My Lady

Forty three years ago today, I made the second best commitment of my life when I said “I do” to my precious wife, Debby.  Fortunately for me, she didn’t say “I don’t”, and equally important…she stayed!  Every now and then you hear someone say the phrase, “I love you more today than yesterday, but less than tomorrow.” Sounds kind of corny, but in my experience, it is absolutely the case.  Deb is like a diamond mine, and every day there is a new treasure to discover about her and a new reason to thank God for her. 

A few years ago, I sat down to write a poem about her, and my thoughts turned to various parts of her. Some are quite visible to the naked eye.  Others are only known by me and her Maker.  But if ever the phrase “greater than the sum of its parts” were true, it’s true about my lady.  No description can scratch the surface of how these parts of her give life to those around her, from her three children and eight grandchildren, to her very blessed husband…all the way “down” to the young man she encounters at a checkout stand or the lady who assists her on a machine at Curves.  Debby oozes the love of God, and though not perfect, she has never stopped pursuing Jesus or those around her.  This is just bit of what I know of her…

Eyes

that sparkle with an inner light

shine me to a place of safety,

knowing God

looks through those eyes

to pursue me,

accept me,

trust me,

relentlessly drawing me,

inviting me,

loving me.

Ears

that listen

like few others,

deciphering, discerning

the real issues

from the rabble,

the genuine from the counterfeit;

that pursue

the radio frequency

of the still small Voice

over the din of all others.

Hands

that wash the feet

of those she loves

in a thousand ways;

some noble,

some unnoticed,

all exacting the costly price

of self-will.

She spends and is spent

 spreading the fragrance of Jesus,

Losing a little more of her

to know much more of Him.

Feet

that move swiftly,

deliberately

to encourage,

lighten loads,

share burdens,

 urge onward,

expose deception,

offer hope,

and, when stumbling,

sense the security

and surety

of her Shepherd’s arms.

Lips

that speak His name

to a soul-mate whose faith can falter,

to the children she bore, now entrusted to others,

to the grandchildren she loves like life itself,

to friends far and near,

to total strangers in the marketplace,

or just to anyone who will listen; and

Tongue

that once sang His praises

with notes that angels envied;

those tones now muted

give way to outstretched arms

borne of joy and adversity--

the pain and pleasure of one

so hurt, so healed.

Heart

overflowing,

breaking,

broken,

open, uplifted,

softening to

His Word,

His world,

yielding another day

to the Breath of life,

the Lover of her soul. 

I said that marrying her was the second best commitment I ever made.  No, she is not my second wife, though sometimes I kiddingly introduce her as my first.  Topping the list of all my commitments would have to be the day I gave my life to Jesus, my Savior, and along with Deb, committed our future(s) to Him. I know marriages have lasted as long and even longer without Jesus at the center of them, but as for me, I can’t imagine wanting anything else.  Or anyone else.  I love you, Deb.

tad

Pastor’s Point: A Memorial Day tribute in praise of the fallen

He cried at the grave of one he loved.  Fully God, and yet as a man, Jesus chose not to bypass the valley of grief which we all experience at the loss of one dear to us.  And how much more profound is the loss (and love) when that one has chosen to sacrifice his own life for others...specifically for us.  Jesus said it best:

 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.  -John 15:13

This weekend, our nation pauses, if ever so briefly, to honor just such persons.  In America, much of what we have come to appreciate about “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” has come at the expense of others far more noble than ourselves.  These heroes, even in death, stand head and shoulders above the rest of us.  The rest of us, whose main instinct is self-preservation, often live for that which benefits us, for that so-called American dream which can be viscerally experienced right now. It is the rare few who choose cause over comfort, the greater good over self gratification.  It is for those we pause and offer praise and thanks this weekend.

Countless words of wisdom have been penned to give voice to the dignity of such giants and the nature of their task.  Here are but a few:

On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a mighty nation.

 Thomas William Parsons

This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave.  

 Elmer Davis

Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened.  

Billy Graham

A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.

