Anna Maria is 87 years old. She’s “a practicing Catholic, but hasn’t been to Mass in many years.” She loves to play Bridge. Her husband died quite a few years ago, but she “didn’t stop wanting to have sex” - she “just never found the right guy”, and “didn’t want to jump into bed with just anyone that came along.” She came to this country as a small girl from Germany during a time when it was “really bad” (after WWI and before WWII). If you know your world history, you know what she’s talking about.
She spent most of the last quarter century in Florida. Her husband worked at the nuclear development plant in Oak Ridge during the heydays of the cold war era, and retired early so they could spend time enjoying life. A couple of years after her husband died she moved back to east-Tennessee only to see her daughter move to Santa Fe. Anna Maria wanted to stay here, so she didn’t go to Santa Fe, because according to her “this is home.” Her son still lives here along with numerous grandchildren, and eight great-grand children.
Anna Maria is someone I just met Saturday evening, and those are just a few of the things she shared with me within the first thirty minutes. She’s currently living out this last period of her life at St. Mary’s Hospice Center simply because she has become another victim of an untreatable form of cancer. I could only sit quietly in amazement as she continued to pull back the curtains of her life for me, a total stranger. Already my life has been improved by our encounter. What sincere and unpretentious honesty she possesses! I can’t help but wonder if she’s always been that way?
Yesterday was a busy day! We began by burying my aunt Barbara in a driving rainstorm. I stopped by and talked with a wonderful servant of God, Victoria about volunteer opportunities to help the homeless. I ate KFC with family at my uncle Ken’s - some of the eleven buckets, or so that were dropped off over the past three days by people that cared more about feeding those suffering from a loss, than whether they were depleting the chicken population of the world. I received a call from the owner of our company, Terry about what we needed to do to help out a fellow employee/friend in need. (Tom’s 80 year-old mother Virgina was almost beaten to death by robbers recently, and now the financial issues are mounting for them). I went by the Hospice Center and visited with my newest friend Anna Maria. I spent some time talking at length to a friend that has been called by God to leave everything behind and move to India to help orphaned children. And I concluded the day by teaching the second part of a series entitled, Honesty from Within to a group of amazing young people at a near by church. Who would have ever thought; that someone that couldn’t define the term “honesty” for most of his life could somehow be led by such an awesome God to teach others on the subject?
What a great day! Lest the funeral, I would love to lie in bed - mentally exhausted every night from such a meaningful itinerary.
Anna Maria made my teaching lesson last night so much easier to understand. To be able to use such a great living example of what true honesty is - was a pleasure. As I told last night’s group of young adults, “the kind of honesty we receive from folks like her comes to us without the filtering process from the buffer zone between our heart, and lips (which is our mind) - it’s just pure honesty,” as thick and beautiful as honey on a comb. After all, what reason do they have to be pretentious? What reaction would they fear? Why do they care what others think? Wouldn’t it be great to reach such a level of honesty long before we celebrate our 87th birthday, or before an Oncologist declares his sentencing?
Honesty, true honesty isn’t intended to hurt anyone, it isn’t impatient, it isn’t self-centered, and it isn’t restricting. True honesty is merely a form of love - a wonderful manifestation of love, to be exact.
Honesty - like the Anna Maria type can’t be faked. It can’t be contrived for any purpose. It can’t be a mere convenience. Honesty from within can’t be manipulated by circumstances, and most assuredly it has to flow from a heart similar to that of my new found friend, Anna Maria. My regret this morning is that I didn’t meet her twenty years ago. What great lessons we can learn from the most unassuming examples of God’s many creations.
Over the following weeks I visited Anna Maria numerous times. When she felt like it we would sit and talk as if we were old friends, and on other days we would sit quitely as she wrestled with the pain. Then one day, another Saturday to be exact I entered her room to find it empty. Cold, clean, and empty - I sat down anyway. I stayed for awhile with my memories of such a wonderful but short friendship. A nurse came by and told me how Anna Maria would smile from ear to ear as she told them all about me and our conversations after I would leave. Then I headed back out to rejoin the rest of the living. I know this, my life is better, fuller because of the few weeks God placed Anna Maria in it. I hope he allows me to do the same for someone else when the time is right.
Doug
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
my pooka (2009)
Even though I would never, ever consider myself to be a movie buff they’re some flicks that I’ve watched over the years which have stuck with me for whatever reason. I’ve found that I can watch them over and over again and still find nuggets of the “good message” that I’ve missed in the past. One of those is the very old movie simply entitled Harvey staring the late, great Jimmy Stewart. As most of you remember, the movie is about a seemingly normal fellow (Stewart) who plays a character that is known for his generosity, kindness, and accommodating ways with a quite unusual friend “Harvey” who just happens to be a six foot tall invisible rabbit.
Throughout the movie Stewart faces what most people would consider embarrassing situations because of his relentless claim of realness to his friend, the invisible rabbit. His family just wants him to receive help so they are intent on having him committed to a mental institution. At some point in the movie the term “pooka” is used by the doctor and later looked up in the dictionary by his trusted orderly who finds that a pooka originates from Irish folklore and is an imaginary and mischievous spirit that often takes on the form of an animal. Thus Harvey is a pooka.
My favorite line from the movie (which has many great scenes) is when Stewart is complimented on his kind nature and he responds by sharing the secret to his success in this area. He says (and I can’t remember his words exactly- so be kind) that someone told him long ago that if you want to go very far in life you either have to be very rich or very nice. Then he goes on to say I’ve spend a great deal of my life chasing after the prior (riches) but now the latter (kindness) - and I’ve found that I prefer being kind.
Good stuff, huh?
I got in my van this morning to head out to work and I glanced at the four foot over-stuffed friendly-looking red dragon taking up most of the back seat and thought to myself for whatever crazy reason – my pooka. The dragon came from the concrete area beside the dumpster at my apartment building. I figured someone placed it there because they just couldn’t bear throwing it away considering it is in such great condition. So at five-thirty Monday morning I picked him up, dusted off the frost and carried him across the parking lot. It was one of those scenes my son Ron would always hang his head in embarrassment from when it frequently happened with him around. Now, every time I even consider taking in some vastly useless item of treasure from along side a dumpster area I think of his past reactions. Usually I can’t wait to see him to tell him what I’ve recently rescued from the depths of the trash piles just to get that disapproving look from him. I consider it to be a strangely funny thing between a weird father and his beloved son.
I have great plans for my not so imaginary pooka the red dragon. There is a beautiful little girl named India that comes to evening school each week with her mother that I think would absolutely love having a stuffed dragon friend which is almost the same size as her. Now her mom, (Pam) who is one of my students may not be so excited to see the gift – but hey the smile I expect to see from India will be worth everything.
There’s this fellow Roy from work that I’ve spent the greater part of three years befriending. Not because he and I have a lot of common interests, yet it all started when I decided to offer my friendship to a person who often finds himself to be the butt of jokes and ridicule in the company. Roy’s knack for being a bit arrogant despite his obviously flawed nature easily opens himself up to having fun poked at him by others. Usually he takes it rather well for the most part, but often I see and hear about the resentfulness he has deep down for the guys that ridicule and openly make fun of him. I always tell him to brush it off – it’s not worth getting upset about, but that’s always easier to say than do for all of us - isn’t it?
Roy isn’t a Christian even though I think he understands who God is and how it all works. Roy loves money. He loves things – brand new things (not stuff sitting beside a dumpster). Roy loves his new ski boat, his pick-up truck, his motorcycle, his home, his riding lawn mower, his new washer and dryer, his new furniture, his multiple gold and diamond rings, his golf clubs, his new diamond-studded wristwatch, etc, etc, etc… Roy loves stuff – new stuff, expensive stuff! Most of all Roy loves Roy.
