Category: loss

Posted on

Reminiscing

It was a warm Saturday morning in 2006. The night before, my father had asked me to go with him to Summerville to watch his grandson, my nephew play soccer. After a week of dealing with middle school students, I really wanted to stay home and relax. However, it had only been a little over a month since Mom had died. My dad needed to be able to do this, and he needed me to do the driving. I don’t remember much of the conversation during the trip, except for him telling me that his sister had just passed away and the funeral was that day.

We drove to the soccer field and settled in to watch the game. I think it was a good game. I really don’t remember. We only saw the first half. At halftime, my niece and I headed to the concession stand to get something to drink. Dad had mentioned that he was hot and thirsty. On the way back, we noticed that there was a crowd of people around someone on the sideline where we had been sitting. As we got closer, we realized that the people were crowded around my father, who was on the ground. He was having a heart attack. An ambulance quickly arrived and the EMTs began to try and revive him. After what seemed like an eternity, they put Dad in the ambulance and headed for the emergency room. My sister and I followed.

I don’t remember how long we waited. Everything was a blur. Finally we were informed that the doctors had done everything they could do, but that Dad had died of a heart attack. We were escorted to a room where he lay on a table, and I immediately lost it. I had lost my hero, and in one sense I was now an orphan. I felt a sense of guilt for not really wanting to drive him to the game, and some relief that I had gone and had been with him on his last day in this life. The next few days were a blur, as arrangements needed to be made with a funeral home where my sister lived, the church here where my parents had been members, and the funeral home and cemetery in Maryland, where Dad was to be buried.

All of the arrangements were completed, and we drove to Maryland for a small service in the funeral home, followed by the burial. It was a mild, sunny day, in contrast to the cold rain on the day Mom was laid to rest. At the end of the gravesite service, when the casket was lowered into the ground and the machine was shoveling the dirt into the grave, I remember that my sister and I both thought of Dad peering down from heaven, making sure that the workers did their job correctly.

It’s been fifteen years. Our two children, his grandchildren are married, and I know he would be proud of them. There are four great grandchildren now, and i can imagine the joy he would get out of spending time with them and teasing them with his corny jokes. I’m trying to carry on that tradition, but my efforts pale in comparison. I still miss him. I think about him a lot, especially when I bump my head. I am thankful that I will see both my mom and my dad in the New Creation.

Posted on

After 20 Years

September 11, 2001. Some three thousand people awoke that morning, went about their routine, and headed off for their day. None of them had any idea that this day would be their last in this life. I was a teacher and athletic director in a small Christian school , and was in my office listening to the radio. A report broke in to the programming. Evidently, a plane had flown into one of the towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. At the time, no one knew if this was an accident, or deliberate. A short time later news came in of a second plane flying into the second tower. The word “attack” was being uttered. Then the third plane flew into the Pentagon and the unthinkable began to become very real. The United States was under attack. Shortly thereafter, we learned that a fourth plane had been hijacked and that the South Tower had collapsed. At the same time, plans were in motion to take down the fourth plane if it approached Washington, D.C. This proved to be unnecessary because some of the passengers on that flight attacked the hijackers, and the plane ended up crashing into a field in Pennsylvania. Shortly after the fourth plane crashed, the North Tower collapsed. While all this was happening, flights all over the country were grounded in an attempt to prevent future attacks.

I was in a state of shock, as was the nation. All of our might, our prosperity, our sense of safety, seemed to be an illusion. For many days there was concern that something else might happen. There was grief for those who had perished, and for those who had been left behind. There was also a determination to help those who had been injured, and those whose loved ones had been torn from them. In the days to come, the nation was unified as it had been in the last world war. It seemed that there was no longer division between groups or parties. We were all Americans. The nation had been shaken to its core, and as a result turned to God. It seemed as if America might come out of this stronger and better.

