Oh Thou Wretched, Blessed Calamity!

“Calamity will come upon you suddenly. It will be like a bulging wall that bursts and falls. In an instant it will collapse and come crashing down.”
(Isaiah 30:13)

Affliction is enamoured of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Friar Laurence could have easily said the above words to me just the same as to Romeo in literary history. Actually, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that calamity and I have a (tough) love affair going, but from the evidence of late, some might begin to wonder.

Take, for instance: in May I had just purchased a laptop computer. Wide-screen. Great RAM. DVD-writer. Loaded to the hilt with some pretty nifty software. Less than a month later, as I was preparing to run my restoration disks, calamity struck. I was in the backyard---beside my pool---where I had just completed a blog, packed up my stuff and was heading back inside, when my laptop and I parted ways. Guess you could say, swimming pools and laptops do not great bedfellows make. There it lay, on the bottom of the pool, minus backup and only the first payment on it, water bubbling all around it, looking up at me as if to say, “What happened?”

I howled and lamented to the night sky. Fissures opened deep within my soul and from them erupted such moanings as never heard by human ears. My baby! My Precious! The sobbing lasted well into the morning. What, pray tell, was the lesson in that?

Got another pool story for you. Just this week my wife and I were getting me down into the pool with the aid of our brand spankin’ new power hoyer lift. (A little background: because of the numerous surgeries to both ischiums resulting in the fragile condition and paper-thin texture of my skin, I can no longer do slide-transfers; Anytime I have to be moved from my wheelchair to another resting place, I have to be placed inside a sling that is attached to a lift that powers me up, over and down to where I need to be) Well, sir, wouldn’t you know that as my body was gently descending to the pool deck, the lift decided it wanted to take a dive into the cool water on such a dog-day afternoon!

Oh, the consternation I felt as it whipped me with it and in that time-standing-still moment, I heard the sickening sound of money flying out the window. Not to mention that a 200-pound lift took me down with it as I was held securely in its seat-belt-like sling. Paralyzed body and hoyer slammed into the water and all the way to the bottom. For what seemed like minutes, I was trapped. Panic set in and I thrashed and slashed to get myself free. My poor Sandy took the brunt of my fit as I slammed and pounded her legs as she was trying to cut me loose. All logic and level-headedness somehow vanished; must’ve been that incredible hit my head took as it connected hard with the lift as both entered the water…Needless to say, the lift is toast.

Calamity. Is there any good we can learn from such a precipitous word?

It does not surprise me that the word “calamity” is mostly found in Jeremiah’s writings in the various versions of the Bible by a two-to-one ratio over second place, Proverbs. Third in line is Job. Wedged between the Weeping Prophet and the Suffering Saint is a book of maxims, truisms, principles and teachings. Perhaps God is telling us something.

Of note is that our word today comes from the Greek ‘kalamos’, meaning reed or pen. Imagine with me, Solomon picking up his writing utensil and penning these words for our benefit:

“[The righteous] may trip seven times, but each time they will rise again. But one calamity is enough to lay the wicked low.” (Proverbs 24:16, NLT)

Solomon, whose name means peace, son of David whose hands bled with war in order to bring peace, tells us that rain falls on the just as freely as the unjust. But how will we respond? The wicked, he tells us, will SUCCUMB to disaster but the righteous will OVERCOME! Therein lies the difference. The human spirit may take you only so far, and there are amazing testimonies as to what humans have endured, but eventually even the human spirit is unable to withstand the onslaught of life’s little mishaps.

Each calamity that befalls the child of God offers two amazing opportunities: to show an unregenerate world that God delivers us out of them all (see Psalm 34:19), and to remind ourselves that although we live in a fallen, unkind world, there is a world to come that has captured our imagination and for which we have been captured. World of bliss after blessed bliss, absent of sorrow and harrowing trials. World of peace. World without end. Amen.

