Joy Comes With The Mourning

Mourning the death of a believer can be such a strange thing.

When I was in college, I landed a job in the campus post office.  It was a pretty sweet gig.  I got to miss chapel (seemed pretty sweet at the time), I made enough money to buy the latest Steven Curtis Chapman cdsI became friends with all the faculty and staff, and I had an amazing boss.  Her name was Jackie Long.  She was short, round, and had a smile as big as a southern Missouri sunrise.

Jackie's funeral is today, June 11th.   Cancer took Jackie quite rapidly these past few weeks, and my wife and I drove to Springfield, Missouri to see her one last time.

In the hospital room where she laid sleeping and unresponsive, I held her hand and simply looked at her face while my mind flooded with memories like: the sound of her voice, the ring of the bell at the front desk of the post office, the smell of mail bags, and the taste of Jackie's chili.

I've cried more than once over the last several days when thinking about her, and of course when you weep because you've lost someone, you realize that you're weeping for yourself, not for them.  Still, I always try to work out exactly why I'm crying at times like these, because all of my memories of Jackie are good ones. So why the tears? 

I'm pretty sure I cry because death is still such an enemy - the final one, Paul says.

I know I cry for her husband, who will miss her terribly.

Probably also the tears flow from a sense of honor, as a tribute, because in Jackie's case, she has finished her work on earth, she has done it well, and this guy right here was granted the privilege of being a product of her efforts.  I can point to certain stones that make up the structure of my life and say, "that one there was set in place by Jackie Long, and that one, and that one."

What truly endears my heart to her is how much she loved this bumbling college kid who worked for her in the campus post office. She cared for me and the handful of other students that worked there like a mother. She scolded us if we needed it, she had us over for supper, she called me "son", and she loved my firstborn child and my wife. Her home was always open to me, even when I'd visit years later and need a place to spend the night. "There's the fridge, have whatever you need!"
And so as I looked at her laying in the hospital bed, I thought, that is a person who loved me unconditionally.

She genuinely was my mom away from home.   And although I use that term, she doesn't occupy the real estate in my heart that my own mother does, but she was among the few human beings that have had profound influence on my life.  Her secret to success wasn't because she read a stack of John Maxwell books, but simply because she was a sweet, sweet woman who loved Jesus and knew for sure how good He is.  Thinking about all these things, there definitely is joy in the mourning.

Not Just Forgiveness...

If we spent the majority of our time thinking on one great Scriptural truth over against all others, it should be the doctrine of justification and imputed righteousness.  The most mind-blowing act revealed in Scripture is that of the Great Exchange described in 2 Corinthians 5:21.

"God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God."

You can begin by watching the video at the crucial moment by clicking here, or watch it The power of the Gospel goes far beyond our sins simply being forgiven (as if that weren't enough!). Almighty God goes to the full extent and applies to believers something that they did not, nor could they ever, possess in and of themselves: righteousness.


R.C. Sproul delivers this point with passion and clarity in the video below.  You can join the conversation as R.C. begins to drive the point home by clicking here, or listen to the talk in its entirety:

Emotional Responses

My eyes open wider when I smell coffee brewing.  My mouth actually waters when I smell cinnamon rolls.  I think of my parents' house every time I catch a whiff of a burning charcoal grill. These are trained responses that my senses have, and I enjoy them, along with a thousand other food-related stimuli.  They serve me quite well.

Our emotions also provide constant stimuli. But the thing is, if we trust our emotions like we do the smell of mom's home cooking, we might be tempted to follow whatever pleasing thing comes along.  Similarly, we may plunge into despair when something as simple as a headache or indigestion is causing us psychosomatic stress.  However, if we're trained to trust in Truth before anything else will not be so easily swayed. 

Now don't hear what I'm not saying; emotions are a fascinating and wonderful gift from God.  Emotions are the reason we love the symphony and sunsets and sad love stories.  The down side is that emotions aren't a very good gauge of truth.

