It was a rainy spring evening and revival week at Hoitt Ave. Baptist Church had just begun. Like most thirteen year-old boys I would’ve rather been anywhere but church this night. With the exception of flipping knuckles on the back row of pews with my best friend Gary Cole there wasn’t much to capture my attention. That is until the back door of the church flew open and in walked a couple of men with trench coats and umbrellas. One was leading the other by the arm, due to the physical blindness he suffered from. They approached the front of the church, removed their coats and took a seat on the front row. Soon the pastor asked “Brother Ray” to come sing. This small, unassuming, shaved-head man had everyone’s attention, including the Rat Pack on the back pew.
He sang several songs (without accompaniment) with an untrained voice, and constant interruption from what country folk term a “touch of the palsy.” None of that made a difference though, because for one thirteen year old it was God himself singing and calling to my heart “come, come unto me”. I walked down the center aisle and approached our Savior’s fountain of grace and mercy for the first time that night.
As time went by, my life moved further and further away from that rainy night altar. As time went by, I recovered from my grief for my friend Gary's suicide before the age of twenty-five. As time went by I lost the awareness of how special His grace was. As time went by, I forgot about blind Brother Ray. As time went by……
Jerry Bates, (a man I casually knew at the time) came into my office one day in need of an ear, or more accurately in need of a heart. His beloved sister Lois was going to die of cancer soon unless they could find a way to treat the aggressive disease that was spreading throughout her body. He needed to have prayer with someone, and God sent him my way. Me of all people. We prayed, and God was among us. Two hours after he left I got a call that my aunt Barbara was diagnosed with terminal cancer and would live only six months. Unlike Lois though Aunt Barbara wasn’t given any treatment options, and seven weeks later she spiritually recovered from her afflictions and took on a new body, as God called her home.
The day after Barbara’s funeral, Jerry Bates appeared at my door again. This time to sing praises that Lois had come through the surgery, and early opinion was that she had a good chance for recovery. Because of God’s calling for us to be an encouragement to one another I went to see this stranger in her hospital bed. Awkwardly I introduced myself and fellowshipped for a while with her and her sister from Alabama, while Jerry was still at work. I told her that I would come back on the weekend to check on her again.
But then the news came the next day that my uncle Ken, (Aunt Barbara’s husband) had suffered a stroke and a massive heart attack. His short stay in the CCU unit of another hospital, and merciful death and burial prevented me from making it back to see Sister Lois before she was discharged and sent home to recover. I felt bad about breaking my word to her. In the mist of Lois's miraculous period of healing I had lost two dear relatives, but all three were situations to celebrate.
A few months later Jerry showed up at my door once again. (By the way I forgot to mention, each time he comes by he brings me a present.) You see God has equipped Brother Jerry to be a remarkable singer and songwriter, and during each visit he shares with me, (again me, of all people) a newly written song in his heart - and I am so honored. I care less about what my co-workers think when they hear this angelic voice singing praises at the workplace, or what they may think about the redness of my eyes when the visit is complete. God has blessed us with His presence and that’s all that matters. Anyway, this visit brought about an invitation to come worship at his church while they were having revival services the next week.
As I made the 35 – 40 mile journey to his church in upper east Tennessee for the second time last week, I listened to songs sung by the beautiful, and blind Ginny Owens who just happens to perform for Rocketown Records, which was formed by my former fellow-church member in Franklin, Tn. Michael W. Smith several years ago. (strings of a circle) As I pulled into the parking lot Ginny was just finishing up with the song If You want me to, and for a moment I felt comfort - while still in the mist of a very tough week. Thankfully God calls us into periods of growth to make us stronger, because He alone knows where we’re heading. “Putting on our strength” as I was reminded yesterday. Putting on our strength.
Anyway, I made my way to an empty seat (in the almost full to capacity small country sanctuary) and began to worship among strangers, among fellow sinners. Brother Jerry and his nephew Lamar were sitting at the front, and there across from me sat Sister Lois simply waiting for me with a beautiful smile to share. As the service progressed, several people went forward to sing God’s praises, yet I was disappointed that God didn’t lead Jerry to do so. Then the pastor made his way to the pulpit and I thought to myself that the “preaching” would soon begin - but instead he looked to his left and asked, “Brother Ray has God placed a song on your heart tonight?”
And there he was - almost ageless, some 35 years into the future, shaved head and all. Not broken, not defeated, not passed away – but still fighting the good fight that the Apostle Paul spoke of, and still enduring to the end. What a sight through my tear filled eyes – and I heard God say "Hey Doug, remember when?"
and then, for me the real revival began…….doug
Monday, December 29, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Silent Night
I watched as the last car pulled onto the street and now finally the parking lot was completely empty. Looking further out I could see just the slightest edge of the setting sun over the tops of the tree, and then it quickly disappeared from sight. Night-time was upon the city and with the view I had from the fourth floor window it looked to be another peaceful evening.
In 1985 I was fortunate to help with the building of a state of the art medical facility in Franklin, Tennessee. Actually, I didn’t have anything to do with the construction process I only oversaw the equipping and furnishing of it. For six months we worked night and day to insure every hospital bed and every piece of life-saving equipment was installed correctly and was in place. Looking back, it’s hard to imagine we put together such a beautiful hospital with less than 30 million dollars. Today the same facility would probably cost 130 million easy.
That night I stared out the window drenched in silence at the end of the Oncology wing. Long after the last group of local government dignitaries departed and the media personnel had packed up their cameras and headed home I was left all alone. I realized then, this would be the last Silent Night in this building. I thought wow, after all that’s gone into the making of this facility, all the hard work, the sacrificed time from family, the headache and heartache - here I was standing all alone in this building on the threshold of what was to come. I walked from one end to the other of each floor looking at how perfectly in place everything looked. I must admit as I looked over the building I felt a great sense of pride in all that had been accomplished by my staff, but I was saddened somehow at the thought that this would be the last time everything would look so “in order” as if that truly mattered. I knew there would never be a night (at least not in my life-time) this building would be completely silent again.
The next morning would start early as we transported a 150 or so patients with all their IV bags, tubes, oxygen hoses, and traction bars. Bed by bed, patient by patient, and nurse by nurse we made the transition from the old Williamson County Hospital to the new Williamson Medical Center over the next twenty-four hours. From the beautiful sounds of a Silent Night to the chaotic hustle and bustle of a new day - the transformation of life from one building to another took place, and all went well.
Strange as it may seem, yesterday for the first time in years, as the congregation sang Silent Night I thought of my eerily quite walk through that building long ago. Then my mind wandered to the thought of what a great silence it must have been some two thousand years ago. The biggest and brightest star hung in space shouting out in silence the arrival of the long awaited King. The sheppards slept silently after a long day of watchful grazing and herding. The Inn keeper lay quietly in his bed as his work was now complete - his last two hopeful patrons had been ushered outside to the animal stable to fend for themselves. A Silent Night of major proportions (for which our world has no evidence of since) most certainly took place on that historic and glorious night in Judea.
A long period of silence also led up to that miraculous event. For hundreds of years there had not been any new revelations or wisdom imparted from above, the “silent years” as it's sometimes referred. Can you imagine what it would be like now with all the folks that declare God speaks to them almost constantly, if He went nearly four-hundred years without speaking to His people? But for that time what had been written throughout the Old Testament was already enough. All the prophesies had been declared, and the signs to watch for had been told - a King was coming. To whom, and where was clearly known, but “when” was still a very big mystery. His characteristics had been described to a “T” yet little was understood. Details of His ministry had been spelled out time and time again, (even as far back as the ancient scripture of Isaiah and before) yet no one seemed to hold grasp to the real meaning of the title “Our Savior.” The world of believers looked out their equivalent of a fourth floor window that night in the mist of a hushed silence. They held onto expectations and anticipation of things to come, but they had little insight as to what to truly expect from the humblest of birthing rooms in Bethlehem.
The next morning began an era of earth-shattering noise that has lasted even until this day. It has only been interrupted briefly thirty-three years after His birth as his chin fell to his chest after the last painful breathe was exhausted. It was complete! Three days of loud cries of wondering, worrying and bewilderment was shouted down by the trumpets of triumph, for the grave no longer held control its captive. Henceforth the world has never stopped speaking His name in reverence and/or in curse. It has not ceased to debate His works, or more importantly His purpose. His life has become the most controversial subject in the history of all mankind, and has eliminated the possibility of yet another Silent Night occurring. Before returning to the Father He declared; go forth and tell the Good News to all - refuse to be silent ever again. This was His last commandment to all who choose to chase after Him. To be silent no more...
This morning as I silently dressed for work I glanced up at the printed copy of Michelangelo’s Creazione Di Adamo which hangs in my apartment. Two hands stretched forth in symbolism of the creation of Adam, and I imagined just how silent it must have been just before Man joined the living. Our planet was void of words, and voices, only the sounds of animals filled the winds. On the eve of God’s most complex creation I can imagine there must’ve been a great Silent Night. Some men say after the creation of woman there has never been silence again, but the truth is – men really wouldn’t have it any other way. A subject for another day I suppose… (my poor attempt at humor) I pray that your celebration of His birth is anything but silent this year. Go tell it on the mountain! Proclaim tidings of good cheer to all the World, or at least unto your community.
We were created to bring Him joy. His word tells us that if we don't praise Him the rocks will cry out themselves. We were redeemed through His sacrafice and we have been called to tell everyone about His magnificent grace. Yet, let us not forget to remember always the times of silence that came just before our Savior's birth and be encouraged in knowing that God’s love runs so deep, so very deep that He gave His only begotten for you and I.
Silent night, holy night, All is calm, all is bright, Round yon virgin mother and Child.Holy Infant, so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night, Son of God, love’s pure light; Radiant beams from Thy holy face With the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth, Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
Merry Christmas my friends, doug
In 1985 I was fortunate to help with the building of a state of the art medical facility in Franklin, Tennessee. Actually, I didn’t have anything to do with the construction process I only oversaw the equipping and furnishing of it. For six months we worked night and day to insure every hospital bed and every piece of life-saving equipment was installed correctly and was in place. Looking back, it’s hard to imagine we put together such a beautiful hospital with less than 30 million dollars. Today the same facility would probably cost 130 million easy.