Next time the world throws its weight against you to knock you down or pulls the rug out from under you, or sends a Katrina to your harbor let these “penned” words grant your soul the serenity and security of an overcomer through Christ (Romans 8:37):

When any calamity has been suffered, the first thing to be remembered is how much has been escaped.
Samuel Johnson

It is only from the belief of the goodness and wisdom of a supreme being, that our calamities can be borne in the manner which becomes a man.
Henry Mackenzie

Every calamity is a spur and valuable hint.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Disaster is an occasion for virtue.
Seneca

While You Were Sleeping In Seattle, I Married A Fat, Greek Wedding Planner: An Ode To Chick-Flicks And Twenty-Three Years

Let your fountain be blessed, and rejoice in the wife of your youth…be intoxicated always with her love.”
(Proverbs 5:18,19)

“See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek.”
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

“You stay alive, no matter what occurs! I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.”
Hawkeye, Last of the Mohicans

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. I choose a mortal life.”
Arwen Evenstar, Fellowship of the Ring

Darcy: What endearments am I allowed?
Lizzie: Well, let me think…”Lizzie” for everyday…”my pearl” for Sundays, and “Goddess Divine,” but only on special occasions.
Darcy: And what am I to call you when I’m cross? “ MRS. Darcy?”
Lizzie: No, you may only call me “Mrs. Darcy” when you are perfectly, completely and incandescently happy!”
Darcy: And how are you, this evening…MRS. Darcy?”
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“You have given me the highest, completest proof of love that ever one human being gave another. I am all gratitude and all pride (under the proper feeling which ascribes pride to the right Source); all pride that my life has been so crowned by you.”
—Robert Browning to his “Ba” (Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

When we first got married, it was Rambo, Clint and Chuck. As I look back now upon our evolving love affair, I see that we (that is to say, I) have mellowed and lean more toward the “sense and sensibility” and far less gore and dismemberment of Austen. Methinks I like this a whole lot better.

Who cares if convention sees us as boring and old? We are seasoned, not old. If seasoning makes something even better, then our something has taken on more flavor and appeal through the years. And what, pray tell, if we are aging? Two words: fine wine. To put it as Browning, “Grow old along with me; the Best is yet to be!”

You know any man who has bawled through “Steel Magnolias” more than once has GOT to be a hopeless romantic. Guilty as charged. I know Truvy (Dolly) said, “Time marches on and sooner or later you realize it is marchin’ across your face!” but I defer to the pragmatic Shelby (Julia) who opined, “I’d rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.” You, my dearest, are my thirty minutes. And counting.

I am grateful for every darkened theater and tear-soaked kleenex, holding hands and making goo-goo eyes while the likes of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are splashed across the screen, dancing all alone in a crowded room; I love that that scene moves you so. For these and every other moment I share with you I am indelibly stricken with the pleasure of knowing that you truly “complete me.”

What can I say that hasn’t been said? I shall brave an attempt…

You are comely, my fair one
And I am satisfied
As here
I rest
in our love;
You, the moon in my night sky,
You, the shore that welcomes my advances;
Absorbed, I become
One with you.

I am Aragorn and you are my Arwen:
(“Go to sleep.
I am asleep. This is a dream.
Then it is a good dream.”)
Rivendell has never seen the likes,
The shimmering delights;
Such serenity—
Tranquility,
Or daring romance!
With you I have traversed into uninhabitable wild,
Unfettered joy;
Thirty minutes of wonderful—
A child, waking up on Advent morn
To outdoor white and indoor peace.

When your eyes take me in, their irises embolden me
To feel confident I am your Man:
Golden mane—
Well chiseled—
Fit and upright—
Dashing and daring—
(Your tainted vision!)
Steed, Armor, shield and javelin,
With war in my heart to fight for you,
And lose for you,
To win you,
My Jocelyn,
My home and heart.

Twenty-three bells peal today;
Another will ring tomorrow,
(By God’s grace)
Sounding forth their ode for Esmeralda—
A song the world may listen to, but not own;
It is for you, and no other.
You are altogether lovely…MRS. Mitchell…
From your soul ascending to your halo cascading.
And I,
Here I,
Blessed I,
Am perfectly, completely and incandescently
Satisfied.

Captivated.

January 29, 1983

As a chilly dusk-light settled over Chattanooga, a young couple was sitting beside “Jacob’s Well”, a fountain-and-bench quasi-alcove on the campus of the Christian college they both attended. The young man was different from every other young man at school in that he was the only male confined to a wheelchair out of a couple thousand other males. The young woman sat quietly on the cold stone bench as their conversation turned serious.

“I want to marry you,” he said without blinking.

She stared back at him, wide-eyed and measuring his words carefully, wondering if she should laugh at his little joke, or keep quiet and see where this might lead. After all, this was their first date! Curiosity got the best of her so she chose to wait. In his way of thinking, this was a good sign. That is, unless this is what a brain aneurism did to people…

He knew full well he had caught her with her guard down and though he hadn’t planned on it going quite in this manner, there it was. What to do, what to do?

