Straight Paths

I've Never Been Withouth Someting to Love

2010-08-01T12:00:00.001-04:00

Daisy enrolled in hospice when she was ninety years old. She had been widowed for six years and had been living in the nursing home for about a year. Daisy was born in Kentucky, married when she was fifteen and immediately moved to a farm in Pike County, Ohio with her new husband. Daisy worked as a nurse’s aid and her husband owned and operated a small sawmill.

As part of my initial assessment I asked Daisy, “Do you have any children?” When Daisy answered, “No”, I suspected she read my assumption, because she added, “But I’ve never been without something to love. I’ve always surrounded myself with something to love. I taught Sunday school for years and I baked muffins for the children every Sunday. The children called me “The Muffin Lady”. I loved those little children and they were always on my lap. One day a little boy reached up and pulled on my string of pearls and broke them. The pearls rolled across the floor. I cherished those pearls because my dead husband had bought them for me. One of the ladies asked me, ‘Aren’t you mad?’ I told her, ‘No!’ I don’t have my string of pearls anymore but those little children are my pearls.”

When Daisy moved into the nursing home she again surrounded herself with something to love. She passionately shared, “I like to encourage the old people here. Some of them are so depressed and just sit in their rooms. But I’ve gotten a lot of them out of their rooms and involved in activities.” The nursing home Social Worker applauded Daisy, “Daisy is one of our best therapists.” I feel the need to remind you that Daisy was ninety years old herself.

Daisy eventually became bedfast and was unable to go from room to room to encourage the other residents. So I asked, “Daisy is it hard for you now?” She deliberated for a few seconds and then replied, “No. I have a file of wonderful memories in my mind. And when I start feeling depressed I just pull out one and live it all over again.” A smile, an expression of deep satisfaction and contentment radiated from Daisy’s face.

Most people when they “…walk in the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23:4), look back and evaluate how they’ve spent their lives. They ask themselves, “Did I spend my life, my time my resources on what really matters?” “If I could go back and do it all over again what would I change?” The problem is we only get one time around and in the words of a contemporary country song, “It’s not a do over thing”. So it would behove us to live life on purpose, not casually or passively.

In my seventeen years as a hospice Social Worker I’ve met few patients who have said, “I wouldn’t have changed a thing”. That’s because we’re all imperfect and we all make mistakes. But as Willard, a former hospice patient and fellow pilgrim once told me, “The way I look at it, mistakes are only mistakes until we learn from them, then they become lessons. And life is full of lessons.” Man, isn’t that the truth! I don’t know about you but when I meet Jesus face-to-face I’m not going to ask for what I deserve. I’m going to ask for mercy.

We can’t go back and change the past, but we can choose how to spend our present and future. And I think we can learn a lesson or two from Daisy. Starting today, from this moment on, we can choose to surround ourselves with something to love. We can choose to spend our lives and our resources on those things which really matter, on matters of eternal significance.

I’ll leave you with a sobering line from an old “Dear Abby” column I read several years ago, “I’ve never heard anybody say on their death bed, ‘I wish I’d spent more time at the office’”

"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)

But I Never Lost a Thing

2010-07-26T04:20:00.000-04:00

Owen, nicknamed “Deek”, was admitted to hospice at age eighty-two with end stage congestive heart failure. Deek grew up in the small rural town of Beaver, Ohio where he and his older brother, Sandy, were members of “The Pig Turd Alley Gang”. Deek explained, “At least that’s what the old neighbor man, Daddy Schrader, called us. I was ten years old back then and my friend ‘Copperhead’ was sixteen. He was old enough to drive. We hoed corn, moved hay and planted and picked up potatoes for Daddy Schrader. We were like farm hands.”

Faith, Deek’s sister-in-law, pointed to a seventy-two year old picture of “the gang” of five young boys hanging on the wall. The picture reminded me of “Our Gang” from the old television serial. With her characteristic comedic wit and sly grin, Faith pointed out that, “Deek was a runt, but he was a runt with an attitude.”

Deek reflected on his career, “I always worked in management”. Faith added, “I don’t know how, but he always managed to start at the top.” Deek added with a grin, “So, I never had to do a days work in my life.” His last job of thirteen years was as a traveling manager for Bonded Oil convenient marts. He filled in during the managers’ leaves of absence and vacations. He shared how he always left a bouquet of flowers and a thank you card, for the hotel staffs, wherever he stayed, “My Company liked the idea but they told me not to use my own money anymore.”