That night I stared out the window drenched in silence at the end of the Oncology wing. Long after the last group of local government dignitaries departed and the media personnel had packed up their cameras and headed home I was left all alone. I realized then, this would be the last Silent Night in this building. I thought wow, after all that’s gone into the making of this facility, all the hard work, the sacrificed time from family, the headache and heartache - here I was standing all alone in this building on the threshold of what was to come. I walked from one end to the other of each floor looking at how perfectly in place everything looked. I must admit as I looked over the building I felt a great sense of pride in all that had been accomplished by my staff, but I was saddened somehow at the thought that this would be the last time everything would look so “in order” as if that truly mattered. I knew there would never be a night (at least not in my life-time) this building would be completely silent again.
The next morning would start early as we transported a 150 or so patients with all their IV bags, tubes, oxygen hoses, and traction bars. Bed by bed, patient by patient, and nurse by nurse we made the transition from the old Williamson County Hospital to the new Williamson Medical Center over the next twenty-four hours. From the beautiful sounds of a Silent Night to the chaotic hustle and bustle of a new day - the transformation of life from one building to another took place, and all went well.
Strange as it may seem, yesterday for the first time in years, as the congregation sang Silent Night I thought of my eerily quite walk through that building long ago. Then my mind wandered to the thought of what a great silence it must have been some two thousand years ago. The biggest and brightest star hung in space shouting out in silence the arrival of the long awaited King. The sheppards slept silently after a long day of watchful grazing and herding. The Inn keeper lay quietly in his bed as his work was now complete - his last two hopeful patrons had been ushered outside to the animal stable to fend for themselves. A Silent Night of major proportions (for which our world has no evidence of since) most certainly took place on that historic and glorious night in Judea.
A long period of silence also led up to that miraculous event. For hundreds of years there had not been any new revelations or wisdom imparted from above, the “silent years” as it's sometimes referred. Can you imagine what it would be like now with all the folks that declare God speaks to them almost constantly, if He went nearly four-hundred years without speaking to His people? But for that time what had been written throughout the Old Testament was already enough. All the prophesies had been declared, and the signs to watch for had been told - a King was coming. To whom, and where was clearly known, but “when” was still a very big mystery. His characteristics had been described to a “T” yet little was understood. Details of His ministry had been spelled out time and time again, (even as far back as the ancient scripture of Isaiah and before) yet no one seemed to hold grasp to the real meaning of the title “Our Savior.” The world of believers looked out their equivalent of a fourth floor window that night in the mist of a hushed silence. They held onto expectations and anticipation of things to come, but they had little insight as to what to truly expect from the humblest of birthing rooms in Bethlehem.
The next morning began an era of earth-shattering noise that has lasted even until this day. It has only been interrupted briefly thirty-three years after His birth as his chin fell to his chest after the last painful breathe was exhausted. It was complete! Three days of loud cries of wondering, worrying and bewilderment was shouted down by the trumpets of triumph, for the grave no longer held control its captive. Henceforth the world has never stopped speaking His name in reverence and/or in curse. It has not ceased to debate His works, or more importantly His purpose. His life has become the most controversial subject in the history of all mankind, and has eliminated the possibility of yet another Silent Night occurring. Before returning to the Father He declared; go forth and tell the Good News to all - refuse to be silent ever again. This was His last commandment to all who choose to chase after Him. To be silent no more...
This morning as I silently dressed for work I glanced up at the printed copy of Michelangelo’s Creazione Di Adamo which hangs in my apartment. Two hands stretched forth in symbolism of the creation of Adam, and I imagined just how silent it must have been just before Man joined the living. Our planet was void of words, and voices, only the sounds of animals filled the winds. On the eve of God’s most complex creation I can imagine there must’ve been a great Silent Night. Some men say after the creation of woman there has never been silence again, but the truth is – men really wouldn’t have it any other way. A subject for another day I suppose… (my poor attempt at humor) I pray that your celebration of His birth is anything but silent this year. Go tell it on the mountain! Proclaim tidings of good cheer to all the World, or at least unto your community.
We were created to bring Him joy. His word tells us that if we don't praise Him the rocks will cry out themselves. We were redeemed through His sacrafice and we have been called to tell everyone about His magnificent grace. Yet, let us not forget to remember always the times of silence that came just before our Savior's birth and be encouraged in knowing that God’s love runs so deep, so very deep that He gave His only begotten for you and I.
Silent night, holy night, All is calm, all is bright, Round yon virgin mother and Child.Holy Infant, so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night, Son of God, love’s pure light; Radiant beams from Thy holy face With the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth, Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
Merry Christmas my friends, doug
Friday, December 19, 2008
Breathe
As I was driving down the Sam Houston toll-way my chest began to hurt so badly I thought I was going to die right then and there. I pulled over to the shoulder of the road and got out of the car - I just needed to stand up for a second to catch my breath. The pain in my upper back was excruciating. After a few moments, and some unusual stares by passing motorists I reentered the car, and painfully resumed my trip home from the airport. I had been on a two week business trip and just wanted to make it home.
I made it to there, but that was about it. Instead of calling 911 I called my girlfriend, Karen and asked her to come home from work ASAP. By the time she got there, (approximately 15 minutes later) I realized I truly needed medical help. This was getting serious! I had to quickly get over my disdain for medical bills, and concede that she take me to the nearest hospital. We didn’t make it there directly though, as she stopped at a nearby 24 - hour emergency clinic in fear that I wouldn’t make the next ten miles alive. They quickly transferred me to West Houston Medical Center via an ambulance.
Notions of a heart attack soon gave way to chest x-rays and the obvious evidence of a serious case of pneumonia. According to the MDs both of my lungs were nearly filled to capacity with fluid. - Results of an almost six-month old case of pneumonia that I had let go untreated. After a week of aggressive treatment I emerged from the hospital a new man. No more pain in my chest and upper back that had plagued my body for so long. No more of the hacking and coughing, which had been persistent forever it seemed. (You quickly get the picture that I’m really kind of stupid when it comes to health issues, don’t you?) After about a month of recovery and some serious medication consumption I could finally breathe through the full capacity of my lungs - I mean really breathe! Deep long breathes that had been absent in my life for more than half a year now.
Although this incident in my life is more than ten years past, in 2006 I had a similar situation - this time though there were no medical facilities, or Med-School graduates with their ridiculously outrageous charges for things such as “consultation.” No, this time I was treated - then healed by God himself. I learned to breathe again by accepting the forgiveness that the Cross of Calvary extends to those that are sick and afflicted in spirit and soul. Jesus truly is the great physician for the lost and desperate - and thus was I healed.
Did you know that in both the original Greek and Hebrew translations of the Bible the same word was used for breath as well as for spirit? The Greek word “nooma” represents Breath and Spirit, one and the same! Makes sense as to why we feel such a calming presence over our bodies when God breathes His spirit into us. To breathe is defined by man as “the taking in and letting out of air” - but to really breathe is defined by the Almighty wordsmith as “to take in fully His Holy Spirit.”
I’ve been reminded lately that one of the most consistent characteristics of a “true Christian” is the aura of a calming presence in our conversations, and interactions with others. This is a real, tale-tale sign according to the very knowledgeable spiritual leaders in my life, and now I’m beginning to understand even more so the truth in this precept.
Confusion and discord is the manifestation of a “breath” that comes from the spirit of the Enemy and is (just as, if not more) obvious to our sight, taste, sound, smell, and touch. It fills the lungs, hearts, and the minds of its victims with the fluids of hatred, racism, envy, jealousy, selfishness, and so often abusiveness. It’s an ever-present foul breath, or spirit that is exposed through words and actions. Bottom line - it’s a pneumonia like sickness which consumes the bodies of so many today!
On the other hand, Love (the kind of love that can only come from God) manifests itself through our Christian spirit, and breath - to fill rooms and relationships with a peace that truly surpasses all understanding.
Take just a minute and stop reading, stop thinking, stop looking, stop listening and close your eyes and take a couple of long, slow breathes. Come on, just do it!
Now, didn’t that feel relaxing? Did you feel God’s presence? Its calming affect is truly a healing balm for our troubled souls, and worried minds. Maybe we should do this more often? Come unto me all who are weak and (heavy laden) burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
He calls; Come unto Me, and I will give you a new nooma……doug
I made it to there, but that was about it. Instead of calling 911 I called my girlfriend, Karen and asked her to come home from work ASAP. By the time she got there, (approximately 15 minutes later) I realized I truly needed medical help. This was getting serious! I had to quickly get over my disdain for medical bills, and concede that she take me to the nearest hospital. We didn’t make it there directly though, as she stopped at a nearby 24 - hour emergency clinic in fear that I wouldn’t make the next ten miles alive. They quickly transferred me to West Houston Medical Center via an ambulance.
Notions of a heart attack soon gave way to chest x-rays and the obvious evidence of a serious case of pneumonia. According to the MDs both of my lungs were nearly filled to capacity with fluid. - Results of an almost six-month old case of pneumonia that I had let go untreated. After a week of aggressive treatment I emerged from the hospital a new man. No more pain in my chest and upper back that had plagued my body for so long. No more of the hacking and coughing, which had been persistent forever it seemed. (You quickly get the picture that I’m really kind of stupid when it comes to health issues, don’t you?) After about a month of recovery and some serious medication consumption I could finally breathe through the full capacity of my lungs - I mean really breathe! Deep long breathes that had been absent in my life for more than half a year now.
Although this incident in my life is more than ten years past, in 2006 I had a similar situation - this time though there were no medical facilities, or Med-School graduates with their ridiculously outrageous charges for things such as “consultation.” No, this time I was treated - then healed by God himself. I learned to breathe again by accepting the forgiveness that the Cross of Calvary extends to those that are sick and afflicted in spirit and soul. Jesus truly is the great physician for the lost and desperate - and thus was I healed.
Did you know that in both the original Greek and Hebrew translations of the Bible the same word was used for breath as well as for spirit? The Greek word “nooma” represents Breath and Spirit, one and the same! Makes sense as to why we feel such a calming presence over our bodies when God breathes His spirit into us. To breathe is defined by man as “the taking in and letting out of air” - but to really breathe is defined by the Almighty wordsmith as “to take in fully His Holy Spirit.”
I’ve been reminded lately that one of the most consistent characteristics of a “true Christian” is the aura of a calming presence in our conversations, and interactions with others. This is a real, tale-tale sign according to the very knowledgeable spiritual leaders in my life, and now I’m beginning to understand even more so the truth in this precept.