“This year,” he pressed, clearly pushing the proverbial envelope closer to the precipice.

Still solid as a statue, she stared back, silently swallowing a sideways bar of awkwardness. Beads of sweat materialized on the young man’s forehead. Ironically, his watch ticked off seconds even though he felt time had instead stood still.

At long last, she spoke. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He checked his memory as if he were mentally patting pants and breast pockets in search of whatever ‘something’ it lacked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he managed uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I understand what you m—-”

She straightened her back and leaned toward him. “Do you love me?”

His heart, thinking itself already sentenced and heading straight for the guillotine and beating so loudly he could hear it in his ears, quickly relaxed. It realized that its target, so arrestingly in its sight, had surrendered. The damsel had been won.

He wiped his forehead with a still trembling hand, then a smile cracked free from anxiously welded lips.

“Oh, yes! YES! Of course I do!”

The overly-aggressive and slightly-touched male was, of course, yours truly. That was twenty-three years ago and the damsel who didn’t throw me into the well when she probably should have, is still the queen of my heart’s castle. Sandy and I were indeed married, and, as I had scripted, later that same year.

This month we celebrate the anniversary of that momentous milestone and I have not forgotten that meeting of the hearts at “Jacob’s Well.” I have learned my lesson, by the way; because she needs to hear the words, I still tell her “I love you” every day and more than once per day—and she rarely has to prompt me to say them! I still do not say “good bye” to her when hanging up the phone because I’d rather think of our lives as one long hello and never-ending conversation. Funny when you think of it, because neither of us even like the telephone!

Beside another body of water and many years earlier, another pair had a serious conversation (see John 21:15-17). One asked the other, “Do you love Me?” and several repeatings of it seemed to drive home the point that He would expect no less than the heart’s fullest attention and devotion.

Jesus was the insistent suitor in the story and Peter was the object of His pursuit. There were three phases in his discipleship and they run smartly similar to a phenomenon called courtship.

CURIOUS STAGE (call it ‘Dating’ or Courtship)

Peter first intersected with Christ after an invitation to follow Him. The crusty fisherman did just that and spent the ensuing months getting to know the Master of the waves, sea and heavens. He may not have been hot on His heels at first and at times coyly played hard to get, but, whether he knew it or not, from the start he was conquered. The fisherman quickly warmed and surrendered himself and any reservation fell away like a throwback fish, leaving himself wide open for the next phase.

COMMITTED STAGE (call it ‘Betrothal’)

Mind made up, heart given over and feet firmly rooted ‘til death did them part, Peter risked life and limb to stay with Jesus. His love was not yet perfect, but whenever Jesus showed up, Peter was usually jumping in water to be near him—even if it was higher than his head!

CAPTIVATED STAGE (call it ‘Consummation’)

For just a second, Peter’s head turned with one final look on the view behind him. Again, just like at the start of their affair (Matthew 4:18,19), Jesus leaves no wriggle room as he challenges Peter to follow Him—to his own death (see John 21:17-22). He hesitates. Wonders. Then turns back to the Lover of his soul and any vestige of doubt is forever erased. He has no choice now because he wants no choice. He is wholly captivated. To him, there is only one thing to do. Follow. Die. Live.

Thank you, Sandy, for a captivating love that urges me to be wholly captivated by Him, and that seeks not its own to the detriment of His way with me. Thank you for not making me choose. I hear your “Do you love me?” still today and “I do” still because He gave you to me to love. ‘Til death do us part…

The Ever-Widening Dividing Line

“I am the way, the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father except through Me.”
“If the world hated Me, it will hate you…”
JESUS, 1st CENTURY

“Who is on the Lord’s side?”
MOSES, CIRCA 15th CENTURY BC

In the aftermath of the recent foiling of an ostensibly Al Qaeda terrorist plot in England, a British politician was interviewed on Fox News calling for stricter measures to be taken against all fundamentalist ideologies. “Not just Al Qaeda,” he pontificated, “but with any group that is narrow-minded enough to see its way as the only way.”

Are you hearing this, follower of Christ?

In Canada, our neighbors to the north, sermons from pastors in America that mention certain sins are not allowed on their airwaves. Shari’a laws there make it illegal to speak against Islam and Mohammed but no such laws exist to deter anyone from speaking against Christ. Earlier this year, Danish political cartoons depicting Mohammed as a terrorist were stricken from international papers and the world called out its collective protest all the while our Jesus was undergoing a revisionist makeover in “The DaVinci Code” and the public was eating it up!