Deek was proud that his company frequently received complimentary feedback from the stores about how nice he had been to their employees. He stated, “I liked working with people… I’m a lot like Mark Twain, the fellow who said, ‘I’ve never met a man I didn’t like.’” Deek immediately corrected himself, “That wasn’t Mark Twain who said that was it; that was Will Rogers.”

Deek lived most of his adult life in Springfield, Ohio, but after his divorce from a 32 year marriage, he moved in with his sister-in-law, Faith, to help care for his ailing brother. Deek had always been close to his nieces and nephews but after the move he grew even closer. And after his brother’s death, Faith stated, “Deek just stayed on”.

Deek reflected, “I’ve always loved children…A Mexican man and woman were hitchhiking from Columbus to Yellow Springs during sweet corn season…They had three kids with them so I picked them up. When they got in the truck I asked them, ‘What’s that black bucket you have with you?’ They told me they cooked corn in it and that the kids hadn’t eaten anything but corn for two days. So I bought them some bologna and pop.”

Deek continued, “Once when we were at the bus station buying a ticket to Idaho, there was a young fellow wanting a ticket to somewhere down south, but he only had enough money to take him part way…He needed twenty-five dollars, so I paid the rest. I told the girl, ‘Give him a ticket all the way.’” Faith added, “Deek didn’t want him getting off the bus in the middle of the night and having to walk the rest of the way.”

Deek shared a final story, “I heard about a couple down the road that didn’t have any food for their kids so I bought them sixty dollars worth of groceries. When I dropped the groceries off they didn’t say a word; no thanks or anything, but that’s alright. That’s not what I did it for anyway. They’re doing alright now.” And there were the clothes and the diamond earrings Deek bought for the great nieces; the battery operated “Gator” for the young boy next door, and on and on.

Deek evaluated his life, “I could have been a millionaire if I hadn’t listened to my ex-wife. ITT was down to one dollar a share and I had $10,000, but my wife told me not to risk it…I’ve lost three houses and three cars in my divorces…I’ve lost a lot of money but I’ve also given a lot away.” Deek paused, surveyed the gallery of pictures of his great nieces and nephews hanging on his bedroom wall and concluded, “But I never lost a thing”.

I came upon another fitting quote by the late Will Rogers (1879-1935): “Live your life so that whenever you lose, you are ahead.” Or in Jesus words, “…whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:24-26) I think Deek would whole heartedly concur. What about you?

It Was No Coincidence

2010-07-19T17:10:00.000-04:00

This is the last of a three part series about Joe who was referred to Hospice at age 59 for lung cancer. I’ve learned much from Joe and I hope you have too. He reminded me of the importance of having a goal, a passion, of living the adventure. He also reminded me that with every worthwhile goal there is the “cup and the baptism”, the work and the sacrifice; that creativity is not as much a gift as it is the process of a dedicated heart.

But we now come to the last leg of Joe’s journey, and the music is fading. He is bedridden and completely dependent. His wife, Nancy, continues to provide excellent care and Joe’s mother, Ella, is now staying up nights with Joe so Nancy can get some needed rest. Ella is worried about Joe’s relationship with God, or the absence of one. He had always been resistant, “He just wouldn’t talk about it.” She felt that his intellect had become a barrier to simple faith. She was hoping and praying that God would send someone to get through to him. She just never imagined it would be her.

Ella shared, “That night I asked Joe many times if he wanted me to pray for him. After I prayed, I remembered, and I talked with Joe that night about his childhood, about the time I heard him praying. One night, when Joe was around ten years old, I heard his younger brother, Jerry, crying. I got up to fix him a bottle and when I went by the room I heard Joe talking to someone. I wandered, ‘Who in the world is he talking to?’ Then I heard him praying, ‘Please God, don’t let my mommy leave my daddy. I love both of them and I want them to be together.’ I stood there and listened. I knew I couldn’t do it in my self, in my own strength. So that night I asked God for help; that’s when I got saved. That’s why I’ve been a Christian all these years. It was no coincidence that that my little boy, Jerry, wanted a bottle that night.“

That night Joe’s mother, Ella, told him about how God had answered his prayer, as a ten year old little boy, some forty-nine years earlier. She then asked Joe if he wanted to pray the “sinner’s prayer” with her; and he did. Ella stated, “That night he was ready. He had been thinking about all the things that had been said. It wasn’t me at all. It just came to my mind. It was God working in me. It was no coincidence.”

There are times in our lives when we question whether God knows or even cares about us, about our circumstances. I’m reminded of the words from a contemporary Christian song, “When you don’t see the plan, when you don’t understand, when you can’t trace His hand, trust His heart.”