I’ll admit its hard being Roy’s seemingly only true friend at times. For as hard as I try living a humble life he’s happy living one that receives fulfillment through all the things I consider to be shallow and meaningless. I find it to be one thing to own the stuff we all need to get by in our complicated world today, but to live with such a thirst for all the other stuff I consider it to be such a lost way of life when there is so much more out there.
Over the past few years I’ve seen situations that have made Roy cry and he’s most certainly seen the same in my life, especially over the past six months. I try to show him what is important in my life, what values I hold fast to. I try and let him see the importance of how my relationship with Christ is to who I am and what I do and say. Sometimes I think he gets it, but often I just don’t know one way or the other. I think Roy longs to hang out with someone like me just as I like to be around people such as my friends Randy or Ken. Life just seems mo’ better when I’m in their company because there’s a “realness” in their lives that I can see and it reminds me how I want to be also. Please don't get the wrong idea here - I've talked to Roy directly about everything I've written here. He knows that I wouldn't talk badly of him and that I only want the best for him and his family. I really am fond of him as a friend and can always use more Roy's in my life.
Here's the point though - we all have our own pookas – Roy has his desire for worldly treasure, and I have my own fleshly temptations that I struggle with. The apostle Paul admitted he had a pooka or two as well. At some point he confessed in his writing as hard as he tries to do the right thing he often fails and gives into temptation. His pooka became a thorn in his flesh. The things I know I should not do – I do, and the things I know I should do – I do not.
Boy, do I know what he’s referring to with that.
A few months ago I was flipping through the channels one Saturday and stumbled across a movie from 1940 with (you guessed it) a young Jimmy Stewart in it, called The Moral Story. It was an interesting movie where Stewart’s character (again, a soft-hearted fellow) tries to do “good” in a “not-so-good” world. Near the end of the movie he helps some people (including the woman he loves, who doesn’t quite make it) escape Nazi Germany in the middle of winter via a passageway through the snow-covered mountains of Austria. While watching the flick I grabbed an envelope which was laying on the coffee-table and a pen and began jotting down a couple of lines from the movie. I brought the envelope into work with me this morning so I could share something with you. I believe I recall the first item I wrote down was from a scene between the girl (Margret Sullivan) and Stewart – where he responds to something she says by making this declaration – “ It would be unworthy of the love we have for each other for me to be any less than myself.” Now there’s some good marriage advice, huh?
Then at the end of the movie as the credits began to scroll the camera pans out and a view of a gate that separated the property of the home where many of the scenes came and the beginning of the passageway to Austria (freedom) comes into view. The voice of a narrator comes over the screen and speaks these words as I hurriedly scribbled them down as accurately as I could. “And I said unto a man standing at the gate – give me a light so I can go out into the night and find my way. Instead he said to me, go forth into the night with your hand in God’s hand and I declare that it will be better than any light I could ever give you, or any other known way.”
Really good stuff – huh?
I believe in some ways we all walk through the night with our own version of a pooka. And so often we use it as our excuse not to allow God to use us in the way He wants to display His fullness to the Roy’s of this world. We know our sins, our short-comings our pookas so we don’t feel “good enough” to be considered a positive role model in someone else’s life. But that’s exactly why we must – it’s not because of our “goodness” it’s because of His grace and our weaknesses, our pookas. For we must declare with our lives the simple message that if God can forgive us, help us, transform us daily, then surly He can Roy or anyone else.
I think all He really wants us to do is to allow His light to shine through our lives - which will certainly lead them to the passageway of a true and ever-lasting freedom. This week you may just catch me tooling around town at lunchtime with a four-foot red dragon in the backseat, and a goofy friend named Roy in the front - yet I hope what is more obvious to you than the pooka which lives in my flesh – it is the wonderful Savior that lives in my heart. doug
Throughout the movie Stewart faces what most people would consider embarrassing situations because of his relentless claim of realness to his friend, the invisible rabbit. His family just wants him to receive help so they are intent on having him committed to a mental institution. At some point in the movie the term “pooka” is used by the doctor and later looked up in the dictionary by his trusted orderly who finds that a pooka originates from Irish folklore and is an imaginary and mischievous spirit that often takes on the form of an animal. Thus Harvey is a pooka.
My favorite line from the movie (which has many great scenes) is when Stewart is complimented on his kind nature and he responds by sharing the secret to his success in this area. He says (and I can’t remember his words exactly- so be kind) that someone told him long ago that if you want to go very far in life you either have to be very rich or very nice. Then he goes on to say I’ve spend a great deal of my life chasing after the prior (riches) but now the latter (kindness) - and I’ve found that I prefer being kind.
Good stuff, huh?
I got in my van this morning to head out to work and I glanced at the four foot over-stuffed friendly-looking red dragon taking up most of the back seat and thought to myself for whatever crazy reason – my pooka. The dragon came from the concrete area beside the dumpster at my apartment building. I figured someone placed it there because they just couldn’t bear throwing it away considering it is in such great condition. So at five-thirty Monday morning I picked him up, dusted off the frost and carried him across the parking lot. It was one of those scenes my son Ron would always hang his head in embarrassment from when it frequently happened with him around. Now, every time I even consider taking in some vastly useless item of treasure from along side a dumpster area I think of his past reactions. Usually I can’t wait to see him to tell him what I’ve recently rescued from the depths of the trash piles just to get that disapproving look from him. I consider it to be a strangely funny thing between a weird father and his beloved son.
I have great plans for my not so imaginary pooka the red dragon. There is a beautiful little girl named India that comes to evening school each week with her mother that I think would absolutely love having a stuffed dragon friend which is almost the same size as her. Now her mom, (Pam) who is one of my students may not be so excited to see the gift – but hey the smile I expect to see from India will be worth everything.
There’s this fellow Roy from work that I’ve spent the greater part of three years befriending. Not because he and I have a lot of common interests, yet it all started when I decided to offer my friendship to a person who often finds himself to be the butt of jokes and ridicule in the company. Roy’s knack for being a bit arrogant despite his obviously flawed nature easily opens himself up to having fun poked at him by others. Usually he takes it rather well for the most part, but often I see and hear about the resentfulness he has deep down for the guys that ridicule and openly make fun of him. I always tell him to brush it off – it’s not worth getting upset about, but that’s always easier to say than do for all of us - isn’t it?
Roy isn’t a Christian even though I think he understands who God is and how it all works. Roy loves money. He loves things – brand new things (not stuff sitting beside a dumpster). Roy loves his new ski boat, his pick-up truck, his motorcycle, his home, his riding lawn mower, his new washer and dryer, his new furniture, his multiple gold and diamond rings, his golf clubs, his new diamond-studded wristwatch, etc, etc, etc… Roy loves stuff – new stuff, expensive stuff! Most of all Roy loves Roy.
I’ll admit its hard being Roy’s seemingly only true friend at times. For as hard as I try living a humble life he’s happy living one that receives fulfillment through all the things I consider to be shallow and meaningless. I find it to be one thing to own the stuff we all need to get by in our complicated world today, but to live with such a thirst for all the other stuff I consider it to be such a lost way of life when there is so much more out there.