A pastor in Sweden received a jail sentence of 30 days for calling homosexuality “abnormal” and a “horrible cancer” on society. Two pastors in Australia were brought up on similar charges for breaking “incitement laws”. Laws against intolerance and “hate speech” are gathering steam all over the globe—in so-called ‘free’ countries! In our own America, land of the free, hate speech laws are being considered in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and pastors are watching to see if, very soon, their pulpits will no longer be “free speech” zones. Guess America really is the home of the brave…

Jesus said it would come, and it’s here, folks.

There are two distinct streams operating among our youth today. There are some youth who are wearing the yoke of their predecessors: a Cross-less, make-no-demands, non-invasive, live-a-good-life-and-get-your-ticket-punched ideal. Praise God, there are others who are embracing the Cross and holding onto it for dear life!

Dr. Christian Smith, the lead researcher for the National Study of Youth and Religion, a large sociological survey of the religious beliefs of teens between 13 and 17, reaches many of the same conclusions regarding the religious life of teens. According to Dr. Smith, no matter what religion the surveyed youth professed, in general their actual religious outlook was what Dr. Smith characterizes as “MORALISTIC THERAPEUTIC DEISM.”

This is a religious worldview featuring an undemanding, distant god, whose only commandment is to be “nice,” and who doesn’t become involved in anyone’s life except when he is needed to take care of a problem. This religion, according to Smith, conceives of its god as “… a combination of a divine butler and a cosmic therapist.”

Rather than being commanded to take up his cross and follow Christ, the Moralistic Therapeutic Deist believes that “… the central goal in life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.”

Unfortunately, this is not merely a problem with teens—increasing numbers of ostensibly Christian adults and a growing number of pastors hold these views in whole or in part. Like the world, the modern professing church is egocentric, thinking God exists for their own happiness rather than His glory. God help us.

Cross-bearing Christians are gradually being exposed and while we may be tempted to mimic the disciples on the eve of the crucifixion by scrambling for swords and a “bring ‘em on” mentality, we must hear Christ say, “Enough of that talk!” (see Luke 22:38) He told them, “He who takes up a sword will perish by the sword” (Matthew 26:56). Rather, we must mimic the Christ of the Upper Room earlier that same evening, washing the feet of the disciples. He instructed them not to take up swords but towels.

One of the saddest stories to come out of London last week was this: among the terrorists taken into custody was a young married couple with a six-month old baby. Just today, this young mother was seen in jail breast-feeding her baby, the very one she was going to send to its horrible death days earlier. While there are some religions that encourage, even praise such unbalanced behavior, the voice of Christ is calling out to His followers to a life of love and sacrifice. (By the way, the kind of sacrifice that blesses others and inconveniences only the giver, not so-called sacrifice that brings everyone else around down with them! Re: homicide bombers and cowardly hijackers…)

We do not preach a gospel of HATE! The followers of Christ are sickened by any “heads will roll” ideology directed at any who would not see things their way. Force will never convert anybody. It is the towel and the basin, the heart of a servant, the offering of one’s self in love and sacrifice—even to those who condemn and persecute—that will close the gap of the ever widening dividing line.

The true God is love (1 John 4:8,16). And His followers toe that line!

While I Was Sleeping...

“Is there anyone who fails?
Is there anyone that falls?
Am I the only one in church today feelin’ so small?”
(”Stained-Glass Masquerade”, Casting Crowns)

Failed any tests lately?

I have, and since these posts are designed to give you a peek into my life with all its “zits and glamour” I feel compelled to tell you about it. First, let me back up and offer some background…

The Lord spoke a word into my heart the other morning. The interesting thing is that I was fast asleep when He visited my repose. In all my years of journeying with my Christ, there has never been an occasion such as this. Mind you, I am not speaking of a dream or vision, but a penetrating word. The word was so invasive and true to its mark that in the twilight between slumber and waking, I was roused with the word repeating on my lips.

Before we move forward, allow me to share the word with you: “with each trial comes an opportunity for us to witness and participate in the greatest setbacks in the kingdom of darkness.”