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.” (Jeremiah 29:11-12).

The Cup and The Baptism

2010-07-11T13:26:00.000-04:00

This is part two of a three to four part series on Joe, a 60-year-old hospice patient who died of cancer several years ago. Joe was very intelligent. His wife, Nancy, stated “Our children and grandchildren really thought he knew everything”.

Joe and I talked about the importance of having a dream, a vision, and the need to act upon it. We talked about the adventure of living, of pursuing something new, something challenging. Joe’s dream was to become a writer, to publish a fictional novel. His adventure wasn’t chaotic, but very intentional. He planned, he prepared and he worked hard at it. He’d been taking a correspondence course in creative writing for a few years. He studied how successful writers approached the work of writing. As he shared his findings I was surprised how disciplined and structured most successful writers are. I imagined their work as inspired, almost spontaneous and effortless, hardly work at all. I guess I’ve heard too many stories about artists writing hit songs on a napkin in 15 minutes.

I always thought of creativity as a touch, a gift, not a process, and especially not hard work. I had the idea that only a gifted few were creative, which excluded me. I discovered a book that challenged my ideas about creativity, “Coloring Outside the Lines” by Howard G. Hendricks. He suggested that every human being has creative potential. But it’s easier to say, “I’m just not creative”, than it is to admit that we just don’t want to do the work and exercise the discipline required. Consequently, most of us are overexposed and underdeveloped in regards to creativity.

Howard Hendricks referred to the following story to underline the true nature of creativity. “When the governor of North Carolina complimented Thomas Edison on his inventive genius, Edison denied that he was a great inventor. ‘But you have over a thousand patents to your credit, haven’t you?’ asked the governor. ‘Yes,’ replied Edison. ‘But my only original invention is the phonograph. I guess I’m just a really good sponge. I absorb ideas from every source I can, put them into practical use, and improve on them until they become of some value. The ideas are mostly those of others who don’t develop them themselves.’”

Joe and I talked about how most of us desire the prominent positions, the notoriety, but not the work and sacrifice demanded. Joe and I talked about the Biblical story of the mother of James and John, two of the disciples of Jesus. She asked Jesus, with her sons at her side, “Grant that these two sons of mine may sit, one on Your right hand and the other on the left, in Your kingdom.” But Jesus responded, “You do not know what you ask. Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink, and be baptized with the baptism that I am about to be baptized with?” (Matthew 20:17-28).

You see, with every position, with every gift and talent comes responsibility. With every role comes a cup and a baptism. Jesus proclaimed, “...For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more”. (Luke 12:47-49) So we better be careful what we ask for. We might get it.

The Adventure of Living

2010-07-04T22:47:00.000-04:00

Joe was referred to hospice in December of 1997 and died of lung cancer in October of 1999; at age 60. I ran into Joe’s mother, Ella, shortly after Joe’s death and she sighed, “I miss him so much.” She commented about how much she enjoyed my columns and stated, “He would be so proud of you.” I explained that Joe was one of my inspirations; that he had encouraged me to continue journaling resulting in this weekly newspaper column. Ella stated, “I know. I heard you guys talking one day.”

Joe was born and raised in the small river town of New Boston, Ohio. Joe was very intelligent, with a heart of a student, the product of God-given abilities and a nurturing mother. Ella reflected, “I started reading to Joe when he was real little, like all parents do. I started reading adult books to him when he was around five, Jack London books; ‘ The Call of the Wild’, mostly adventure books. I would read ahead to see if there was anything inappropriate that he wouldn’t understand, and I would skip it. It was the adventure that he liked. He went through a phase in highschool when he wanted to be like the other kids. He didn’t want to be called an egghead, so he didn’t study very hard, but he still got good grades. There was a group of kids at the highschool who were really smart, but they just didn’t want anybody else to know. He really wanted to be an artist and a writer…I told him, ‘You do what you want to do. Someone else can’t run your life for you.’"

Because of chance and circumstance, Joe never pursued writing or art as a vocation. After highschool Joe worked at the nearby atomic energy plant for about a year. He then enlisted in the Air Force, where, his mother stated, “He went from one school to the other”, receiving extensive training in electronics. He even worked on the Gemini Space Project for McDonald-Douglas. Joe returned to the atomic energy plant after discharge from service and worked there until disabled by his cancer.

Joe may not have been a published writer or artist, but that passion and dream never died, it was just diverted. Joe graciously showed me a sample of his drawings. He told me about a correspondence course he completed in writing and he allowed me to read some of his completed assignments. Finally he invited me to read the draft of a fictional novel he was working on. After Joe’s death, his mother stated, “It’s too bad he wasn’t able to finish it.” I agreed, but questioned, “But is the adventure in the completion or in the process?”