Twenty years have passed. I believe that, while we were stronger, better, and more unified at the beginning, America has let all of that slip away. We may be more divided now than at any time in our history. There are groups and individuals who believe, and proclaim that anyone who doesn’t believe the way they do is not a real American. The spirit of helping others and sacrificing for their good has been replaced with a spirit of me first, my rights, my desires. There are those that call for open rebellion, and some even call for a civil war. Some of these folks even call themselves followers of the Prince of Peace!

Many in the church have confused being a Christian with adhering to a particular political viewpoint. The idea of being a citizen of the kingdom of God is forgotten by many, or is pushed to something in the far-off future. Twenty years ago, America had a common enemy from the outside. Today, it seems that the common enemy is each other. If we continue to fight and seek to destroy that enemy, we will destroy ourselves. I hope we can wake up and look for the common ground that helped us through those days after 9/11/2001.

Posted on

Fifteen Years Already?

It’s hard to believe that it has been fifteen years since my mom went to be with her Savior. Mom had suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease for a number of years. Eventually she reached the point where my dad could no longer take care of her at home, no matter how much he tried. After a short stay in the hospital, Mom was admitted to a local nursing home to live out her final days. It was hard on all of us, but it was especially hard on Dad, who I believe thought that he had failed as a husband. Within a few months, Mom slipped away and we said goodbye.

As it often happens with a disease like Alzheimer’s, there was both sadness and a sense of relief. By the end, Mom didn’t know anyone or anything that was going on. She had gone from the sweetest person anyone could know, to someone else entirely. As her mind slipped away, negative things from her childhood came back to life. We knew that the one we were interacting with was not the wife and mother we knew and loved, so when she died we were relieved that her suffering was over and she was made whole.

I remember the funeral back in Maryland. It was a rainy day, and the song “I Will Praise You in the Storm” came on the radio. While bringing a fresh toreent of tears, the song also brought comfort. I knew that I could praise God in the midst of the physical storm and the emotional storm because the loved me and he loved Mom. She was now resting in his presence and one day all of the tears would be wiped away.

Over the years, the pain has lessened. That is only natural. I still remember all of the good times with a wonder, loving mom who would gladly have given herself up for her children. While I do remember the last couple of years of her life and the struggle it was, I can look back on it thankful that the Father carried me through that with the same loving arms with which he carried Mom home.

I believe that I will see my mom someday, and we will never have to part in tears again.

Posted on

Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son – Becoming the Father

In The Return of the Prodigal Son, Henri Nouwen writes that the challenge for him is to become the father. It is a challenge that is full of difficulties. When we look again at the Father in our own stories, we can see how daunting it is.

Our Father is gracious and loving without condition. He gives us many good gifts, but the most important gift he gives is himself. The Father is reckless in giving himself to us. Jesus, who is the image of the Father, gave his very life for us, pouring out his blood for our salvation. We are granted grace and mercy without measure from an eternal, inexhaustible love. There is nothing our Father wouldn’t do for our good.

As children of God, we are called to be like him. When I look in a mirror, I see my dad. The eyes, the facial features, the hair (or lack thereof), the voice, all show whose son I am. The same is to be true of those who are children of the heavenly Father. As God is loving and compassionate, so we are to be loving and compassionate. As God is gracious and merciful, so we are to be gracious and merciful. As God gives himself, so we are to give ourselves. You get the idea.

In my late twenties my life changed as I became a father. Even though I was still a son, I was now a person with a child. That brought a change in responsibilities, and a change in perspective. As we mature in Christ, we are to leave both the prodigal and the elder son behind. We are still in need of fathering from God, but our vocation changes. We are now called to be the father. As I look at the father in the story, I see some things that will be true as we become the father. Nouwen states that the three ways to compassionate fatherhood are grief, forgiveness, and generosity.  

