Living with Dying

“Christ himself promised us eternal life." ~ 1 John 2:25

When the oncologist entered Marie’s room, she knew the news wouldn’t be good.  Her somber expression told it all: cancer that had metastasized to lymph nodes and lungs; inoperable . . . terminal.

She stayed for a long time, speaking in gentle tones; patiently answering Marie’s every question with kindness and hope.  They discussed the difficult path forward.  Marie fought back tears, knowing that her life, once seemingly boundless, was gradually dimming.

Despite her 80 years, and except for cancer, Marie’s body was strong and healthy.  She’d likely hang on for a long time.  She might face weeks or even months of hospice care.  No way could she fathom allowing herself to become anyone’s burden.

Marie knew about chemo – she’d held hands with several others who braved the grueling process.  She knew the effects were cumulative – that each round would hit harder.

She could deal with the nausea and vomiting, hair and weight loss, and constant fatigue from the toxins poisoning her body.  She wasn’t concerned about her weakening immune system and its high risk of infection.  She wasn’t even worried that she could develop morphine-resistant pain.

None of that bothered her.

What did worry her was becoming a burden to her husband of nearly 60 years.  Stoically independent, Marie constantly feared seeing the pain her children would experience watching her die.  Guilt consumed her daily thoughts.

As fate would have it, Marie’s chemo-odyssey ended relatively quickly.  On what turned out to be the last day of her life, Marie’s nurse arrived at her bedside with an unexpected guest - a young intern doing his hospice rotation.  He seemed ill at ease, but observed and listened with empathy. 

Marie suddenly realized that God sent that young doctor to help him learn how to deal compassionately with the dying patients and families that he’d encounter in the future.  It gave new meaning to all her suffering, even when it seemed to make no sense.  

Wonderfully, in the few days that followed, God showed his undeniable splendor; His presence compelling rather than diminishing.  Their trial became a treasure as He walked with them through what would be the final days of grief and uncertainty.

Her adversity served a real purpose.  Suffering wasn’t meant to be experienced alone, but rather shared where God’s grace could be known.  Those heartfelt chats and tender memories; the opportunity of sharing your last moments and extending love even in your last breaths.  Death was not about dying, but about preparing.  Because of God’s promise, Christians need not fear death or guilt for others suffering with them.

Marie died peacefully that December, a death made glorious because those she loved witnessed her passing and celebrated her transition home together. 

Lord Jesus, You know about dying.  You understand hard goodbyes and walk beside us in our final hours.  In Your death, You gave us hope and the promise of life well beyond this place.  Thy will be done Oh Lord, Amen

 

 

The Love Box

“The love we give away . . . is the only love we keep.” ~ Elbert Hubbard

When it became clear that her battle with ovarian cancer was nearing its end, Justina recorded messages to her then 4-year-old daughter, Sophia, so her only child could play them back in the lonely times that would follow her death.  She read familiar stories, gave advice, offered encouragement and sometimes just said “Good night my love.”

Now, 18 months after Justina took her final breath, young Sophia still relished the warm, familiar sound of her mother's voice whenever she wanted, by replaying those recordings on her iPod.  Rituals like that helped her heal following the loss of her #1 fan.

Sophia couldn’t remember a dad in her life.  Mom had never mentioned him.  If he’d died, there were no pictures honoring his memory.

She’d been forced to live with her aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister’s child.  She never failed to remind Sophia, that had it not been for her generosity, she would be a vagrant, orphaned soul.

Still, with all the scolding and animosity at home, she remained a sweet and gentle child.

Sophia’s kindergarten teacher hadn’t really noticed her until she began staying after class each day to help straighten up the room.  She rarely spoke, preferring the quiet solitude to the resentment that awaited her at home.  When they did talk, Sophia spoke mostly about the mother she adored – a kind, loving woman who always made time for her.

As Christmas drew near however, Sophia stopped staying after school; bolting quickly from the room after class.  One day his teacher stopped her and asked why she was in such a hurry to get home.  “I miss you,” the teacher confided.

Her large hazel eyes lit up eagerly as she replied, “Did you really mean it?”

The teacher explained how Sophie had been her best helper.  “I’m making you a surprise,” she whispered, “for Christmas.”  Now embarrassed, she hurried out the door.

On the last school day before Christmas, Sophia tiptoed silently into the room, her hands concealing something behind her back.

“I have your present,” she said softly.  “I hope you like it.”  From behind her back, she produced a colorfully-decorated box.

“Sophia, it’s beautiful!  Is there something inside?” she asked opening the top to look inside.

“Of course, but you can’t see it,” she replied. “And you can’t touch, taste or feel it.  Mom says it makes you feel special, warm on chilly nights, and safe when you’re all alone.”

