A "Perfect" Baby

Blogging has made its way to the bottom of my priority list in the last few months. Since Christmas, I've had one area of life after another thrown into upheaval. In March, in 48 hours everything we thought life was going to be this year changed when we discovered baby #7 is on the way, 7 years after #6, then received back-to-back overseas orders. As we began to re-adjust our thinking and expectations, we received the phone call every expecting parent dreads.

"Your test results came back, and they are not what we were hoping. Your baby has Down Syndrome."

After that the rest of the conversation seems to be a blurr.  In a split second we were thrown into a world we never imagined would be ours. I've turned down offers to kill our little boy. God provided us with doctors who were very accepting of our refusal, but I do miss my pro-life OB office - no mother should ever be asked if she wants to kill her baby. When the phone rings, I now hope it is specialists and medical care teams ready to help with the next steps in testing and care. Every appointment comes with the chance we will be sent back to the US and uncertainty of what will be found.

So far, at 16 1/2 weeks, our little boy looks "perfect". But, we know he is still so very tiny, and so very much can be hidden inside organs and an extra chromosome. It is the word "perfect" that has struck me. I've heard it from doctors, friends, family, other families with Downs children - no matter what, he is your son, and he is perfect.

But he isn't. It has really bothered me hearing that he is "perfect". At first I thought it was just part of the process of coming to terms with his diagnosis and shifting my expectations - part of the process of thinking about him as a Downs baby to thinking of him as our son, who happens to have Down Syndrome.  It was my youngest daughter who brought me to the realization of why it bothers me. She caught me at a low moment. Giving me a hug she asked why I was sad. When I explained I was sad because I don't know what life is going to bring her baby brother. I was sad because of the things he may not be able to do. She looked straight at me and replied, "Mommy. It's just Down Syndrome. He is still my brother."

What struck me was not the truth of her statement about his diagnosis, but the truth about him, as another new human life. He is just like us - which is exactly why he isn't perfect. There has only been one perfect human, and he was also fully God.  Every single person, since Adam and Eve, except for Christ, has been conceived and born with a genetic defect. It expresses itself in different ways - selfishness, pride, lust. In some people it is more obvious - alcoholism, compulsive behavior. Sin infiltrates every aspect of our lives, our bodies, and ultimately leads to our death.

We've had a major cultural shift in the last 60 years from rejecting and marginalizing those who are different, to expecting everyone will be accepted and integrated. That has been a positive shift - understanding we are each created differently, and those differences add to our lives and communities more than harming them. We need to help each other in our weaknesses. and through helping each other, we are individually and collectively stronger. That shift means our expectations for our son's life are much brighter now than they would have been 60 years ago.

Are we taking that too far? As Christians, who believe there is "no one righteous", do we normalize the effects of Sin, the symptoms of Sin, by blindly telling ourselves we are all this way? It is the way God created us - ignoring that our natural state is deeply, deeply flawed. Not a single one of us is born the way God originally intended His creation to exist. While God has intentionally designed each and every one of us, the very existence of Sin means none of us are "perfect", and our imperfections are intended to turn our eyes toward God, to seek His redemption, and to push us toward complete reliance on Him. When we accept the effects of Sin as normal, as simply human and normal, are we marginalizing and even rejecting our need for God?

Has our cultural shift mirrored a spiritual shift from a lack of grace, to a rejection of a need for Salvation? Instead of hiding those who are obviously imperfect, we now glamorize and idolize what was never intended.

My daughter's comment led me to realize, maybe, at the deepest part of my heart, my grief, my sorrow is not about my son's diagnosis - it is about my own. His imperfect genes are written on his face; mine may not be as obvious, but are just as powerful and real.

My hope is all this comes from knowing: my grief over my son's condition is only an imperfect reflection of my Heavenly Father's grief over my condition. Just as my love for my unborn son pushes me to do everything I can to help him, my Heavenly Father was driven to the point of death on the cross to not just help, but to cure my condition. Every tear of sorrow and joy, every setback and triumph, every time we cry out for help for our son and rejoice in the achievements is a reflection of how God rejoices over me and mourns over my failures. I have no need to kill my son, because God killed His - for me, for my other children, for you, for my unborn son.

We don't have a "perfect" baby, but the "flaws" in his design are no different than the flaws in my own design - and they are there to point us toward the perfect baby in a manger, the sacrifice and pain of the cross, the joy of resurrection, and the hope of completed redemption when all things will be made new - and perfect.