Paul Tournier, in his book, “The Adventure of Living” wrote, “The instinct for adventure may be cloaked, smothered and repressed, but it never disappears from the human personality.” He described the impulse for adventure as a wave that we ride until it exhausts itself, and then we look for a new one. It’s the ride that’s exciting, not reaching the beach.

Who knows, there may be an unpublished book lying dormant in you; an unwritten poem or song; an idea for improvement in a process at work; an unpainted picture; a journey never taken, a talent never realized, an adventure never lived.

I’ll close with a story about one of my best friends, Jerry. Jerry called me several years ago to bounce a life long dream off me. Jerry was in his forties at the time. He shared, “I’ve been thinking about going to racing school in Atlanta. I’ve rode motorcycles all my life and I’ve always wondered whether or not I’m good enough to compete…some people think I’m too old to start now. Most racers usually do start racing when they’re really young, but what do you think?” I responded, “You never know what you can do until you try”. My cliché may have been well worn but it was sincere.

Well, Jerry went to racing school, and not only was he good enough to compete; over time he qualified for the Grand National road racing championships at “Road Atlanta” and placed sixth in the nation in his class.

Afterward Jerry and I reflected on our telephone conversation and I commented, “Its true isn’t it, you really don’t know what you can do until you try.” Then Jerry totally eclipsed my well worn cliché with a very profound and penetrating observation, “No Loren, it’s more than that. You really don’t even know who you are until you try”.

“People are like turtles; they don’t move forward until they stick their necks out.”

Jesus is Here for Me

2010-06-27T08:00:00.003-04:00

Lucy was in her sixties, but I’m just guessing, because it’s been about twenty-five years since Lucy left for her Heavenly home. My oldest daughter, Mandy, was only about six years old then. It was back when Mercy hospital was still standing; back when we had three competing hospitals in this small city of Portsmouth.

I met Lucy at Mercy Hospital when her doctor referred her to our Social Work Department for discharge planning. Lucy had just been diagnosed with cancer which turned her world upside down. When she was referred to the cancer center for chemotherapy she told me, “But I don’t have any way to get there”. So I volunteered to take her.

Our trips to and from the cancer center afforded us the opportunity to get to know each other pretty well. As Lucy’s condition declined she struggled to get in and out of her upstairs apartment. So my brother, Tony, and I moved her to “Old Market Square” in his old white van. But Lucy’s full size bed was too large for her apartment. When I told my wife, Susie, over the dinner table that night, that I needed to find Lucy a half bed, our daughter, Mandy, spoke up and said, “Dad, she can have mine. I can sleep on the floor.” So she did for a while.

I eventually invited Lucy to church with my family and she accepted. The church embraced Lucy and Lucy embraced the church. But it was a while before Lucy embraced Jesus as her “way…truth…and… life (John 14:6). And just so you know, there were no strong arm tactics, no emotional blackmail, and no manipulation. You see, God won’t accept less than our love, and love can only exist when there is absolute free will and mutual consent.

Looking back, I don’t think Lucy’s daughter, Dee, trusted me at first. I imagine she was wandering “What’s this strange guy up to?” And I don’t blame her. After all, even Jesus told his disciples, “Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves. Therefore be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.”(Matthew 10:16); or in today’s vernacular, “Don’t be naive. You can’t believe everything people tell you. So you better watch your back”.

But based on my last telephone conversation with Dee, I think she discovered what God was up to. To my surprise, Dee called me at home that night, some twenty five years ago, and said: “Loren, you can’t believe what just happened. Mom just died. I was at the hospital visiting her and she was sitting up on the side of the bed talking with me. She seemed like she was doing really good but then all of a sudden she told me, ‘Well Dee, I have to go. Jesus is here for me and I have to leave.’ Then mom smiled, waved bye to me and then she was gone.”

Man, what a way to go! You know, I’ve heard people say, “When you die you’re all alone”, “Nobody can go with you.” There’s even an old gospel song that contends, “You’ve got to cross that lonesome river, and you’ve got to cross it by yourself”. Hogwash!

When we are in Christ Jesus we are never alone. Don’t take my word for it, listen to what Jesus had to say about it: “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; that where I am, there you may be also…I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you. (John 14:1-4)

I want you to know and believe that Jesus is willing to meet you at the cross roads, whatever and wherever they may be; that He will “come to you”; that you don’t have to “cross it by yourself”. But the choice is ours; for love cannot exist apart from absolute free will and mutual consent. You see, Jesus is not a door-to-door salesman, He’s a gentleman; He’ll knock, but He won’t stick his foot in the door: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.” (Revelations 3:20)

As you read this story, If you feel Jesus knocking on the door of your heart, for God’s sake, for your sake, open it and invite Him in.