She gazed into an empty box.  “What is it dear,” she asked, “that’ll make me feel so wonderful?”

“It’s LOVE,” she stated with conviction.  “Mom says it’s best when you give it away.”  Then turning she simply left the room.

Lord of life; awaken within me the courage to love.  Help me to love myself as deeply and profoundly as You love me.  Bring to me those who would love me with honesty and validity.  Amen

Sparky

“God’s got your back." ~ 1 Peter 5:7

School was anything but pleasant for the little boy whose uncle called him “Sparky.  The son of a barber, Sparky was the youngest in his class and notoriously shy.  Throughout his youth, he remained socially awkward.  He wasn’t unlikeable; no one really paid him much attention at all.

In his early years, Sparky endured a steady stream of failures.  Academically, he managed to flunk every eighth grade subject.  High school showed little improvement.  There he failed Physics, Latin, Algebra and English.

His (lack of) athleticism drew pity.  Though he managed to make the school’s golf team, he lost the only important match of the season.   Dating too, offered no solace.  Painfully scared of rejection, Sparky never once asked a girl out in high school.   

Sparky was a loser; every classmate knew it.  So he learned to live with his inescapable mediocrity.  His Lutheran faith taught him that if things were meant to work out . . .  they would. 

One thing WAS important to Sparky, however - his artwork.  During his senior year, he submitted some original cartoons for the Yearbook.  But despite their outright refusal, Sparky remained convinced of his ability. 

He also tried Walt Disney Studios.  They asked for samples of his artwork.  Despite careful preparation, they too were promptly rejected.  No one seemed to appreciate his talent.  But that didn’t dissuade him.

Instead, he decided to tell his own life’s story in a cartoon strip.  The main character would be a little boy who symbolized the perpetual loser and chronic underachiever.  He’d add childhood friends ‘Linus’ and ‘Shermy’; a cousin named ‘Patty’; and a ‘Little Red Haired Girl’ with who he had once proposed marriage (she turned him down).

People readily identified with this “lovable loser.” He reminded people of the agonizing and embarrassing moments from their own past, of their pain and their shared humanity.  “Charlie Brown” and the “Peanuts Gang” soon became famous worldwide.  And the world would soon come to love Charles Schultz, aka Sparky, the cartoonist whose countless disappointments never stopped him from trying.

Sparky’s story reminds us of a very important principle in life.  True character is like a diamond, hidden in the coal mine – it’s revealed only when it’s struck a very hard blow.  We all face discouragement from time to time.  We also have a choice in how we handle it.  

If we’re persistent, if we hold fast to our faith, if we continue to develop the unique talents God has given us, who knows what can happen?  We may end up with an insight and an ability to inspire that comes only through hardship.  In the end, there are no “losers” with God.  Some winners just take longer to develop! 

“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

Father, thank You for the special talents You’ve bestowed upon me.  Thank You that Your blessings come to me abundantly, unexpectedly, pleasantly - like showers  from heaven, like rivers flowing through a thirsty land.  Amen

Soul Food

“God loves those who give cheerfully.”  2 Corinthians 9:7

To say that Kara’s first volunteer experience at the soup kitchen was a “culture shock” might have been the understatement of the millennium.  At age eleven, her refrigerator was not always the fullest, but her family always had enough to eat.  She was stunned at how many people didn’t have enough food that Christmas Eve or family to spend the holiday with.  

That night changed her life.

The kitchen had been nearly full; icy cold Chicago weather tended to bring in hordes of hungry people.  As sweat trickled down her back, Kara glanced at the plate count and noticed they must have easily served 200 people already.  The line stretched well beyond the door and she prayed that they wouldn’t run out of food.

She marveled at the people that greeted her with friendly smiles.  Dan a small-statured man with a wry grin, made a point of learning Kara’s name so that in case she returned, he could greet her personally.

Wheezy didn’t sleep on the street like the rest of them, but in a warehouse.  At night, she crawled in through a window and had never been caught.   Seemed reasonable, except that Wheezy weighed over 300 pounds and wore loud clothing that could be spotted blocks away. 

Marge, a grandmotherly type in her early 60s with matted gray hair, wore an ever present gap-toothed grin.   She had a quiet dignity about her.  Unlike the others, Marge placed a napkin in her lap, kept her elbows off the table, and chewed elegantly with her moth closed.

As the guests continued to pile in, Kara fell into a rhythm - left hand, right hand, one serving each.  She looked up briefly and spotted near the back of the line, a boy with piercing blue eyes.  His shirt was stained with what appeared to be grape juice; his hair filthy from the lack of a shower.  As he approached, Kara could see hardship in his sad eyes.