Joseph Campbell

A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.

 Ralph Waldo Emerson

Who kept the faith and fought the fight; the glory theirs, the duty ours.

Wallace Bruce

Aspire rather to be a hero than merely appear one. 

Baltasar Gracian

So as you go into battle, remember your ancestors and remember your descendants. 

 Publius Cornelius Tacitus

If our country is worth dying for in time of war, let us resolve that it is truly worth living for in time of peace. 

Hamilton Fish

It doesn’t take a hero to order men into battle. It takes a hero to be one of those men who goes into battle.

 Norman Schwarzkopf

The brave die never, though they sleep in dust:

Their courage nerves a thousand living men.

Minot J. Savage

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth;

Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth…

Thomas Moore

The patriot’s blood is the seed of Freedom’s tree.

Thomas Campbell

Cover them over with beautiful flowers,

Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours,

Lying so silent by night and by day

Sleeping the years of their manhood away.

Give them the mead they have won in the past;

Give them the honors their future forecast;

Give them the chaplets they won in the strife;

Give them the laurels they lost with their life.

Will Carleton

They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this Nation

Henry Ward Beecher

We come, not to mourn our dead soldiers, but to praise them.

Francis A. Walker

Scripture teaches us that as bad as war is, and as great its distortion of God’s original intent for humankind, there is a time for it.  The wise King Solomon once wrote:

There is a time for everything, 

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 

He has made everything beautiful in its time. 

 King Solomon

In fact, there are things worth fighting for…worth dying for.  It is no accident that Jesus led the greatest battle ever fought against the dominion of darkness, sin and death, and willingly laid down his own life so that we could be truly free.  Sometimes battles must be fought, wars must be waged, and, yes, lives laid down.  This weekend, as we remember those who gave their lives up for us, let us resolve to not let their sacrifice be in vain.  And let us be reminded that as costly a price as Jesus paid for our liberty, it is trampled afoot if we choose not to accept His grace and follow our truest Hero.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     tad

Pastor’s Point: Don’t Worry, Be Happy?

A current commercial for a popular drugstore chain claims that it is located “at the corner of Happy and Healthy.”  For some reason, I find myself recoiling at the label “happy” attached to anything these days, since life seems to be getting more and more difficult.  Often we suspect that the happiest among us are just living in denial.  And yet, I think the most joyful people on the planet should be Christians.  Not necessarily the happiest, but certainly the ones with the most to be happy about. The Psalmist writes of a life with God:

In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever.
Psalm 16:11

Joy is one way God wants His work to be known.  A kind of trademark, so to speak.  It’s true of the created order— nature, as well.  The prophet Isaiah said it this way: 

“For you will go out with joy and be led forth with peace;
The mountains and the hills will break forth into shouts of joy before you,
And all the trees of the field will clap their hands. 

Isaiah 55:12

Most of us know that the last thing Jesus said before leaving this earth was, essentially, “Get going, and as you go, make disciples of all nations.” But do you remember his first recorded message when he started his earthly ministry?  He quoted Isaiah 61 in the temple.  His introductory remarks spoke of freedom, favor, joy!!                                                                                                                                                          

[My Father] has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.

At face value, it appears that this upstart rabbi from Nazareth had a pretty high view of himself, but was a bit out of touch with reality—an off-the-charts optimist at best. Freedom for which captives? Who are these prisoners who are about to be released? And where is this Godly vengeance on all the oppressors we've been waiting for? Was this the first century version of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”?  The fact is, upon His arrival, Jesus expected to encounter bondage, sadness, and despair.  But the radically good news He was announcing was: “Here I am—the picture of what God is like, and what life is intended to look like in relationship with God.”  After teaching and modeling the arrival of His kingdom, His intended outcome was to leave us in just the opposite state He found us.  What should characterize Christianity?  Freedom, favor, joy.  He said our lives were to be a “display of His splendor.” Where the joy part of that often gets tested is in our attitude toward serving and following Him.