I kid you not. I know that sounds all cleaned up, polished and rehearsed, but that is the message the Lord put to my heart and I share it with you in all its straightforwardness and simplicity. As for what it means, aside from it being a tried and true scriptural axiom and a general truth altogether, I cannot say. I know it means something and I am charged with treasuring it in my heart.

I have come to know several things about trials in my time. This October will mark the 25th anniversary of a severe trial that left me paralyzed in the lower two-thirds of my body and the injury (a fall from a cliff) introduced me to life from a wheelchair. The view has been amazing from these four wheels!

That, in a nutshell, is the “glamour” part of my life, if you could call it that (actually, I would). Now for the “zits” that have recently popped up (pun intended?). Not long ago, I faced a trial that gave me an opportunity to show the spiritual world (Ephesians 3:10) and those closest to me that He (being God) is enough, that this life has no hold on me, that I am an overcomer through Christ (Romans 8:37), triumph valiantly through Him (Psalm 60:12) and that my faith has matured me past the sagging diapers of spiritual infancy.

Boy, did I punch out early.

Rather than bore you with details, let me just give you a for instance that will illustrate the trial I just endured and flubbed. Let’s just say you are handicapped (let’s just say)—’scuse me: “Differently abled”! And, let’s just say you have a “differently abled” 1993 Ford Econoline white van with, oh, about 110,000 miles on it (just for sake of illustration, you know). Further, let’s just say that your differently abled white ‘93 Ford van means the world to you and is your legs and feet and gives you so much freedom from being house-bound and is set up with hand controls so you can drive and come and go whenever you take a notion.

Again, just drawing a picture…

Now, suppose your ‘legs and feet’ are taken out from under you and wind up in a Ford shop in Villa Rica and they are held hostage there for a week because the engine runs hot and (oh, please not that!) the problem is a warped head and you need a rebuilt engine. Do you (a) thank God for the trial and seek Him for what He means you to learn in it, or (b) become childish and petty, selfish and unyielding as you vacillate between tantrums and pouting sessions, bemoaning the inconvenience of it all? Do you let far too many suns go down on your wrath and somehow end up blaming your wife (?!?) and brooding and moping around the house?

Pretend with me that you are not bothered by the mechanical analysis nor by the cost of repairs, but you are mad as a blue blazes that you have to go without your wheels (er, feet). Just suppose what is revealed in the furnace is not gold or shimmering silver, but the pungent foam of dross and the cloying sludge of a life that, when it comes down to it, lives for this life way too much!

Though I believe the word He placed in my heart has a much grander and broader application, maybe, just maybe He was gracious enough to let me in on a cosmic secret and give me fair warning. A trial is coming, Scott. For you. Be ready. And with it comes an opportunity to give a swift kick to the crown jewels of the empire of evil. If that is so, I was really asleep on the job!

While I was sleeping, the Lord gave me a word of strength and hope for every trial, but while I was sleeping, the enemy was busy sowing tares among the wheat (Matthew 13:25). And I choked.

Thankfully, there is another word for those who have failed the test. Remember Jonah? The Lord gave him a word but when it came down to putting his money where his mouth was, the old boy bailed.

After a storm on the high seas, a distressed crew, a man overboard and a whale later, comes this encouraging word: “And the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time…” (Jonah 2:1). For those who needed it today, don’t lose heart even if you have slipped, slid, bailed or failed. Turn to the Lord. He has a sure word for you and it doesn’t include any such thoughts of, “I’m over you!” or “You’ll never get it right!” or “You’ve gone too far this time!”

Take it from me: I slept quite well last night. A few moons ago, I missed a great opportunity, but when I went to the Lord (and others I had offended) with “I’m sorry. I flubbed it up big time. Please forgive me” the grace of God made it all moot and wrapped me with love and a forgiveness already secured. Then he gave me a second word: “I love you, Scott. Nothing will ever change that. And that’s final.”

Then I imagine the enemy got his just desserts anyway. No accusation, temptation, or failure on my part will separate me from the love of God (Romans 8:39) and just his trying to mess with God’s child must’ve earned him a swift foot of justice. Praise be to God, while I am resting, the devil is doubled over and howling in the key of soprano!

Will I Still Call You 'Grandma'?

As we drove slowly by her house, or what once was, I looked soulfully out the passenger window and witnessed a tragedy. The house, once bright and brilliant, well-kept and welcoming, fairly sagged in mourning. Its very soul seemed to crumple in despair, having lost its grand hostess, a simple country gal, who once regally walked its solid floorboards and wore it as one would wear a familiar cardigan or shawl.