Over the past few years I’ve seen situations that have made Roy cry and he’s most certainly seen the same in my life, especially over the past six months. I try to show him what is important in my life, what values I hold fast to. I try and let him see the importance of how my relationship with Christ is to who I am and what I do and say. Sometimes I think he gets it, but often I just don’t know one way or the other. I think Roy longs to hang out with someone like me just as I like to be around people such as my friends Randy or Ken. Life just seems mo’ better when I’m in their company because there’s a “realness” in their lives that I can see and it reminds me how I want to be also. Please don't get the wrong idea here - I've talked to Roy directly about everything I've written here. He knows that I wouldn't talk badly of him and that I only want the best for him and his family. I really am fond of him as a friend and can always use more Roy's in my life.
Here's the point though - we all have our own pookas – Roy has his desire for worldly treasure, and I have my own fleshly temptations that I struggle with. The apostle Paul admitted he had a pooka or two as well. At some point he confessed in his writing as hard as he tries to do the right thing he often fails and gives into temptation. His pooka became a thorn in his flesh. The things I know I should not do – I do, and the things I know I should do – I do not.
Boy, do I know what he’s referring to with that.
A few months ago I was flipping through the channels one Saturday and stumbled across a movie from 1940 with (you guessed it) a young Jimmy Stewart in it, called The Moral Story. It was an interesting movie where Stewart’s character (again, a soft-hearted fellow) tries to do “good” in a “not-so-good” world. Near the end of the movie he helps some people (including the woman he loves, who doesn’t quite make it) escape Nazi Germany in the middle of winter via a passageway through the snow-covered mountains of Austria. While watching the flick I grabbed an envelope which was laying on the coffee-table and a pen and began jotting down a couple of lines from the movie. I brought the envelope into work with me this morning so I could share something with you. I believe I recall the first item I wrote down was from a scene between the girl (Margret Sullivan) and Stewart – where he responds to something she says by making this declaration – “ It would be unworthy of the love we have for each other for me to be any less than myself.” Now there’s some good marriage advice, huh?
Then at the end of the movie as the credits began to scroll the camera pans out and a view of a gate that separated the property of the home where many of the scenes came and the beginning of the passageway to Austria (freedom) comes into view. The voice of a narrator comes over the screen and speaks these words as I hurriedly scribbled them down as accurately as I could. “And I said unto a man standing at the gate – give me a light so I can go out into the night and find my way. Instead he said to me, go forth into the night with your hand in God’s hand and I declare that it will be better than any light I could ever give you, or any other known way.”
Really good stuff – huh?
I believe in some ways we all walk through the night with our own version of a pooka. And so often we use it as our excuse not to allow God to use us in the way He wants to display His fullness to the Roy’s of this world. We know our sins, our short-comings our pookas so we don’t feel “good enough” to be considered a positive role model in someone else’s life. But that’s exactly why we must – it’s not because of our “goodness” it’s because of His grace and our weaknesses, our pookas. For we must declare with our lives the simple message that if God can forgive us, help us, transform us daily, then surly He can Roy or anyone else.
I think all He really wants us to do is to allow His light to shine through our lives - which will certainly lead them to the passageway of a true and ever-lasting freedom. This week you may just catch me tooling around town at lunchtime with a four-foot red dragon in the backseat, and a goofy friend named Roy in the front - yet I hope what is more obvious to you than the pooka which lives in my flesh – it is the wonderful Savior that lives in my heart. doug
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
relationships (2007)
I suck at relationships!
I tried to think of a more politically correct way to convey the truth in this area, but this is about all that I could come up with that describes the fullness of the issues I have within the context of relationships.
I just suck at it - and always have!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not beating myself up - I’m just stating a fact here. But since I’m trying to keep this journal “G - rated” I’ll stick with my opening line, “I suck at relationships”.
When I say relationships, what I’m actually referring to is the type that involves intimate knowledge of each other, not just sexually - but the “getting to know the true person” types. You know, the yucky ones - all up in each other’s business 24/7type. The give and take, the 50/50 ones, the kind those smart-butt therapist tag “healthy relationships.”
See, I’m getting ill just typing about this sort of closeness. Anxiety is building up quickly, so you know it won’t be a long journal entry this week. Ok, I have to give myself a little credit to balance it out here - I’m good at “failed relationships.”
Ha, Ha,,,
What I actually mean, is that after I’ve screwed up the intimate relationships, I can usually help work it into a cordial one, given time. You know the kind – the ones that don’t require a “restraining order” type. Hey, you gotta take the successes when they come, no matter how small or insignificant. Know your limitations, I’ve always said!
Let me give you an example of what I’m talking about here. This past Saturday was the first really down time I’ve had in a couple of months. A day of “slugging around” had been planned for a week or more. We wake up to the soothing sound of rainfall on the metal roof, and just lye there for hours. We talk a bit; reminisce about the week’s activities and our plans for the future. Around 10 o’clock we get up and I fix waffles, (yeah, the frozen pop in the toaster kind) but it’s breakfast never the less, or “brunch” as I romantically referred to it.
Get dressed, head out, do a little banking together, then to the book store/record shop. The rain was still pouring down, as we hopped, skipped and jumped over the puddles in and out of shops. We then went clothes shopping – (Yeah!!!). Then Boston fern shopping, where I resisted (I stopped typing here and gave myself a pat on the back) to browse the other aisles of the home improvement store for fun stuff such as hammers and drills and what not.
Late breakfast, so a light lunch at a small café - again the rain, and again a little talk session. We grocery shopped with the emphasis on things to cook on the grill that night. Back home in time to catch some sports on the tube. Come on, it’s just a tiny bit of selfishness and then a quite evening – music – relaxation, a little one on one time. Nice!
If you’re a gal, maybe this doesn’t sound like it would be too bad of a day for you and your fellow. If you’re a guy, you’re probably thinking what a henpecked, spineless piece of flesh this dude is. Sounds like Dr. Phil’s gotten to another one of our fraternity brothers…..
Here’s the deal – this all took place between me, and the one I truly love, God. There was no woman involved - just me, and The Almighty creator of me. My Savior, my Redeemer, my Comforter, my King, my Lord, my “Everything” in life. Could I have received as much fullness in intimacy if it had been with a lady? No. Could it have been as rewarding? No. Would I prefer to have had the same experience with God and at the same time it also included a woman? Most definitely, Yes.
But the reality of it is that it was just God and I - hanging out, enjoying the rain, the experiences, and time that He shared with me. It’s hard to beat that for a “relationship building” day, huh?
This is where the problem lies so often with me though, (as was the case in relationships with women in the past) – I start taking things for granite, and more importantly I start taking the other one in the relationship for granite. I begin to lose sight of the importance that a day like Saturday has, in building a stronger bond between us. I forget to stop long enough to enjoy the rain, and needed conversations. I fail to remember the child-like pleasure in hopping over the rain puddles, instead of merely feeling sorry for myself, or being frustrated because my feet get a little wet every now and then.
I stop trying to give what I should give, and begin to mentally justify why I should get in the relationship. I totally lose focus on the important issue - which is GOD, and start looking at others (for a variety of reasons i.e.,) as a reason to be happy, or for guidance and direction, and yes even intimacy. I become unfaithful to the only one that can both promise and guarantee faithfulness to me. And here’s the “biggie” I begin to get more focused on myself, and less focused on Him. Then once, again I find myself standing at the threshold of “sucking at another relationship” which I have a haunting pattern of doing.
So how do I break this repetitive bad behavior? By doing what I know works to preserve a healthy relationship! I pray. I read the Bible. I seek His input in each decision of my life. I refocus myself upon Him each day, so that I don’t get going too far down the wrong road. And most importantly I do the one thing that if I had done in most of my failed relationships it would’ve prevented me from being labeled as “sucking at it” - I say I’m sorry when I’m wrong, and ask for forgiveness.
