Nearly 30 years ago I walked with a family whose son was dying of leukemia. There were numerous visits to the home, the hospital and finally the funeral home. He died at age 11. We had prayed so long and so hard for his healing. I gave God all the reasons why He should heal him – after all, it would bring great glory to God. I was angry when he died – actually, I was angry before he died because I was sure the Lord told me He was not going to heal him and that I needed to prepare to comfort the family.
A couple of years later I stood at a graveside with another couple whose baby died within minutes after birth. They actually knew for several months that the baby would die. It’s brain had not developed. Their grief was long – the last months of a pregnancy that should have been filled with joy was full of sadness.
Yesterday I had lunch with a couple whose 2o something son died in July of this year. I (we) listened as they told of their love for their son; his special qualities and their hopes. Then they told of the times they awake in the middle of the night thinking it has all been a bad dream and then realizing their son is really gone.
I have watched the first two couples through the years (one at some distance). The husband in the first couple died in 1999 at 55 years old. I have never had adequate words to alleviate the pain of their losses. I know of no words that could have bolstered their faith. There were no explanations – no good reasons for the losses. Yet their faith not only remained strong but was the substance that saw them through. Their faith did not remove their sorrow but gave them hope and strength to work through the sorrow.
As I watched and listened to the parents of an adult child who is gone, I heard pain, sorrow and disappointment. I witnessed some of the classic stages of grief but I also heard strong statements of faith – not platitudes but confidence in God to sustain.
I can think of several classic responses to their grief but I won’t put any here. What I have seen in all three couples is a quiet confidence in God in the midst of grief and in spite of unanswered questions. It isn’t blind faith but rather a confidence in One who has walked with them through some incredibly wonderful times and now they rest in Him in times of sadness.
I awoke about an hour and a half before I was planning to get up and really wanted to take advantage of that time for sleep. In that stage between sleep and awake I was aware of trying to relax so I could sleep and yet was dreaming about driving and trying to stay awake. It was a strange kind of conflict – my sort-of-conscious mind was fighting for more sleep but my sub-conscious mind was trying desperately to get awake to keep from wrecking the car I dreamed I was driving.
I woke up a bit confused.
The experience actually reminded me of a new believer in Christ who has been asleep to the things of God, realizes his life is like a train wreck about to happen, and cries out to God to save. God is calling him from sleep but the pull of the old life wants to dull his hearing to the voice of God so that he can return to his sleep.
This emerging believer may require hours, days, weeks or months to become fully awake and alive in Christ. Sometimes the Lord gives us the privilege of speaking in his name to help awaken someone to Him.
My morning routine begins with reading a passage from the Bible (right now I am reading in the book of Nehemiah) and a time of prayer. I journal my prayers. It slows my pace and keeps me from racing through a “to do” list for God. The first word in nearly every daily entry is “Lord.” It is an acknowledgement that I want Him to be Lord of my life. It is how I typically address Him. Sometimes I just begin writing what is on my heart and “Lord” appears on the page in a later sentence of paragraph.
This morning, the first word on the page was “Lord” and then “Father.” It was unplanned and not a part of my conscious thinking. I am convinced it came from my pen at the nudge of my “Father.” It felt a bit strange at first. I have addressed God as father numerous times in both private and public prayer but I confess, it has often been used as a title – like “sir” or “Lord.” Today, after all these years of praying privately and corporately, “Father” seemed more intimate – more personal.
I paused for a long time before writing anything after “Lord, Father” in my journal. I thought about some of the implications of being a child of God – not just theologically but personally. It was as if God was saying, “You are not just a child of God, You are My child.” For some reason today He was affirming a theological truth in a very personal way. He is truly MY Father.
Then it seemed as though He brought to mind all those who are new in their faith and impressed on me how important it is that each of them understand that He is their Father, too. As I try to be obedient to my father in making disciples it is not just about helping them understand and own the mission but first helping them understand this very special, intimate relationship they have with God. He is their Father and they are His sons and because we are His sons, I believe He looks on us and says, “in them I am well-pleased.”
But, for a Christian, there are , strictly speaking, no chances. A Master of the Ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples, ‘Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,’ can truly say to every group of Christian friends, ‘You have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.’ The Friendship is not a reward for our discrimination and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each the beauties of all the others. They are no greater than the beauties of a thousand other me; by Friendship God opens our eyes to them.
These words from the pen of C.S. Lewis caused me to pause and reflect on the various relationships I have with other Christ-followers. We like to think of ourselves as being discerning, selective, careful in our choices of friends. Yet most, if not all of the friends I have enjoyed through the years came as a result of circumstances over which I had little or no control. I have friendships from college – men who just happened to live next door in the dorm and with whom I have had the privilege of working over the course of several years.
