The Bigamist Amongst Us

There was a rich merchant who had 4 wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to delicacies. He took great care of her and gave her nothing but the best.

He also loved the 3rd wife very much. He's very proud of her and always wanted to show off her to his friends. However, the merchant is always in great fear that she might run away with some other men.

He too, loved his 2nd wife. She is a very considerate person, always patient and in fact is the merchant's confidante. Whenever the merchant faced some problems, he always turned to his 2nd wife and she would always help him out and tide him through difficult times.

Now, the merchant's 1st wife is a very loyal partner and has made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and business as well as taking care of the household. However, the merchant did not love the first wife and although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her.

One day, the merchant fell ill. Before long, he knew that he was going to die soon. He thought of his luxurious life and told himself, "Now I have 4 wives with me. But when I die, I'll be alone. How lonely I'll be!"

Thus, he asked the 4th wife, "I loved you most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No way!" replied the 4th wife and she walked away without another word.


Prayer Beads
The answer cut like a sharp knife right into the merchant's heart. The sad merchant then asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you so much for all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No!" replied the 3rd wife. "Life is so good over here! I'm going to remarry when you die!" The merchant's heart sank and turned cold.

He then asked the 2nd wife, "I always turned to you for help and you've always helped me out. Now I need your help again. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?" "I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!" replied the 2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only send you to your grave." The answer came like a bolt of thunder and the merchant was devastated.

Then a voice called out: "I'll leave with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go." The merchant looked up and there was his first wife. She was so skinny, almost like she suffered from malnutrition. Greatly grieved, the merchant said, "I should have taken much better care of you while I could have!”

Actually, we all have 4 wives in our lives:

a. The 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it'll leave us when we die.
b. Our 3rd wife? Our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, they all go to others.
c. The 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how close they had been there for us when we're alive, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave.
d. The 1st wife is in fact our soul, often neglected in our pursuit of material, wealth and sensual pleasure.
Guess what? It is actually the only thing that follows us wherever we go. Perhaps it's a good idea to cultivate and strengthen it now rather than to wait until we're on our deathbed to lament.

Matthew 6:24-34

24“No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.

25“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?27And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?28And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?31Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ 32For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

Faith or Fiction?

John Powell a professor at Loyola University in Chicago writes about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy:

Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the first day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders.

It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn’t what’s on your head but what’s in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped.

I immediately filed Tommy under “S” for strange … very strange. Tommy turned out to be the “atheist in residence” in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father-God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew. (Do you know anyone like this?)

When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a slightly cynical tone: “Do you think I’ll ever find God?”

I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. “No!” I said very emphatically.

“Oh,” he responded, “I thought that was the product you were pushing.”

I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out: “Tommy! I don’t think you’ll ever find him, but I am absolutely certain that He will find you!” He shrugged a little and left my class and my life.

I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line: “He will find you!” At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful.

Then a sad report, I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted, and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe. “Tommy, I’ve thought about you so often. I hear you are sick!” I blurted out.

“Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It’s a matter of weeks.”

“Can you talk about it, Tom?”

“Sure, what would you like to know?”

“What’s it like to be only twenty-four and dying?”

“Well, it could be worse.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real ‘biggies’ in life.”

I began to look through my mental file cabinet under “S” where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification God sends back into my life to educate me.)

But what I really came to see you about,” Tom said, ” is something you said to me on the last day of class.” (He remembered!) He continued, “I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, ‘No!’ which surprised me. Then you said, ‘But he will find you.’ I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time. (My “clever” line. He thought about that a lot!) But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, then I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven.

But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit.

Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn’t really care … about God, about an afterlife, or anything like that. “I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: ‘The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.’ “So I began with the hardest one: my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him.”

“Dad”. . .

“Yes, what?” he asked without lowering the newspaper.

“Dad, I would like to talk with you.”

“Well, talk.”

“I mean. .. It’s really important.”

The newspaper came down three slow inches. “What is it?”

“Dad, I love you. I just wanted you to know that.” Tom smiled at me and said with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him: “The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me.

And we talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me. “It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry about one thing: that I had waited so long. Here I was just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to.

“Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn’t come to me when I pleaded with him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop, ‘C’mon, jump through.’ ‘C’mon, I’ll give you three days .. .three weeks.’ Apparently God does things in his own way and at his own hour. But the important thing is that he was there. He found me.

You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for him.”

