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Dylan hadn’t smiled for days. His grandmother, whom he loved dearly, had died, and the ten-year-old was crushed. His friends were worried about him, and convinced him to visit their special friend, an old man they called The Storyteller. The Storyteller loved children, and often helped them with the special stories he would make up. The Storyteller also knew Dylan’s grandmother.
“This is Dylan,” one of the kids said that Monday afternoon. “His grandmother died last week, and he’s very sad.”
The Storyteller looked up from his gardening and sized up the boy. “Sad” was an understatement.
“Looks like she found the Big Surprise,” said the Storyteller, with a twinkle in his eye.
“What’s the Big Surprise?” asked Dylan dejectedly.
“Well, let me tell you about it,” said the old man as he turned to sit on the grass and the kids sat around him. [click to continue…]
This is raw – straight from my journal and unedited, except for a few explanatory items in brackets. It was written on September 11, 2001. At the time I was traveling with Resource Services, Inc. as a church capital stewardship consultant.
This morning my phone woke me up in the Albany, NY hotel where I was staying. It was Robin, making sure I was all right. She said the World Trade Center had been hit by a plane in an act of terrorism. I turned on the TV and was transfixed by the images of what I saw. Two planes, one hitting each tower. Then the subsequent collapse of both buildings. Then the news that the Pentagon had suffered a similar fate from another airplane.
How do I begin to describe the horror, the fear, the fascination, and the numbness I felt? Then my cell phone began to ring. First, Amy Shillings from RSI. Then Connie Smith. Then Mother and Daddy. Then Robin again. Then Daddy again. All making sure I was OK.
I finally decided at about 11:00 to get out for a while. The beautiful, clear sky of September in upstate New York belied the scene of billowing smoke and debris that was taking place a couple of hours’ drive south of here.
I met a black man, Anthony, on the hotel elevator. He wanted to know if I was going toward the mall. “Come on,” I said. I’ll take you where you need to go.” Anthony was en route from one girlfriend to another. No kidding. Then later would catch the bus for a two-hour ride back home. To his fiance.
I dropped Anthony off at the mall, and, still in the parking lot, decided to check my voice mail. I heard the calls from [RSI CEO] Carl Hefton, [RSI President] Bill Wilson, and others – expressing care and support, encouraging us to do what we felt we needed to do, informing us that the travel office was prepared to assist in any way we needed. I felt loved. Cared for. For once, not alone. And there in the mall parking lot, I just cried like a baby. [click to continue…]
It was a year ago today.
In one sense, as my Dad said yesterday, it has flown by. In another, it felt like a thousand years.
But if one thing has emerged from the past 365 days, it’s that when people or Bible writers talk about the “God of All Comfort,” I can say “Amen” and turn the pages with credibility.
But it didn’t start – or end – with the events surrounding my mother’s sudden death. In fact, the biggest lesson of all was that healing of the heart is a journey through time.
Translation: Don’t tell me how much comfort or encouragement you’re feeling in the funeral home. You have no clue yet about comfort. You’re still being buoyed and insulated by kind people and the truths of your faith.
Comfort – the real kind – comes later.
In the last year, I have been blessed to live what I have preached for years – that the words we use about a Heavenly Father who is who is able to empathize with our weaknesses and invites us to boldly approach a throne of grace are all true. And believe me, other than the promise of eternal life, I can’t think of a promise that is more vital.
How does He do it? If you’re the one just leaving the cemetery or the courthouse or the hospital, what can you expect? How does the Lord put the pieces back together? While every experience of loss – whether it is through death, rejection, forced job termination, or the death of a dream – is unique, I think I have found some common elements in the way our Heavenly Father brings about His healing. [click to continue…]
(Something of a “life lessons year in review,” in no certain order. I’d love to hear yours. Feel free to add your own in the comments section.)
1. How awesome your cancer surgeon is.
2. How nice people can be, even when you wish they would just hate you.
3. How God provides, even sometimes for fools.
4. The sun really does come out tomorrow.
5. How to spell “aneurysm.”
6. Life goes on, with you or without you.
7. Contrary to the words to the MASH theme, suicide is NOT painless.
8. Failure doesn’t stop people from loving you.
9. Rejection does not come with a cocoon to wrap you away for a while.
10. Nobody is more committed to your success than you are. [click to continue…]
(The 12 Ways of Christmas, Part 10 – The Way of Mourning)
Joan Hightower was a force of nature. At least that’s what the folks in Savannah would tell you.
Need something done? Calling Joan is like money in the bank. Problem solver, morale officer, executive earth shaker – no challenge seemed too big. She could plan the battle, lead the charge, cheer on the troops, bandage the wounds and make the refreshments – all with a convincing, contagious can-do attitude.
A 16-year veteran of widowhood, this impressive package of inspired living could run circles around women half her age. And men? Joan would just laugh. [click to continue…]
I still miss her sometimes. Pity I’m so busy I don’t miss her more. For me it’s mostly in passing sighs… Like now. (-From my journal a couple of days ago, referring to my mother, who died earlier this year.)
Heard any sermons on longing lately?
I doubt it.
In spite of the fact that it’s such a common experience, and one that is treated a surprising number of times in the Bible, “Dealing with Longing” doesn’t typically generate offerings, baptisms, or slick series brochures from the local worship establishment.