New tenants had already moved in, their presence tipped off by an older, beat-up vehicle parked in the backyard, obscuring what was once a handsome view of a well-kept garden. The wallboards now drooped and no longer parlayed a luster they once sported. The front porch was barren. No Grandma or Grandpa (who passed to eternal life a few years ago) waving to us as we approached, rising in the weariness of years, yet still strong and eager for family to drop in.

Not long aforehand, Grandma, barely on the south side of ninety-five, had moved out and into a wonderful nursing care facility. All her precious wares of a well-groomed life were divvied out to family, and the papers for transfer of ownership well under way. On Friday, July 28th, the papers for closing on the house were signed under the watchcare of her only son. That evening, she called him and asked, “Is it done?” “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Good. Then all is finished,” she offered as it were nothing more than finishing a quilt or meal.

Six hours later, she died peacefully in her sleep. Grandma never lived for this life, though she knew the abundant life more than any other soul I have ever known. It was discovered in her personal Bible this inscription on its flyleaf: “God + Rosa = Enough.” This was the sum and substance of her life.

In the moment of her passing, as her corruptible put on incorruption, she was graciously escorted to the rim of Heaven where, no doubt whatsoever, she was welcomed by her waiting husband and daughter, parents and loved ones gone before along with a great cloud of saints who had watched her finish her race. I imagine they all parted understandably as her eyes scanned the throng for the One to whom her whole life testified and when He stepped forward, those eyes, once blighted with blindness, were clear as a newborn’s and her once-weary legs beat a path to His feet. I know Grandma fell there and wept and I also imagine that a song of redemption escaped unhaltingly from her lips.

When I received the news of Grandma’s passing, I found myself wanting to call Mom so I could get her perspective on her mother’s–my grandmother’s–life and legacy. Alas, Mom was tied up—she was busy welcoming Grandma into glory!

Personally, I believe I am a Christian largely because Grandma was a Christian. I don’t mean that we come to Christ that way: we are not ‘grandmothered’ in. Each of us must make our own decision to come into relationship with the Savior. What I mean is, I watched her faith all my life and saw that it was real, vibrant and fresh and knew that she had the one and only thing that I truly needed: a relationship with Jesus Christ and eternal life in Him.

So, like many who intersected with her life, I turned to Christ and said, in so many words (they may not have been my actual words, but they were “in” my words), “Lord, I want to know You like Grandma does. I want a relationship with you, too, because I see how joyful she is and how satisfied she is in You.”

“Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, so that where I am, you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know. Jesus said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no one comes to the Father but by Me.’”
(John 14:1-6)

Rosa Medley indeed:

Knew the WAY
Walked in TRUTH
Exhibited the LIFE

As a youngster, I thought everyone’s grandmother was like mine. I just supposed all grandmothers came from the same mold. Then, as I grew older, I realized mine was special. Grandma had the uncanny knack of making ALL of her grandchildren feel as though they were her favorite! Her home was adorned with pictures of all her “favorites” from stem to stern!

You haven’t lived until you sank your teeth into her fried chicken, homemade biscuits and fresh honey, coconut cake, garden vegetables (I loved her fresh-snapped beans and steaming corn on the cob!) and preserves. Her signature sweet tea was like the ‘nectar of Heaven’ to me (especially in years gone by before the dispensation of ‘sweet and low’!).

Her home was always like a retreat. There was a bed for everybody and everyone was welcome. No matter where you came from to visit, you would pass through her doors and know instantly that you were somehow “home.” And sitting in that living room with the family or in the glider on the front porch and talking for hours on end was life at its best. No hurry, no worry, no rush or hassle. All was peace and simplicity.

You haven’t lived until you heard her strong, trusting voice say her night time prayers out loud. The walls in her bedroom were thin and every syllable could be heard in the next room or down the hall. She would run through her prayer list and name all her loved ones, bringing their needs to the mercy seat. To hear her call out your name to the Lord was like a warm blanket for a world-chilled soul.

I never, ever heard a bad word come out of her mouth. Although her eyesight faltered in later years, and this caused Grandma some deal of sadness and distress, she never complained; like Job, she “never charged God foolishly” with her lips. Always trusting, always hopeful and believing; always giving herself over to the Lord’s will.