“Tommy,” I practically gasped, “I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle John said that. He said God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him.’ Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughing) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn’t be half as effective as if you were to tell them.”

“Oooh . . . I was ready for you, but I don’t know if I’m ready for your class.”

“Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call.” In a few days Tommy called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date. However, he never made it.

He had another appointment, far more important than the one with me and my class. Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed.

He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined.

Before he died, we talked one last time. “I’m not going to make it to your class,” he said.

“I know, Tom.”

“Will you tell them for me? Will you . . . tell the whole world for me?”

“I will, Tom. I’ll tell them. I’ll do my best.”

So, to all of you who have been kind enough to hear this simple statement about love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven: “I told them, Tommy . … …as best I could.”

“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.” ~ 1 John 4:7

Today is a tough one

I’ve been doing a lot a reading and bunches of remembering. Not always a good combination for me this time of year. In my reading I have tried to find advice on learning to move on through my grief. Or so I thought. It seems that the more I read, the more I realize that what I want to do is actually forget my grief and not remember it. This is not possible I have discovered.

I’ve read accounts of amputees who have phantom pain in their missing limbs. It seems that is one way to describe what I feel. You see, a part of me is missing and I can still feel that part in my movements through the day and through my memories. When I make plans to go out shopping, I instinctively think about where my family members are and when they will be arriving home. Then the pain washes over me as I remember Matthew is not here.

Posted Jun 10, 2006 6:28pm

Yesterday we found out that the judge presiding over Matthew’s SSI claim for disability has made a ruling. We have not been told if it was in Matthew’s favor or not. The attorney believes it is. We should find out in a few more days, but it may take up to 2 weeks for us to be notified.

In the meantime, Kim and Pat went home last night to be with Stephanie and Zachary and to try to get some rest before this next difficult week. Today Zachary and Stephanie came to the hospital to spend some time with Matt. It was hard on all involved and many tears have been shed with the knowledge that many more will be shed as we begin the grief process.

Matthew has had his sedation medication reduced by half again today, but has not been able to wake up. His body is tired and fighting some major infections. If he is able to tolerate the reduction in the sedation again tomorrow, we will do that again. This is to help him be weaned from this med and the ventilation tube. After that, we hope to keep him comfortable with pain management medication until he and God decide it is time for him to go home.

We appreciate your prayers and love for each of us, and thank you for respecting this time we spend together as a family.

Now, let me share a few things with you. Please be kind enough to not offer me trite sayings that disguise themselves as words of comfort. Pray for me. Pray for all of us. But more importantly, if you knew Matthew – even for a day or a single moment – share your memory with me. Tell me about his laughter or his funny remark to you. Tell me about his stubborn refusal to do what you asked of him. Tell me about the blank stare he gave you during a conversation. But don’t pity me and give me words that make you more comfortable in moving on.

I hope you understand that I was blessed beyond measure to have been able to be Matthew’s mom and my heart is missing a piece while he is away from me. My comfort is found in hearing the memories that you have and knowing that he is not forgotten.

And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out, O my soul cries out

My Soul cries out to You
My Soul cries out to You
to You, to You

80-yr old Church leader murdered in sanctuary

Few places were as meaningful to Lillian Wilson as Central United Methodist Church just outside Wynne.

She was baptized and married there. She started teaching Sunday school recently to help out while the church’s longtime teacher recovered from a stroke.

And on Sunday morning, June 6, the 80-year-old retired nurse was in the church to finish assembling disaster relief buckets and health kits for collection at the denomination’s Arkansas Annual (regional) Conference meeting, which started Sunday night.

It was her last act of servanthood. She was found beaten to death in the church sanctuary that afternoon.

Investigators with the sheriff’s office in Cross County, Ark., were still searching June 8 for two suspects in Wilson’s death. Her pastor, the Rev. Dixon Platt, said authorities believe the murder weapon was the cross the church kept on its communion table.

Platt went to check on Wilson when she didn’t show up for worship Sunday at nearby Ellis Chapel United Methodist Church. The congregation of about 20 alternates worship each Sunday between Ellis Chapel and Central Church.

The pastor discovered Wilson’s body about 12:30 p.m. Sunday beneath an overturned pew. Her purse and car were missing.

Wilson died doing what she loved to do, Platt said, and that was serving God.