Confusion and discord is the manifestation of a “breath” that comes from the spirit of the Enemy and is (just as, if not more) obvious to our sight, taste, sound, smell, and touch. It fills the lungs, hearts, and the minds of its victims with the fluids of hatred, racism, envy, jealousy, selfishness, and so often abusiveness. It’s an ever-present foul breath, or spirit that is exposed through words and actions. Bottom line - it’s a pneumonia like sickness which consumes the bodies of so many today!
On the other hand, Love (the kind of love that can only come from God) manifests itself through our Christian spirit, and breath - to fill rooms and relationships with a peace that truly surpasses all understanding.
Take just a minute and stop reading, stop thinking, stop looking, stop listening and close your eyes and take a couple of long, slow breathes. Come on, just do it!
Now, didn’t that feel relaxing? Did you feel God’s presence? Its calming affect is truly a healing balm for our troubled souls, and worried minds. Maybe we should do this more often? Come unto me all who are weak and (heavy laden) burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
He calls; Come unto Me, and I will give you a new nooma……doug
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wings of an angel
As the story goes the wildfire was sweeping across the land faster than the firefighters could stay in front of it. The winds out of the southwest powered the raging inferno which already had devastated hundreds of acres of forest and was now bearing down on the first homestead on the outskirts of town. The firemen knew as much as they hated to they were going to have to sacrifice the outlying farmhouses in order to get in position to defend the city buildings. Jason and his wife pleaded for help but it was to no avail.
The fire was nearing their property edge and their only weapon of defense was a hundred foot water hose. Jeanie began to quickly pack up as many belongings as she could in their pickup. The kids scurried around grabbing dogs and cats and throwing them in the backseat of the family station-wagon. Time was quickly running out on the McNeary family. Jason held back the small patches of grass fires long enough to get everyone loaded in the vehicles and then with one last prayer offered up to save his family he jumped into the truck and they headed to safety.
They could still make it to Jeanie’s sister’s home near the lake by nightfall if they hurried, but instead Jason led their two car caravan straight into town. The kids got out of the car not knowing their dad’s plan, and soon found themselves working side by side to save the city with the same fellows that had no choice but to turn their backs on the McNeary property just hours earlier. As Jason explained to his youngest, sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself in order to help your friends and family. Luke, only being four years old had no clue as to what his dad was telling him, all he knew was that the farm animals he loved and helped tend to were left to fend for their selves in the fire. He and his two sisters wanted so much to help rescue them.
A couple of days passed and the uncontrollable fire moved on. In its rearview mirror was a scene of devastation and destruction. The McNearys traveled back from their lakefront refuge to see firsthand how much greater is the power of fire than was the resources of a small rural township. Unfortunately, there was plenty of evidence of just how one-sided this battle had been.
They reached their land which no longer contained a barn, a two-story house, or even the picket fence by the roadside. Now it was merely laden with heaps of ashes and smoldering debris. The heartbreak was tremendous. Everything their family had worked to gain for fifteen years was now gone within a matter of hours that fateful August. Adding to the kid’s sadness, there was no sign of any of the farm animals still wandering around after being turned loose in hope they could some how survive. Everything was gone - everything.
The family began to sift through the ashes and debris to see if anything was recognizable and that’s when it happened. In this tragedy the greatest lesson of all came not from the dad’s words a few days earlier to his young son, but instead it came running from a hunk of burnt something or another in the area where their front porch once stood. For as Luke kicked at a football shaped pile of ashes out came fourteen yellow feathery ducklings. The frightened babes had survived death under the wings of their mommy duck as she refused to save herself while she burned to a crisp saving the lives of her young.
In the shadows of His wings we will find safety.
I thought about this story as I was driving to Corbin, Kentucky the past week. I've always seen my dearest friend Barb, (who lives in Pittsburgh now) as the epitome of the protective and self-sacrificing mother duck in the story above. I’ve been blessed to know her for nine years now, and I can say without any reservation that she exemplifies what motherhood is all about. She raised her four children in a way that they could never question her love for them, or the lengths that she would go to protect them. I don’t say those things because she’s my friend but rather I say this because I’ve witnessed it first hand. I see those same qualities in her daughter Jessica, a young mother now, and my heart is warmed.
Last week was a terrible, terrible week for Barb and her family. Her son Aaron (Hank as everyone called him) was killed in an accident one day after reaching his twenty-fifth birthday. Such a tragic event in such a loving family! My heart was broken with sadness at the loss of Hank, and the knowledge of how much hurt was being felt by his family and friends. In fifty years I’ve never seen a closer family than the Cima family, and his death has simply knocked them to their knees. My heart continues to cry for them today as I write this.
The air of sadness was so thick in the small city of Corbin last week, dense as the rainy and snowy clouds that hung over their community. Hundreds upon hundreds of friends, family, and acquaintances lined the funeral home and Catholic Parrish to say goodbye to this favorite kid for many, a former football star, baseball player, rebel-rouser, avid hunter, father of a beautiful two year old son, and all round lovable young man. To the Cima family it was devastation in its ugliest form. The number of folks that attended these services spoke volumes of the impact Hank had on their lives. There were so many tears, oh so many tears.
On my way back home I stopped on the outskirts of Corbin at the Sonshine Christian Bookstore to see if I could find some Christmas items to give the students I help teach in an adult education program at one of my hometown’s largest government housing communities. What I found, in just the right volume and at an affordable price were some beautiful silver angel pins with banners spread between their wings, and a small booklet to explain the origin of each. I searched the stack of the blue gift boxes they came in to get a few of each different one. I picked out several of the angels holding the banner of Honesty, and a few of the ones that said Courage. I got a couple more that held the message of Patience, and finished filling my need with ones declaring the best message of all - Forgiveness.
As I placed each one in a small gift bag I paid particular attention to which student was given the banner that I thought they most needed to be reminded of this holiday season. I sat in my living room floor looking at the words Honesty, Courage, Patience, and Forgiveness and my thoughts drifted to my friend Barb, and her beautiful son Hank. I know neither one to be perfect, but I’ve been blessed many times to see both of them demonstrate each of these four characteristics over the years. Tears began to flow from deep within me at the thought of just how sad this Christmas will be for the Cima family.
The phone rang and I gathered my emotions back up as much as possible and I answered it. It was Barb, again. It was now the third or fourth call she had made to me during her seven hour drive back to Pittsburgh. She just needed to hear someone’s voice again. She just needed to know there was someone out there that really cared. She wanted to feel loved just once more. And although she was hundreds of miles away I held her as safely and as snuggly as I could, and I simply asked God to continue to watch over her - just as she has done for me time and time again over the past few months.
The wings of angels can bring banners declaring encouragement and reassurance, but only beneath God’s mighty wings can we find comfort for a broken heart, or safety from the attacks of the enemy. In Him we really do have all we need.
David writes in Psalm 57:1 “Have mercy on me oh God, have mercy! I look for your protection. I will hide beneath the shadow of your wings until the danger passes by.”
Let that also be my prayer today on behalf of Barb, Gino, Jessica, Phillip, and little Gino oh Lord, and for all those struggling to find joy and peace this Christmas. Amen doug
The fire was nearing their property edge and their only weapon of defense was a hundred foot water hose. Jeanie began to quickly pack up as many belongings as she could in their pickup. The kids scurried around grabbing dogs and cats and throwing them in the backseat of the family station-wagon. Time was quickly running out on the McNeary family. Jason held back the small patches of grass fires long enough to get everyone loaded in the vehicles and then with one last prayer offered up to save his family he jumped into the truck and they headed to safety.
They could still make it to Jeanie’s sister’s home near the lake by nightfall if they hurried, but instead Jason led their two car caravan straight into town. The kids got out of the car not knowing their dad’s plan, and soon found themselves working side by side to save the city with the same fellows that had no choice but to turn their backs on the McNeary property just hours earlier. As Jason explained to his youngest, sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself in order to help your friends and family. Luke, only being four years old had no clue as to what his dad was telling him, all he knew was that the farm animals he loved and helped tend to were left to fend for their selves in the fire. He and his two sisters wanted so much to help rescue them.
A couple of days passed and the uncontrollable fire moved on. In its rearview mirror was a scene of devastation and destruction. The McNearys traveled back from their lakefront refuge to see firsthand how much greater is the power of fire than was the resources of a small rural township. Unfortunately, there was plenty of evidence of just how one-sided this battle had been.
They reached their land which no longer contained a barn, a two-story house, or even the picket fence by the roadside. Now it was merely laden with heaps of ashes and smoldering debris. The heartbreak was tremendous. Everything their family had worked to gain for fifteen years was now gone within a matter of hours that fateful August. Adding to the kid’s sadness, there was no sign of any of the farm animals still wandering around after being turned loose in hope they could some how survive. Everything was gone - everything.
The family began to sift through the ashes and debris to see if anything was recognizable and that’s when it happened. In this tragedy the greatest lesson of all came not from the dad’s words a few days earlier to his young son, but instead it came running from a hunk of burnt something or another in the area where their front porch once stood. For as Luke kicked at a football shaped pile of ashes out came fourteen yellow feathery ducklings. The frightened babes had survived death under the wings of their mommy duck as she refused to save herself while she burned to a crisp saving the lives of her young.
In the shadows of His wings we will find safety.
I thought about this story as I was driving to Corbin, Kentucky the past week. I've always seen my dearest friend Barb, (who lives in Pittsburgh now) as the epitome of the protective and self-sacrificing mother duck in the story above. I’ve been blessed to know her for nine years now, and I can say without any reservation that she exemplifies what motherhood is all about. She raised her four children in a way that they could never question her love for them, or the lengths that she would go to protect them. I don’t say those things because she’s my friend but rather I say this because I’ve witnessed it first hand. I see those same qualities in her daughter Jessica, a young mother now, and my heart is warmed.
Last week was a terrible, terrible week for Barb and her family. Her son Aaron (Hank as everyone called him) was killed in an accident one day after reaching his twenty-fifth birthday. Such a tragic event in such a loving family! My heart was broken with sadness at the loss of Hank, and the knowledge of how much hurt was being felt by his family and friends. In fifty years I’ve never seen a closer family than the Cima family, and his death has simply knocked them to their knees. My heart continues to cry for them today as I write this.
The air of sadness was so thick in the small city of Corbin last week, dense as the rainy and snowy clouds that hung over their community. Hundreds upon hundreds of friends, family, and acquaintances lined the funeral home and Catholic Parrish to say goodbye to this favorite kid for many, a former football star, baseball player, rebel-rouser, avid hunter, father of a beautiful two year old son, and all round lovable young man. To the Cima family it was devastation in its ugliest form. The number of folks that attended these services spoke volumes of the impact Hank had on their lives. There were so many tears, oh so many tears.