Then we start all over again – hand in hand, listening to the rain, talking about our plans together, and just enjoying our relationship with each other. The best part of a relationship with God is, that even if I “suck at it”, He still loves me. He doesn’t leave me. There’s no costly court proceedings to go through, (ok maybe some spitting up of property), but there’s always the opportunity to reconcile things with Him. Then He simply wipes the slate clean - no bringing up my past faults the next time I screw up – completely clean as if we had just fallen in love for the first time…
How about that?
Hey, maybe I’m getting better at this relationship stuff after all. Recognizing the right steps to take to insure success is a very big step in getting to where I need to be with this part of my life. I know, I know - it sounds too much like Dr. Phil again, but I’m sure there’s scripture to support such a notion as well.
Thanks God for loving me, even when I’m so unlovable!
Doug
I tried to think of a more politically correct way to convey the truth in this area, but this is about all that I could come up with that describes the fullness of the issues I have within the context of relationships.
I just suck at it - and always have!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not beating myself up - I’m just stating a fact here. But since I’m trying to keep this journal “G - rated” I’ll stick with my opening line, “I suck at relationships”.
When I say relationships, what I’m actually referring to is the type that involves intimate knowledge of each other, not just sexually - but the “getting to know the true person” types. You know, the yucky ones - all up in each other’s business 24/7type. The give and take, the 50/50 ones, the kind those smart-butt therapist tag “healthy relationships.”
See, I’m getting ill just typing about this sort of closeness. Anxiety is building up quickly, so you know it won’t be a long journal entry this week. Ok, I have to give myself a little credit to balance it out here - I’m good at “failed relationships.”
Ha, Ha,,,
What I actually mean, is that after I’ve screwed up the intimate relationships, I can usually help work it into a cordial one, given time. You know the kind – the ones that don’t require a “restraining order” type. Hey, you gotta take the successes when they come, no matter how small or insignificant. Know your limitations, I’ve always said!
Let me give you an example of what I’m talking about here. This past Saturday was the first really down time I’ve had in a couple of months. A day of “slugging around” had been planned for a week or more. We wake up to the soothing sound of rainfall on the metal roof, and just lye there for hours. We talk a bit; reminisce about the week’s activities and our plans for the future. Around 10 o’clock we get up and I fix waffles, (yeah, the frozen pop in the toaster kind) but it’s breakfast never the less, or “brunch” as I romantically referred to it.
Get dressed, head out, do a little banking together, then to the book store/record shop. The rain was still pouring down, as we hopped, skipped and jumped over the puddles in and out of shops. We then went clothes shopping – (Yeah!!!). Then Boston fern shopping, where I resisted (I stopped typing here and gave myself a pat on the back) to browse the other aisles of the home improvement store for fun stuff such as hammers and drills and what not.
Late breakfast, so a light lunch at a small café - again the rain, and again a little talk session. We grocery shopped with the emphasis on things to cook on the grill that night. Back home in time to catch some sports on the tube. Come on, it’s just a tiny bit of selfishness and then a quite evening – music – relaxation, a little one on one time. Nice!
If you’re a gal, maybe this doesn’t sound like it would be too bad of a day for you and your fellow. If you’re a guy, you’re probably thinking what a henpecked, spineless piece of flesh this dude is. Sounds like Dr. Phil’s gotten to another one of our fraternity brothers…..
Here’s the deal – this all took place between me, and the one I truly love, God. There was no woman involved - just me, and The Almighty creator of me. My Savior, my Redeemer, my Comforter, my King, my Lord, my “Everything” in life. Could I have received as much fullness in intimacy if it had been with a lady? No. Could it have been as rewarding? No. Would I prefer to have had the same experience with God and at the same time it also included a woman? Most definitely, Yes.
But the reality of it is that it was just God and I - hanging out, enjoying the rain, the experiences, and time that He shared with me. It’s hard to beat that for a “relationship building” day, huh?
This is where the problem lies so often with me though, (as was the case in relationships with women in the past) – I start taking things for granite, and more importantly I start taking the other one in the relationship for granite. I begin to lose sight of the importance that a day like Saturday has, in building a stronger bond between us. I forget to stop long enough to enjoy the rain, and needed conversations. I fail to remember the child-like pleasure in hopping over the rain puddles, instead of merely feeling sorry for myself, or being frustrated because my feet get a little wet every now and then.
I stop trying to give what I should give, and begin to mentally justify why I should get in the relationship. I totally lose focus on the important issue - which is GOD, and start looking at others (for a variety of reasons i.e.,) as a reason to be happy, or for guidance and direction, and yes even intimacy. I become unfaithful to the only one that can both promise and guarantee faithfulness to me. And here’s the “biggie” I begin to get more focused on myself, and less focused on Him. Then once, again I find myself standing at the threshold of “sucking at another relationship” which I have a haunting pattern of doing.
So how do I break this repetitive bad behavior? By doing what I know works to preserve a healthy relationship! I pray. I read the Bible. I seek His input in each decision of my life. I refocus myself upon Him each day, so that I don’t get going too far down the wrong road. And most importantly I do the one thing that if I had done in most of my failed relationships it would’ve prevented me from being labeled as “sucking at it” - I say I’m sorry when I’m wrong, and ask for forgiveness.
Then we start all over again – hand in hand, listening to the rain, talking about our plans together, and just enjoying our relationship with each other. The best part of a relationship with God is, that even if I “suck at it”, He still loves me. He doesn’t leave me. There’s no costly court proceedings to go through, (ok maybe some spitting up of property), but there’s always the opportunity to reconcile things with Him. Then He simply wipes the slate clean - no bringing up my past faults the next time I screw up – completely clean as if we had just fallen in love for the first time…
How about that?
Hey, maybe I’m getting better at this relationship stuff after all. Recognizing the right steps to take to insure success is a very big step in getting to where I need to be with this part of my life. I know, I know - it sounds too much like Dr. Phil again, but I’m sure there’s scripture to support such a notion as well.
Thanks God for loving me, even when I’m so unlovable!
Doug
Monday, February 2, 2009
consistency (2008)
The temperature was somewhere between 104 and 107 degrees, (but it was “desert heat” as they say – like that’s supposed to make it seem cooler) and I had about three hours between seminar sessions to find something fun to do in Phoenix, Arizona. Since I already had my golf clubs in the rental car I thought “what the heck, I’ll try and find somewhere to knock a few balls around.” With a little bit of help I quickly found a small municipal course just minutes away from the downtown convention area. It was a small, tight looking course as most inner city courses are but it was just the thing for someone dumb enough to be outdoors in this sweltering heat wave.
As I paid for nine holes and a pull cart the excitement grew. I just knew that I was going to tear up this little sand-filled, simple layout of a course. Who knows maybe even set the course record to amaze the local hackers for years to come. Immortality lied just beyond the horizon of the first tee, and it was my destiny. I just knew it! After all I was a lean, mean, twenty-five year old golfing machine who had a mere two weeks earlier won a long drive contest in Nashville, Tennessee with a whopping 308 yard killer hit, (which with today’s new technology and physically conditioned golfers wouldn’t even draw a second glance from the onlookers) but in 1986 it was impressive. But, have you ever noticed how quickly problems usually follow right behind pride?