She grabbed the thickest sandwich from her serving pan.  But to her amazement, the young lad refused it and pointed to his friend directly behind him.  “I want the birthday boy here to have two sandwiches on his special day.  It’s the only gift I have to give.”  

Both boys were ecstatic; they who have nothing . . . and still give.

Maybe he was just a homeless stranger, but to Kara that child was much more.  Maybe he was sent by the Holiest of Spirits, to show her that no matter your net worth, you can always help others.  Even if it‘s just a kind word . . . or a stale roast beef sandwich, your gift may be priceless to someone.

Lord, You say that the poor in spirit will inherit Your kingdom.  Please find a place for those that live their lives disadvantaged and suffering.  I also pray that You give me a heart for those who have less, so that I always do your work here.  Amen

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

“Use whatever gifts God gave you in ways that will serve each other." ~ 1 Peter 4:10

First authorized in 1792, the dime became one-tenth of a dollar.  It’s the smallest, thinnest, and lightest of all U.S. coins in circulation.  

Originally minted of almost-pure silver, the dime's silver content was replaced in 1965 by a “sandwich” of copper and nickel and costs about 6 cents to produce.

Since its introduction, the dime has been issued in six different major types.  You probably know whose portrait has adorned its face since 1946.  But do you know why he was chosen?

It wasn’t because of his family’s name (GOP cousin Teddy was the country’s 26^th President).  Nor was it because he was the first in his family elected as a Democrat.   

It wasn’t because at age 51, he became the 32^nd President.  Nor was it because he was the only president to be elected to four terms; serving for an unprecedented twelve years.

It wasn’t because as President, he guided America through some of the toughest crisis, including the Great Depression and the Second World War.  Nor was it because his New Deal policies created jobs for the unemployed, reformed Wall Street and the national banking system, and helped bring about sustainable economic growth.

It also wasn’t because he was the first President to speak on television, travel in an airplane, or the first whose mother could vote for him. 

Franklin D. Roosevelt’s portrait appears on the dime for his involvement in the “March of Dimes.”  

In the 1930s, thousands of Americans contracted polio; often paralyzed or killed by this incurable disease.  Roosevelt, sick himself with the disease, announced in late 1937 the establishment of the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis (NFIP), in which he was one of main supporters.  He used his own birthday to increase donations for the cause by organizing charitable birthday balls. 

To increase awareness of the Foundation’s campaign, radio personality Eddie Cantor urged Americans to send their loose change to President Roosevelt.  Soon, millions of dimes flooded the White House. 

By 1945, the annual campaign raised $18.9 million for the NFIP (which later changed its name to the March of Dimes Foundation) providing research grants and scholarships to promising young students training in the science and care for polio patients.

It was through one of those scholarships that Dr. Jonas Salk became a virologist.  It seemed especially fitting that he would be the one who gave us the vaccine that practically eradicated polio worldwide by the 1960s.

God gave us each unique abilities.  If you think your talents are simply for you to make a lot of money, retire, and die, you’ve missed the point of your life.  God gave you talents to benefit others, not yourself.  And God gave other people talents that benefit you.   

Lord, let Your energy flow through us, giving us the power to serve others.  Teach us to use the gifts that You’ve given us to make the world better for all humankind.  Amen.

No Cheer This Year

“Be joyful always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances." ~ 1 Thess. 5:16-18

The country wasn’t in much of a Christmas spirit in 1941.  Japan's surprise attack on Pearl Harbor just weeks earlier had thrust America into a world in conflict.  While Americans attempted to go about celebrating as usual, the reality of the just-declared war was on everybody’s mind.

Christmas lights strung along Oahu’s main shopping districts had all been torn down or turned off. New bikes, wagons and dolls that would have been Christmas presents were still sitting on docks in San Francisco, shoved aside as the weapons and supplies of war were readied for the island.

For Hawaiians, it was a time of sadness and fear.  More than 2,500 young men had been buried after the attack.  Local gardens gave up their red poinsettias and hibiscus for small bouquets on each grave.

Even as they grieved, civilians feared another invasion by Japan; indeed, enemy submarines were sporadically shelling island ports and harbors.  Within a month of the attack, 30,000 women and children left Hawaii, worrying about their safety.

At Pearl Harbor, a massive salvage operation was under way.  Damaged ships with functioning weapons were stripped or repaired.  Dry docks ran around the clock.  In less than a week, the Army extended its runway to accommodate the largest bombers of the day to land.

The military's speed was not limited to construction and repair; it also moved quickly to control Hawaii's civilian population, fearful that Americans of Japanese ancestry would help the enemy.  Nearly 1,500 local Japanese were eventually interned.

