Megan Diane Cope (born August 26, 1984)
Archive for the 'Megan' Category
Is it really possible that I posted this FOUR YEARS AGO on this blog?
Megan Diane Cope died nine years ago today [now thirteen years]. Who — in our success-driven world — would want her genetic make-up? She was, after all, mentally retarded.
And yet . . . she changed our worlds. She was a quiet, loving witness to the gospel. She was an incarnation of God’s love. She received whatever gifts of service we offered to her without expecting more. She embodied the truth of 2 Corinthians 4:7: “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.”
Her ten years here were too short. So today, again, we grieve her absence, and we look forward to seeing her again to thank her for helping to set our worlds right.
Sweet Megan would have been 23 today. And, of course, we still miss her terribly. Happy Birthday, my dear!

What is it that makes us happy? That’s one of the fundamental questions Barry Schwartz pursues in The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less.
Despite what many assume, it doesn’t appear to be money. Studies show that there is greater happiness in wealthy countries than in poor countries. But, “once a society’s level of per capita wealth crosses a threshold from poverty to adequate subsistence, further increases in national wealth have almost no effect on happiness. You find as many happy people in Poland as in Japan, for example, even though the average Japanese is almost ten times richer than the average Pole. And Poles are much happier than Hungarians (and Icelandics much happier than Americans) despite similar levels of wealth.”
Well, what about close relationships? It is true that people who have close marriages and/or close friendships are happier. But Schwartz suggests this may be a chicken-and-egg conundrum. Which comes first: happiness or relationships?
“Miserable people are surely less likely than happy people to have close friends, devoted family, and enduring marriages. So it is at least possible that happiness comes first and close relations come second.”
So much of happiness comes down to decisions we make to be contented. The problem with a maximizing approach to life (see the last two posts) is that we’re never quite satisfied. They could have chosen (a car . . . a spouse . . . a church) better, perhaps, so they’re always looking over their shoulders and living in regret.
So, “What to Do About Choice?” he asks in the final chapter. Schwartz offers 11 suggestions, of which I’m passing on just four.
1. Choose when to choose.
With an overabundance of options surrounding us with almost everything, we have to decide how many options we’re going to consider and how much time we’re going to expend.
“Restricting yourself in this way may seem both difficult and arbitrary, but actually, this is the kind of discipline we exercise in other aspects of life. You may have a rule of thumb never to have more than two glasses of wine at a sitting. The alcohol tastes good and it makes you feel good and the opportunity for another drink is right at your elbow, yet you stop. And for most people, it isn’t that hard to stop.”
2. Satisfice more and maximize less.
“Learning to accept ‘good enough’ will simplify decision making and increase satisfaction. Though satisficers may often do less well than maximizers according to certain objective standards, nonetheless, by settling for ‘good enough’ even when the ‘best’ could be just around the corner, satisficers will usually feel better about the decisions they make. . . . Becoming a conscious, intentional satisficer makes comparison with how other people are doing less important. It makes regret less likely. In the complex, choice-saturated world we live in, it makes peace of mind possible.”
3. Make your decisions nonreversible.
When a decision we make is final, our mind moves toward ownership of the choice. Schwartz points out that this is clearer with the big decisions, and there’s a lot of street wisdom in these words about marriage:
“A friend once told me how his minister had shocked the congregation with a sermon on marriage in which he said flatly that, yes, the grass is always greener. What he meant was that, inevitably, you will encounter people who are younger, better looking, funnier, smarter, or seemingly more understanding and empathetic than your wife or husband. But finding a life partner is not a matter of comparison shopping and ‘trading up.’ The only way to find happiness and stability in the presence of seemingly attractive and tempting options is to say, ‘I’m simply not going there. I’ve made my decision about a life partner, so this person’s empathy or that person’s looks really have nothing to do with me. I’m not in the market — end of story.’ Agonizing over whether your love is ‘the real thing’ or your sexual relationship above or below par, and wondering whether you could have done better is a prescription for misery. Knowing that you’ve made a choice that you will not reverse allows you to pour your energy into improving the relationship that you have rather than constantly second-guessing it.”
4. Practice an “attitude of gratitude.”
“We can vastly improve our subjective experience by consciously striving to be grateful more often for what is good about a choice or an experience, and to be disappointed less by what is bad about it.”
He suggests putting a notepad by your bed and every day, either when you wake up or just before you fall asleep, jotting down five things from that day (or the day before) for which you’re grateful. Most of the time those things will be small, but the practice will help nurture a spirit of joy, contentment, and gratitude rather than one of disappointment, regret, and dissatisfaction.
And with that — Happy Thanksgiving!
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I hope you saw these words yesterday from my buddy Richard B., who is a researching fanatic. (He’s also a rock star on the ACU campus — with the huge Walling lecture hall filling up for his classes.)