I boldly strutted up to the first tee only to find three guys that looked to be about four hundred years old. You remember how it was when you were twenty-five or so, everyone looked old – real old, like forty or four hundred or something. They were dressed in - (get this) polyester pants, and long-sleeved white button-down collared dress shirts. Hello McFly, did I not mention it was a balmy 107 degrees here at The Surface of the Sun Golf Resort? I started sweating even more just from shaking hands with these old farts. The problem grew even more obvious when I looked around to see almost every fairway filled with these fragile looking geriatric golfers and their white shirts, antique carts, and golf-bags with about three clubs in each of them.
Join them? I guess I really had no other choice other than trying to squeeze a cash refund from the lady in the clubhouse and then head back out for three hours of nothing. So join them I did! I immediately began to think that there was no way that I was going to be able to play nine holes in two and a half hours (which would normally take about an hour and twenty minutes for me back home) but I decided I would do my best to drag the old-timers around as fast as possible, even at the risk of one or the more of us having a stroke, or heart attack.
Since I was the “guest” they decided I could tee off first, which I greatly obliged them with a smashing drive that went much further than their failing eyesight could capture. They applauded and were amazed, and quickly I was back to thinking about how great of a golfer I was and not all that “other stuff.” That was until the three of them got up and hit their balls off the tee; oh lets say about two hundred yards – “combined” that is! Yikes! This was going to drive me crazy!!!! They didn’t seem to be the least bit embarrassed as we walked from the tee box to the nearest ball, which normally wouldn’t have taken me very long except I was trying to be polite by walking at the same sail-like pace that they were running at. All the while though, all they wanted to talk about was how far I hit the ball, and what power I possessed. So I figured I could slow down my gait enough to walk with these wise old gentlemen as long as I was going to be the subject of conversation.
They each hit their next couple of shots and then we finally got to my ball. All three came over to inspect it, as if they expected the cover to be ripped from it after such a powerful display of golf mastery. I hit my next shot and missed the green, then it took a couple of more shots but I quickly holed out my par putt and walked from the green with a mixture of disappointment and a sense of accomplishment - which pars often leave you with after such a great drive. To my surprise two of the three older gents recorded pars also. Then I began to get a little suspicious of their ability to honestly count all of their strokes, so I figured I had better pay a little more attention to how many times they tapped the ball down the fairway. After all, nothing bothered me more at that time than to have someone pencil-whip me in a game of golf for which I had clearly mastered the art of, or at least I thought I had.
The next hole was almost a replay of the previous – I smashed a 300 yard drive and they rolled the ball off the tee box. They clapped, and praised me, I smiled and gloated – but this time I was watching them with an eagle’s eye though. They hit, hit, hit the ball down the middle of the fairway and on to the green, and I again botched a pitch shot, and then hammered out another par. Not birdie, or eagle - but par (and for those that don’t know the game, “par” is the expected score – nothing really good or really bad – just “expected”).
Quick golf scoring tip here: The lower the score the better.
birdie = (one stroke better than par) really good
eagle = (two shots better than par) outstanding
bogie = (one shot over par) and a typical score for the average golfer
double bogey = (two strokes worse than par)
par = simply put is the score that is expected for each hole
So anyway, guess what the three dudes from the nineteenth century had? That’s right “par” – par, as in just like my score. Two holes in and three of us were tied, and the other one was only one stroke behind. Now, I was honestly getting ticked! On the next tee box I really unloaded on one, but it strayed over to another fairway. Still they applauded and marveled at my hitting power, but now it was simply beginning to get on my last nerve. I walked over to my ball leaving them to do what they always did, walk too slow, hit the ball too short a distance, and then repeat this action, and then repeat it again. We all got to the hole about the same time, and again with the same score. The next hole was way too much of the same, and by the next tee box I was so distracted by all of their clapping, smiling, niceness, and tap,tap,tap pars that I couldn’t concentrate on my golf game any longer and I began putting together a string of bogies that blew any chance of shooting a low score. All the while they consistently played their game at their pace, and in a way that they knew would bring about a successful round of golf. After all, they had been doing this for almost a century now – they truly possessed the secret to this game.
Mercifully the nine holes ended and when the dust cleared and the score cards were tallied I came out on top, well that would have been the case if golf was like other games where the high score wins – but it’s not! I couldn’t believe that I had “let” three old wrinkled up, back-slapping, denture smiling, shoe leather looking dudes with starched shirts and wood-shafted putters kick my big ol trash-talking, hard-hitting, way too full-of-myself butt all over this tiny little inner city course in 107 degree weather. I was drained mentally, physically, but mostly my ego was devastated!!! I crawled back into the Avis-mobile and headed over to the convention center all the while swearing an oath to myself that this story would never be told.
It took many, many weeks for the golf lesson that took place on that hot summer day to sink in, and many, many more years for the life-lesson to take hold. Consistency! Come to find out, “consistency” is what it’s all about! Consistency, which should not be translated as “regimented” is the key to success, but not just in golf, yet in all things, in relationships, praise, work, worship, child-rearing, prayer-life, housework, thankfulness, driving, communication, etc. Consistency is what we look for in others, and what we strive for in ourselves. We stunt our growth as human beings when we “blow it out” for a few years and then don’t have the energy to continue on with what we started. We proudly declare that we are called to a certain ministry, or a lofty place - only for others to find us five years later wollering in the pig- pens of life. All that’s expected is ‘par’ yet we struggle with our own version of the game, and not His and end up with a card full of bogies, double bogies, a birdie every now and then, and an occasional eagle – when all that is expected is par.
Consistency! If you’ve been on-line with these writings since the beginning then you know that this week’s journal item is the thirty-sixth week in a row that I’ve forwarded one to you. Thirty-six, when I told God there was no way that I could do it for more than four to five weeks before I would run out of things to write about. He agreed, and then He took the time to show me how it wasn’t about me, or what I wanted to write about. Thank God, I don’t have to come up with these subjects, or try and fit them into some type of “lesson” about whatever. God is consistent, if He is nothing else. He is truly the same, yesterday, today, and forever more. His promises to His people of yesteryear are still available for His people today. His covenant is still intact, and He consistently pleads for all to come unto Him. Consistency - that is what He both gives and expects from His followers, His believers. Not brightly burning, short-lasting candles, but virgins with their lamps filled, and their wicks trimmed awaiting their groom’s arrival. Consistency – the question then becomes “How do we measure up when this becomes the standard?” Now that’s a tough one to answer for some of us – for me.
Thanks to an unusual “golf” lesson provided by three guys in their eighties, way back in the Eighties which God brought back into my mind this morning I am reminded of the life-lesson He wanted to teach me today – consistency and its importance. doug
As I paid for nine holes and a pull cart the excitement grew. I just knew that I was going to tear up this little sand-filled, simple layout of a course. Who knows maybe even set the course record to amaze the local hackers for years to come. Immortality lied just beyond the horizon of the first tee, and it was my destiny. I just knew it! After all I was a lean, mean, twenty-five year old golfing machine who had a mere two weeks earlier won a long drive contest in Nashville, Tennessee with a whopping 308 yard killer hit, (which with today’s new technology and physically conditioned golfers wouldn’t even draw a second glance from the onlookers) but in 1986 it was impressive. But, have you ever noticed how quickly problems usually follow right behind pride?
I boldly strutted up to the first tee only to find three guys that looked to be about four hundred years old. You remember how it was when you were twenty-five or so, everyone looked old – real old, like forty or four hundred or something. They were dressed in - (get this) polyester pants, and long-sleeved white button-down collared dress shirts. Hello McFly, did I not mention it was a balmy 107 degrees here at The Surface of the Sun Golf Resort? I started sweating even more just from shaking hands with these old farts. The problem grew even more obvious when I looked around to see almost every fairway filled with these fragile looking geriatric golfers and their white shirts, antique carts, and golf-bags with about three clubs in each of them.