Three men would help Americans rekindle their Christmas spirit . . . of joy and peace and God.

First, Prime Minister Churchill and President Roosevelt gave a joint press conference on Christmas Eve from the Oval Office before the annual lighting of the National Christmas tree.  The 1941 tree would be the only one ever inside the White House grounds.

FDR reminded the radio audience, “Our strongest weapon against this war is the conviction of the dignity and brotherhood which Christmas signifies.  We set our faith in human love and in God’s care for us all.”

In his address, Winston Churchill called on listeners to “Let the children have their night of fun and laughter.  Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play. Let us grownups share to the full in their unstinted pleasure, before we turn again to the stern tasks and formidable year that lie before us.”

Third, “White Christmas," written by the formidable composer and lyricist Irving Berlin premiered Christmas Day on Bing Crosby's weekly NBC radio program, The Kraft Music Hall. Crosby’s rendition went on to become one of the most commercially successful singles of all time, and a bedrock standard in the American songbook. 

Lord of Peace, “we need [Your] guidance; that [our] people may be humble in spirit but strong in conviction; steadfast to endure sacrifice, and brave to achieve a victory of liberty and peace.” ~ FDR December 24, 1941

Final Exam

“My grace is all you need.” ~ 2 Corinthians 12:9

Energy drinks, snacks?  Check.   Textbooks, notes, highlighters?  Double Check!

It was her second all-nighter this week.  Sara hated taking tests.  She was way smarter than the grades she got.  Tomorrow’s exam on “Theological Issues” left her clueless.  She wouldn’t know the answers; she probably wouldn’t even understand the questions.  But Sara trudged on.

The loud banging at her door woke her abruptly.  Sara checked her phone.  Damn!  She’d missed several calls from a friend who’d called rightly fearing Sara had fallen asleep. 

She threw on some clothes, grabbed a pencil off her desk, and scrambled out the door.

As she scurried past Memorial Hall, she stepped wrong, sprained her ankle and fell in the crosswalk.  At the same moment, a city bus drove by adding to her embarrassment by having about 15 people watch Sara fall flat on her face.  Sara rose quickly, brushed herself off and limped to Avery Hall as fast as she could.  She arrived just as Monsignor was handing out the exam. 

“Leave them face down on the desk until everyone has one and I’ll tell you when to start,” he instructed.

When Sara turned it over, every answer on the test was filled in! The bottom of the last page said the following:

“This completes your Final Exam.  All these answers are correct; you’ll receive an ‘A’ on this test. The reason you passed the test is because the test’s creator took it for you.  All your prep work didn’t help - you have just experienced . . . GrAce.”

Monsignor went around the room and asked each divinity student individually, “Do you deserve the grade you are receiving?  How much did all your studying help you achieve your final grade?”

Not usually prone to crying, Sara fought back tears imagining how the Creator has passed the test for her.  Only through Jesus Christ are we offered grace, a free gift.  All and every success we have is not ours, but rather a result of God's grace at work in us.

Monsignor said he’d never done this kind of final exam before and probably would never do it again.  But because of the content of many of the class discussions, he felt like they needed to experience grace to understand it.

God’s grace is amazing!  As the undeserved, unearned favor from God, grace can never be earned by our good deeds or received as a result of religious performance.  Grace means God freely and openly receives us sinners - even you with all our flaws and hang-ups.  His grace transforms an ugly, awkward, incomplete caterpillar into a graceful butterfly that can soar into life abundant. That’s His desire for each of us.

God of Love, thank You for the many, many blessings we enjoy this day: the air we breathe, the fresh water to quench our thirst, the beauty of this world where we live.  Help us to live a life of cheerfulness and have faith in all that is good.  Amen

Do Over

“Jesus said, You shall forgive them not seven, but seventy-seven times." ~ Matthew 18: 22

Jack stared down at his prose.  As suicide notes go, it wasn’t bad.  He’d chosen his words purposely; careful so as not to be weepy and drawn-out.  Instead, he preferred something short but sweet; words loving and durable.

“To Anyone (who cares):

I don’t quite know what to say, I’ve never written a suicide note.  I never had to.  I guess I have to now . . . anyway, I’m sorry!  I don’t mean for this to hurt anyone, I’m just tired.  Tired of loneliness, tired of crying, tired of faking it – I’m just tired of living.

Mom and Dad: I know I was a mistake, something you didn’t plan for, something you didn’t want.  I’m sorry for ruining your life.  I could’ve acted better, less juvenile, more like you wanted.  But I’m still a kid and I couldn’t grow up any faster.  I love you both very much, even though you don’t love me.  I understand; who could ever forgive a son who takes his own life?  No one can.  I get it.