On my way back home I stopped on the outskirts of Corbin at the Sonshine Christian Bookstore to see if I could find some Christmas items to give the students I help teach in an adult education program at one of my hometown’s largest government housing communities. What I found, in just the right volume and at an affordable price were some beautiful silver angel pins with banners spread between their wings, and a small booklet to explain the origin of each. I searched the stack of the blue gift boxes they came in to get a few of each different one. I picked out several of the angels holding the banner of Honesty, and a few of the ones that said Courage. I got a couple more that held the message of Patience, and finished filling my need with ones declaring the best message of all - Forgiveness.
As I placed each one in a small gift bag I paid particular attention to which student was given the banner that I thought they most needed to be reminded of this holiday season. I sat in my living room floor looking at the words Honesty, Courage, Patience, and Forgiveness and my thoughts drifted to my friend Barb, and her beautiful son Hank. I know neither one to be perfect, but I’ve been blessed many times to see both of them demonstrate each of these four characteristics over the years. Tears began to flow from deep within me at the thought of just how sad this Christmas will be for the Cima family.
The phone rang and I gathered my emotions back up as much as possible and I answered it. It was Barb, again. It was now the third or fourth call she had made to me during her seven hour drive back to Pittsburgh. She just needed to hear someone’s voice again. She just needed to know there was someone out there that really cared. She wanted to feel loved just once more. And although she was hundreds of miles away I held her as safely and as snuggly as I could, and I simply asked God to continue to watch over her - just as she has done for me time and time again over the past few months.
The wings of angels can bring banners declaring encouragement and reassurance, but only beneath God’s mighty wings can we find comfort for a broken heart, or safety from the attacks of the enemy. In Him we really do have all we need.
David writes in Psalm 57:1 “Have mercy on me oh God, have mercy! I look for your protection. I will hide beneath the shadow of your wings until the danger passes by.”
Let that also be my prayer today on behalf of Barb, Gino, Jessica, Phillip, and little Gino oh Lord, and for all those struggling to find joy and peace this Christmas. Amen doug
Monday, December 8, 2008
The awful taste of bitterness
Not long ago, for the umpteenth time I shared a story from my sorted past with a group of folks about how I allowed hardcore bitterness to take root in my heart. I like to use this story as an example of how it is more hurtful to ourselves to harbor un-forgiveness and bitterness rather than it is to the person that has wronged us – yet we do it anyway. Without going into great detail I’ll give you the framework of the issue I suffered through.
At one point or another I’ve often found myself in periods of financial troubles. I'm just guessing here, but I suspect I'm not the only one. About eighteen years ago a situation stemmed from one of those episodes. I decided to sell my bass boat in order to come up with enough money to pay off my Ford pickup and rid myself of a truck payment at a time when I was really struggling to pay my monthly bills. On the way from the sell I stopped in a fast-food joint to grab a bite to eat, and lo and behold I ran into a close friend. I had not seen him in several years so we sat together and as we ate I shared with him my financial situation. He soon stopped me and began telling me about his much greater financial problem. Long story short – I ended up “loaning” him the money that I planned on using to pay off my truck. He assured me he would give me the money back by the end of the week. Guess what – it never happened!
The fact that someone I respected as much as I did him suckered me out of my money was bad enough, but when others that knew what he had done didn’t standup for me in the situation I was really hurt. I’m not sure what I expected them to do but whatever it was, they didn’t do it. My hurt turned to bitterness and I vowed to disown all of them. I went nearly eight years without speaking to any of them. I made up my mind that if I ever ran across this fellow again I would probably go to jail for doing something really bad to him. And this is where the situation stayed for years and years. It didn’t fester or get worse as in some cases of misgivings, I was simply resolved in how I felt, and refused to budge from my position.
Not until 2006 when I asked God to forgive me of my sins and take control of my life was I able to sit this issue aside. My beloved two-tone blue, extra cab Ford Ranger, with the sporty wheel package had been long gone via the way of the repo-man, yet I was stuck right there in the same mud-hole for nearly sixteen years. But how could I expect God to forgive me for all that I had done, when I couldn’t forgive someone else of merely stealing money from me. I realized that I had to let go and forgive in order to take hold of real forgiveness. It was a very valuable lesson that still plays a vital role in my life today. Nowadays regardless of the situation I choose to forgive immediately, because that’s exactly what my Lord did for me.
Let me ask you, “Is there someone out there that you’ve not yet forgiven?” Maybe it was a really, really, I mean really bad thing they did to you. Sexual abuse or worse.
Maybe they caused you embarrassment, or humiliation. Was their actions or words a result of plain ol’ meanness? Or maybe they too stole from you, or did they somehow physically injure you? Whatever it may have been you were left with the awful taste of bitterness toward them.
Yes, this is the “norm” for our world, isn’t it? But have you forgiven them, really, truly forgiven them yet? Maybe it’s that they said something unkind to you, or about you. Maybe they didn’t get you a Christmas gift last year, and so this year you’ve decided to return the favor. Perhaps it’s been so long ago that you can’t even remember what caused the fall-out. You just know that it must’ve been really important at the time.
You hear people use the old adage I forgive, but I don’t forget (and actually I’ve been guilty of that myself in the past) but what if God used that same standard? Would he really be a God worthy of all our praise and honor? His word tells us that we must (not should) but must forgive all those that have transgressed against us, despite how severe of an incident in order to be counted as one of His own.
As in my situation I couldn’t accept or even expect God to forgive me of my many transgressions, (and trust me, many of them were a lot worse than stealing money from him) if I weren’t willing to sincerely and permanently forgive my friend as well as anyone else that had wronged me. Oh yeah, I had to ask forgiveness for my own actions and attitude toward others as well. I like the fact that God not only forgives us, but He removes the past sin from our relationship with Him - as far as the east is from the west. Yeah, I like that about Him a lot!
If you reside in the great state of Tennessee you probably know all too well a few weeks ago the University of Tennessee forced its head football coach, Phillip Fulmer to resign. This, after seventeen years as the head coach, and approximately thirty-eight years of total service to the school. Everyone, football fan or not seems to have an opinion of the situation here in the Volunteer State. This so-called firing has received a lot of negative attention from the national sports shows on our televisions and radios as well. After all, Fulmer holds one of the highest winning percentages of active coaches. His program for the most part has steered clear of any type of serious violation of rules by the governing body that oversees collegiate sports. But all of that aside, his work was found not good enough by the powers-to-be - so out the gate he goes.
The reason I include this tidbit of sports trivia is not because I have a strong opinion about who should be coaching football for the Vols, rather it’s to share something I’ve learned from watching and listening to this process. You see, Coach Fulmer could very easily be bitter about how he’s been treated considering all that he’s given back to his alma mater over the years. After all, his predecessor left the school a very bitter person when the termination of his employment was handled in a similar manner some seventeen years earlier. Yet Fulmer, as expected by those that admire his true character more so than his coaching ability has handled this event with a great deal of dignity and self-control.
He appears (to me anyway) not as a man that is angry, yet rather as if he’s had his heart broken by the one he loves. Numerous times we’ve seen him struggle to fight back the tears during an interview, or on the sidelines. We’ve heard him reminisce about the good times, and the good people he has shared life with at the school. He has shown true sadness in saying goodbye at a time when he really doesn’t want to leave. He’s handled it all exactly how he has lived his life in front of the public eye (and I suspect in private as well) - with great class. Something we don’t often see from those involved in the profession of high dollar sports or in any other corner of our society.
Over the past month I’ve seen and heard numerous interviews Coach Fulmer has been involved with. I’ve listened as reporters and commentators have tried to lead him down the road of saying something negative about the school and the administrators that have made this decision, yet to no avail. Fulmer has refused to be coerced into saying anything that could be considered by some to be justified even though for him it would be out of character. Instead he chose to made a remarkably precise observation when asked by a local newsperson a couple of weeks ago if deep down didn’t he feel at least a little bitter about how all of this has played out. And Fulmer responded by saying in his very familiar style of humility: “Let me explain to you what bitterness is. Bitterness is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die from it and I won’t allow myself do go there.”
Coach Fulmer is so right! When we allow ourselves to become bitter at another person or even at a situation it is indeed as if we’ve chose to drink poison. We don’t want to die, but sometimes we want the one that has offended us to. When we’ve been hurt, mistreated, disrespected, or simply snubbed we most certainly don’t feel a need to punish ourselves but rather we want our persecutors to be. Yet we drink the poison anyway!
What I’ve found through my experiences and from watching the lives of others, such as Phillip Fulmer is that when we allow ourselves to become engulfed in bitterness it's then we are least like our Savior Jesus Christ. Even the slightest degree of bitterness moves us in the wrong direction and away from the Cross and it eventually opens us up to the temptation of so many other sins as well. I don’t think there could be a better word to describe the awful, nasty taste that comes from a mindset and heartfelt feeling of bitterness than the word "bitter", can you?
Just possibly there’s someone out there that needs to give themselves and others a very special and much over due Christmas gift this year – the gift of forgiveness? doug
At one point or another I’ve often found myself in periods of financial troubles. I'm just guessing here, but I suspect I'm not the only one. About eighteen years ago a situation stemmed from one of those episodes. I decided to sell my bass boat in order to come up with enough money to pay off my Ford pickup and rid myself of a truck payment at a time when I was really struggling to pay my monthly bills. On the way from the sell I stopped in a fast-food joint to grab a bite to eat, and lo and behold I ran into a close friend. I had not seen him in several years so we sat together and as we ate I shared with him my financial situation. He soon stopped me and began telling me about his much greater financial problem. Long story short – I ended up “loaning” him the money that I planned on using to pay off my truck. He assured me he would give me the money back by the end of the week. Guess what – it never happened!
The fact that someone I respected as much as I did him suckered me out of my money was bad enough, but when others that knew what he had done didn’t standup for me in the situation I was really hurt. I’m not sure what I expected them to do but whatever it was, they didn’t do it. My hurt turned to bitterness and I vowed to disown all of them. I went nearly eight years without speaking to any of them. I made up my mind that if I ever ran across this fellow again I would probably go to jail for doing something really bad to him. And this is where the situation stayed for years and years. It didn’t fester or get worse as in some cases of misgivings, I was simply resolved in how I felt, and refused to budge from my position.