I Have a Father, He Calls Me His Own

2010-06-20T10:27:00.001-04:00

This week I’m diverting from my usual hospice patient story in order to honor Father’s Day. And I’m also personally stepping out into the open; because some people, like “Doubting Thomas”; will never believe until they touch another person’s wounds. So here goes.

I’ve never known my biological father and there were many times, as a young boy, that I longed to have a father. I longed for a father to teach me, to believe in me and yes, even correct me. The longing was so deep, so profound at times that I physically ached in my gut. Times when I heard friends or classmates talk about what they did with their fathers over the weekend; times when I longed for someone to teach me how to work on a car or to hunt. Times when I watched TV shows like “Father Knows Best” or “Leave it to Beaver”. And those awkward painful walks onto the football field on parent’s nights.

But there were men, good role models, who encouraged me along the way. They were like an oasis in a desert. There was my uncle Don who was an alcoholic until his later years. Don walked the side lines, following the action, at my football games. I’d hear his voice above the crowd cheering me on. It didn’t matter if he was drunk or not, because at least he was there. And he’d embarrass me when he’d brag on me after the games. He was proud of me; he embraced me.

And there was Jesse Newberry, the father of my high school friend, Bill. Bill told me in study hall one day that his dad offered to pay for me to attend an expensive speed reading course. I asked Bill why and he replied, “Dad said he sees potential in you; that he could see you going to college some day.” College hadn’t entered my mind until that day. And Mr. Newberry also gave me my only high school graduation present; a shirt that I wore until it became threadbare. I grieved the day I had to discard it. Mr. Newberry believed in me.

And there was Charlie Dodds; I worked for Charlie at his corner market from the sixth grade until the ninth grade. Charlie taught me how to work. As I proved myself he trusted me with increasing responsibilities. I thought I’d arrived when he allowed me to slice lunch meat behind the meat counter and work the register. And I remember Charlie taking me to Coney Island with his family. Charlie and his family included me.

And there was coach Pauley (Jack) who pulled me aside in the tunnel of the old New Boston football stadium at half time one night. He grabbed me by the shoulder pads, looked me straight in the eye and told me, “Loren, I know you can do better than that. I know what you’re capable of. Now get out there and do it.” Coach Pauley inspired and challenged me. There were so many people who encouraged me along the way. I wish I could name them all but I thought it fitting to at least name a few.

You know, you’d think that by the age of thirty I would have out grown my longing for a father. It was about twenty-seven years ago and I was going through some very trying times. I routinely started each day studying the Bible and praying at my old metal desk, in our dingy unfinished basement. I prayed, “Lord, I don’t mean to whine and complain, but it sure would be nice to have a father to talk to about things from time to time.” God’s response was unexpected and immediate. I didn’t hear an audible voice but that “still small voice” of God spoke loud and clear: “Who do you think it was who brought all those people your way? Who do you think it was who has guided you by my word? You’ve gotten to know me in a way that some people never will. You’ve had me.”

I wept before my Father that day and asked Him to forgive me for overlooking Him; and ever since that day, Father’s Day has never been the same and neither have I. For I truly believe that I am of all men most richly blessed; because: “I have a maker He formed my heart. Before even time began my life was in his hand. He knows my name. He knows my every thought. He sees each tear that falls and he hears me when I call. I have a father he calls me his own. He’ll never leave me no matter where I go...” (Song: “I Have a Maker”, by the Maranatha Singers)

I’m writing this to those who may have never known their father; to those who have known a father who wasn’t a loving father; and to those who have lost their fathers. I want you to know that this Father’s Day doesn’t have to be just a painful reminder; for you have a Heavenly Father too and He knows your name”. And we never out grow our need for our Father; so don’t you think today would be a good day to spend some time with Him?

“Sing to God, sing praises to his name; lift up a song to him who rides through the deserts; his name is the LORD… Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God...” Psalms 68:4-6, ESV)

Love Won't Allow It

2010-03-21T23:48:00.000-04:00

Bruce was 65 years old when referred to Hospice for lung cancer. He and Peggy had been married 45 years and had two adult daughters. Bruce was mild mannered, but his wife, Peggy, was a fighter. She recounted the day their doctor told them his cancer was terminal, “When the doctor told us his cancer was in his bone I told the doctor, ‘You might think I’m weak, but I’m not as weak as you think I am. I’ll have my cry and then I’ll come back fighting; and I’ll make him fight too.’ He asked me how I could be so sure and I told him, ‘You just wait and see.” She continued, “I allowed Bruce two or three weeks for his pity party, then I told him, ‘Get dressed. You’re going out.’ Love has to be tough sometimes. Love won’t allow it.”