Brandon and Gabby:  I’m going to miss you the most.  I could’ve been a better older brother, but I wasn’t.  You both drove me crazy sometimes.  I wish I would have listened to you and treated you better.  Be nicer to each other now that I’m gone.

Friends: I love you all dearly; you were like the family I didn’t have.  We had our ups and downs but I tried to always be there for you.  I’m sorry I can’t help anymore.

Please forgive me all for taking my own life so early.  I tried hard to fight this battle.  I reached out for help so many times, and yet I believe, I was turned away because of the things I did.  That’s a punishment I deserve and am willing to accept.  I know that being who I am has only brought myself and others great pain.

I love you all and will forever treasure the memories we created.  

Good-bye.”

He glanced at the note again, as tears poured down his cheeks.  The paper is wrinkled; its folds are deep.  His handwriting is illegible in some parts but that doesn’t matter.  He committed every word to memory years ago.

Today, on his 76^th birthday and for the 61^st time, he reread the suicide note he’d written as a teenager.  Had it not been for a close friend who happened to stop by randomly at the perfect time, he probably would have gone through with it and ended his life. 

So today he celebrated the anniversary of the day he wrote that letter, to remind himself of everything he would have missed.  He got a do-over; a second chance at life.

Almighty God, You’ve given us second, third, and sometimes even fiftieth chances.  Help us to put these priceless opportunities to good use and to be truly repentant so that we might learn from our mistakes.   Amen

Count Our Blessings

“Each day He provides for all our needs." ~ Psalm 103:5

Some call them geezers; behind the times, unfashionable, no longer cool.  Like two bookends, the two old friends sat quietly on the park bench enjoying a game of chess.  They didn’t keep score.  They just kept each other company.

Like many from their era, their kind was easy to spot.  During the playing of the National Anthem, they held their caps over their hearts and sang without embarrassment.  They knew the words and believed in them.

Their friendship spanned many decades.  They remembered World War I, the Depression, Pearl Harbor, D, V-E and V-J Days.  Things like boob tubes, thongs and pigs all had different meanings in their time.  Socks Hops were fun, leaded gas was cheap, and gay meant happy back in their day.

They rarely spoke to each other, but today was different.  Al could tell that something was bothering his old pal; Bud appeared to be unusually depressed.  Bud asked, “What’s wrong my friend, you seem to be on the verge of tears?”

Joylessly,  Bud spoke.  “Three weeks ago, my brother died and left me his stamp collection.  It’s worth a fortune.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” said Al.  “But that’s a mighty nice gesture on his part.”

“It gets worse,” Bud interjected. “Two weeks ago, a cousin I never even knew died, and left me eighty-five thousand dollars, tax-free.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve been incredibly blessed?” Al probed.

“You don’t understand!” Bud interrupted.  “Last week my neighbor passed away.  She left me her 1964 Eldorado Cadillac.  It’s in pristine condition.”

Al was totally confused.  “Then, why do you look so gloomy?”

“This week . . .  I got nothing!”

That’s the problem with receiving something on a regular basis.  Even if it’s a gift, we eventually come to expect it.  If we receive perks long enough, our natural tendency is to view them as entitlements.  We feel hurt, even angry, if we stop receiving them.

It is the same way with the blessings God gives us every day.  I don’t deserve the comfortable home that I live in, the beautiful scenery around me, the clean water I drink.  But after receiving these gifts (and a horde of others) for years, I sometimes forget to be thankful.  I’ve come to expect these good things.  And when one of them is removed even for a short time (like water or electricity or the internet going down), I get upset.

On this Thanksgiving Day, let’s drop our take-it-for-granted attitude and our sinful pride, and recognize that everything we have is really a gift from God.  Join King David today in the first few verses of Psalm 103 to praise Him and “Count Our Blessings!”

Dear Lord, when I have food, help me remember the hungry; when I have work, help me remember the jobless; when I have a place to sleep, let me remember the homeless, and when I’m in pain, help me remember those who suffer.  Amen

In Her Shoes

“I am a poor Lord, please listen to me and answer my prayer!" ~ Psalm 86:1

The park was relatively quiet for a weekend morning.  There were a few joggers, a mom out with over-energetic kids who were burning off excess energy and a couple of dog owners with their canine friends.  She loved Saturday mornings in the park – it was really her only time off from the role of caretaker in her family.

The oldest of three children, she must look after her siblings while her father ekes out a living driving a truck.  Her father is a hard-working man, but his 12 to 15-hour shifts don’t provide enough income to pay the bills.

Megan dreamed of graduating from high school and attending her prom.  But while her friends buy prom dresses and arrange after-prom parties, she struggles to feed her sisters and brothers.  As other families choose between colleges, hers must choose between medical care and welfare.