And yet it’s there… right in plain sight. The Bible’s own version of “Miss You Like Crazy.”
Paul wrote those wild child Corinthians a pretty dress-you-down letter (we call it 1 Corinthians). Their response? They turned their hearts, and longed to see Paul. His reply? Same thing. [click to continue…]
“I can’t hear in that ear.”
As long as I knew her, Mama was deaf in her right ear. Because of that she was always sensitive to multi-sensory sound. “I can’t stand all this noise,” she would say as the TV, piano, stereo, and/or people talking (I usually had some role in most of that) all converged at one place. Most often, though, I encountered that deafness when I wanted to whisper something SECRET in her ear as a child.
I can still hear in both ears, but I don’t know that I’ve ever been more aware of a cacophony of sound as I am today.
Lubbock to DFW
I guess I may have slept a total of two hours. There were the calls. The updated information. The relaying of information to my adult kids, and back. The processing. The adrenaline rush of a life-in-crisis that demands action. Now! Sleep, miles, and other needs be damned.
This morning I’m feeling general anger at every phone call, interruption, or other delay. It’s never convenient when the phone rings. But today, it feels downright rude. Unless I’m the one calling, of course.
My sister calls while I’m in the security line. She tells me the neurosurgeon has come in and said there is nothing they can do. “He said if they take her off the respirator, she could last until you get here this afternoon…”
“No, don’t wait,” I say. [click to continue…]
(Tense Truth: The perfect truth of the gospel was placed into the hands of a group of people whose lives were a complete mess. Jesus knew this, but commissioned them anyway.)
Picture the scene in that upper room on the day of the Resurrection. Rumors and testimonies are flying! A strange mixture of fear, joy, and disbelief. Suddenly, according to John’s account, the Lord Jesus appears and says, “Peace to you; as the Father has sent me, so I’m sending you” (John 20:21).
Hello and head out! Victory and a vision. A Conqueror with a commission. And now these disciples would duplicate on earth what was first transacted in heaven. “The Father sent me. In the same way, I am sending you.”
But wait a minute. Before we glory in our visions of Pentecost, it would do us good to remember who it was the Lord was talking to. So send I . . . WHO? [click to continue…]
This is for Larry Chastain.
Larry Whitehurst.
Dawn Pitchford.
David Overton.
Dee Ann Hallmark.
Thomas Barrett.
Priceless people, much younger than me, whose last visit I had with them was over a casket.
This is for parents and grandparents, girlfriends and boyfriends now long since somebody else’s spouse, little brothers and sisters who once were left as only children.
This is for Caden Trethewey and Elizabeth Rodes. Two children I will never meet in this life whose stories profoundly touched me, and I think will touch you.
This past Saturday, Elizabeth was born in South Carolina. Both her parents, Will and Kelly, are on staff at Newspring Church in Anderson. She was nine inches long and weighed 8 ounces – a victim of anencephaly. Without asking for it (who would?), Will and Kelly discovered what so many before them have – that Jesus Christ came to heal the brokenhearted.
Here’s Will in his own words:
I wish that I could describe the presence of God that was with us in that hospital room, but I can’t. Even if you know Jesus, it would probably defy your comprehension, like it still does mine. It is just one more thing in life that I don’t understand, but I do know that God is sovereign and He reigns over all of this and all that is to come.
This is not the end of the story, but rather the beginning of a great work.
You can (and should) read his entire reflection of the story here.
The Tretheweys tell their own story in the remarkable video below. [click to continue…]
The LifeVesting Cycle
Stage 1: Allocate your resources
Stage 2: Explore the possibilities.
Stage 3: Follow your passion.
Heart Island and Boldt Castle (Click picture to enlarge)
George Boldt had the touch. And everything he touched seemed to prosper. The son of poor parents, Mr. Boldt came to America in the 1860s from Prussia. George was a man of tremendous industry and organizational skill. With daring and imagination, he became the most successful hotel magnate in America. He was also the president of several other companies, and director of the Hotel Association of New York. For George, to “dream” and to “do” were the same thing. However fantastic his dreams, they happened.
But business wasn’t his passion.
Louise was.
And what he did, he did for her.
As a testimony to his love for his wife, George purchased an island on the St. Lawrence River in the Thousand Islands Region, and had it carved into the shape of a heart. He renamed it Heart Island and began preparing for the greatest achievement of his lifetime – a Valentine’s Day present for his wife. You’ve heard that a man’s home is his castle? For George, this was literally true. He would build Louise a castle.
George spared no expense. He invested $2.5 million (in 1900 currency), bringing in the finest artists and most skilled craftsmen for the project. He imported marble from Italy, stone from Scotland, and art from the treasures of Europe. The towers and spires rose imperiously over the waters of the St. Lawrence, and the castle looked as if it would rival those that dot the Rhine. Rising six stories from the foundation level of the indoor swimming pool to the highest tower room, an elevator served the 120-room mansion with its 365 windows. In all, there would be eleven buildings, including a clock tower, a power house, a playhouse, and a gazebo.
Then in January 1904 tragedy struck. [click to continue…]
Dylan hadn’t smiled for days. His grandmother, whom he loved dearly, had died, and the ten-year-old was crushed. His friends were worried about him, and convinced him to visit their special friend, an old man they called The Storyteller. The Storyteller loved children, and often helped them with the special stories he would make up. The Storyteller also knew Dylan’s grandmother.