There are friendships that developed because of ministry positions held and the opportunity to work together in fulfilling a mission we believed God had called us to. There are stories behind each friendship – how it began, developed, and grew. I value those friendships. I have learned from each one.
Looking back, I don’t know that I thought much about God’s role in putting those friendships together. I’m sure there were occasions when I was particularly grateful for the part a friend played in my life. Even as I write that line, it sounds a bit self-centered. It is about me and what I have gained out of a relationship. That certainly is important but if God has placed people in my life, can I simply allow Him to open my eyes to see the beauty He has created in them apart from any association with me. Can I appreciate the way God made them whether their gifts and abilities serve me or not?
What about all those new relationships? Do I look at them for what I can get from them or do I look at these new friends and rejoice in the unique way God has made them and gifted them?
I like the challenge of a crossword puzzle and I am told that working word puzzles may help ward off certain forms of dementia (time will tell). However, once in a while there is a puzzle that seems to use definitions that are a bit obscure. The answer in a recent puzzle was “otiose” – a word, I confess is not a part of my everyday language. According to the dictionary in my office, it means “at leisure; idle; ineffective or futile.” The clue was “lazy.” I’m not sure a person who is “at leisure” is necessarily lazy. In fact he may be a very productive person who is resting so that he might be even more productive.
But as I thought about “otiose” I began thinking about the meaning of words and how they change. “Cool” often means “hot” or “good.” “Bad” can mean “good.” (It is little wonder the American language is hard to understand.) As I drove down the interstate, I notice the sign that posted the speed “limit” and realized the word “limit” had lost its meaning. According to the dictionary it means, “the final or furthest bound.” ”Speed limit” has come to mean “recommended safe speed.” Most people have come to realize that traveling beyond the “final and furthest bound” of posted speed is O.K. 65 MPH means 70 MPH or more and 70 MPH means 75 MPH or more.
Then I thought of another word that concerns me – “promise.” It is used so frequently. Parents promise to plan fun activities with their kids. Children promise to clean their rooms. Politicians promise to always have the best interest of the people. Couples promise to love, honor and cherish until death separates. I think it is this last one that bothers me most. I have witnessed the pain of separation and divorce which is usually the result of not keeping the promises to love, honor and cherish. When couples fail to keep those promises, the promise to remain married until death separates becomes an easier one to break.
When “I promise” loses its meaning, people get hurt. They hurt deeply and sometimes the wounds never heal. A promise is a heart matter – an issue of trust that is at the core of our being. When we use the word, we need to consider thoroughly, not what we are committing but the impact on the person to whom we are committing if we should break the promise.
I don’t want “promise” to lose it’s meaning. I’d like to see us take it even more seriously. If it loses its meaning, we will not only lose confidence in one another but also in the promises of God.
A friend of mine wrote about eating sweet corn on his grandfather’s farm. It sparked a memory of my own childhood. My dad loved horses and even though we owned a couple of tractors, he still liked to work with horses. Although I never witnessed it, he claimed he could back a wagon of hay into a barn with a team of horses without ever touching them – just using voice commands. (As I recall, he could also get me to do a lot of things just by voice commands.) I digress.
I remember a year when Dad decided to harvest corn in shocks. He fashioned a sled that would be pulled by a single horse. Near the left side of the sled, he cut a rather large V in the floor of the sled. He fastened the blade of a handsaw to the inside of the V. The horse would pull the sled down each row of corn. As the corn was directed into the V, the saw blade would cut the stocks and Dad, standing on the sled, would catch the stocks, forming them into large shocks of corn. When his arms were full, he call “whoa” to the horse and he would set the shock on the ground and then step back on the sled, “click” to the horse to start walking and he would repeat the process through the entire field.
I desperately wanted to ride the sled with my dad. I wanted to help but it was much too dangerous for a 5-6 year old. There was danger of falling off or falling into the saw blade. I remember that Dad gave me a corn cutter – a large knife used for cutting stocks of corn (this, too was probably dangerous for a 5-6 year-old). I followed the sled through the field and whenever it would stop, I would cut one stock of corn and give it to my dad to include in the shock he had just formed.
I don’t know how many rows of corn I walked behind that sled but I remember feeling important – like I was contributing – that I had value. I’m sure from my dad’s perspective, I slowed him down a bit. He had to wait at each stop for me to cut a stock of corn – sometimes taking 2-3 attempts. But I was a part of the harvest.
My “helping hand” was not much help to my dad but it was a great help to me. I wonder how many people there are in my life who need to help – not because of their great contribution but because of the contribution helping makes to their lives.