After attending classes all day, she fixes dinner, helps her siblings with class assignments and puts them to bed – all before starting her own homework.

Across the creek, she noticed a young Asian girl sitting alone on a park bench.  She was cute; not supermodel pretty, but attractive with an approachable smile and perfect hair.  She had it all – good looks, nice clothes, and probably the ability to make friends easily, especially boys.

Megan walked across the stone bride and glanced down at her gaunt reflection in the water below.  Mismatched clothing hung loosely over her bulky frame; the result of high-fat, processed foods that so frequently make up a low-income diet.  Her vacant eyes told the story of a teenager living at the margins.  She closed them in silent prayer. 

“Why Lord,” she pleaded.  “Why am I so poor while others are so rich?  Why do I have little to eat when others leave platefuls of food untouched?  Why am I always feeling so anxious, desperate and broken?”

She opened her eyes again to see an old woman pushing an empty wheelchair in the direction of the girl on the park bench.  Maybe the elderly woman was using it for balance; as a better walking aid.  She stopped for the girl.  “Sorry it took me so long Brandi, we can go now,” Megan overheard.

After locking the chair’s wheels, the paraplegic girl struggled to transfer herself to her only means of mobility and independence.   As the old woman struggled up the sidewalk’s slight incline, Megan felt ashamed.  Things aren’t always as they seem; we seldom know the weight of another’s baggage.  But God had answered her prayer – not in the way she had envisioned.  Instead, He offered an opportunity.

She raced toward the pair.  “Hi,” she said, “I’m Megan, may I help a little?”

Thank You Lord that Your blessings come to me abundantly, unexpectedly, delightfully - like showers from heaven, like rivers flowing through a thirsty land.  Thank You for the way You influence my heart, draw my spirit, and delight my soul.  Amen

Gammie's Advice

“I wish for you tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness." ~ Gammie

“Get outta the passing lane you moron,” Rhianna yelled flashing her headlights and accelerated quickly past the slower vehicle.  Darkness closed quickly in her rearview mirror; she had to get to Gammie’s before it was too late.

Twenty minutes later, Rhianna entered the home that that had once been her mother’s.  The timeworn home was quiet except for a ticking wall clock and creaking floorboards.

She made her way down the musty hallway to Gammie’s bedroom and before pausing briefly.  “Gammie?” she called softly and gently pushed the door open.   “It’s me, Rhia.”

She wasn’t prepared for what she saw - a frail emaciated form that had once been her grandmother.  Tired grey eyes brightened as she spoke.  “I knew you would come dear.”

“How are you Gammie?” the middle-aged granddaughter asked, fighting tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

“You know how I’m doing child,” the old woman said weakly.  “I’m dying.” 

“Talk to me Gammie,” Rhianna encouraged.  “Tell me again those things that you used to tell me when I was a child too thick-headed to accept.”

“Ah, let’s see if I can remember,” Gammie began.  “I hope you learn humility by surviving failure and learn to be honest even when no one’s looking.  I hope you have a close friend to be with you in case you ever have to put your old dog down.  I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.”

Gammie took an uncertain breath before continuing.  “Be a witness, not a judge, focus on yourself, not on others.  Don’t educate yourself to be rich, do so to be happy.  Listen to your heart, speak your mind, and remember that you’ll never be too old to make a difference.”

Lost in thought now, Rhianna suddenly noticed how quiet the room had become.  She smiled at how peaceful Gammie rested. 

She was gone . . . but only from this life.

Rhianna lifted Gammie’s hand to her lips and kissed her gnarled fingers.  Rising gently, she placed Gammie’s hands tenderly on her lap and left room.

Sitting alone on the front porch, Rhianna reflected on the things Gammie had just said.

Gammie loved me no matter what, she thought.  She taught me that holidays should be celebrated with family.  She urged me to serve others when I'm feeling selfish.  She taught me how to say "I love you," frequently but not casually.  And whenever I went on a date, she said, "Remember who you are, and who your Heavenly Father wants you to be."

Two failed marriages, an addiction to painkillers, and a mountain of debt later, it’s never too late to realize her truth.

Lord, we live in a world where respecting our elders is becoming ancient history.  We don’t admire our elderly the way You call us to.   Don’t let us discard that precious gift of wisdom.  They’re to be respected and honored because they earned it.  Amen

Eyes Wide

“Don’t worry about what you will eat, drink, or wear.  ~ Matthew 6: 25-6

Life travels faster than you can imagine.  One moment you're getting on the preschool bus and the next you're dreaming of life after college.  Its one big rush to the next chapter of a book that really isn't very long after all. 