Join them? I guess I really had no other choice other than trying to squeeze a cash refund from the lady in the clubhouse and then head back out for three hours of nothing. So join them I did! I immediately began to think that there was no way that I was going to be able to play nine holes in two and a half hours (which would normally take about an hour and twenty minutes for me back home) but I decided I would do my best to drag the old-timers around as fast as possible, even at the risk of one or the more of us having a stroke, or heart attack.
Since I was the “guest” they decided I could tee off first, which I greatly obliged them with a smashing drive that went much further than their failing eyesight could capture. They applauded and were amazed, and quickly I was back to thinking about how great of a golfer I was and not all that “other stuff.” That was until the three of them got up and hit their balls off the tee; oh lets say about two hundred yards – “combined” that is! Yikes! This was going to drive me crazy!!!! They didn’t seem to be the least bit embarrassed as we walked from the tee box to the nearest ball, which normally wouldn’t have taken me very long except I was trying to be polite by walking at the same sail-like pace that they were running at. All the while though, all they wanted to talk about was how far I hit the ball, and what power I possessed. So I figured I could slow down my gait enough to walk with these wise old gentlemen as long as I was going to be the subject of conversation.
They each hit their next couple of shots and then we finally got to my ball. All three came over to inspect it, as if they expected the cover to be ripped from it after such a powerful display of golf mastery. I hit my next shot and missed the green, then it took a couple of more shots but I quickly holed out my par putt and walked from the green with a mixture of disappointment and a sense of accomplishment - which pars often leave you with after such a great drive. To my surprise two of the three older gents recorded pars also. Then I began to get a little suspicious of their ability to honestly count all of their strokes, so I figured I had better pay a little more attention to how many times they tapped the ball down the fairway. After all, nothing bothered me more at that time than to have someone pencil-whip me in a game of golf for which I had clearly mastered the art of, or at least I thought I had.
The next hole was almost a replay of the previous – I smashed a 300 yard drive and they rolled the ball off the tee box. They clapped, and praised me, I smiled and gloated – but this time I was watching them with an eagle’s eye though. They hit, hit, hit the ball down the middle of the fairway and on to the green, and I again botched a pitch shot, and then hammered out another par. Not birdie, or eagle - but par (and for those that don’t know the game, “par” is the expected score – nothing really good or really bad – just “expected”).
Quick golf scoring tip here: The lower the score the better.
birdie = (one stroke better than par) really good
eagle = (two shots better than par) outstanding
bogie = (one shot over par) and a typical score for the average golfer
double bogey = (two strokes worse than par)
par = simply put is the score that is expected for each hole
So anyway, guess what the three dudes from the nineteenth century had? That’s right “par” – par, as in just like my score. Two holes in and three of us were tied, and the other one was only one stroke behind. Now, I was honestly getting ticked! On the next tee box I really unloaded on one, but it strayed over to another fairway. Still they applauded and marveled at my hitting power, but now it was simply beginning to get on my last nerve. I walked over to my ball leaving them to do what they always did, walk too slow, hit the ball too short a distance, and then repeat this action, and then repeat it again. We all got to the hole about the same time, and again with the same score. The next hole was way too much of the same, and by the next tee box I was so distracted by all of their clapping, smiling, niceness, and tap,tap,tap pars that I couldn’t concentrate on my golf game any longer and I began putting together a string of bogies that blew any chance of shooting a low score. All the while they consistently played their game at their pace, and in a way that they knew would bring about a successful round of golf. After all, they had been doing this for almost a century now – they truly possessed the secret to this game.
Mercifully the nine holes ended and when the dust cleared and the score cards were tallied I came out on top, well that would have been the case if golf was like other games where the high score wins – but it’s not! I couldn’t believe that I had “let” three old wrinkled up, back-slapping, denture smiling, shoe leather looking dudes with starched shirts and wood-shafted putters kick my big ol trash-talking, hard-hitting, way too full-of-myself butt all over this tiny little inner city course in 107 degree weather. I was drained mentally, physically, but mostly my ego was devastated!!! I crawled back into the Avis-mobile and headed over to the convention center all the while swearing an oath to myself that this story would never be told.
It took many, many weeks for the golf lesson that took place on that hot summer day to sink in, and many, many more years for the life-lesson to take hold. Consistency! Come to find out, “consistency” is what it’s all about! Consistency, which should not be translated as “regimented” is the key to success, but not just in golf, yet in all things, in relationships, praise, work, worship, child-rearing, prayer-life, housework, thankfulness, driving, communication, etc. Consistency is what we look for in others, and what we strive for in ourselves. We stunt our growth as human beings when we “blow it out” for a few years and then don’t have the energy to continue on with what we started. We proudly declare that we are called to a certain ministry, or a lofty place - only for others to find us five years later wollering in the pig- pens of life. All that’s expected is ‘par’ yet we struggle with our own version of the game, and not His and end up with a card full of bogies, double bogies, a birdie every now and then, and an occasional eagle – when all that is expected is par.
Consistency! If you’ve been on-line with these writings since the beginning then you know that this week’s journal item is the thirty-sixth week in a row that I’ve forwarded one to you. Thirty-six, when I told God there was no way that I could do it for more than four to five weeks before I would run out of things to write about. He agreed, and then He took the time to show me how it wasn’t about me, or what I wanted to write about. Thank God, I don’t have to come up with these subjects, or try and fit them into some type of “lesson” about whatever. God is consistent, if He is nothing else. He is truly the same, yesterday, today, and forever more. His promises to His people of yesteryear are still available for His people today. His covenant is still intact, and He consistently pleads for all to come unto Him. Consistency - that is what He both gives and expects from His followers, His believers. Not brightly burning, short-lasting candles, but virgins with their lamps filled, and their wicks trimmed awaiting their groom’s arrival. Consistency – the question then becomes “How do we measure up when this becomes the standard?” Now that’s a tough one to answer for some of us – for me.
Thanks to an unusual “golf” lesson provided by three guys in their eighties, way back in the Eighties which God brought back into my mind this morning I am reminded of the life-lesson He wanted to teach me today – consistency and its importance. doug
Run to Christ Part I
Pastor Scott Sparks talked recently about the importance of a lesson he learned years ago, and that is to run to Christ as quickly as possible when you sense any type of perceived separation in your relationship with Him. More pointedly he reminded us that we need to understand the importance of leading those that don’t know Christ as their Savior to Him as quickly as possible. What a real truth he spoke!
Today has been a tough one. I received news this morning that my friend Chris’s wife Wendy apparently took her own life yesterday.
They were coming up on their third wedding anniversary. I’ll never forget the day he told me he had met this incredible “firecracker” of a girl. He really didn’t have to though, because you could see in his eyes how smitten he was. For weeks afterwards he was virtually useless around work. He fell for Wendy fast and hard as they say.
Chris was a little more than thirty years old yet had never been married. Most of us thought he may never. He had boats, and pick-up trucks and all sorts of toys – the things most bachelors use to entertain themselves while they still have money. Wendy was a former airline attendant who had been involved in a life- threatening automobile accident. After medical rehab she couldn't return to her former job so she ended up in the childcare industry, and that is when she met Chris. Life was wonderfully blessed for them through this very romantic time and it was so evident in their happiness.