Peggy realized the difference between grief and depression. You allow normal grief but you treat depression and resignation. You might question Peggy’s timing and treatment, but I don’t think you can question her love or intention.

Many of us don’t recognize real love when it shows up; because sometimes it shows up with a stern determined expression on its face and speaks sharply. It doesn’t even hesitate making us feel uncomfortable at times. And real love doesn’t passively stand by and watch someone continue on a self-destructive course. It cares enough to do something about it.

Real love is dedicated to the highest good of another and its goal is always their personal and spiritual growth. Love cares enough to speak the truth. It’s willing to confront, to tell the person the truth even when they don’t want to hear it.

But I’ve noticed that in the Bible, “truth” is usually combined with “mercy”. Wise King Solomon exhorted his son, “Let not mercy and truth forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart, and so find favor and high esteem in the sight of God and man.” (Proverbs 3:3-4).

There’s a good reason truth needs to be accompanied by mercy, because truth without mercy can destroy a person. But the Apostle Paul gave us some excellent advice, that when followed, will safely guide us: “Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that it will give grace to those who hear.”(Ephesians 4:29)

Let’s inventory our relationships. Are we allowing our spouse, a child or a friend to continue on a self-destructive course without saying or doing anything about it? If so, let’s care enough to confront. And remember, “Love won’t allow it”.

“Open rebuke is better than love carefully concealed. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful” (Proverbs 27:5-6).

Without Wax

2010-03-14T08:00:00.001-04:00

This is part two of a two part series about Luanna and her husband, Henry. Luanna was our hospice patient. She was “faint hearted” and needed encouragement; especially spiritually. She questioned the authenticity of her faith in times of weakness. But we both learned that pretension only alienates us from one another. And the false belief, that we always need to be strong, cultivates unrealistic expectations and produces unrealistic guilt and shame. Therefore, we concluded that sometimes it’s better to be real than it is to be strong, or in the words of the Apostle Paul: “And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me…For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

This week I’m writing about Henry. Henry was slim with silver grey hair combed straight back. He was gentlemanly, soft spoken and humble. He dressed casually, usually in blue jeans. But during one of my visits their adult daughter, Janet, shared,” Last year we bought dad a new black suit, new cowboy boots and a hat. He really looks sharp when he dresses up.” I suggested to Henry, “I bet you looked liked a senator” and he replied, “I don’t want to look like anything I’m not supposed to look like.” What sincerity!

The dictionary definition of sincerity is; “Free from hypocrisy or pretense, genuine; real”. But I prefer the definition presented by pastor and teacher, Chuck Swindol, in a radio broadcast I heard several years ago. He broke the word down into its Greek roots which are, “sin” + “cere”; “without” + “Wax”; or “without wax”. He shared how early Greek potters and sculptors melted wax to repair and disguise breaks, cracks and blemishes in their pottery and sculptures. They then deceptively sold them to undiscerning customers in the marketplace. They weren’t “sincere”, they weren’t “without wax”.

Let’s be honest, we aren’t always “without wax” either, are we? In fact we aren’t much different than Adam and Eve. In the book of Genesis were are told that after they disobeyed God, “Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves coverings…Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden…” (Genesis 3:7-8) They tried to hide their imperfections. Even though God already knew what they had done he still asked, “Where are you?” He was inviting them to step out from behind the trees of defense and pretense, and to stand nakedly honest before him. For God knows that only, “...the truth will make you free”. (John 8:32) But they didn’t; and sometimes, neither do we.

But God continues to invite us to step out into the light of truth. He is inviting us, and requiring us, to become who we are. You see, we don’t have to look like anything we’re not supposed to look like, because He accepts us just the way we are.

“Behold, you desire truth in the innermost being; and in the hidden part you will make me to know wisdom” (Psalm 51:6)

You Can Count That a Day Well Spent

2010-02-21T11:00:00.001-05:00

I was privileged to meet Sandy and her husband, George, in the hospital after her physician consulted hospice to talk with her about discontinuing dialysis. Sandy was only fifty-one years old; she was blind, had both legs amputated and had been on dialysis for renal failure; all complications of diabetes. Sandy soberly understood the consequences of discontinuing dialysis. She affirmed, “I know that if I stop dialysis I could die in a few days or a few weeks. But I’m just tired of hurting.” She cried, “I just don’t want to live like this anymore. But I’m afraid I’m letting my family down.” George assured her, “You aren’t letting us down. It’s your decision.”