Two summers ago I worked with some students on research in this area. We expanded Schwartz’s maximizing and satisficing into the “religious marketplace” (e.g., people who try to look for the “best” church, or “best” worship, or “best” preaching). Our results mirrored Schwartz: These people were much less satisfied with church and tended to switch churches more often. By contrast, “religious satisficers” just picked a church, settled in, and went to work. And were much happier.
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An example of why I try not to miss what David Brooks writes.
“I have a rule, which has never failed me, that when a writer uses quotations from Jerry Falwell, James Dobson and the Left Behind series to capture the religious and political currents in modern America, then I know I can put that piece of writing down because the author either doesn’t know what he is talking about or is arguing in bad faith.”
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Today makes twelve years. My, how quickly they’ve flown. We still miss her.
I wish T. O. didn’t play for the Cowboys. I don’t like listening to him or watching him. Even when he scores three TDs.
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I still have my program from the 1968 World Series between the Cardinals and the Tigers. I hope there will be a repeat this year.
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Congrats to the ACU football team. They’re 6-0 for the first time since 1950. Saturday they blew away their rivals from Angelo State in the Homecoming game.
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Yesterday afternoon we saw the Homecoming musical, “Singing in the Rain.” Since I have all the theater majors in my “Life and Teachings of Jesus” class, it’s fun to watch them as they continue their theater careers. Ryan, Jason, Jessica, Shannon, etc. — wonderful job.
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Yesterday our “other daughter” (she has her own parents but she became part of our family when she helped take care of Megan and Chris) had her second child, a daughter. She called last night to tell us that they named the little girl Zoe Megan. She liked having the words “life” (zoe) and Megan together. So do we.
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God is working to repair this world. He’s doing it in obvious ways; mostly, he’s doing it in ways that don’t catch headlines. The whole mustard seed thing, you know. He’s inviting us to join him in that. In big ways, and small ways. Keep your eyes open today for opportunities.
Tomorrow, Megan would have been 22.
Here is my post from last year, changed only to account for the extra year.
My Dear Megan,
Tomorrow you would have been 22. Every year since your death we’ve continued to have a birthday cake on August 26 and to tell “Megan stories.”
Last week when I was looking for your old percussor, Mom said, “It may be in Megan’s toy box.” Without thinking, I began digging through the box, and then it overwhelmed me. I was immersed in you: your shoes, a couple of your favorite blouses, the stuffed cat you loved, etc. I could smell you, hear you, even feel you there.
All that to say that I’ve never stopped missing you. It’s been eleven years and nine months; but in grief-years it’s been so much less in some ways and so much more in other ways.
You rocked my world, my precious daughter. You didn’t enter this world with a bright intellect like your brothers did. You were, we eventually learned, “mentally handicapped.”
Big deal. There were so many other ways in which you were so precocious: in love, in forgiveness, and in joy. The only full sentence I ever heard you say in ten years was “I’m Megan”–and yet you became my minister who led me further along the way of Christ. Without even intending to, you exposed the shallowness of this world–a world obsessed with externals.
You were a jar of clay.
It’s hard to picture you at age 22. You have remained ten in our minds.
Since you died, life has in some ways been easier. You never wasted much of your short time sleeping! Easier . . . yet sadder. We would gladly go without sleep to be able to hold you and sing with you. (”I may never march in the infantry . . .”; “This is a song that doesn’t end . . . .”; “Jesus loves me . . . .”)
We would have loved seeing your joy at Matt and Jenna’s wedding. (You never got to meet her, but I think she would be your best friend.) And I imagined you there in ICU patting Christopher’s broken and bruised body after the wreck.
Your simple faith still guides us. Your love overwhelms and empowers us.
Soon and very soon, my dear . . . .
Love, Dad
At square one, Christianity is good news. Not a new, different form of spirituality. Not a list of rules and regs.
It is good news — the good news that Jesus, the Messiah of Israel and the Lord of the whole world, was raised from the dead by the Father and continues to live and rule.
All of our existence is lived out of this good news. It’s an actual event from an actual Sunday morning one actual Spring day in the real land of Palestine.
It altered history. Nothing will be the same again.
It is called by Paul the “firstfruits” (1 Cor. 15:20). In other words, it ushered in a whole new creation which God is continuing to form. And especially it guaranteed that all others who die in the Lord will be raised to live again in the “new heavens and new earth.” Not a bunch of disembodies spirits flying around “heaven” — but resurrected people finding supreme joy in the new creation of God.
For us this means that we’ll see Megan again. Some day that body that we loved so much will be called out of the grave. It will be transformed — just as Jesus’ body remained the same (even bearing the scars) but was transformed. We’ll join with her in the ongoing celebration of the rule of God.
Is it true? Maybe. Maybe not.
By faith, we believe it is. And we’re willing to bet everything on it.
Happy Easter.
Chris has been getting to hang with my mom this week while we’ve been out of town. (More on that later.)
Through the years, Grandma and Papa have been lifesavers. At times, the kids have gone to Missouri; at other times Grandma has come to our home.