Not until 2006 when I asked God to forgive me of my sins and take control of my life was I able to sit this issue aside. My beloved two-tone blue, extra cab Ford Ranger, with the sporty wheel package had been long gone via the way of the repo-man, yet I was stuck right there in the same mud-hole for nearly sixteen years. But how could I expect God to forgive me for all that I had done, when I couldn’t forgive someone else of merely stealing money from me. I realized that I had to let go and forgive in order to take hold of real forgiveness. It was a very valuable lesson that still plays a vital role in my life today. Nowadays regardless of the situation I choose to forgive immediately, because that’s exactly what my Lord did for me.
Let me ask you, “Is there someone out there that you’ve not yet forgiven?” Maybe it was a really, really, I mean really bad thing they did to you. Sexual abuse or worse.
Maybe they caused you embarrassment, or humiliation. Was their actions or words a result of plain ol’ meanness? Or maybe they too stole from you, or did they somehow physically injure you? Whatever it may have been you were left with the awful taste of bitterness toward them.
Yes, this is the “norm” for our world, isn’t it? But have you forgiven them, really, truly forgiven them yet? Maybe it’s that they said something unkind to you, or about you. Maybe they didn’t get you a Christmas gift last year, and so this year you’ve decided to return the favor. Perhaps it’s been so long ago that you can’t even remember what caused the fall-out. You just know that it must’ve been really important at the time.
You hear people use the old adage I forgive, but I don’t forget (and actually I’ve been guilty of that myself in the past) but what if God used that same standard? Would he really be a God worthy of all our praise and honor? His word tells us that we must (not should) but must forgive all those that have transgressed against us, despite how severe of an incident in order to be counted as one of His own.
As in my situation I couldn’t accept or even expect God to forgive me of my many transgressions, (and trust me, many of them were a lot worse than stealing money from him) if I weren’t willing to sincerely and permanently forgive my friend as well as anyone else that had wronged me. Oh yeah, I had to ask forgiveness for my own actions and attitude toward others as well. I like the fact that God not only forgives us, but He removes the past sin from our relationship with Him - as far as the east is from the west. Yeah, I like that about Him a lot!
If you reside in the great state of Tennessee you probably know all too well a few weeks ago the University of Tennessee forced its head football coach, Phillip Fulmer to resign. This, after seventeen years as the head coach, and approximately thirty-eight years of total service to the school. Everyone, football fan or not seems to have an opinion of the situation here in the Volunteer State. This so-called firing has received a lot of negative attention from the national sports shows on our televisions and radios as well. After all, Fulmer holds one of the highest winning percentages of active coaches. His program for the most part has steered clear of any type of serious violation of rules by the governing body that oversees collegiate sports. But all of that aside, his work was found not good enough by the powers-to-be - so out the gate he goes.
The reason I include this tidbit of sports trivia is not because I have a strong opinion about who should be coaching football for the Vols, rather it’s to share something I’ve learned from watching and listening to this process. You see, Coach Fulmer could very easily be bitter about how he’s been treated considering all that he’s given back to his alma mater over the years. After all, his predecessor left the school a very bitter person when the termination of his employment was handled in a similar manner some seventeen years earlier. Yet Fulmer, as expected by those that admire his true character more so than his coaching ability has handled this event with a great deal of dignity and self-control.
He appears (to me anyway) not as a man that is angry, yet rather as if he’s had his heart broken by the one he loves. Numerous times we’ve seen him struggle to fight back the tears during an interview, or on the sidelines. We’ve heard him reminisce about the good times, and the good people he has shared life with at the school. He has shown true sadness in saying goodbye at a time when he really doesn’t want to leave. He’s handled it all exactly how he has lived his life in front of the public eye (and I suspect in private as well) - with great class. Something we don’t often see from those involved in the profession of high dollar sports or in any other corner of our society.
Over the past month I’ve seen and heard numerous interviews Coach Fulmer has been involved with. I’ve listened as reporters and commentators have tried to lead him down the road of saying something negative about the school and the administrators that have made this decision, yet to no avail. Fulmer has refused to be coerced into saying anything that could be considered by some to be justified even though for him it would be out of character. Instead he chose to made a remarkably precise observation when asked by a local newsperson a couple of weeks ago if deep down didn’t he feel at least a little bitter about how all of this has played out. And Fulmer responded by saying in his very familiar style of humility: “Let me explain to you what bitterness is. Bitterness is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die from it and I won’t allow myself do go there.”
Coach Fulmer is so right! When we allow ourselves to become bitter at another person or even at a situation it is indeed as if we’ve chose to drink poison. We don’t want to die, but sometimes we want the one that has offended us to. When we’ve been hurt, mistreated, disrespected, or simply snubbed we most certainly don’t feel a need to punish ourselves but rather we want our persecutors to be. Yet we drink the poison anyway!
What I’ve found through my experiences and from watching the lives of others, such as Phillip Fulmer is that when we allow ourselves to become engulfed in bitterness it's then we are least like our Savior Jesus Christ. Even the slightest degree of bitterness moves us in the wrong direction and away from the Cross and it eventually opens us up to the temptation of so many other sins as well. I don’t think there could be a better word to describe the awful, nasty taste that comes from a mindset and heartfelt feeling of bitterness than the word "bitter", can you?
Just possibly there’s someone out there that needs to give themselves and others a very special and much over due Christmas gift this year – the gift of forgiveness? doug
Monday, December 1, 2008
MERRY CHRISTMAS! (from 2006)
What a great morning! Merry Christmas!!! I know that it’s not Christmas yet who cares - Merry Christmas to one and all. Yeah, I’m losing it! I’m losing all of the chains of self-pride, as well as all of the other things that have brought so many restrictions to my life for so long. Thank God, I’m losing it all….
Everyday for the past month or so I wake up and it’s Christmas morning all over again, and with all of my heart I hope it continues for the rest of my life. Each day I get out of bed like a six year old, I run down the steps, and rush to the Christmas tree to see what’s under it for me. What gifts of amazement, and wonder I’ve found wrapped in the most unusual of papers and bows. Boy, does the Lord ever know what gifts I need each day!
This morning I get up for whatever reason around four-fifteen. I almost forget to go out and warm up the car (because I’m so excited about this being Christmas morning again) so out I go in my boxers, slippers, and a sweatshirt. The snow’s a pouring down; the wind’s a gusting and my heart’s singing hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah!!! Thank goodness none of my neighbors are nutty enough to be up at this time of morning to see the peculiar spectacle.
Then I’m reminded this morning about a time many years ago, sitting around awaiting the arrival of the next Robert Fulghum book while rereading the ones that I had read over and over already. And the story that came to my mind from that distant place was one that he shared about a trip to the doctor, and his encounter with an elderly fellow. This man who suffered from the affects of Alzheimer’s disease routinely sprung the surprise of celebrating Christmas on his family at various times throughout the year.
I can’t remember exactly how the story went, (since I’ve given away all of my copies of the marvelous works of Fulghum) but I recall that his wife and daughter always went out of their way to ensure the ruse continued. They would get out the Christmas lights and tree, and act as if everything was normal. They wanted him to relive the enjoyment, warmth, and love that he had felt on the Christmas mornings of his youth as long as it made him happy in his dying years. They came to understand through his ailment just how precious life truly is. What a special gift of love, huh? The enduring love that the Bible speaks of. Thank God for true love!
Merry Christmas!
I thank our loving Savior for this Christmas morning that we share together! As I drove into work at a quarter to five, (for the first time ever) - I popped in one of my CDs as usual, and the first song to play was Jeremy Camp’s “Beautiful One”. What a way to start a snowy trip to work this morning. By the time the Casting Crowns began singing the next song, “Father, Spirit, Jesus” I was already tingling from the excitement of the Christmas gift of the Holy Spirit. I’m half way to work now, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand raised without a sense of shame and I’m singing to the top of my lungs - praises to Him. As I get near my exit, Vicky Beeching begins singing “Above All Else” and I’m drawn into a prayer of thanksgiving for the greatest gift of all, Jesus himself. Above all else give me you, Jesus. What a glorious love of a Father to give His only Son as a gift to such an undeserving world as we. Simply amazing!
Did I mention, Merry Christmas!!! Hallelujah! Wow, how many Christmas days have we missed out on, or have taken for granted? I don’t want another one to pass me by without a celebration of joy!
Imagine with me for just a moment, as if we’re looking on from the foreshadows long ago - as God stands facing our humble planet, arms raised in front of Him with his fist clinched. Then he relaxes the muscles of his hands, uncurls his fingers and releases the wind for the very first time upon the earth, as if releasing a sparrow. The wind gushes over the plains of our planet, through the canyons of our land, and over the mountaintops so high, and then it completes its first journey around the globe to create a gentle breeze that blows through his hair from behind. A slight smile comes over his lips, a sense of great accomplishment comes to his heart, and He whispers Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas to all.
We spend our whole life feeling the effects of the wind, cursing the results of it, and utilizing it’s power - yet rarely do we ever give thanks for such a wonderful gift that He has given us. Thank you Lord for all of the amazing gifts that you give us each day – for you truly do know our needs, as well as our hearts. Merry Christmas sings your people, Merry Christmas….
Its 6:41 now - I think I’ll get a cup of hot chocolate, and then open a few more gifts.
With the love of Christmas in my heart, Doug
My prayer today -December 2008- is that I return to the mindset when I originally wrote this item in 2007 and when I awake each morning it is Christmas all over again (through God's wonderful array of gifts) - just as Bill Murray does in the movie Groundhog Day.
What a great morning! Merry Christmas!!! I know that it’s not Christmas yet who cares - Merry Christmas to one and all. Yeah, I’m losing it! I’m losing all of the chains of self-pride, as well as all of the other things that have brought so many restrictions to my life for so long. Thank God, I’m losing it all….
Everyday for the past month or so I wake up and it’s Christmas morning all over again, and with all of my heart I hope it continues for the rest of my life. Each day I get out of bed like a six year old, I run down the steps, and rush to the Christmas tree to see what’s under it for me. What gifts of amazement, and wonder I’ve found wrapped in the most unusual of papers and bows. Boy, does the Lord ever know what gifts I need each day!
This morning I get up for whatever reason around four-fifteen. I almost forget to go out and warm up the car (because I’m so excited about this being Christmas morning again) so out I go in my boxers, slippers, and a sweatshirt. The snow’s a pouring down; the wind’s a gusting and my heart’s singing hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah!!! Thank goodness none of my neighbors are nutty enough to be up at this time of morning to see the peculiar spectacle.