We grieve over those who have left home, we grieve over the injustice and abuse in the world, and we grieve over our own weakness. One aspect of grieving is realizing that we cannot save the one who has wandered away. The father in the story didn’t go after his son, but he watched and waited for him to return. So it is with us. Many times, all we can do is pray that God will turn the prodigal around. We can not go into the far country and drag them back. All we can do is wait and be ready to welcome them home.

This grieving makes us sensitive to others who are hurting, and the sensitivity leads us to forgive those who wrong us. As the father did, we forgive without question any and all who return. As Jesus said, we forgive, and forgive, and forgive, and forgive, and so on. True forgiveness also reconciles. The father didn’t say to the prodigal, “I forgive you, but I think I’ll just keep you on as a servant.” He accepted him back as his beloved son. No strings attached.

The third way to compassionate fatherhood is generosity. The father spared nothing to celebrate his son’s return. He gave the best of everything, including himself. We are called to give ourselves to others in the same way. Yes, we may get hurt. I’m sure the father was hurt when the elder son refused to join the party, and I would guess the younger son wasn’t perfect after he was restored. He may well have cause his father more pain. We are to remember the hurt we have caused our Father and the grace he gives us regardless, and do the same for others.

May the Father enable us to be as gracious, loving, and compassionate to others as he is to us.

Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son – The Younger Son

Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son – The Elder Son

Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son – The Father

Posted on

Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son – The Younger Son

This was first posted back in 2011. There are a couple of minor edits.

Today, I’m starting a four part series on the story of the Prodigal Son. The story of the prodigal is a story of God’s grace to his wayward children when they come home. It is also a story with a number of layers that speak to us in different ways at different times in our lives. Henri Nouwen wrote a book titled, The Return of the Prodigal Son, based on his reflections on a painting by Rembrandt. My ramblings come largely from reading this book.

The first person we encounter in the story is the younger son. This son comes to his father and asks for his part of the inheritance that would come to him after his father dies. This is more than just a request to get money due him earlier than he would normally receive it. The ones who heard this story would have been outraged at the attitude of the younger son. In effect, he was saying to his father, “I reject you and everything you stand for, your culture, your religion, everything. I wish you were dead!” In a culture where rebellious children could be stoned to death, this was a dangerous and devastating statement for the son to make and for the father to hear. The father however, decided to give his son what he asked for. He handed over the money and said goodbye. As a father, I can imagine the heartbreak he went through as one of his sons turned his back on everything and left.

The younger son went off to a “distant country,” where he squandered his inheritance on parties and whores. He was completely deaf to the voice that would have reminded him of his father’s love and of what he had been taught. In short, he forgot who he was. I would imagine that most of us can see ourselves in the younger son in some way. Some may have wandered into a life of dissipation and come out of it. Others may have experimented with some things but not gone all the way in. In my own life, I was drawn in to things that were not good for me, although I never wandered completely away. Of course, there are some out there who would consider me a prodigal today.

There is another way to be the younger son, a way that many, many more have fallen into. That is the way of forgetting whose child we are and trying to get our identity from other things or other people. That is the way I most identify with the prodigal. Whether it’s from a job, a skill, a style, or a group of people, we try to prove our worth by other things than what our Father says. Our culture says that what is important is how you dress, what job you have, what kind of car you drive, how much money you make, or what group you hang out with. Unfortunately, those things become like the husks the prodigal wished to eat while feeding the pigs. Trying to find our worth and identity in any thing of this world is a futile exercise, leading to emptiness.

Fortunately for the prodigal, he did come to his senses and remember who he was. I can see him slapping himself on the forehead, and saying, “What am I doing here? I’m not a pig farmer! I’m a son of a father who has a lot of money and food! Why am I starving here?” So, after coming to his senses he returned home. He still didn’t completely remember who we was though. Or better, he didn’t understand completely the kind of person his father was. His plan was to go home and convince his father to give him a job. He didn’t believe his father would accept him back as a son. We sometimes also forget who we are dealing with when we go to our Father. We believe the lies that we can’t be his child if we do certain things, or that we have to do something to get ourselves back into his good graces. We feel we have to “get right with God.” We forget that our Father loves us and always accepts us.