Oh please don’t tell me he said that! So many folks are going to be upset that this woman died, (btw – she didn’t simply die – she was MURDERED!) and the fact that she died in this way in this place is going to complicate grief for the people within the church she attended, people in our churches, and the people who don’t attend church. It is a delicate and difficult time for this church, but maybe some of us can learn from Ms. Wilson’s death as well as her life.

As pastor’s we tend to want to take the high road and say things like, “She is at rest now” or “She “died doing what she loved to do”". Those comments are not enough for our congregants who are asking the bigger question, “WHY?” I think we need to say things like, we don’t know why people do horrible things to each other, I don’t know why someone did this to Ms. Wilson, I don’t know why – I don’t have the answers. Too often pastors think they must lead people into healing or beyond this tragedy or even past this experience. To each of us, pastors and everyday folks that think the same way, I ask – WHY? Why are we in a hurry to brush aside the tragedy and want to look at only the comfortable aspects of life?

My thinking jumps to the next question, how does a response such as the one stated by Rev. Platt witness to the greater community the love of God for all people in the community? From my slightly slanted perspective I see a closed door attitude, a piousness, an attitude to the unchurched that says, “Well, AT LEAST she lived a life worthy so she will be … (fill in the blank – honored, redeemed, given vengeance … whatever the other feels is needed in their life and hoped for in their death). Possibly a better statement would be, we join the community in grieving her death and the violent manner in which she died and we are available to talk or listen to anyone who has questions. Maybe, possibly.

But I like what Bishop Crutchfield said:

Arkansas Area Bishop Charles Crutchfield asked those gathered for annual conference on June 7 to pray for Wilson and the many in her community who loved her.

“This is a tragic moment for a wonderful woman devoted to the life of the church and building God’s kingdom, a woman who had been the heart and soul of her church,” Crutchfield said in an interview.

“At moments like this, we ask ‘Why? Why?’ And there is no real answer to that question,” he said. “But I do know the question we need to ask is who do we trust in a moment of tragedy, in a moment so inexplicable. I think our answer would be her answer: Trust the Lord through high points and low points, through good times and through the valley of the shadow of death. In the wake of this tragic death, that’s who we all have to trust.” (Italics added)

That’s all we’ve got to offer anyone in a moment of grief, a season of grief. If we believe in God through the good times, if we trust God in the good times, if we have faith in God in the good times, then the way to find ourselves able to survive and live though the tough times is to continue to trust him in those times also.

Keep the faith my friends.

Nightmares and Second Guesses

“Posted May 27, 2006 6:52pm:

Kim and Stephanie are at the emergency room with Matthew right
now. His heart rate was 147 and his blood pressure was 38/78. The
on-call hematologist thinks this is due to low red cell count so
Matthew may need a blood transfusion tonight.”

I have been reflecting on the decisions we made surrounding Matthew’s illness and the treatment he received. This entry (above) was made the day after he graduated from high school. Our household had company from out-of-state that had come up to celebrate that very special occasion and to spend some time with Matthew now that he was home from the hospital. Kim & I had spent a few hours visiting with another family friend who had also just graduated high school. As I sit here trying to communicate the situation we were in and the feelings that were going through my head, the memories are so vivid that they threaten to overwhelm me.

Questions have run around in my head since that time. Questions such as, “Why did I have Stephanie go with Kim & Matthew instead of me?” Was it my own laziness, or was it that I just didn’t want to deal with the hospital stress again? Did the sense of obligation to be a “good” daughter and to entertain our company color my judgment in taking care of my son? So many questions. And no possible way for me to find the answers.

I feel so much guilt and shame. I want to go back in time and change the way I did things, reevaluate my decisions, and have another chance to be the kind of mom I want to be to my children. I can’t do any of that for Matthew. So now, I just second guess myself.

And that’s where the nightmares start.
(To read more, go to: barefootpreachr.wordpress.com)

Where is God's perfection?

Every so often I come across a story that makes me pause and wonder. When I read this one I could not help but wonder if my son ever knew how perfect we thought he was. His disabilities made him more perfect because he accepted and loved everyone he met for who they were in their imperfections. I have to admit, he was one of my hero's and I miss him terribly.

"In Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning-disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be main-streamed into conventional schools.

At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.

After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, "Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection?"

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father's anguish and stilled by the piercing query. "I believe," the father answered,"that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that He seeks is in the way people react to this child."

He then told the following story about his son Shaya:

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, "Do you think they will let me play?" Shaya's father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their team. But Shaya's father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging.

Shaya's father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his team-mates.

Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning."