After a period of engagement they were married at a beautiful wedding chapel in the Great Smokey Mountains. Yet, before the reception ceremony was complete Wendy had a major seizure and was rushed to the hospital. There was no honeymoon cruise as planned, only day after day of hospital test and reoccurring convulsions. Trip after trip to specialist after specialist consumed the first few months of marriage. After awhile Chris had to take a leave of absence from his job because of Wendy’s constant seizures and the need for him to take her to a clinic or hospital almost on a daily basis.
Their debt mounted quickly. Since she had lost her employment with the airlines she was left without medical insurance. The seizures started (the day of their wedding) before Chris could add her to our company’s family plan. The boat, his savings account and all his other toys went away as they tried dealing with the fact they were nearly a half-million dollars in debt in just their first few months of marriage, and now neither one of them was able to work at the time.
One day Chris finally confessed to me how devastating mentally, physically, and emotionally all of this had been of him. He was clearly at a breaking point. I don’t know what if anything I said made a difference but he continued to hang in there in this really tough time. He couldn’t understand how the complete opposite of the happy marriage that he had dreamed of had fallen into his lap.
"What is fair about this situation – nothing" he said.
Finally a break-through occurred and after so long and so much suffering Wendy’s doctors were able to find a medical resolution to the seizures. The pieces of their life started to get put back together and Chris finally returned to work.
Near the end of last year he told me about this wonderful little boy they had decided to foster and give a loving home. Once again you could see happiness in Chris’s eyes. A few weeks ago Chris and I were talking about how things were going and you could hear the pride and resolve in his tone when he talked about all that they had come through over the past two years. Finally their life had a purpose and calmness that was so obviously absent this time last year.
Last weekend Chris, Wendy, and their son spent the holiday weekend at the lake with friends. They talked about going in together with another couple and buying a houseboat to share. Life was normal. Not exciting, or glamorous – just “normal” finally.
On Monday Wendy attended the funeral service of a friend of hers that had died way too young. She listened to the sermon from the presiding pastor and she gave her life to Christ. She excitedly told Chris what had taken place when she returned home that night. What actually took place in her heart and mind no one really knows, for on the very next day she apparently took the rope Chris had tied to a tree in their backyard as a swing for their adopted son, and she placed it over her neck and hung herself. As I understand it the boy was the one that found her there and called 911.
How do you understand such an event? Where do you find answers to questions that Chris, their son, and their family have as to “why”? How do you move on after such a tragic end to a marriage and life that has just been shattered to pieces?
I know, and I’m sure you do also - the answer comes in the form of Christ our Savior. The same Savior that Wendy was seeking to find in her own life just a couple of days ago. As Pastor Scott says "run to Chirst as quickly as possible."
Today has been a tough one. I received news this morning that my friend Chris’s wife Wendy apparently took her own life yesterday.
They were coming up on their third wedding anniversary. I’ll never forget the day he told me he had met this incredible “firecracker” of a girl. He really didn’t have to though, because you could see in his eyes how smitten he was. For weeks afterwards he was virtually useless around work. He fell for Wendy fast and hard as they say.
Chris was a little more than thirty years old yet had never been married. Most of us thought he may never. He had boats, and pick-up trucks and all sorts of toys – the things most bachelors use to entertain themselves while they still have money. Wendy was a former airline attendant who had been involved in a life- threatening automobile accident. After medical rehab she couldn't return to her former job so she ended up in the childcare industry, and that is when she met Chris. Life was wonderfully blessed for them through this very romantic time and it was so evident in their happiness.
After a period of engagement they were married at a beautiful wedding chapel in the Great Smokey Mountains. Yet, before the reception ceremony was complete Wendy had a major seizure and was rushed to the hospital. There was no honeymoon cruise as planned, only day after day of hospital test and reoccurring convulsions. Trip after trip to specialist after specialist consumed the first few months of marriage. After awhile Chris had to take a leave of absence from his job because of Wendy’s constant seizures and the need for him to take her to a clinic or hospital almost on a daily basis.
Their debt mounted quickly. Since she had lost her employment with the airlines she was left without medical insurance. The seizures started (the day of their wedding) before Chris could add her to our company’s family plan. The boat, his savings account and all his other toys went away as they tried dealing with the fact they were nearly a half-million dollars in debt in just their first few months of marriage, and now neither one of them was able to work at the time.
One day Chris finally confessed to me how devastating mentally, physically, and emotionally all of this had been of him. He was clearly at a breaking point. I don’t know what if anything I said made a difference but he continued to hang in there in this really tough time. He couldn’t understand how the complete opposite of the happy marriage that he had dreamed of had fallen into his lap.
"What is fair about this situation – nothing" he said.
Finally a break-through occurred and after so long and so much suffering Wendy’s doctors were able to find a medical resolution to the seizures. The pieces of their life started to get put back together and Chris finally returned to work.
Near the end of last year he told me about this wonderful little boy they had decided to foster and give a loving home. Once again you could see happiness in Chris’s eyes. A few weeks ago Chris and I were talking about how things were going and you could hear the pride and resolve in his tone when he talked about all that they had come through over the past two years. Finally their life had a purpose and calmness that was so obviously absent this time last year.
Last weekend Chris, Wendy, and their son spent the holiday weekend at the lake with friends. They talked about going in together with another couple and buying a houseboat to share. Life was normal. Not exciting, or glamorous – just “normal” finally.
On Monday Wendy attended the funeral service of a friend of hers that had died way too young. She listened to the sermon from the presiding pastor and she gave her life to Christ. She excitedly told Chris what had taken place when she returned home that night. What actually took place in her heart and mind no one really knows, for on the very next day she apparently took the rope Chris had tied to a tree in their backyard as a swing for their adopted son, and she placed it over her neck and hung herself. As I understand it the boy was the one that found her there and called 911.
How do you understand such an event? Where do you find answers to questions that Chris, their son, and their family have as to “why”? How do you move on after such a tragic end to a marriage and life that has just been shattered to pieces?
I know, and I’m sure you do also - the answer comes in the form of Christ our Savior. The same Savior that Wendy was seeking to find in her own life just a couple of days ago. As Pastor Scott says "run to Chirst as quickly as possible."
Run to Christ - Part II
“I have but one passion: It is He, it is He alone.”
Count Nicolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf
Last Wednesday I wrote that this had been a very tough day – strike that - is was a very, very tough week in almost all aspects. I can’t fully explain how much I appreciate the many responses I got from the prayer request for my friend Chris. If you didn’t read what’s now considered “Part I” of this saga you may not understand how desperately he needed/needs our prayers.
Friday evening I went to the funeral home services for Wendy. I spent all day building up my courage in anticipation for what surly would be a heart-wrenching scene. And it was. As expected a long line of friends, family, and acquaintances filed through the sanctuary to say goodbye to her, and offer condolences to Chris. By the time I made my way up to the front I had lost the words I had planned on saying to him - all I could do was hug him and tell him how much I loved him. I told him I could've never imagined we would be standing here at this place especially at this point in our lives – just never imagine. He said the same in return.
Afterwards I went outside to get some fresh air for both my lungs and my tear-stained eyes. Their foster son’s biological mother was there and kept him close to her but you could tell he was very much impacted by what had transpired on Tuesday. How could he not be?
It finally came time for the service to begin - thank goodness, for if you know me I’m not much for small talk and when it has to be mustered up in such an emotional situation I really get uncomfortable. Fortunately my wonderful friends Sarah and Brad were there with me and we decided to go in and grab a seat on one of the pews. I saw Chris talking with the last person in line and then he disappeared I thought he had sat down on the front row but Brad said he went out the door. I speculated out loud that he probably had to go to the men’s room after standing by the casket for several hours without a break in the line.