So, while I'm not promoting stoicism, I do worry (there's an emotion right there!) about a few things.  For example, I worry that we love the warm fuzzies when the band strikes up in church and we mistake the fuzzies for the presence of God.  I worry that we love the jokes the pastor tells and mistake that for good preaching.  I worry that eventually all we'll really want are warm fuzzies and funny jokes and will have no time for anything else.

Maybe there's a fine line here, and maybe there isn't.  Ideally, our hearts will be moved - no, shaken! - by Truth couched in beautiful music and our souls will be nourished, challenged and changed by the Gospel preached in a winsome manner.   Personally, I want more than anything for any music that I play and any message I preach to be grounded, anchored and rooted in Truth so I don't step into that dangerous territory where leaders look for an emotional response as a sign of success.

Christianity + Suburban Living = Suburbianity

I can understand and accept that Christians and their practice of Christianity will be flavored by the culture in which they live.  This is natural and basically harmless.  There is a serious problem, however, when a sinister syncretism takes place that allows the ethos of a culture to infiltrate and corrupt the pure practice of Christian community and teaching as described and outlined in Scripture.  In the "West" this infiltration and corruption seems to be most prevalent.  Byron Forrest Yawn describes this effect and the resulting monster he has dubbed "suburbianity":

Suburbianity is the general conviction among professing evangelicals that the primary aim of Christ’s death was to provide us with a fulfilled life. We came to this perspective by persistently reading the mindset and aspirations of the suburbs into the biblical story. It relentlessly seeps into our Christianity. It comes through in nearly all forms of Christian media, including songs, books, movies, and sermons. God has big plans for you. You are important. You should not be discontented, There’s more out there for you. This is the suburban gospel. By it we’ve saved countless sinners from a poor self-image but not much else.

Yowza.

The Danger of Reading Your Own Journals

I have a hefty armful of journals that I've scrawled in over the years.  They're not very tidy from a chronological standpoint, because, for example, I have two or three that I'm writing in currently.  Which one I choose to write in depends on two things, typically: A) Subject matter, or B) whichever one is closest.

I have journals from college, journals from my early married years, journals specifically for overseas trips, journals just for my motorcycle adventures, journals for Scripture.  It's a mess, really. 

Before I get to the reason for my writing today, I want to point out that I don't use journals because I'm organized and I don't use them because I'm spiritual and I don't use them because I live an "intentional life".  I write in my journals so I don't forget things.  It's the same reason I take photographs.  I've found that I can remember a lot of experiences I've had over the years just using my gray matter, but when I look at a picture or re-read a journal entry about an experience, I RE-LIVE the experience.  Much, much better.  It's that invigorating reminder that makes my journal entries so important.

So, last night I paused while reading the novel I currently have my nose in, sat my coffee down, reached over to my bookshelf and yanked out my most recent journal.  I flipped to the front of it, to the well-aged entries, to see what I might find.

Now, the danger of reading your own journals is that you're likely to get shaken, slapped or stirred.  The handful of pages I flipped through last night contained forgotten moments of wonder and awe and glory - my wife was there, my sons, my friends.  There were reminders of God's faithfulness and kept promises.  There were prayers for the future and testimonies of truth made in times of strong faith that gave me confidence as I read them.  I was moved, and frankly, I felt a little bit silly that my heart feels so weak at times in spite of all the good that has come my way by the hand of God.

In the end, I've renewed my commitment to keep writing, if for no other reason than that someday, someone (maybe my kids!) will read those journals after I'm gone and find the story of a relentless God making His life known in the life of an ordinary man.

So...Is This Mid-Life?

Have I really been trying to do this by myself all along?  That is today's question.

I'm 42, and for years I've felt pretty good about who I am.  I've never felt perfect, but I've always had some measure of confidence in my strengths, feeling like they outweighed my weaknesses for the most part.  Drawing from this confidence, I could boldly claim that I was trusting God day by day for this, that or the other thing. I was living by faith as long as I felt I had a handle on things. (Insert smirks and chuckles here)

However, la vie est dure. 