Shaya's father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short center field.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya's team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn't even know how to hold the bat properly,let alone hit with it. However, as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya's team-mates came up to Shaya and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya.

As the pitch came in, Shaya and his team-mate swung the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.

Everyone started yelling, "Shaya, run to first. Run to first!" Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second." Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, "Run to third." As Shaya rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming,"Shaya run home!" Shaya ran home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "those 18 boys reached their level of God's perfection."~ Author Unknown"

Matthew - we miss you and we love you - always & forever.

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgement, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. ~ Romans 12:2-3

... we all fall down!

As I have been preparing for tonight’s Ash Wednesday service at the church I recalled this treasured nursery rhyme: Ring around the roses, pockets full of posies, ashes to ashes we all fall down! I remember my children holding hands and reaching out to anyone close enough to catch within their circle as they skipped and sang this song before tumbling to the ground into a laughing, giggling pile of joy. It did not matter what age you were, it seemed you were qualified to play this game. Next to “Hide and go seek” this was my children’s favorite game to play with every member of the family. Through the years I have always been surprised by how much I have learned from my children and this simple little game is another example.
There have been several lessons I learned from playing this game with my children and their friends. I learned that we have a lot more fun when we all play together. I learned that laughing at myself was more enjoyable than laughing at others. I also learned that the ground was just a little further to fall to for some of us and it hurt when I landed!

Isn’t that just like life? It seems the higher, the bigger, and the more important or more favored we think we are, life has a way of bringing us back to the basics. And sometimes it hurts when we land. Sometimes it’s our ego, sometimes it’s our pride, sometimes it’s our dignity, but it all hurts. I also learned that it was harder to get up after falling down for some of us and we need a helping hand or an encouraging word from our friends to help us get back into the game.

Today is Ash Wednesday in the Christian church. It is a time for each of us to participate in the call to repentance and reconciliation with God and with our neighbors. We use ashes as a physical sign of our own mortality and remorse for the things we’ve done that have hurt the people around us. Participation in a service of the Imposition of Ashes can be a powerful experience that allows us to reach for the hand of a friend whether it is for help in picking ourselves up or lifting someone else.

I recently read a comment that said “It's not how we fall but how we get up that matters most. I'm still working on the getting up part.” Can I give you a hand?

This can't be said enough ...

This was written on our son's carepage five months after his 20th birthday. It is still relevant today and I wanted to share it with you.

7 Ways You Can Help Me in My Grief written 10/30/06

1. Don’t try to “Fix-It.” Try to listen to me without judgment. I don’t need you to “fix” my pain, anger or tears. Just allow me to share it with you.

2. Say it with Food, and Hugs and written notes. Now more than ever, we need to know how much you love us and are praying for us. Bring us a meal occasionally – we have days that we don’t even know what to prepare for dinner and can’t figure out how to prepare it even if we know we have it in the house! Hug us often and say “I love you,” or “I’m praying for you” with actions and words, over and over again – even if you think we know it. Write a note and tell us what you remember about our loved one or what he meant to your life. And then write us another note to mark the anniversary – by weeks, months – or other special occasions. (Letters in the mail, cards with little remembrances, are tangible prayers that we can hold in our hands as well as our hearts.)

3. Offer Specific Help. “Call me if there is anything I can do” is just too hard for me to do right now – I don’t really know what I need to do and I certainly don’t know what to tell you to do! So offer specific help. Can I shop for your groceries? Can I drive you to a doctor’s appointment? Arrange to take us out for coffee or lunch – individually, so we can talk. Run errands – the cleaners, drug store, post office, bank deposits. Arrange among our circle of friends to deliver meals. Set up a cooler outside the door – so we don’t feel obligated to meet and greet each meal delivery – and drop off dinners there.

4. Faraway Friends. You’re halfway across the country, but you desperately want to help us. You know us – we feel passionately about helping others struggle with cancer and finding new treatments and will appreciate if you participate in a walk-a-thon, or rally a group to do so in Matthew’s honor.

5. Deliver Comfort - Pamper Us. When we are at home just stop by with special little things to make us feel special. This is especially important for the kids – Zachary and Stephanie – they get overlooked in their grief as folks ask “How are your mom and doing?” Take a good book, a couple of magazines, or a gift card to the local video store. Drop by with a couple of milkshakes or a favorite coffee drink or favorite snack.