The son returns and finds himself in the midst of a homecoming better than he could have imagined. He can’t get his prepared speech out before his father welcomes him back and throws the biggest party the neighborhood has ever seen. So it is when we come to our senses and remember who we are. We are beloved children of the Creator of the universe. He is pleased with us, and there is absolutely nothing we can do to cause his love to decrease, and nothing we can do to increase his love. He holds us in his hands and nothing can pull us out. Period.

Remember who you are. If you’ve forgotten, your Father is looking for your return so he can lavish his grace and love on you.

Posted on

Eastertide Thoughts

It has been one week since those of us in the western church celebrated Easter. The Orthodox tradition will celebrate Easter on May 2 this year. Eastertide is the period between Easter Sunday and Pentecost, so the celebration continues in many churches for a full 50 days. Personally, I think that’s a good idea.

This year, I’ve been doing much more thinking about the importance of Easter to those of us who follow the One who was raised from the dead. I think a 50 day celebration of the event that changed history is something that should be practiced much more than it is now.

This has been a momentous year for many of us, with a lot of things happening that caused us to think about what is really important and about the brevity of our lives here on this earth. A little over a year ago, I had a heart attack. Within a couple of weeks, everything was locked down because of a deadly virus. We didn’t get to celebrate Easter in person last year. We didn’t get to do a whole lot of anything in person last year.

We saw the number of cases and deaths grow as the year went on, and very few of us didn’t at least know someone who caught the virus. Add to this what seemed to be the death of reason and understanding in the civil discourse in this country, and the year looked more bleak as it dragged on. We made it to the end of the year, but the future looked very uncertain.

In some ways the future is looking better. In other ways, there is still turmoil and uncertainty. Personally, my health is much better now, but there are things that have happened to keep the realities of life in a broken world in the forefront. From friends and neighbors who have cancer to friends whose parents have fallen ill, from families that are broken to our small town reeling from a senseless murder and suicide, there is much to make one wonder if there really are any answers.

There are many questions that we may never have answered fully. There are some that may not be answered at all. That is why Eastertide this year has become meaningful to me. I believe that Easter is the answer. We may not have all the details filled in for us, but Easter means that death has been brought down, had all its teeth kicked out, and ground into the dust in defeat.

Because King Jesus rose from the dead and inaugurated his kingdom, I know that my friends with cancer will unltimately be healed and will live in the new creation. I know that there will be peace on earth and the swords will be beaten into plowshares, and there will be no war. I know that there will be no hatred or murder, no struggle over possessions, or arguments over ideas. There will be no cancer, heart trouble, Alzheimer’s or Huntington’s Disease. Every tear will be wiped away and everything sad will become untrue.

Let us rejoice and feast! Break out the champagne! There is nothing worth celebrating more than the fact that death has lost its sting, and the grave has no victory. It is not the end yet, but it will be all right in the end. Hallelujah! Christ is risen!

Posted on

One Year Ago

I have seen a lot of articles about remembering the “official” beginning of the pandemic one year ago. It was the start of a year that significantly changed our lives in many ways. Before the Covid virus hit, we could go wherever we wanted and be with friends and family without fear. That changed drastically.

For me personally, March 11, 2020 brought a significant, life changing event. I woke up that morning, and got ready for what I thought would be a normal day. I went to my usual Wednesday morning book discussion time with a couple of friends, then went to my job as a bus driver. At the lunch time, I did my usual workout. Afterward, I felt a little off, with a bit of a headache and just a general blah feeling. I figured I must have pushed myself too hard and didn’t give it another thought.

We had a new driver starting and he drove a group to WalMart to do some grocery shopping, while I rode along. When we arrived, I got off the bus to use the restroom. When I walked in the store I began to feel sick to my stomach and thought that I needed to get to the restroom quick before I lost it or passed out.

