximal femoral focal deficiency went undetected throughout her mother’s pregnancy. Judy emerged from her mother’s womb on that day with grossly evident birth defects, including a webbed left hand and two undeveloped legs. In her book His Majesty in Brokenness, Judy tells her story, starting with her shocking entrance to the world as her parents overcame grief and heartache and committed themselves to doing all they could for their daughter, even if her body was broken. Judy shares many of her struggles as she also identifies God’s goodness and presence throughout a lifetime of disabilities, hospitalizations, and heartache. 

With Eyes that See

With Eyes that See

Kara Holmes

I watched as they gracefully walked across the freshly fallen snow. A fawn pranced ahead of the group, bounding into the air effortlessly and landing softly upon the powder. They came to the edge of the field and stopped, cautiously listening for any sound of danger. Slowly, they walked into the field in front of my in-law’s country home and approached the deer feeder. A fire roared in the fireplace to my right, crackling and popping and sizzling with warmth and energy, and I enjoyed the serene beauty of nature - the life before me, around me, beside me. Alisha slept peacefully on a pillow, tummy full from her first morning meal.

But then, the deer froze. Their muscles taut, their ears back, listening, waiting. They would turn toward the line of trees and wait, ready to bound into the safety of cover if the need arouse. After a few moments of intense listening, they went back to grazing in the field. This cycle continued as the deer ate, occasionally freezing in fear and listening for any sign of danger. Go on, little deer, it’s ok. There is no danger here, I urged in my thoughts. I knew they were safe, but the deer did not. “Skittish little animals, aren’t they?” I asked my husband between sips of hot coffee as we both stared out the window. 

“It’s how they survive,” he shrugged matter-of-factly.

 I understand that, I thought. And the morning rolled on lazily…

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