6. Just Be There. When you are hit with such a tragedy you are hurled into a world that is very unfamiliar, scary and lonely. Suddenly you do not feel like you are a “normal” person anymore but that we belong to a club no one ever wants to be a part of. And people react to you in very interesting ways. Some good some bad. Each family member is an individual dealing with our pain and stress in our own way.

7. Ask us what we need without judgment – and then ask us when you see us again, and then again. At the time you ask, we may not be able to answer you. Remember, some of us want to talk - some don't. Some need to retreat - some don't. And these needs change day-to-day. We need above all else to feel unconditionally loved, supported, respected and part of the world. “Love is such a curative property that it cannot be quantified.”

I’ve added an eighth way:
8. Help Us Remember. One of our greatest fears is that we will forget Matthew – what his voice sounded like, what he looked like, his favorite food, how he laughed, what it felt like to have him hug us. So, talk to us about him – mention his name, tell us the stories you remember, write the stories down and share them with us! Also, ask others to honor Matthew’s memory and share Matt’s story with someone else.

Now for an update...
Remember our pain and grief still lives within us. Our son is still DEAD! He isn't gone, he hasn't been lost, he isn't away - he is DEAD. We will celebrate moments in life, but never without the knowledge that a vital part of us is absent. So, it still matters 3 years and 3 months later, that we are not walking this difficult road alone. And it matters that YOU remind us we are not walking alone. And it matters that you share with us the many ways you have been touched by Matthew's life and death.


Keep in touch, it matters to us.

"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."- 1 Corinthians 13:4-8a

Small People, Great Rewards

It's been a little while since I posted, but found this story and wanted to share it with you. Be blessed and be a blessing!

Once upon a time, in a strange and lovely place where some people
go once they've been rid of everything flesh, an elderly woman
approached a young man hunched over a huge and rather grand book.

She noticed, first of all, that there was a timeless quality
about the man's beauty--for, though of the male persuasion, he
was, indeed, quite beautiful beyond anything she had seen before
or since. He also was ignoring her, and even when she approached
so close as to cast a shadow over his work (though in the
brilliance of where she was, shadows of any kind were not at all
allowed), the beautiful man remained intent on his work, his
long, artfully shaped nose just inches from the printed page.

"Hello?" She ventured timidly. "Hello. Uh, they sent me here."
Receiving no response, she tried again. "Is this the right
place?"

"That depends," the beautiful man said without bothering to look
up.

Gaining confidence, the woman explained, "They said, 'See the one
at the table--with the book. Malaki.' Are you Malaki?"

Without changing his stooped posture one little bit, the young
man glanced up at the woman and permitted a trace of a smile to
toy with the corners of his pursed lips. "In person," he declared
with every measure of importance at his disposal.

"I don't get it," the woman said, scratching her head through
what was left of her thinning hair. "Wasn't the last guy named
Malaki?" She screwed her face into the shape of a question mark
as she struggled to gain foothold in an understanding of this
strange and magical place.

"Oh, we're all named Malaki," Malaki said. "It's generic--like
pharaoh, or Kleenex."

His explanation brought her no closer to understanding, and deep
in the pit of her stomach the woman felt an old and dreaded
twinge of homesickness--that queasy sensation of being somewhere
she didn't belong, set adrift from a place she would rather be.
With a long and wearied sigh she said, "Look, I'm trying to find
somebody, and they told me you could help."

Malaki drew himself up to his full height--a height that towered
over the elderly woman. He inhaled deeply, as if filling his
lungs with every bit of importance his office bestowed on him. "I
am the Keeper of the Book of Life. In this book," he ran his
large hands lovingly over the cream-colored pages before him,
"are the names of every person who has given his heart and soul
to Jesus Christ." With that declaration, Malaki leaned forward,
his face close to the woman's, expecting her to be thoroughly and
breathtakingly impressed.

"Here's the thing," she began, dismissing his grandiloquence
with a shrug, "my husband died twenty years ago. He was a
disciple of Jesus, but not a very important one. Nobody ever knew
anything about him; he didn't make any of the written accounts.
So I don't know if he would even be in your book."

"Oh my," answered Malaki quickly, "in that case I can guarantee
he is in the book. But, ahem," he sniffed, "are you?"

"I did resist for a long time," she confessed. "But just before I
died, I believed in Jesus and gave Him my life."

"Just under the wire, huh?" Malaki smirked.

"Now I'm looking for my husband--for old time's sake--you know how
it is." She winked.