One of the first psalms I learned as a child was actually in the form of a song, a hymn actually.  It was Psalm 100, and it began, “All people that on earth do dwell.”  Most of it made sense to my micro-brain until I got to the line, “Him serve with mirth, His praise forthtell.”  Not exactly elementary age street slang!  I had not a clue what mirth was...thought it might be a derivative of ‘mercy’, but requiring a lisp.  When I found out it actually means great joy, it made more sense, even if the preponderance of stoic, German ancestors around me seemed a bit lacking in it!  From my trusty Thesaurus, I learned that synonyms for ‘mirth’ are even more intriguing: everything from cheerfulness, hilarity, hysteria, kicks, revelry—all the way to my personal favorite—whoopee!

Think of it—Him serve with whoopee!  When was the last time you were asked to serve in some capacity and your response was whoopee!???  But that is exactly the goal of the Christian life…not only to follow Christ and serve one another, but to get to the point where it is our joy!!!  It becomes a “get to”, rather than a “have to.”

As a worship community, let’s encourage each other to enjoy the ride and display God’s splendor with joyful, positive lives.  And when an opportunity to serve another presents itself, remember that the spirit in which you complete that task says as much about the life of God in you as the act itself. 

Advertisers may want you to believe you need a Walgreens to be happy and healthy, but Jesus is calling you and me to offer the world a much better alternative: freedom, favor, joy. Freedom from bondage, the favor of God through Christ, and overflowing joy in all circumstances.   Not a bad prescription, I’d say. 

tad

My Mom, by God

Her children stand and bless her.  Proverbs 31:28

 

Her name—Edna Mae—was a fairly common one at the time she came into the world. Today…not so much.  In fact, I can’t remember the last time I recall someone naming a daughter Edna.  As names go, I never really cared for it while she was alive, but since her passing, it’s kind of grown on me.  Born in 1925, she crammed a lot of life into her 53 years.  Married at 18, a mother at 19, a grandmother at 46, her life seems to have been characterized by how much she did…simply because it had to be done. 

Though she loved her southern roots (Port Arthur, Texas), as a young wife, she left her family and friends and followed my father to the bustling metropolis of Yale, South Dakota, population 150.  Its tallest structure was the water tower. Dad was a pastor, you see, and it was his conviction that when ‘God called’, you dropped everything and went.

One of my earliest memories of my mom’s life was the piles of laundry that stalked her day after day.  Since she lived in the day prior to wrinkle-free anything, every shirt, pair of pants, heck—every handkerchief(!) that my dad needed in his profession had to be washed in a washtub, rung out and hung out to dry, then starched and pressed for every day of the week.  Add to that the clothing needs of six kids and her own clothes, and you have just written a full-time job description right there.  Unpaid, of course.

And where did this stay-at-home mom perform these duties?  In various matchbox-sized houses, owned by the churches my dad served. The largest one this family of eight ever lived in together had maybe 1500 sq. ft.  The first of these homes did not have indoor plumbing.  For the first 17 years of Mom’s married life, air circulation was created by the cross breeze of open windows, or perhaps a ceiling fan; air-conditioning was inconceivable, as were dishwashers, garbage disposals, washers and driers, much less above ground laundries, master bathrooms, carpeting, frost-free refrigerators and Wal-Marts. For the rest of her life you can add to that list things like online banking, cell phones, computers, or a myriad of other conveniences the modern-day mother has available to her. 

My mom didn’t have a lot of formal education, but she was full of wisdom.  She described herself growing up as a tomboy, but as a young woman, her womb became the safe and secure incubator for five boys and one girl…all before her 28^th birthday.  In her seventh month of pregnancy with me, she had an emergency appendectomy. At the same time, I was discovering just how much fun kicking could be.  From that moment on, I gave up expecting to be her favorite. 