Then I’m reminded this morning about a time many years ago, sitting around awaiting the arrival of the next Robert Fulghum book while rereading the ones that I had read over and over already. And the story that came to my mind from that distant place was one that he shared about a trip to the doctor, and his encounter with an elderly fellow. This man who suffered from the affects of Alzheimer’s disease routinely sprung the surprise of celebrating Christmas on his family at various times throughout the year.
I can’t remember exactly how the story went, (since I’ve given away all of my copies of the marvelous works of Fulghum) but I recall that his wife and daughter always went out of their way to ensure the ruse continued. They would get out the Christmas lights and tree, and act as if everything was normal. They wanted him to relive the enjoyment, warmth, and love that he had felt on the Christmas mornings of his youth as long as it made him happy in his dying years. They came to understand through his ailment just how precious life truly is. What a special gift of love, huh? The enduring love that the Bible speaks of. Thank God for true love!
Merry Christmas!
I thank our loving Savior for this Christmas morning that we share together! As I drove into work at a quarter to five, (for the first time ever) - I popped in one of my CDs as usual, and the first song to play was Jeremy Camp’s “Beautiful One”. What a way to start a snowy trip to work this morning. By the time the Casting Crowns began singing the next song, “Father, Spirit, Jesus” I was already tingling from the excitement of the Christmas gift of the Holy Spirit. I’m half way to work now, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand raised without a sense of shame and I’m singing to the top of my lungs - praises to Him. As I get near my exit, Vicky Beeching begins singing “Above All Else” and I’m drawn into a prayer of thanksgiving for the greatest gift of all, Jesus himself. Above all else give me you, Jesus. What a glorious love of a Father to give His only Son as a gift to such an undeserving world as we. Simply amazing!
Did I mention, Merry Christmas!!! Hallelujah! Wow, how many Christmas days have we missed out on, or have taken for granted? I don’t want another one to pass me by without a celebration of joy!
Imagine with me for just a moment, as if we’re looking on from the foreshadows long ago - as God stands facing our humble planet, arms raised in front of Him with his fist clinched. Then he relaxes the muscles of his hands, uncurls his fingers and releases the wind for the very first time upon the earth, as if releasing a sparrow. The wind gushes over the plains of our planet, through the canyons of our land, and over the mountaintops so high, and then it completes its first journey around the globe to create a gentle breeze that blows through his hair from behind. A slight smile comes over his lips, a sense of great accomplishment comes to his heart, and He whispers Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas to all.
We spend our whole life feeling the effects of the wind, cursing the results of it, and utilizing it’s power - yet rarely do we ever give thanks for such a wonderful gift that He has given us. Thank you Lord for all of the amazing gifts that you give us each day – for you truly do know our needs, as well as our hearts. Merry Christmas sings your people, Merry Christmas….
Its 6:41 now - I think I’ll get a cup of hot chocolate, and then open a few more gifts.
With the love of Christmas in my heart, Doug
My prayer today -December 2008- is that I return to the mindset when I originally wrote this item in 2007 and when I awake each morning it is Christmas all over again (through God's wonderful array of gifts) - just as Bill Murray does in the movie Groundhog Day.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Bury the old man!
Way back in the early 80’s I listened daily to a radio minister named J.Vernon McGee, some of you may remember him. His broadcasts were a focal point in my life at the time. Back then he would go through the Bible in a year’s time then later on he began to slow the process down a bit and do it over a two year period. Not surprising his radio show was called “Through the Bible with J. Vernon McGee”. Actually, his broadcasts are still being aired daily in this part of the country even though Pastor McGee has been deceased for several years.
I hadn’t thought much of ol’ J. Vernon for awhile now, at least not until a minister at one of the churches I attended recently relayed a story that I remember hearing Pastor McGee tell years ago – and this is really what I wanted to share here.
As the story goes there was a rich, elderly fellow that lived in a gorgeous old Plantation home on a huge piece of property in Georgia. He married a beautiful and much younger woman. Then after a couple of years of marriage he passed away of natural causes. His wife was very respectful of her late husband even to the point of being peculiar. She decided to have his body stuffed by a local taxidermist and placed it in his favorite rocking chair. She had a glass company construct a sealed box large enough to house the mounted cadaver. She placed the strange display in the foyer of their home so everyone coming in could see her undying affection for her late husband.
After a few years of inescapable grief she was convinced by her closest friends to take a trip overseas to get away from the home which she had become a prisoner of since her husband’s passing. While in Europe she met a man and began feeling emotions she thought were dead inside of her. She extended her stay abroad for several months and ended up marrying this new man in her life. She finally convinced him to leave his country and come with her to America to live in the beautiful home her first husband had left behind.
As they were to enter the home her new husband decided to lift up his bride and carry her across the threshold. Immediately after coming through the door he abruptly drops her body to the floor and screams out – What in the world is that? She apologizes for having failed to tell him about the display of her first husband.
After regaining his senses her groom tells her, “You may have been married to that old man and surly you may have enjoyed the times and experiences you shared with him – but now you belong to a new man – the old man is dead! He explained in no uncertain terms that she must be willing to bury her old and very dead husband in order for him to live with her. She finally understood that it was time to let go of what she had been holding onto for years. They buried the old man, rocking chair and all in a gravesite on the outer edge of the property and went on to live a full life together.
And thus it is with our lives. When we were in the world we lived with the old man, the old woman – yet through Christ we are made new. But for some of us we still try holding on to some of the old man long after our conversions. We linger in a relationship that should be both dead AND buried. His word tells us plainly that we can’t hold on to the old man if we truly want to be a new creation through God’s un-measurable gift of Grace.
We have to be willing to put all aspects of our past behind us, and take up our new cross and follow Him. Hanging on to people and things of our past well after they are passed away simply causes us delays in our journey. If you've read anything from me lately you realize that I have been guilty of that sin. At somepoint it becomes the right time to set them aside, to bury them for good. Have you reached that point today? I know I have! Regardless how difficult it is we must bury the old man and move forward into the life of abundance which He has set aside for us.
“The old man has passed away and now we are a new creation in Him.”
Way back in the early 80’s I listened daily to a radio minister named J.Vernon McGee, some of you may remember him. His broadcasts were a focal point in my life at the time. Back then he would go through the Bible in a year’s time then later on he began to slow the process down a bit and do it over a two year period. Not surprising his radio show was called “Through the Bible with J. Vernon McGee”. Actually, his broadcasts are still being aired daily in this part of the country even though Pastor McGee has been deceased for several years.
I hadn’t thought much of ol’ J. Vernon for awhile now, at least not until a minister at one of the churches I attended recently relayed a story that I remember hearing Pastor McGee tell years ago – and this is really what I wanted to share here.
As the story goes there was a rich, elderly fellow that lived in a gorgeous old Plantation home on a huge piece of property in Georgia. He married a beautiful and much younger woman. Then after a couple of years of marriage he passed away of natural causes. His wife was very respectful of her late husband even to the point of being peculiar. She decided to have his body stuffed by a local taxidermist and placed it in his favorite rocking chair. She had a glass company construct a sealed box large enough to house the mounted cadaver. She placed the strange display in the foyer of their home so everyone coming in could see her undying affection for her late husband.
After a few years of inescapable grief she was convinced by her closest friends to take a trip overseas to get away from the home which she had become a prisoner of since her husband’s passing. While in Europe she met a man and began feeling emotions she thought were dead inside of her. She extended her stay abroad for several months and ended up marrying this new man in her life. She finally convinced him to leave his country and come with her to America to live in the beautiful home her first husband had left behind.
As they were to enter the home her new husband decided to lift up his bride and carry her across the threshold. Immediately after coming through the door he abruptly drops her body to the floor and screams out – What in the world is that? She apologizes for having failed to tell him about the display of her first husband.
After regaining his senses her groom tells her, “You may have been married to that old man and surly you may have enjoyed the times and experiences you shared with him – but now you belong to a new man – the old man is dead! He explained in no uncertain terms that she must be willing to bury her old and very dead husband in order for him to live with her. She finally understood that it was time to let go of what she had been holding onto for years. They buried the old man, rocking chair and all in a gravesite on the outer edge of the property and went on to live a full life together.
And thus it is with our lives. When we were in the world we lived with the old man, the old woman – yet through Christ we are made new. But for some of us we still try holding on to some of the old man long after our conversions. We linger in a relationship that should be both dead AND buried. His word tells us plainly that we can’t hold on to the old man if we truly want to be a new creation through God’s un-measurable gift of Grace.
We have to be willing to put all aspects of our past behind us, and take up our new cross and follow Him. Hanging on to people and things of our past well after they are passed away simply causes us delays in our journey. If you've read anything from me lately you realize that I have been guilty of that sin. At somepoint it becomes the right time to set them aside, to bury them for good. Have you reached that point today? I know I have! Regardless how difficult it is we must bury the old man and move forward into the life of abundance which He has set aside for us.
“The old man has passed away and now we are a new creation in Him.”
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
more than a song
Each day for some time now, I start my workday (after getting this box cranked up) with my playlist headliner, Michael W. Smith’s The Heart of Worship. What a great song to help get focused on my purpose in life while at work – to worship and praise God in all of my thoughts, words, and actions. Trust me, I need all of the help that I can get! I feel like I’m cheating on a test each day, because I listen to Christian music almost 24/7. I know there aren’t a lot of folks that have that opportunity, and I truly appreciate what God has given me. I also know that He has placed me in this position because of my weaknesses, and He understands my needs much better than I do.
The lyrics that I like most from this song are, “I’ll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required - you search much deeper within - through the way things appear - your looking into my heart - I’m coming back to the heart of worship, and its all about you, its all about you Jesus - I’m sorry Lord, for the thing that I’ve made it! Its all about you, its all about you Jesus.”
What insightfulness for a songwriter to admit that “songs” are not what Jesus asks of us! It’s much more, so much more than just our praises. The same for a pastor to proclaim that sermons are not the purpose of his Christianity, or a writer to acknowledge that the words may come from God, yet the purpose in our lives, as His people is so much greater than the pen can capture. And it’s with that thought in mind that I break from the norm today, and share more than my words. As you guys know, I’ve been sharing “my personal journal entries” each week at this time, yet today I want to extend to you something from someone else’s life, which I don’t posses the words to express properly.