Sandy and George talked about enjoying their “country life”, especially having horses. Sandy appeared so soft spoken and gentle that it surprised me when she told me she had her motorcycle license. When I responded, “You took the motorcycle test and got your license!” Sandy replied, “Where do you think I got it; out of a Cracker Jack box?” Sandy may have been tired but she was still feisty.

Sandy opted to discontinue dialysis, enrolled in hospice, and returned to the nursing home where she’d resided for the previous three months. One day Sandy’s hospice aid, Sue, informed me, “Sandy was asking about you today. I think she’d like to see you.” When I arrived Sandy immediately started crying and admitted, “I’ve been worrying about a lot of things. Do you think God looks down on cremation? As we discussed her question she concluded, “The soul is what counts; ashes to ashes. I just want to make sure my soul goes to heaven.”

Then Sandy’s mind transitioned from anxiety to reconciliation and resolution: “I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been in the nursing home. When I first came back here I went through a stubborn spell. I’m blind, so I decided that if they didn’t feed me I wouldn’t eat. I was just thinking about myself. Now I find myself thinking about other people besides myself. I pray for people. I pray for the whole world. There are people who have it worse than me. I’m really blessed. The nursing staff here is so good to me. I was crying the other night and one of the nurses just sat and held my hand. That meant so much to me. She told me to call her anytime and she would sit with me, even if she was at home when I called.”

Sandy also shared how close she’d gotten to her Hospice aid, Sue, “She has grown to be a very close friend. She talks to me. She tells me about her family and I tell her about mine, and we pray for each other. She tells me jokes and gets me laughing.” Sandy continued, “I know that God has me here for a reason. I’ve been thinking about getting involved in the activities here. I thought that if I could do something constructive and look back on the day and know that I said a kind word to someone or made someone smile, I would be able to sleep better.”

Sandy’s unselfish resolve reminds me of a stanza from a poem: “If you can sit down at the set of sun and count the acts that you have done. And counting, find one self-denying deed, one word, that eased the heart of him who heard; one glance most kind; that fell like sunshine where it went – Then you may count that day well spent.”

Sandy concluded, “I just hope I can die with dignity like the lady down the hall. You never heard her say a word. She never complained. I’ve prayed that God would give me the dignity to die like that.”

Sandy’s testimony was so inspiring that I asked her permission to publish it. She graciously and humbly agreed and then asked me, “If I’m not still around to see it, will you be mad at me?”

I’d planned on visiting Sandy the day that I finished this final draft, but I was informed she’d died the night before. I’m convinced her prayer was answered, that God had given her the dignity to die like the lady down the hall. After all, I witnessed irrefutable evidence. And, no, I’m not mad; I’m privileged, I’m humbled, I’m thankful.

Why not resolve to live with the same dignity that Sandy died with? After all, it won’t cost us a cent. And just maybe we’ll be able to count our days “well spent”.

“Do nothing out of selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others. (Philippians 2:3-4)

Remember a Dollar For The Homeless

2010-02-07T13:18:00.000-05:00

Dallas is seventy-nine years old and a hospice patient with terminal cancer. He, and his wife Ginny, live in a modest duplex in town. Dallas loves the outdoors and loves to manicure his lawn. He admits that he’s struggling a little with his prognosis. He’s doing better than the doctors predicted so he wanders where on the road he is. With a quivering voice and tears in his eyes, Dallas pointed up and declared, “God is the only one who really knows and He is the only one who can heal me. So I’ll just keep pushing until I can’t push no more.”

Dallas and Ginny were children during the Great Depression. Ginny recounted: “Nobody had jobs then. We had fried potatoes and biscuits and gravy for breakfast. An egg, well, that was for rich people. The hobos would come to our door almost every day. They marked the houses some way; so they could all know which houses would give them something to eat. Mom and dad always helped out strangers. They were generous like that. When a hobo came to the door mom would always give them something to eat. She would tell them to sit on the front porch. She would fix them a plate of whatever we had left over. Mom would sprinkle water over the left over biscuits and then reheat them to make them soft again. She’d carry the food out to the front porch and sometimes she would sit down and talk with them. When they were finished they always said thank you. Dallas added, “Sometimes you would see them on the streets holding signs ‘Will work for food’. But you never saw them after dark. I think they stayed under the bridge. They never bothered any body.”