There are at least 47 things in my life right now that are bigger than I am.  Things I used to think I had the strength for.  But I'm tapped out.  Now understand, I tend to be a bit introspective and melancholy anyway, but this is more than the effect of too much navel gazing.  Some things in life are just really hard, and they're harder when they're linked to your own insufficiencies:  People I've disappointed, work I've left undone, opportunities I've let pass me by.

Other trials are just par for the course called Life. Without getting specific, I'll just lump all of these under the heading "things that didn't turn out like you thought they would."  Make your own list of sand traps and water hazards.

Prayer has been difficult of late as I've wrestled with these problems that sort of remind me of cave trolls: big, scary, relentless. Oh, and ugly.

My prayer this morning went something like this as my heart welled up with tears:  "Lord, I've got nothin'.  Nothing to bring to the table.  And You're still OK with this?  You sure You still want to use me?  If so, then I'm in.  But I have nothing to offer."

And then for some reason I felt better, and not because the situation changed, but because my viewpoint changed.  Life isn't hard because I've failed, life is just hard.  And what business do I have trusting in myself anyway?

Casting all our anxiety and care on God because He cares for us assumes that we will have anxiety and care! (1 Peter 5:7) Keeping our minds stayed on Him so we can have perfect peace assumes that there is chaos all around. (Isaiah 26:3)  That's what those promises are for - for now, when I really need them. Or you, or whomever.

What I'm slowly, stubbornly, becoming aware of is that I had to get to this point. I had to get here to (hopefully) learn that Jesus really is my sufficiency.

Oh, joy, that seeks me through the pain

I cannot close my heart to thee

I trace the rainbow through the rain

And feel the promise is not in vain

That morn shall tearless be!



Why I'm Thankful For Warts

Several weeks ago, one of my sons (we'll call him Jonathan...because that's his name) had some warts removed by our family physician.  No biggie.  However, during the preliminary exam before the procedure our doctor found that Jonathan's heart rate was really, REALLY fast.  Not I'm-a-bit-nervous-because-I'm-at-the-doctor-fast, but unusually, alarmingly fast.  Of course the doctor checked and double-checked but the results were the same.  Being the fine physician that he is, our local G.P. referred Jonathan to a cardiologist to investigate further.

A couple visits to the specialist later, and Jonathan was wearing a Holter monitor for 24 hours to get a good read on what his heart was actually doing. After revisiting the pediatric cardiologist for an ECG and more analysis, we learned that Jonathan was suffering from a condition called ectopic atrial tachycardia.

Now things were getting serious, and being the man of faith that I am, I began to wonder out loud to God "just what exactly is going on here and why?"

The doctors made the decision to start Jonathan on beta blockers (drugs typically used to abate a rapid heartbeat).  There was some improvement from the drugs, but not nearly what was needed.  His former 150-180 bpm heart rate was still in the 130-150 bpm range all day, every day.

Here is the urgency in all of this:  if the problem isn't fixed, damage to the cardiac muscle is certain, and that is NOT good.  Ultimately you have a failed heart.

The next step, then, for Jonathan was a procedure called cardiac ablation therapy.  I'll keep this post brief and let you read about it on your own, but after a pretty fascinating 2-3 hour procedure under general anesthetic, my son's heart was beating in a normal range again.  In the days since the procedure, he's been sleeping better, is more talkative, more energetic, and has even been laughing more.  We had no idea what the tachycardia had stolen from him.  The prognosis: Jonathan's heart is fixed, and should be good for the rest of his life.

So, at the end of it all, I am super thankful for those warts.  News of my son having a serious heart issue prompted me to send some frustrated and despairing questions in God's direction, but He was patient with me.  I know that not every story ends happily, but in this case, I can see now that God used warts to take care of Jonathan's heart before things got a lot worse.  And I'm reminded that He is good.