The following story was shared in a sermon given by Dr. Rick Blackwood, Senior Pastor at Christ Fellowship in Pametto Bay, Fla. several years ago. The story is of a father’s love, pain, anguish, and most certainly a father’s hope. I in turn, hope that somehow in some small way it finds a purpose in your own life today, as we all share our Christianity with each other. If you’re a parent, you’ll understand even more so the emotional state from where this letter was written.
Pastor Rick began by reading a tribute that a father had written after losing his young daughter to Death, and it goes as follows; “My dear Bristol, before you were born, I prayed for you. In my heart I knew that you would be a little angel, and so you were. When you were born on my birthday, it was evident that you were a special gift from the Lord. But how profound a gift you turned out to be! More than a beautiful bundle of gurgles and rosy cheeks, more than the first-born of my flesh, a joy unspeakable, you showed me God’s love more than anything else in all creation. Bristol, you taught me how to love.”
“I certainly loved you when you were cuddly and cute, when you rolled over, sat up and jabbered your first words. I loved you when the searing pain of realization took hold that something was wrong; that maybe you were not developing as quickly as your peers, and then when we understood it was more serious than that. I loved you when we went from hospital, to clinic, to doctor, looking for a medical diagnosis that would bring some hope. And, of course, we always prayed for you, and prayed, prayed.”
“I loved you when one of the tests resulted in too much spinal fluid being drawn from your body - and you screamed. I loved you when you when you moaned and cried; and when your mom and I, and your sisters would drive for hours late at night, to help you fall asleep. I loved you with tears in my eyes when, confused, you would bite your fingers, or your lip by accident. I loved you when your eyes crossed, and then went blind.”
“I most certainly loved you when you could no longer speak, but how profoundly I missed your voice! I loved you when your scoliosis started wrenching your body like a pretzel, when they put a tube in your stomach so you could eat because you were choking on your food, which we fed you, one spoonful at a time - up to two hours per meal. Bristol, I even loved you when you could not say the one thing in life that I longed to hear back – “Daddy, I love you”. Bristol, I loved you when I was close to God, and when he seemed far away, when I was full of faith, and also when I was angry at Him.”
“The reason I loved you, my Bristol, in spite of these difficulties is that God put this love in my heart. This is the wondrous nature of God’s love, that He loves us even when we are blind, deaf, or twisted – in body or in spirit. God loves us even when we can’t tell Him we love Him back. My dear Bristol, now you are free! I look forward to that day, according to God’s promises, when we will be joined together with you - with the Lord, completely whole and full of joy. I’m so happy that you have your crown first. We will follow you someday- in His time.”
“I’m sorry Lord, for the thing that I have made it!
I bring you more than a song God, because you deserve so much more - for loving me through all of my spiritual deficiencies, deformities, blindness, and especially through those times that I forget to, or simply refuse to tell you - Daddy, I love you… doug
The lyrics that I like most from this song are, “I’ll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required - you search much deeper within - through the way things appear - your looking into my heart - I’m coming back to the heart of worship, and its all about you, its all about you Jesus - I’m sorry Lord, for the thing that I’ve made it! Its all about you, its all about you Jesus.”
What insightfulness for a songwriter to admit that “songs” are not what Jesus asks of us! It’s much more, so much more than just our praises. The same for a pastor to proclaim that sermons are not the purpose of his Christianity, or a writer to acknowledge that the words may come from God, yet the purpose in our lives, as His people is so much greater than the pen can capture. And it’s with that thought in mind that I break from the norm today, and share more than my words. As you guys know, I’ve been sharing “my personal journal entries” each week at this time, yet today I want to extend to you something from someone else’s life, which I don’t posses the words to express properly.
The following story was shared in a sermon given by Dr. Rick Blackwood, Senior Pastor at Christ Fellowship in Pametto Bay, Fla. several years ago. The story is of a father’s love, pain, anguish, and most certainly a father’s hope. I in turn, hope that somehow in some small way it finds a purpose in your own life today, as we all share our Christianity with each other. If you’re a parent, you’ll understand even more so the emotional state from where this letter was written.
Pastor Rick began by reading a tribute that a father had written after losing his young daughter to Death, and it goes as follows; “My dear Bristol, before you were born, I prayed for you. In my heart I knew that you would be a little angel, and so you were. When you were born on my birthday, it was evident that you were a special gift from the Lord. But how profound a gift you turned out to be! More than a beautiful bundle of gurgles and rosy cheeks, more than the first-born of my flesh, a joy unspeakable, you showed me God’s love more than anything else in all creation. Bristol, you taught me how to love.”
“I certainly loved you when you were cuddly and cute, when you rolled over, sat up and jabbered your first words. I loved you when the searing pain of realization took hold that something was wrong; that maybe you were not developing as quickly as your peers, and then when we understood it was more serious than that. I loved you when we went from hospital, to clinic, to doctor, looking for a medical diagnosis that would bring some hope. And, of course, we always prayed for you, and prayed, prayed.”
“I loved you when one of the tests resulted in too much spinal fluid being drawn from your body - and you screamed. I loved you when you when you moaned and cried; and when your mom and I, and your sisters would drive for hours late at night, to help you fall asleep. I loved you with tears in my eyes when, confused, you would bite your fingers, or your lip by accident. I loved you when your eyes crossed, and then went blind.”
“I most certainly loved you when you could no longer speak, but how profoundly I missed your voice! I loved you when your scoliosis started wrenching your body like a pretzel, when they put a tube in your stomach so you could eat because you were choking on your food, which we fed you, one spoonful at a time - up to two hours per meal. Bristol, I even loved you when you could not say the one thing in life that I longed to hear back – “Daddy, I love you”. Bristol, I loved you when I was close to God, and when he seemed far away, when I was full of faith, and also when I was angry at Him.”
“The reason I loved you, my Bristol, in spite of these difficulties is that God put this love in my heart. This is the wondrous nature of God’s love, that He loves us even when we are blind, deaf, or twisted – in body or in spirit. God loves us even when we can’t tell Him we love Him back. My dear Bristol, now you are free! I look forward to that day, according to God’s promises, when we will be joined together with you - with the Lord, completely whole and full of joy. I’m so happy that you have your crown first. We will follow you someday- in His time.”
“I’m sorry Lord, for the thing that I have made it!
I bring you more than a song God, because you deserve so much more - for loving me through all of my spiritual deficiencies, deformities, blindness, and especially through those times that I forget to, or simply refuse to tell you - Daddy, I love you… doug
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
from the depths of brokenness
It’s been months since I added anything to this string of journal entries. Often I’ve thought I would never return here. Often I’ve thought I would never be worthy enough to share anything I write – and in that context I was absolutely right. I’ll never be worthy of anything, lest by His grace and His grace alone. While times have been tremendously difficult since July the place where the answers lie has always been known. I would like to be able to say with a resounding and confident voice what I’ve gone through has been a character-building process, but that sounds like such a cliché and so shallow. It’s much harder to admit the truth - to talk openly of the three days I was so preoccupied with the thought of suicide that I was barely able to function in the real world.
From the depths of brokenness – my brokenness.
I would like to say I’m over the hump and I’ve got a better grip on life, but the truth is that as I sit here typing the tears of a broken heart slowly crawl from the corners of my eyes. I would like to say I’m stronger in my faith because of His unrelenting presence in all of this, yet I still have doubts, I still have unanswered questions, I somehow still find a way to disobey on a daily basis. I would like to say through this situation I’ve found my real self, yet to be quite honest I’m still not there. I would like to say I’m over the delusion that somehow this whole relationship thing will work out the way I would like for it to in the end, yet I still haven’t given up all hope – not yet anyway.
I would like to be able to write about how I’ve been able to put aside all of my hurt and pain and focus on helping others and serving God, yet that would be a lie. Now, more often than not I seem to pass up opportunity after opportunity to help out in projects of compassion I’ve loved being a part of for so long. I would love to say with a firm mind I’ve got this great vision as to what and how I’m supposed to live out my days, but the truth of the matter is I struggle with being faithful to God’s calling on my life today, much less tomorrow, or the next.
Don't get me wrong I would never compare my hurt from a senseless divorce to be equal to the losses others suffer, yet for me it’s just as real. Parents losing children, children losing parents, spouses and partners dying in the most untimely of circumstances - all much greater on the scale of finality, and I understand that but the pain is still very much real. Statistics tell us divorce happens so routinely in America that it shouldn’t be considered a surprise any longer. That it should merely be considered a realistic possibility when a couple gets married. As certain as death do us part is the notion that the legal process can just as easily separate husband from wife. Yet, who among us is qualified to say that the individual hurt isn’t just as real today as it was when the percentage of marriages ending in divorce was less than 50%. Who can say that the affect divorce is having on the moral soundness of our society shouldn’t be seen as the human tragedy that it is.
From the depths of brokenness. Not just mine, yet our nation as a whole.
It seems so much national attention is given to who should or should not be allowed to marry, yet little focus is on keeping together those that have been joined in the sight of God. We know that bankruptcy laws have been tightened in the past few years, yet all the while our divorce laws have been loosened. What does that say about what we as a nation consider sacred today? "and there shall your heart be also"...
I continue to move further and further from the depths of brokenness with each passing day. Sometimes it’s measured in small baby steps, yet I’m moving slowly but surely and that’s what’s important for me right now. To write about something less personal today would have been much easier for me yet you would've known I was being pretentious and hypocritical when this calling has been anything but. My confidence comes from a relationship with one that will never leave us nor forsake us - my precious Lord and Savior. For in the depths of brokenness I’ve survived solely on the nourishment of His love. His mercy really is enough!
I want to share with you excerpts from an article printed in The Plain Dealer newspaper from Ohio back in May of this year. (You can read the full article if you look up the archives section of their paper.) For whatever reason, I copied and filed it and then I stumbled across it again today. What can come from the depths of brokenness may not be easily seen in my situation, at least maybe not today – but in the story of Susan Cenkus it most certainly can. The final sentence in the article is a great reminder of an absolute truth for all of us. Whether it is with the healing of physical injuries, recovering from emotional trauma, or simply striving to live out our Christian walk – it's a lifelong process.
Mother returns to Tenn. waterfall where bear killed daughter
MOLLY KAVANAUGH, The Plain Dealer
CLEVELAND (AP) - Susan Cenkus always knew that someday she would return to the waterfall in the Tennessee mountains - the place where her heart broke apart.
This month, the mother from Clyde, Ohio, made the difficult journey back. It was a warm, sunny April afternoon, so much like the one almost two years ago to the day when she visited Benton Falls with her 6-year-old daughter, Elora, and 2-year-old son, Luke. On this afternoon, she was accompanied by her father; her 25-year-old son, Christopher; and Luke, now almost 5. Also with her were the men who tracked down the black bear that killed her daughter, seriously injured Luke and almost took her life.