Her gardens, like her spirit, were beautiful and well-kept; colorful and rich. She could get so much out of a little patch of dirt. Her farm and homestead were true Americana as though they my have inspired a Rockwell painting. Thank you, Grandma, for teaching this city boy how to milk a cow. I never got it right, but you gave me your time to teach and bless.

Thank you for protecting me from that long snake in the shed that one time. My eyes bugged out when you lifted that shotgun in one simple arc, took no time to sight in on it, then expertly shot it, not somewhere on its body, but between its eyeballs! No wonder Grandpa chuckled and dubbed you “Dead Eye.”

Thank you for laughing and not getting mad at me when I rammed Grandpa’s tractor into that shed. I was sick over it, but you laughed it off in your easy way, hugged me and made it all better.

Thank you for treating me like I was the greatest preacher in the world, right up there with J. Vernon McGee or Adrian Rodgers and a host of other men of the word you listened to from your radio (even though you had to know better—I sure did!).

There was nothing more important to Grandma than the Book. She knew the Bible and it mattered to her that it was handled right by others, particularly preachers. Her greatest sadness about being blind was not being able to read it; oh, but she knew it and could quote it as if it were ALL committed to memory. It may just have been. It certainly was inside of her!

She loved the church and longed for the days when the church in America would again have its altars filled with penitent sinners and be zealous for the Lord and turn our nation back to God. For the era to return when preachers would no longer pussyfoot around with Scripture but speak for God.

There was a season of my life when I needed to call Grandma every Sunday morning before taking my own pulpit to preach. We would chat for a while, then there was invariably a song we would sing together. After the song, I would look at my watch and say, “Grandma, I’ve got to head into the church now. Would you pray for me?” I cannot tell you the heaven I heard in her voice when she would stop, pause, and say in the most meaningful tone: “Father…”

I’ll miss my prayer warrior…

Rosa Medley is my ‘Grandma’ and always will be. When I received the news of her passing, I took a question of mine to the Lord. It is an innocent, childlike question. I asked Him, “Lord, when I get to Heaven, will I still call her ‘Grandma’?”

As I ponder the mysteries of heaven, questions we now have about our future home, and where Rosa Medley now is, I think of the game we sometimes play when we want to surprise someone. We tell them to “close your eyes…close your eyes…keep them closed…okay, okay…now…open them!”

The desired response is immediately seen as their eyes open wide, their mouth drops open and a look of awe, wonder and amazement crosses their face. Then a smile plays slowly at the corners of their mouth. And perhaps laughter, and clapping of hands and if the surprise is really big, they may even drop to their knees. Then the inevitable “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! It’s more glorious than I could have hoped for!”

I believe that, in some sense, we are like that as we anticipate glory. Now “we look through a glass darkly”, the Bible says, but one day, God will say to us who have received Jesus as Savior: “Now, open your eyes!” And we will behold such glory as never seen before and we will clap and fall to our knees and praise the One who made it possible for us.

We’ll look around that grand reception hall and see that among the heavenly beings, all our loved ones and friends who had arrived before us, will be in the room with us. They’ve been waiting for our arrival…

I’ll miss watching Grandma walk: so straight and regal for someone who had lived so many years. But her body, wearied by the effects of age, is now incorruptible and glorified, more beautiful than ever before. Eyes, once dimmed and able to only see shadows and shapes, are this moment as clear as a newly born baby’s, and they behold the brightness of the glory of her Lord.

One of my most deeply embedded childhood memories was when the family visited Grandma and Grandpa’s farm up on the mountain. It was a long journey that seemed to get longer the closer we got to our destination.

Then we would turn off the highway onto that little climbing gravel road, a long strip of grass between two tire ruts, up past the little church house and the hog farm. Then the back of Grandpa’s truck would come into view. And we would honk…and out she would come, Grandma, with a welcome-home smile and gigantic hug, the smell of vittles in the oven back in the kitchen.

One day, we who know Christ will see our long journey end and we will turn off this long highway and begin our ascent to our glorious welcome-home. And out she will come, Grandma, beautiful beyond memory…and Grandpa, and Mom…and all who are incorruptible and waiting for our arrival. And we will see Jesus who made all of it possible.

In my last phone conversation with Grandma, I told her that she has had so much influence on my life spiritually and she cried and said, “I’m nobody. I just hope people see Jesus in me.”

Grandma, you succeeded. We ALL saw Jesus in you from start to finish. Well done, faithful servant of the Lord. Enter into your eternal rest.