Malaki glanced back down at his work, embarrassed. "Well,
actually, I don't."

The woman leaned over the small, ornate desk. There was urgency
in her voice when she said, "Could you tell me where he is? His
name is James son of--"

Suddenly Malaki's countenance lit up, and for the first time a
broad grin spread across his face, making it even more beautiful
than before. "You don't mean the James? Son of Alphaeus? You're
kidding!"

"You mean you know him?"

"Know Him! Why, he's one of our leading citizens! Everybody
knows James son of Alphaeus."

The woman found this difficult to believe. Her husband had been a
good man, but thoroughly and irrefutably ordinary. There were
times on market day that she had struggled in vain to locate
James--only to be later informed that he had been right there in
front of her. Her good husband had been glaringly unremarkable.
Surely Malaki was thinking of someone else. "Wait a minute," she
said, "short guy, dark curly hair."

Nodding, Malaki said, "Sure. I even know which page he's on." He
quickly flipped backward through the book with his delicate
fingers, stopping on one of the first pages of the huge volume.
With an expansive gesture, Malaki pointed his long, slender index
finger to one entry near the top of the page.

The woman leaned over the table. "Five stars?" She gasped.

"Our highest rating," Malaki said, his face beaming with pride.

"But, he was just another guy. Very ordinary."

"Precisely!"

She was now utterly confused. "If that's the case, how do the
real biggies live up here? Guys like Moses, Peter, John."

Malaki shrugged. "Just about like everyone else."

"I can't figure this."

"Well, it's not really part of my job description," he sniffed,
"but I'll try to explain as best I can. There are no favorites in
heaven, you see. God loves all who take their residence here.
However, the Father does have a rewards system."

"Rewards?"

"No one can buy their way into heaven. But God's children are
apportioned talents and what they accomplish with those talents
in His name is remembered by the Father. He rewards the diligent
works of everyone belonging to Him."

"Then, as I said," the woman sputtered, "the apostle Peter must
have the finest accommodations."

"No, not necessarily." Malaki leaned back into the simple yet
elegant chair that sat behind his table. "Peter received so many
rewards while on earth: he was a respected leader; a writer,
whose teachings will live on till the very end of time. But the
Father has a soft spot in His heart for the servant who receives
no glory during his earthly life. He has a very special love for
those who keep plugging away even when no one notices their
labors." He looked at the elderly woman standing at the other
side of the table. "Tell me, what did James do while he was 'down
there'?"

"Oh," she sighed, "he was kind of forgotten. He always ended up
doing the jobs no one else would. Taking out the trash. Sweeping
the church floor. Visiting with the beggars."

"And he didn't receive much thanks for his work, did he?"

"Of course not!" The woman said with some anger as she recalled
the disappointing anonymity in which her husband served. "No one
paid him any mind. Nobody even knew anything about it."

"But he kept on, didn't he," Malaki said patiently. "He kept on
with it, never shirking from even the most menial task."

The woman shrugged, "Someone had to do it."

"So James didn't receive much glory while he was on earth?"

"Glory?" She sputtered. "They forgot he was even around!"

Malaki rose and leaned toward the distraught woman. With all of
his persuasive power he reassured her. "God didn't. He didn't
forget. And now James has been paid in full. He now has all the
glory that others received while they were on earth. The
difference is, their glory came from men. James' glory is from
the Father--in person."

Calming, the woman now realized that she was in a place
remarkably dissimilar to earth--a place where a different set of
rules and consequences were in place. Smiling, she said, "It
sounds as if my husband has finally made a name for himself."

"Oh, he made his name on earth. Now he is reaping the reward."

"But please," she said insistently, "tell me: Where is James?"

"Well now, it would be my pleasure to take you there myself," he
said, closing the book. "His palace isn't far. Besides, I'd like
to be there when he receives his finest reward."

"What's that?"

"Why, you, of course!" Malaki grinned and took her by the arm.
"Twenty years ago he didn't know if he'd ever see you again. And
now he will--for eternity."

And the two--one ancient and one newly young again--moved deeper
into the brilliance of a place where there is no time, no sorrow
or pain. A place where there is only a joyful convocation of
those gathered around the throne--a throne surrounded by the
blinding glitter of earth-earned crowns happily offered in praise
to the One who never forgets the work of His beloved.