Cenkus, her scars covered by a jacket and slacks, paused at the top of the 65-foot waterfall before heading down the rugged trail. At the bottom, forest workers would point out the spot where, bleeding and in pain, she called for help after the attack. They would show her where they found Elora's lifeless body and where the bear started its relentless attack by first grabbing her son. Then Cenkus and her father and two sons stepped away from the others, sat on a rock and bowed their heads in prayer. Cenkus' faith had brought her such a long way. A couple of weeks before Cenkus and her family headed to Tennessee in the spring of 2006, Elora told her mother, "I may go to heaven before you." Cenkus didn't think much about the comment. The two cuddled every night and said prayers together. God was as real to Elora as her mother. "We never know when it's our time to go to heaven," she told Elora. "I sure hope you live many more years than Mommy.
On that dreadful day Cenkus spotted a bear on a ridge about 100 feet away. She yelled to her children. It was time to leave. Within minutes, the bear raced down the hill, across the creek and attacked Luke, wrapping a giant paw over his skull. Cenkus yanked the boy from the animal's grip and stared into the 200-pound bear's eyes, praying it would back off. For a few seconds, it worked. But as she turned away to check on her children, the bear lunged at her, sinking its teeth into the back of her neck. "Save my children," she screamed to the nearby family. I'm going to die, she thought, as sharp teeth and long claws ripped at her arms and legs. She heard her bones crush.
The pain was excruciating. She asked God to make her unconscious. Then she blacked out. The emergency call came in about 4 p.m. from the other family who had been visiting the falls. Luke was airlifted to the hospital. Paramedics headed down to the waterfall, where they found Cenkus on the ground, bleeding but now conscious. She asked about her son and daughter. Paramedics then realized a second child had been with her and spread the word to rescue workers converging on the site. Cenkus was on her way to the hospital when rescuers spotted a bear in a thicket by a nearby stream. The bear reared up and growled and rescuers fired at it. The bear ran into the woods, leaving behind Elora's body. Paramedics took off their shirts and covered the little girl's body. Another rescuer stood guard in case the bear returned and tried to carry the body away.
A few weeks after being released from the hospital Cenkus returned to Clyde Church of God, where her father, Gene Paul Sr., is pastor and she is a worship leader. He surprised her by asking her to come forward to sing. "How am I going to do this?" she thought as she shuffled slowly up the aisle, her right arm bandaged and hanging limp. Her second thought was, "God will give me strength." She began singing, almost in a whisper, "Great Is Thy Faithfulness." With each stanza her voice grew stronger. The church members wept. "When the hard times come, you have to have a deep relationship with God," her father said.
"Everybody she comes into contact with, they are just amazed by her faith," said Richard Taylor, area coordinator of the Tennessee Emergency Management Agency and now a close friend of the family. "She inspires you to be better." In her new job as patient- and family-care coordinator at Stein Hospice in Sandusky, she has shared her journey with patients and families struggling to accept death. "I think probably going back to the falls was the largest major step I had to take to heal," she said. "That place is sacred to us because that's where Elora went to heaven." One thing she had struggled with was thinking about what happened to Elora after she passed out and wasn't able to help her daughter. "It is time to put that in the past," she said. Cenkus believes that healing is a lifelong process.
His love and grace are sufficent for all - doug
From the depths of brokenness – my brokenness.
I would like to say I’m over the hump and I’ve got a better grip on life, but the truth is that as I sit here typing the tears of a broken heart slowly crawl from the corners of my eyes. I would like to say I’m stronger in my faith because of His unrelenting presence in all of this, yet I still have doubts, I still have unanswered questions, I somehow still find a way to disobey on a daily basis. I would like to say through this situation I’ve found my real self, yet to be quite honest I’m still not there. I would like to say I’m over the delusion that somehow this whole relationship thing will work out the way I would like for it to in the end, yet I still haven’t given up all hope – not yet anyway.
I would like to be able to write about how I’ve been able to put aside all of my hurt and pain and focus on helping others and serving God, yet that would be a lie. Now, more often than not I seem to pass up opportunity after opportunity to help out in projects of compassion I’ve loved being a part of for so long. I would love to say with a firm mind I’ve got this great vision as to what and how I’m supposed to live out my days, but the truth of the matter is I struggle with being faithful to God’s calling on my life today, much less tomorrow, or the next.
Don't get me wrong I would never compare my hurt from a senseless divorce to be equal to the losses others suffer, yet for me it’s just as real. Parents losing children, children losing parents, spouses and partners dying in the most untimely of circumstances - all much greater on the scale of finality, and I understand that but the pain is still very much real. Statistics tell us divorce happens so routinely in America that it shouldn’t be considered a surprise any longer. That it should merely be considered a realistic possibility when a couple gets married. As certain as death do us part is the notion that the legal process can just as easily separate husband from wife. Yet, who among us is qualified to say that the individual hurt isn’t just as real today as it was when the percentage of marriages ending in divorce was less than 50%. Who can say that the affect divorce is having on the moral soundness of our society shouldn’t be seen as the human tragedy that it is.
From the depths of brokenness. Not just mine, yet our nation as a whole.
It seems so much national attention is given to who should or should not be allowed to marry, yet little focus is on keeping together those that have been joined in the sight of God. We know that bankruptcy laws have been tightened in the past few years, yet all the while our divorce laws have been loosened. What does that say about what we as a nation consider sacred today? "and there shall your heart be also"...
I continue to move further and further from the depths of brokenness with each passing day. Sometimes it’s measured in small baby steps, yet I’m moving slowly but surely and that’s what’s important for me right now. To write about something less personal today would have been much easier for me yet you would've known I was being pretentious and hypocritical when this calling has been anything but. My confidence comes from a relationship with one that will never leave us nor forsake us - my precious Lord and Savior. For in the depths of brokenness I’ve survived solely on the nourishment of His love. His mercy really is enough!
I want to share with you excerpts from an article printed in The Plain Dealer newspaper from Ohio back in May of this year. (You can read the full article if you look up the archives section of their paper.) For whatever reason, I copied and filed it and then I stumbled across it again today. What can come from the depths of brokenness may not be easily seen in my situation, at least maybe not today – but in the story of Susan Cenkus it most certainly can. The final sentence in the article is a great reminder of an absolute truth for all of us. Whether it is with the healing of physical injuries, recovering from emotional trauma, or simply striving to live out our Christian walk – it's a lifelong process.
Mother returns to Tenn. waterfall where bear killed daughter
MOLLY KAVANAUGH, The Plain Dealer
CLEVELAND (AP) - Susan Cenkus always knew that someday she would return to the waterfall in the Tennessee mountains - the place where her heart broke apart.
This month, the mother from Clyde, Ohio, made the difficult journey back. It was a warm, sunny April afternoon, so much like the one almost two years ago to the day when she visited Benton Falls with her 6-year-old daughter, Elora, and 2-year-old son, Luke. On this afternoon, she was accompanied by her father; her 25-year-old son, Christopher; and Luke, now almost 5. Also with her were the men who tracked down the black bear that killed her daughter, seriously injured Luke and almost took her life.
Cenkus, her scars covered by a jacket and slacks, paused at the top of the 65-foot waterfall before heading down the rugged trail. At the bottom, forest workers would point out the spot where, bleeding and in pain, she called for help after the attack. They would show her where they found Elora's lifeless body and where the bear started its relentless attack by first grabbing her son. Then Cenkus and her father and two sons stepped away from the others, sat on a rock and bowed their heads in prayer. Cenkus' faith had brought her such a long way. A couple of weeks before Cenkus and her family headed to Tennessee in the spring of 2006, Elora told her mother, "I may go to heaven before you." Cenkus didn't think much about the comment. The two cuddled every night and said prayers together. God was as real to Elora as her mother. "We never know when it's our time to go to heaven," she told Elora. "I sure hope you live many more years than Mommy.
On that dreadful day Cenkus spotted a bear on a ridge about 100 feet away. She yelled to her children. It was time to leave. Within minutes, the bear raced down the hill, across the creek and attacked Luke, wrapping a giant paw over his skull. Cenkus yanked the boy from the animal's grip and stared into the 200-pound bear's eyes, praying it would back off. For a few seconds, it worked. But as she turned away to check on her children, the bear lunged at her, sinking its teeth into the back of her neck. "Save my children," she screamed to the nearby family. I'm going to die, she thought, as sharp teeth and long claws ripped at her arms and legs. She heard her bones crush.
The pain was excruciating. She asked God to make her unconscious. Then she blacked out. The emergency call came in about 4 p.m. from the other family who had been visiting the falls. Luke was airlifted to the hospital. Paramedics headed down to the waterfall, where they found Cenkus on the ground, bleeding but now conscious. She asked about her son and daughter. Paramedics then realized a second child had been with her and spread the word to rescue workers converging on the site. Cenkus was on her way to the hospital when rescuers spotted a bear in a thicket by a nearby stream. The bear reared up and growled and rescuers fired at it. The bear ran into the woods, leaving behind Elora's body. Paramedics took off their shirts and covered the little girl's body. Another rescuer stood guard in case the bear returned and tried to carry the body away.
A few weeks after being released from the hospital Cenkus returned to Clyde Church of God, where her father, Gene Paul Sr., is pastor and she is a worship leader. He surprised her by asking her to come forward to sing. "How am I going to do this?" she thought as she shuffled slowly up the aisle, her right arm bandaged and hanging limp. Her second thought was, "God will give me strength." She began singing, almost in a whisper, "Great Is Thy Faithfulness." With each stanza her voice grew stronger. The church members wept. "When the hard times come, you have to have a deep relationship with God," her father said.
"Everybody she comes into contact with, they are just amazed by her faith," said Richard Taylor, area coordinator of the Tennessee Emergency Management Agency and now a close friend of the family. "She inspires you to be better." In her new job as patient- and family-care coordinator at Stein Hospice in Sandusky, she has shared her journey with patients and families struggling to accept death. "I think probably going back to the falls was the largest major step I had to take to heal," she said. "That place is sacred to us because that's where Elora went to heaven." One thing she had struggled with was thinking about what happened to Elora after she passed out and wasn't able to help her daughter. "It is time to put that in the past," she said. Cenkus believes that healing is a lifelong process.
His love and grace are sufficent for all - doug
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