Outside traffic sounds woke Nic.  He heard a Harley motorcycle cruise past his window.  He smiled vaguely, pleased that he could still recognize its low, guttural growl. 

More time for reflection.  It seems we’re always too busy to appreciate life’s simpler pleasures, things that don’t cost a thing but make our lives so much more complete.  Things like feeling warm sand between your toes, the smell of fresh baked cookies, or even holding a newborn baby.

Nic’s attention was drawn to the sounds of a slight commotion in the hallway.  Janitors or nurses he thought; maybe even late night visitors.  

He thought about the birds in his backyard; so vibrant and animated.  He recalled lifting rocks that revealed a whole network of life beneath them - insects of every kind going about their lives with purpose.  He reminisced about twinkling stars, realizing that humans occupy only the tiniest fraction of time in this universe.

Clearly, his senses were amplified.  He registered Jay Leno’s late night voice on the TV next door, the soft whine of medicine cart wheels, and the annoying tick-tock of the clock near the foot of his bed.

He felt an itch on his forehead.  Instinctively he reached up and scratched.

Bringing his hand close to his face, Nic wiggled his fingers, first the thumb, then the ring finger then in a flurry his whole hand and arm.  He tried the rest of his limbs.  Nothing!   He couldn’t move a single limb, but he grinned nevertheless.

For now he savored any movement.  He scratched his head some more, feeling his disheveled hair.  He touched his soft but cracked lips and let his fingers travel the length of reachable parts of his body. He can't feel anything from his neck down but the effort felt good anyway.

It’d been nearly four months since Nic almost died on a sidewalk in Peoria.  In a neighborhood peppered with gang ties, he was beaten, kicked, and stomped; he suffered near-fatal, paralyzing injuries.

People say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but they’re wrong, reasoned Nic.   It’s not your life that passes before you, it’s the regrets that do.

So he thanks God for a second chance at life.  This time he’ll appreciate it more.  He’ll surround himself with love, anywhere and everywhere he can find it.  He’ll make memories, hide nothing and praise God for every breath.

Lord, You work in ways well beyond our grasp.  All of life’s pressures are self-inflected - we’re not meant to stew over every last detail.  Thank you for the life you’ve given me and help me find ways to make You proud of whatever life I have left.  Amen

Teen Mom

“He never sleeps; He’ll never let your down.” ~ Psalm 121:3

A typical day for a high school girl consists of going to class, hanging out with friends, maybe catching an episode of Jersey Shore and meeting up later with your boyfriend.   But Jodee’s days were more random – and not in that ‘What-should-I-wear-for-Friday’s date?’ sort of way.

She’d imagined graduation, going off to college, getting married and having kids with the man of her dreams.  That was before she got pregnant . . . and her plans shifted into reverse.

It was bad enough that she’d given up her teenage life and any hope of finishing high school with her friends, but raising a child alone scared her the most.  The boy she’d known since middle school, the one she’d envisioned spending the rest of her life with, the one who she’d given her body to – left.   He dropped out of the picture three weeks after Madison was born.

Jodee stared at her reflection in the mirror.  Dark circles under her eyes proved that sleep had become a scarce luxury; her cheeks itched from the tears that had dried on them. 

She hated shows that promoted the joy of teen pregnancy, shows like "Teen Mom", "16 and Pregnant" and even "Glee."  They dangerously market pregnancy as “no big deal!”  Babies ARE cute – motherhood is REAL. 

It has its great moments, but it's difficult not to wonder what might have been if she’d made different choices.  But Jodee tries not to dwell on being a teen mom.  It’s just the next chapter in her life: one filled with endless diapers, midnight feedings, and the translation of Madison’s snorts, grunts and wails.   

Despite a supportive and loving family, the odds are against her.  Parenthood is the leading reason that teen girls drop out of school; more than half of teen mothers never graduate from high school, less than 2 percent earn a college degree by age 30.

But success requires looking forward; it’s never too late to start over!

Last month Jodee’s Grandma invited her to a Bible study.   It was amazing - just bringing those women into her life provided a ray of hope.  “If these women could love me . . . then maybe God can too,” she reasoned.  And today they were throwing a baby shower in Madison’s honor.  Mom and daughter were blessed.  For now, she’d devote her energies to raising a child; someday she’d be the mentor that another girl might lean on.

So many times we want to ignore past mistakes and just go on with who we are now.  But as our faith matures and we grow closer to God, we come to understand that suffering is as much of a blessing as faith itself.  Hardships mature our spirit, deepening our personal relationship with Christ. 

