Welcome a Child, in His Name

by Jim Lyon, Senior Pastor

Elizabeth Ginder’s life was defined by two sets of parents. Born in Denver, her mother was just 16, her father still a teenager, too.  He did not know his wife was pregnant. Neither did she. In fact, Elizabeth’s birth was like one of those tabloid headlines you find at the supermarket check-out: “16-Year Old Thinks She Has Flu and Delivers Baby Instead.” Experiencing cramps and pain like she had never known, Elizabeth’s young mother went to an emergency room to find relief and only then discovered she was pregnant; Elizabeth was born that same day. Yes, folks: things like this really happen.

Overwhelmed, Elizabeth’s parents then faced another challenge: Elizabeth was born disabled. From the moment she saw the light of day, Elizabeth clearly manifested signs of a serious brain disorder; much of her brain just wasn’t there. Unaware of her pregnancy, Elizabeth’s mom (and dad) had dabbled in some very risky behaviors which inevitably compromised their daughter’s development. They decided right away that there was no way they could care for this child.

Two of Madison Park’s finest, Ron and Rachael Ginder had years before established a reputation for taking into their home physically and developmentally disabled children otherwise hard to place. Indeed, since the 1980’s, the Ginders have been “go-to” foster parents of choice for social welfare networks in several states. Impossible cases appear on their doorstep. Many of the children they have taken into their home have been left to die. The Ginders have cared for—and loved—over 100 profoundly disabled children over the last quarter century. When the call was placed from Denver to Anderson in late 1994, the Ginders prayerfully agreed to receive baby Elizabeth into their home; she arrived at age three months.

Some local physicians looked at Elizabeth and said, “Keep her hydrated and let nature take its course.” In other words: don’t feed her and let her die; she’ll never have a life, really; it’s impossible for her to develop in any substantive way; babies like this have no prospects. But, the Ginders believe every child holds the promise of life. They held her, fed her, dressed her up, talked to her, laughed with her, prayed with her, loved her.

In time, Elizabeth would defy medicine and express herself. Never verbally, of course, but she’d stick her tongue out contemptuously whenever she heard the voice of a doctor she didn’t like (and there were some), she’d laugh and giggle when she heard the gentle and reassuring voice of her new dad, Ron. She beamed when she found bubble-gum flavored lip gloss or recognized Big Bird. She shared a room with three other disabled Ginder girls—all with stories and challenges in common with her own.

Now in their 70’s, Ron and Rachael nevertheless adopted Elizabeth (and her three sisters-in-the-room).  On some days, Elizabeth wanted to be left alone; she would rest and revel in the quiet. But, on most days, she loved to be engaged by everyone who came by.  I know, because she engaged me, too, when I stopped in to visit.

Elizabeth passed away this month, just a few days shy of her fifteenth birthday. It was my privilege to preside over her memorial service, which ended with the astonishingly appropriate lyric (by her parent’s request) from Don Moen’s “If You Could See Me Now.” I spoke about the value of Elizabeth’s life and legacy:  because she was given a chance to thrive, she did; the medical community has learned much about the prospects of young lives like hers, thanks to her journey and achievements. I spoke about the New Testament promise of a new, heavenly body, for all of us, someday. And, I referenced Jesus’ own words (recorded in Matthew 18), when He observed that we must all be “humble children” to find our place in His Kingdom and that when we welcome any child in His name (as the Ginders have so amazingly done), we welcome Him, too. Ron and Rachael have, in a most extraordinary way, cared for Jesus in their home.

In a world driven by convenience and pleasure, in a world in which we crave comfort and ease, in a world that too often defines “quality of life” and “value of life” through the dark lens of how we might be troubled or challenged by it, Elizabeth Ann Ginder bears eloquent witness to the unspeakable wonder of life itself, breathed by God into flesh and bone. Every child is precious. Never forget that.

If you’d like to work with Jesus by loving children, contact Pastor Paula Spear in Children’s Ministries.

by Jim Lyon, Senior Pastor

Recently, I welcomed the Heartland Health and Wellness Conference to Madison Park. The two-day convention annually draws hundreds of Hoosiers from all over central Indiana to learn about making healthy choices—choices about what we eat, how we exercise, and so on.  This is the second year the Conference has been held at Madison Park; it is not a Madison Park event, but it is held at Madison Park.