To make a long story short, I ended up in the hospital with a heart attack. I had had a couple of episodes earlier, but nothing that seemed overly concerning. I had even passed a stress test with flying colors. Little did I know that the artery hiding in the back of the heart had become 95% blocked and needed attention right away. The doctor put a stent in to keep the artery clear. After three or four visitors came to see me in my room, the hospital was put on lockdown.

I left the hospital after four days, and began the recovery process. I am now completely recovered. I have lost ten pounds, and my blood pressure and cholesterol are down to more normal levels. I feel good and have exceeded my fitness level of a year ago.

The most significant change has been my attitude toward life. I am realizing that I can’t take this life for granted and I am much more appreciative of the things in my life. More than that, I especially am thankful for the people in my life. I have been blessed with a wonderful wife, children and grandchildren, other family, and very good friends.

Facing my own mortatlity and seeing others, including people I know personally, face theirs, has taught me how precious and precarious this life is. It has taught me how completely dependant we all are on the grace of a good God. I have learned to depend on Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:26 about the Father’s care for the birds and how he cares for his children so much more. That is a great comfort and encouragement.

I have no idea what lies around the bend on the back road of life. We all have things we wish wouldn’t happen in our lives and the lives of those we hold dear. I do know that the same God who takes good care of the birds of the air and the beasts of the field, is my loving Father who is going to do what is good and best for me and for those I care about.

Posted on

Ash Wednesday

Today is Ash Wednesday. In many church traditions, the day is marked by putting ashes in the sign of the cross on one’s forehead. The Church of England is even making it possible to digitally put ashes on the forehead. Today marks the beginning of Lent, a season of remembering and lamenting our brokenness and the brokenness of this world in which we live. This time leads us to the time we remember what Jesus went through on the cross, because of our sin. During Lent, many fast by giving up food, drink, television, social media, or any other pleasurable thing. Others add items of service or charity to their schedule.

Lent is a time to lament, something we here in the West don’t do a very good job of. I know I can easily look at the negative, but I don’t do a very good job of living in the moment and allowing myself space to lament. I prefer to try to quickly look for the positive, to look at the glass as half full. That doesn’t always work. The past twelve months have seemed like an extended season of Lent, and we all have had to give up things as the time has dragged on. There has been a lot of lamenting over what has been lost. Many of those losses don’t lend themselves easily to a positive spin.

Lament and sorrow is not a bad thing. Scripture is full of lament. There is even a book in the Bible titled Lamentations. The Psalms are full of people mourning over this or that. Job lamented his condition and God did not call him out for it. Holding in grief can cause mental and physical problems, and can stunt our emotional and spiritual growth. It’s okay to sorrow and grieve. It’s okay to give voice to that grief.

Give yourself permission to grieve and lament. This past year has been hard. We have all lost, some more than others. Some of those things that have been lost will never be reclaimed. We will never get back those days, weeks, and months. Because we do live in a broken world, there will be more losses ahead.

As followers of Jesus, we have something that can help us in our lamenting. We can be assured that nothing is completely hopeless because our Savior experienced what seemed like the most hopeless of situations and came out the other side, having defeated the one who wields the sword of hopelessness. Jesus conquered death and we need not fear it. We need not fear anything life has to throw at us because we have a loving Father who has it all in his hands. He has promised to turn our mourning into dancing. We can grieve, but we grieve with hope. Hope that one day all tears will be wiped away, and everything sad will become untrue.

In the book Tales of the Kingdom, the signal cry of the Rangers says, “How goes the world?” “The world goes not well! But the Kingdom comes!” Grieve, but grieve well. Lament with the knowledge that it all will be well.

Posted on

Blast From the Past: Out of the Cave, Into…

This too was written eight years ago. Shortly afterward, God led us to a community of faith where we have been ever since.