Growing up in a large family, children look for parental cues that they are different or distinct from the others. One way Mom demonstrated my uniqueness was in the area of my musical development. She started almost every one of her children on a musical instrument, but I was the only one she never allowed to quit.  She taught me my first song, “Whispering Hope”, when I was five.  Though I hated to practice, she could tell that I loved music.  She observed that I seemed to gravitate to the piano to express my soul.  Eventually, she could hardly keep me off of it, and I even came to enjoy practicing. 

She was not a perfect woman, but I cannot recall her using profanity even once during my childhood.  (In retrospect, I wonder where all of those frustrating thoughts got processed.)  Because of this value, any slips of the tongue on my part were rewarded with a mouth washing—with soap.  That practice did little to cleanse the heart, but it did raise a value and leave an impression.  I also noted that though she hated the curse words, she herself could be quick to gossip.  I concluded the tongue can be tough to control…even for big people.

One thing I have come to believe is that mothers are handpicked for us.  In many ways, my mom could have been more nurturing, more emotionally connected.  In looking back, I now realize that in many ways, she wasn’t even connected to her own emotional needs, much less having the resources to meet those of a husband and six kids. But she did know me.  In a clan of six, I was still on her radar. 

As I grew up, she sought to round me out and helped me to become more socially involved. Where I would be tempted to withdraw or escape into my music, she pressed me into activities, sports, etc.  I remember her helping me with the transition from Christian elementary school to public junior high. One afternoon, I came home from playing football with some neighborhood kids and was stressed out over all the profanity I had heard. I went straight to my room and burst into tears.  “I’m not going to school with those sinners,” I said.

Enter non-nurturing Mom.  Instead of asking how I was feeling or comforting me with a plate of cookies, she basically told me to wake up and smell the decaf.  I can’t remember her exact words, but this was the impression they left: “This is the real world, son, and you better get used to it.  No one ever died from hearing curse words, so learn to deal with it.” While she would never win any touchy-feely awards, it was, “like a word fitly spoken, an apple of gold.” (Proverbs 25:11)  I needed toughening.  I wasn’t yet ready for “the real world.” And you know what?  She helped get me ready. 

As a child, I never went without a meal, lacked for clothing, attended church with unpolished shoes (or missed church for that matter, unless sick at home with a fever), felt unsafe or abandoned. Was I ever misunderstood?—sure.  Did she ever hurt my feelings or wound my spirit?—definitely.  But she also taught me much about Jesus, encouraged me to sing in the church choir, and wrote me handwritten (!) letters when I went off to college.  She even made a lame attempt at sex ed (no, not in college!). When I was 8 or 9, she finally was forced into showing me pictures in a doctor’s book of where babies come from, after I had embarrassed her and her pregnant sister by asking, “Why are you just fat in the stomach?”

When she was 52, she went in for what was thought to be a routine hysterectomy. When she awoke from surgery, she was told she had, maybe, 90 days to live.  The doctors informed her she was battling colon cancer, and after months of failed chemo treatments, she began preparing to die.  In anticipation of her death, she wrote her own funeral service, beginning with “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” and ending with “How Great Thou Art.” Thirty five years later, I still miss her, admire her, and look forward to our reunion. 

To be honest, I went through a season of my life when I tried to attach many of my personal shortcomings or dysfunction to her…to her imperfections. After all, she was my primary childhood caregiver.  My problems must be her fault. But that was before I raised my own kids and then realized that most of us simply do the best we can with what we know.

Today I look back with gratitude for God’s personal selection of my mother. What about you?  Good or bad, treasure or trial, they are the vessel our Creator God used to start us on the journey of a life with Him.  To the degree that they reflected His image and kindness to us, we can count ourselves extremely blessed.  And at whatever level they failed to demonstrate that and took from us more than they gave, perhaps God even used that to draw us more desperately to Him.  The fact is that when He chose to reveal Himself to us in history, He selected the safety and security of a mother’s womb for His very own Son.  And not just any mother—specifically Mary.  Accepting His handpicked choice for our mother is the very first step toward learning to trust His judgment.  

So this Mother’s Day, I will be remembering Edna Mae.  She wasn’t the Virgin Mary, but, by God, she was my mom.                                        

tad