Child - I never tire of hearing your petitions.  When you are weak, I become stronger.  So rest in My love and cast all of your cares on Me.   Trust Me, I got your back.  God

Green, Green Grass of Home

“It's good to touch the green, green grass of home."  ~ Curly Putman

“I only have a few seconds more,” the soldier in Afghanistan told his young wife.  “I need you to send me some things.  I’ll detail them in an email.  Gotta go, bye, I love you and can’t wait to be home again.”  The connection went dead.

The call was a luxury of sorts, about once a week or so.  Ten minutes of real time, real voice, honest to God personal contact.  What would the World War II vets think of that?  They’d sometimes gone without letters for months on end. 

But the call’s end always left her longing; emptiness swallowed her up whole like Jonas the whale.  She wondered what he needed.  Socks, T-shirts, food items?  Maybe some new DVD’s?

His email left her confused.  She appeared to be having a conversation in her head; of all the things he could have asked her to send from home . . . he asked for American soil, fertilizer, and some grass seed.  She questioned his sanity briefly.

Later, she’d learn it was so he could feel the grass tickling his bare feet.  When the other soldiers of the squadron were given a new mission, they took turns walking through the grass too.

What was it about American soil? 

Could it have been because walking barefoot strengthens and stretches the muscles and tendons in your feet and calves?  Or maybe it’s because walking in the grass sans-boots helps decrease anxiety and increases the levels of those ‘feel-good’ endorphins.  Some even believe that walking shoeless in the grass is the best cure for insomnia.

Or maybe these dedicated men and women believe so fiercely that America is still the greatest nation in the history of the planet, they’re will to sacrifice everything for her.  Sure our nation has issues, but American creativity and ingenuity cannot be matched anywhere in the world.  American colleges and universities are just straight up the best the world has to offer. 

American companies dominate all the important industries in the world.  The variety of our natural resources plus a good chunk of arable land make our geography some of the most highly desirable on earth.

What makes us American?  Diversity, tolerance, resilience, ingenuity, and patriotism.  And also our faithfulness.  We have no official faith, no national church.  But the United States is by far the most churchgoing country in the developed world.

In the end, I’m sure it’s for good luck and the hope of returning to the “green, green grass of home.” We pray that day will come soon.  Thank you to the men and women of our Armed Forces for volunteering to protect us from those that wish harm upon us!

Lord Jesus, thank you for our Veterans – those active, discharged, retired, deceased or on reserve.  At some point in each of their lives, they wrote a blank check payable to the United States of America for an amount up to and including, their own lives.   Amen

She Never Forgot

“Here I am Lord.  Send me!" ~ Isaiah 6:8

For a brief moment the soldier turned and gave one last wave to her daughter before boarding the military transport bound for a distant war.  The little girl began waving frantically; as if the act would trigger a quicker return home.

The next and only contact she’d ever have again with US Army First Lieutenant Amy C. Wisner, would be a handwritten letter that had been composed in the event of her death.  Lt. Wisner was killed by an IED during the first Gulf War.

She never got the chance to hold her Mommy’s hand again, or sing for her in the school musical.  She’d never get to hear Mommy laugh at her birthday party or get a good-night kiss from her.  She just carried the image of that fateful goodbye and the wound in her heart that might never heal.

 

"Dear Madison,” it began. 

“I'm sorry I broke my promise to you when I said I was coming back.  It broke my heart the day I left and you said, “Don't go; I need you Mommy, why do you have to leave me?”

Leaving you and Daddy was the hardest thing I ever had to do.  The best day of my life was the day you were born. Every time I saw you smile my heart would just melt.  My life wasn’t complete until you entered it.

Never forget that God knew what was best for us before we were even born.  Take comfort in that.  This happened for a reason.  Always remember to say your prayers at night and give thanks for your many blessings.

If you can do anything for me, take school seriously and do your best.  Try to learn as much as you can about the world you live in.  With a good education you can do anything.  

Stay away from drugs and bad men; they’ll both ruin your life.  You deserve better.

Finally little one, please be proud of me.  One day you’ll understand the choices I made.  Until then never forget the value of freedom and always remember that I love you that much.  Stay beautiful, stay sweet. I’ll always watch over you.  Love, Mommy"

As the briefing continued, the young soldier thought back to the day her Mom boarded that plane.  Fear, honor, and sorrow overwhelmed her.  

Madison stared off into the distance at the same fence where so many years ago she and her Dad had stood.  Slowly a tear fell as her faded Mother’s memory disappeared into the cavernous C-5 Galaxy aircraft.  Madison smiled at the phantom image before reciting under her breath: "I understand now Mom . . . I never forgot."

Her heart raced with pride as her company began loading their gear.

Father, we could never thank our military men and women enough for their courageous service and sacrifice to our country and its people.  Show us ways in our communities, churches, and families to thank and love them better.  Amen