"What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father's glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what he has done." - Matthew 16:26-27

Communication is essential

I enjoy fables. Recently I have been rereading the book "Friedman's Fables" by Edwin H. Friedman. This is one of those little treasures that you hear of from someone and pick up to read at your leisure, then find yourself returning to over and over again.

Today I reread this story:
AN AMERICAN HOLLY

"There was a certain holly tree whose owner, when it was very young, planted it close to the foundation of his house to shelter the tree from the icy blasts of winter. He had done right. For it is the way of young, broad-leafed evergreens to lose their vital moisture to the evaporation of winter winds.

As time went by, however, the holly grew and soon found itself competing with that which had protected it during early life. The owner, therefore, decided to let the plant have more room. Carefully, early one spring, he dug up the sprouting tree and replanted it some distance away, so that it could branch out in all directions. As with the initial planting, the owner did everything with care;, the roots were embalmed in a big ball of earth, a moat of mud surrounded the new site to keep the rainwater from running away, a deep protective blanket of the finest mulch covered the area about the slowly thickening trunk, and fertilizer, again only the finest grade, was liberally applied.

But all did not go well, despite the best intentions and the kindest care. The holly began to lose its leaves. Some were lost every year, of course, but others had always blossomed to take their place. This time the dying leaves were not replenished. Something different was at work.

Perplexed by this unexpected turn of events, the owner gave his tree more care. He borrowed some books from the library to see what he could learn. He wrote to garden experts in the newspapers. Perhaps some blight or other noxious influence had come into the area, though he had read no warnings. He frequented the best garden shops and asked old-timers what they did on such occasions.

Every question brought an answer;every question acquired more than one answer, if asked more than one time. And with each new suggestion, tale, or remedy he heard, the owner hurried back and tried anew. But nothing worked.

Each morning when the owner awoke he found more leaves had fallen to the ground. Each week another branch was dead. Should these be allowed to remain on the trunk? Can life flow again through such hardened wood? Or does the dead decay and add decay to the living nearby?"

I'm going to stop here now and ask you to reflect on this fable with me. In some ways, I see this piece as a story of life and death. Life for the holly prepared by the garden's owner. Death by the transplant of a thriving tree. In another way I see the gospel of Christ reflected in the story and even the history of the church.

I wonder, what do you see?

Psalm 40

Tomorrow is a tough day for my family, for me. It is the 3rd anniversary of Matthew's death. Each day memories are a part of my life, but on certain days, like tomorrow, I know that the memories will pierce my mind and soul like slivers of glass shredding my flesh.

Tomorrow is also a day of joy and celebration for my family and for me. It is another anniversary - the 3rd anniversary of the church's affirmation of my call to pastoral ministry. It was on this date that we removed our son from life support and let him fully return to his Heavenly Father and on that same day God began a new life in me and each member of our family.

I praise God each day for the time we were given with our son. I will be in mourning for years to come, a part of me is missing and there is no amount of mourning that will replace that missing part. Yet, God hears my cries and is faithful in our distress.

Praise God! Praise God! Praise God!

1 I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.

2 He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.

3 He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear
and put their trust in the LORD.

4 Blessed is the man
who makes the LORD his trust,
who does not look to the proud,
to those who turn aside to false gods.

5 Many, O LORD my God,
are the wonders you have done.
The things you planned for us
no one can recount to you;
were I to speak and tell of them,
they would be too many to declare.

6 Sacrifice and offering you did not desire,
but my ears you have pierced;
burnt offerings and sin offerings
you did not require.

7 Then I said, "Here I am, I have come—
it is written about me in the scroll.

8 I desire to do your will, O my God;
your law is within my heart."

9 I proclaim righteousness in the great assembly;
I do not seal my lips,
as you know, O LORD.

10 I do not hide your righteousness in my heart;
I speak of your faithfulness and salvation.
I do not conceal your love and your truth
from the great assembly.

11 Do not withhold your mercy from me, O LORD;
may your love and your truth always protect me.

12 For troubles without number surround me;
my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see.
They are more than the hairs of my head,
and my heart fails within me.

13 Be pleased, O LORD, to save me;
O LORD, come quickly to help me.

14 May all who seek to take my life
be put to shame and confusion;
may all who desire my ruin
be turned back in disgrace.

15 May those who say to me, "Aha! Aha!"
be appalled at their own shame.

16 But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation always say,
"The LORD be exalted!"

17 Yet I am poor and needy;
may the Lord think of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
O my God, do not delay.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJHao_5N9d8