Unusually enough, there were three pastors participating in the service, and three different singers, but other than that it started out as the typical funeral service which most of us have witnessed far too many times in our lives. The first two preachers were brief with their comments and then the main dude got up. He began by explaining how difficult his week had been. He was at the funeral service Monday in which Wendy asked God to forgive her of her sins.
He told us how she had approached him after the service and explained how desperately she needed God in her life. He said they knelt together in the floor of the funeral home and he helped her pray what turned out to be her version of a sinner’s prayer. He told us he made sure she understood what really happened. It didn’t matter what anyone else said or thought about her getting “saved” at a funeral service - it really did happen. He said he left that night continuing to pray for Wendy.
He went on to share with us that Wendy had approached him again after the graveside service Tuesday morning and looked him square in the eye and told him point blank that she really did get “saved” last night. He said he was convinced when they parted ways that day what had taken place in Wendy’s heart and mind was as real as it gets. He said he can’t explain what happened between then and when she took her own life just a few hours later, but he believed with all his heart that God had forgiven her of her sins.
Then he looked over at Chris and said “I hope you don’t mind me telling this, but Chris came to me before the service and asked me to pray with him that God would forgive him of his sins also.”
For the first time in Chris’ life he found himself at the entrance way of the one true life. Through the confession of his sins and acknowledgment that Christ and Christ alone could forgive him, he was welcomed into God’s holy kingdom.
The crowd who had just mere seconds earlier been sobbing from the pain of a lost one now almost erupted with joy. If you’ve been there you know the unspeakable joy there is when one more accepts God’s offering for healing. The heaviness of the air was lifted by the movement of the Holy Spirit and it was as if God himself had waved his hand over the crowd and healed the pain and the sadness.
One friend declared it appropriately by saying that this was unlike any funeral she had ever been to. When the service was complete several of us made a bee-line to Chris and when given the chance I wrapped my arms around him and cried with him again, but this time it was tears of joy. He said to me, “I can’t explain it, but I’m no longer sad at all – I just feel complete joy.” In return I kept telling him how happy I was for him. Now to a person that doesn’t know Christ as their Savior this would be complete inappropriate talk coming from a grieving husband and his friend standing but inches from Wendy’s cold, still, body - but even in God’s word it describes us as a “peculiar people” now doesn’t it?
In reality Chris has a long ways to go to get past this tragedy and get back to living a productive life – but the Good News is that he doesn’t have to face this tribulation alone. A friend has taken Chris with him on a trip this week where they can spend some time working through all of this. The friend - my friend Tom is a strong Christian man who has come through so many adversities of his own over the past six years and I’m convinced that there couldn’t be a better pairing. Something else I know in my heart that God had already worked out.
Last Sunday my friend Mark reminded me of something I had witnessed first hand last week and that is; It’s so NOT about us, and it IS so much about God.
And that is what I’ll need to continue to remember through all the other stuff going on in my life today, for it’s the only way any of it makes and sense.
Still running to Christ as fast as I can ….doug
Count Nicolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf
Last Wednesday I wrote that this had been a very tough day – strike that - is was a very, very tough week in almost all aspects. I can’t fully explain how much I appreciate the many responses I got from the prayer request for my friend Chris. If you didn’t read what’s now considered “Part I” of this saga you may not understand how desperately he needed/needs our prayers.
Friday evening I went to the funeral home services for Wendy. I spent all day building up my courage in anticipation for what surly would be a heart-wrenching scene. And it was. As expected a long line of friends, family, and acquaintances filed through the sanctuary to say goodbye to her, and offer condolences to Chris. By the time I made my way up to the front I had lost the words I had planned on saying to him - all I could do was hug him and tell him how much I loved him. I told him I could've never imagined we would be standing here at this place especially at this point in our lives – just never imagine. He said the same in return.
Afterwards I went outside to get some fresh air for both my lungs and my tear-stained eyes. Their foster son’s biological mother was there and kept him close to her but you could tell he was very much impacted by what had transpired on Tuesday. How could he not be?
It finally came time for the service to begin - thank goodness, for if you know me I’m not much for small talk and when it has to be mustered up in such an emotional situation I really get uncomfortable. Fortunately my wonderful friends Sarah and Brad were there with me and we decided to go in and grab a seat on one of the pews. I saw Chris talking with the last person in line and then he disappeared I thought he had sat down on the front row but Brad said he went out the door. I speculated out loud that he probably had to go to the men’s room after standing by the casket for several hours without a break in the line.
Unusually enough, there were three pastors participating in the service, and three different singers, but other than that it started out as the typical funeral service which most of us have witnessed far too many times in our lives. The first two preachers were brief with their comments and then the main dude got up. He began by explaining how difficult his week had been. He was at the funeral service Monday in which Wendy asked God to forgive her of her sins.
He told us how she had approached him after the service and explained how desperately she needed God in her life. He said they knelt together in the floor of the funeral home and he helped her pray what turned out to be her version of a sinner’s prayer. He told us he made sure she understood what really happened. It didn’t matter what anyone else said or thought about her getting “saved” at a funeral service - it really did happen. He said he left that night continuing to pray for Wendy.
He went on to share with us that Wendy had approached him again after the graveside service Tuesday morning and looked him square in the eye and told him point blank that she really did get “saved” last night. He said he was convinced when they parted ways that day what had taken place in Wendy’s heart and mind was as real as it gets. He said he can’t explain what happened between then and when she took her own life just a few hours later, but he believed with all his heart that God had forgiven her of her sins.
Then he looked over at Chris and said “I hope you don’t mind me telling this, but Chris came to me before the service and asked me to pray with him that God would forgive him of his sins also.”
For the first time in Chris’ life he found himself at the entrance way of the one true life. Through the confession of his sins and acknowledgment that Christ and Christ alone could forgive him, he was welcomed into God’s holy kingdom.
The crowd who had just mere seconds earlier been sobbing from the pain of a lost one now almost erupted with joy. If you’ve been there you know the unspeakable joy there is when one more accepts God’s offering for healing. The heaviness of the air was lifted by the movement of the Holy Spirit and it was as if God himself had waved his hand over the crowd and healed the pain and the sadness.
One friend declared it appropriately by saying that this was unlike any funeral she had ever been to. When the service was complete several of us made a bee-line to Chris and when given the chance I wrapped my arms around him and cried with him again, but this time it was tears of joy. He said to me, “I can’t explain it, but I’m no longer sad at all – I just feel complete joy.” In return I kept telling him how happy I was for him. Now to a person that doesn’t know Christ as their Savior this would be complete inappropriate talk coming from a grieving husband and his friend standing but inches from Wendy’s cold, still, body - but even in God’s word it describes us as a “peculiar people” now doesn’t it?
In reality Chris has a long ways to go to get past this tragedy and get back to living a productive life – but the Good News is that he doesn’t have to face this tribulation alone. A friend has taken Chris with him on a trip this week where they can spend some time working through all of this. The friend - my friend Tom is a strong Christian man who has come through so many adversities of his own over the past six years and I’m convinced that there couldn’t be a better pairing. Something else I know in my heart that God had already worked out.
Last Sunday my friend Mark reminded me of something I had witnessed first hand last week and that is; It’s so NOT about us, and it IS so much about God.
And that is what I’ll need to continue to remember through all the other stuff going on in my life today, for it’s the only way any of it makes and sense.
Still running to Christ as fast as I can ….doug
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