After a delicious heart-healthy breakfast (served from a spectacular buffet in The Commons), the crowd moved into the Crossroads Auditorium for the morning sessions. All kinds of people were there—old and young, firemen, police officers, educators, healthcare professionals, public officials, stock brokers, auto mechanics, A-to-Z, you name it. (more…)

Messages from Home

“I am told that the first comprehensible word that I uttered was, ‘home.’ My father was driving his secondhand Austin 7; my mother was in the passenger seat, holding me on her lap. As we approached our modest house, Dad braked the car to turn onto the pocket-handkerchief square of concrete by the gate and apparently I, quietly, tentatively, said the word, ‘Home.’ … My parents wanted to be sure they heard me correctly, so Dad drove around the lanes once again, and as we returned, it seems I repeated the word once again.

“My mother must have said it more than once upon our arrival at our house—perhaps with satisfaction? Or relief? Or may be to instill in her young daughter a sense of comfort and safety. The word has carried enormous resonance for me ever since.

“Home.”

And so begins the first chapter of Julie Andrews’ “memoir of my early years,” appropriately titled, Home.  As the pages unfold, the reader discovers that the woman who brought Mary Poppins and Maria VonTrapp to life on the big screen, found herself growing up struggling to find a place called “home.” As a child, her parents divorced, after her mother became involved with another man. Next, she found herself on the road traveling all over England, accompanying her mother and step-father onto theatre stages and into performance halls. She found herself hiding in London tube stations during the War, as she huddled for safety underground, as Hitler determined to bomb Britain into submission. Emerging from the subway, she moved from place to place, as her stepfather’s musical career waned. And, even though, at the age of ten, she dazzled the Royal Family in a command performance showcasing her even then astonishing vocal range, “home” remained an elusive dream—a word from long ago, simpler days. A word that came to capture all that she longed for in life.

I’ve been a Julie Andrews fan from my earliest memory. The sound of her voice, the iconic photography of her singing in the Alps outside of Salzburg in Austria, “the hills are alive with the sound of music,” have always made me feel “at home.” They remind me of my childhood, long-ago, simpler days.

Hers is a fascinating story. But then, all of us have fascinating stories, if we just think to tell them. And, each of us has a deep longing for a place called “home.” It’s imbedded in us; it’s a God-thing, I think.

As the holidays approach next month, I will open a new biblically-grounded Sunday teaching series called, “Home.” You know, “home for the holidays.” But, how do I find home? How do I make the house I live in a home? How do I invite someone to experience my home? How could Jesus find a home here with us? Why do we need a place to call home, anyway?

Home. It’s a word that reaches into the deepest part of our being, our hopes, our dreams. As you think and pray about the names you have on your “Won By One” list, think about inviting them into your home in the weeks ahead. And, yes, invite them to your church home at Madison Park, too.

Before the “Home” series opens, though, I’ll bring a series of messages dubbed “God’s Twitter.” Twitter. It’s the 140-character message phenomenon that’s still sweeping the globe. You can Twitter from your computer, from your cell phone, from the office, from home. Just a brief note that captures what you’re thinking or doing at the moment.

What if God sent us “tweets?” Does God communicate directly to where we are in life? Does he send out instant messages revealing what He’s thinking and doing? And, what about the devil? Could he be “tweeting,” too?

The God’s Twitter series will examine the original messages of God—and the devil, as well—captured in the early chapters of Genesis. God’s “tweets” then are very much in line with His word to us now. And, yes, the devil is still singing the same song, also.

Along the way, God’s Twitter will also engage you in a world of new technology—simple and easy to use—ways in which you can share truth with others. If you’re already in the Twitter groove, you’ll immediately be drawn in. If you’re not, you soon will be. And, even if you never reach for Twitter, the lessons learned about how God communicates—and what He has to say—promise to stretch and inspire.

God’s Twitter begins Sunday, October 25. On Sunday, October 18, Patrice Turner, a dynamic Church of God preacher from Chicago will bring the message, telling her story of growing up as a Black Muslim, her conversion to Christianity in her mid-20’s, and her call to the Christian ministry. You will be absolutely amazed and astounded by what she has to say—and the power of God’s Word to change lives.

Every Sunday: something to which you can look forward. Madison Park: at 9:00am and 10:45am in the Main Auditorium … or join the crowds in the new Crossroads Worship at 10:45am.  Welcome home.