Some of you have read my recent post about finding myself in a cave. I’m now out of the cave, although still not far from the entrance. I now find myself in the middle of a thicket, sort of like a stand of rhododendron or mountain laurel, so thick that you cannot see out of it. It is still somewhat dark, and the direction I should take is unclear. I see many paths out, but don’t know yet which one to take.

There is the path that would take me back into the church world I left a few years ago. Next to it is the path that would take me to the land of the mega-church. Here I could find a place to hide and lick my wounds. One path seems to go in circles, and looks as if it would leave me no better off. Yet another way out continues in the search for community. That is the path that interests me the most, and the way that I have learned most about in the last couple of days.

You see, I have learned something about community, and about myself. I think I’m beginning to learn why I spent time in the dark cave. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a pretty laid back individual, but that when I am passionate about something, I tend to go all out. As I learned more and more about the God’s desire for his children to live as brothers and sisters because of Christ, I became more and more passionate with living in community. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “The person who loves their dream of community will destroy community, but the person who loves those around them will create community.” As I look back on the past year, and my desire to have and fight for community, I realize I inadvertently pushed it too hard and may have been part of the cause of its destruction. I know that my heart was good, but I think I may have wanted community so badly that I didn’t see the problems that it was causing. Even though I tried to sacrificially love those around me, I think that I didn’t leave room for God to work, thinking that as long as we spent enough time together, growth and maturity would automatically happen.

I now realize that community is something that has to happen naturally, as God’s people learn to love one another. It is something that cannot be forced, and the Holy Spirit must be the one to form it rather than humans whose motives can be tainted by our own needs. I also realize that a particular form of community may not last as long as I think, and that I need to be willing to let it go when it is time. For those of you reading this who have been on the receiving end of my misguided efforts, I am sorry. I put the ideal of community ahead of my brothers and sisters. I was wrong.

As to what is next in this journey along the back roads, only God knows. I know that Jan and I still desire to share our lives with some fellow Christ-followers. I also know that it may not take any form that we expect. It may be in a regular gathering. It may take place in just getting together with one or two who share our desire. What I also know is that I want it to be something that happens as Christ’s Spirit moves, not when I think it should happen.

I’m learning to trust my Father. As I leave the thicket, I want to be hear my Shepherd’s voice and follow him wherever he leads, whenever he leads, and to whatever he leads. I would appreciate your prayers.

Posted on

Blast From the Past: The Cave

This was first published eight years ago when I was going through some things.

Papa! Papa! Where am I?

How did I get here? It’s so dark. I can’t see a thing!
I remember walking along the path with my friends. Next thing I know I’m waking up here in the dark. I think I remember the path passing near the entrance of a cave. Is that where I am?

How do you feel?

Everything hurts. I feel like I got hit by a truck. Now I remember. We were walking along when I was hit by something. Who would have done something like this?

An Enemy has done this.

Papa, it hurts so bad! I don’t understand! I’m all alone here in the darkness and I feel like everyone has abandoned me!

You are not alone. Your most trusted long time companion is near, waiting for you. I am here.

How did this happen? Everything seemed good. There was some loose rock on the path at times, and there were some places where part of the path had washed away. but I thought we had gotten past them. I thought this part of the journey was going well. I thought we were together.

Papa?

I’m broken. I feel like I can’t move. I’m afraid to try because I can’t see and I don’t know if it’s safe. I don’t know what to do!

Do you remember the time you spent in the desert learning to trust me rather than what you expected me to do?

Yes, I do. That was hard.

You still have more to learn.

Does it have to be so painful? I’d rather lose a job again than feel so hurt and rejected!

Papa, what do I do?

Stay here for awhile. Don’t move. I know it’s dark and you’re scared, but I’m here with you. You are broken, but my love will heal you. You are safe here. Learn again to trust me. No matter what.

When the time comes, I will lead you out of this place, and you and the person who truly loves you will continue on in your journey with me.

Papa, help me! I have no strength.

I know. I am your strength. I love you, son.