When Megan was alive, once a year Mom would keep the kids for a week. It’s hard to explain what a gift that was. Megan, our beloved daughter, was challenging. Mentally-handicapped, of course. But on the go all the time, seldom napping and sleeping very little at night. In her stronger days, she marched around the house getting into things 22-7.
Family was wonderful. But marriage was hard. We were always tired. Those trips always rejuvenated us.
Once we left for 10 days. I was a guest speaker for a Christian group on a cruise. (I believe with politicians we call this a junket.)
When we returned we were tanned and rested. Mom was looking a bit worn. She smiled and said, “I think I’m a 7-day grandma.” We learned later that she had called a friend and offered her a hundred million dollars to come take over for half an hour.
Now it’s not quite so challenging, but there’s still no one better than Grandma to take over when Mom and Dad are gone.
I got caught Saturday. During the previews before “Glory Road,” Chris glanced over at me and saw big, fat tears falling off my face. He asked, “Hey, Dad, why are you crying?”
To Chris, no preview could justify those tears — unless they were tears of joy for the release of the next Bourne movie or perhaps a discovery that King Kong II was being filmed.
I gave him a short, brush-off answer. It wasn’t the time or place.
But what I wanted to say was:
Because we’re here. In the dark. In this theater. And you’re sitting next to me. All week it’s been coming, and now that we’ve slowed down and you’re sitting next to me, the dam burst.
Because you could have died a year ago. Because I can still hear your mom sobbing, “O God, please not again.” Because you were beaten beyond recognition. Because we heard the Bourlands crying out in the hospital when they were told that Brody had died. Because I can still remember those nights in ICU at Cook’s with the Bennetts and the Lemmonses. Because I held my breath for 48 hours, waiting to see if you’d breathe on your own.
Because Jon Westin’s still on crutches.
But also because you’re all right. Because you didn’t have to stay in that wheelchair or that back brace. Because I saw you play football this fall, and because you’re playing point guard now. Because you’re an incredible young man who is loved by your peers and by all younger kids. Because we’re back to wrestling. Because the five of us got to hike all over the mountains of Colorado this summer. And because I can lose to you every day in P-I-G.
Because of how close we feel to the other families impacted by the wreck. Because of our love for Sarah, our beloved youth minister, who on the sixteenth day of her first fulltime ministry had to break the news to me and who has been an amazing help to people–with maturity way beyond her years–the past twelve months. Because of the Highland church (like the hundreds who came to cry, hug, pray, light candles, and remember last night). Because of Scott B.’s pastoral care, as we met with the six of you (Beth, Amara, Chris P., Austin, Jon Westin, and you) on Wednesday nights for several weeks after we were all home from the hospital to help you process the tragedy. Because of our spiritual family all around the world who prayed for you and the others (as still partially recorded on my 1-16-05 blog). Because I can still feel your brother’s hug when we met at Cook’s after he flew from Houston and I drove from Abilene (since only one parent could fly with you and it would have gotten ugly fast if I’d suggested to your mom that she not get in that plane!). Because I still remember Jenna’s tears as she cared tenderly for you–her brother-in-law for only seven months at the time. Because Dr. Jim loaded up and drove to Ft. Worth to watch over the three of you and your families himself (while letting those ER docs do their jobs). Because one of our elders, a physical therapist, came over to hold you steady while you showered and carefully bound back up your wounds. Because another of our elders, a teacher at Lincoln at the time, met you to help you up and down the stairs.
Because there’s no better sight for me than seeing you and your brother playing together–catch or basketball or Play Station–when he’s home.
Plus, sometimes grief gets confused. And I still cry about Megan.
That would have been the long answer. But no seventh grader wants to hear that with a bag of popcorn and a great sports movie coming on.
Thanks so much for your prayers for our church this past year.
Megan’s grave.
There is this wonderful country cemetery just outside Neosho, MO, where generations of my family are buried. But when my daughter died in November of 1994, we couldn’t bury her there. It was just too far away.
I know that may be hard for some to understand, because we couldn’t visit her,anyway–at least not like when you visit someone in the hospital.
But we still did need to visit her . . . to drive out to the little plot of ground where she was buried.
It was/is holy ground. When my daughter’s body was lowered in that spot (just outside Abilene on 277 — Elmwood Cemetery), it was a cold, rainy day. I remember hating that it was so wet and cold. She liked being warm and snuggling. I wanted to put some plastic over the fresh dirt to keep the rain off (but didn’t).
For the first few months, we drove out there often. Nearly always we went separately, lost a bit from each other in our grief. Then as the months rolled into years, our visits were less seldom but still regular.
Now, eleven years later, I rarely go to Megan’s grave. There are the three regular dates, of course: Easter (most important), Valentine’s Day (when I lay roses), and November 21 (the date of her death). There are other times, like when visitors come to town and want to drive out there. And usually when I’m doing a graveside service at the cemetery, I’ll stop by on my way out.
But for the most part, the need to visit has diminished through the years.
It is still holy ground, however.