“Homelessness” is just a new name for an age old problem. Jesus said, “For you have the poor always with you” (Matthew 26:11) Almost thirty-five hundred years ago, God directed Moses to command the people: “When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not wholly reap the corners of your field …You shall leave them for the poor and for the stranger…” (Leviticus 23:22). And the Apostle Paul wrote, “…we should remember the poor...”(Galatians 2:10)

But it seems more complicated today, doesn’t it? We still see people holding signs stating, “Will work for food”; or they come up to us and ask, “Can you spare a couple bucks?” How do we know if the need is legitimate? Even when we do give, we wander if we did the right thing. Did we really help or just help someone buy alcohol or drugs?

I want to suggest something that is a “right thing”. The church my family attends has a large pot located at the door. At the end of every service the congregation is encouraged to, “Remember, a dollar for the homeless”. The money collected in the pot is donated to the local homeless shelter. A dollar seems so insignificant. But do you know what. It feels so good to play a small part in something so big.

Out of curiosity, I called the homeless shelter last week to see what difference our donations make. Diane, one of the employees told me, “We couldn’t run without the help. I don’t know what we would do.” She stated that a few other churches and several civic organizations also help, “The community is really good to us.”

I asked about the services they provide and Diane replied, “We are considered an ‘emergency shelter’ so we can only provide food and shelter for a maximum of 30 days every 18 months. We can house up to thirty-six residents and we always have kids”. The staff helps clients obtain services and benefits they are entitled to; they help them find permanent housing when possible; they teach money management; engage in “homeless prevention” by helping with rent and utilities; and operate a food pantry. Diane stated, “It’s just like trying to keep up a large house…Just buying toilette paper for 36 people is expensive.” I asked what they would like to do if they had more money. Diane replied, “We’d like to buy new beds…remodel our kitchen…add a bathroom...”

Now the challenge! There are over a hundred churches in our area. If each congregation averages only fifty people, and every person gave “…a dollar for the homeless”, it would add up to $260,000 a year. Can you imagine what could legitimately be done; the scope of services that could be provided? We could collectively meet most of the legitimate basic needs of the homeless in our area, one dollar at a time. Then, even when we decide not to give the fellow on the corner a couple bucks, we don’t have to feel ashamed, because we are still doing something.

If you’re a pastor, I challenge you, in a spirit of cooperation, to invite and allow your congregation to, “Remember, a dollar for the homeless” If you attend a local congregation, I challenge you to make the suggestion. In case you need to call the homeless shelter to tell them your money is on its way, their telephone number is 353-4085.

A Human Being First and a Husband Second

2010-01-31T08:45:00.013-05:00

Jim was in his late sixties when he was admitted to hospice for brain cancer. He was tall and lanky; well over six feet tall. He was bald from surgery and chemotherapy and unable to talk. During my initial visit Jim sat silently folded into his wheelchair. His appearance disguised his accomplishments and abilities, but his wife, Mary made sure I knew what kind of man he’d been. She informed me, “He was a brilliant man. He was strong- willed and self-disciplined. He was gifted in mathematics and sciences; he was a chemist and the nationwide quality control director for a large corporation.”

After reviewing the challenges that she and Jim had experienced because of Jim’s cancer, Mary concluded, “You can learn a lot from hard times if you are willing. Other people can be your teachers. And you can learn as much from bad examples as you can from good ones. You can learn what not to do.”

Naturally, I asked Mary what she’d learned through Jim’s illness and she paused a few seconds to reflect and concluded, “I’ve learned to look at Jim as a human being first and a husband second, because you expect more from a husband than you do a human being.” Mary’s statement stopped me in my tracks. As she continued talking I struggled to stay connected, to listen. I felt immediately compelled to inventory my relationships. Who have I failed to see as a human being first? Upon whom have I laid unrealistic expectations, and why?

I’m reminded of Jesus’ rebuke of the legalistic, hypocritical Pharisees of His day; “They bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers (Matthew 23:4) Let’s admit it, we do the same thing today, don’t we? We “bind heavy burdens”, in the form of unrealistic expectations, and lay them on the shoulders of our spouses, our children, our parents, our friends, our pastors, our physicians etc. We expect more from them than we do from a human being.

Tim Keller, the pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Manhattan wrote a powerfully penetrating and enlightening book titled, “Counterfeit Gods”, in which he explores and reveals the roots of our unrealistic expectations. His words spoke so strongly to me that what I write from this point on feels like I’m flirting with plagiarism. But I’ve written them on the tablet of my heart and they now feel like a part of me. So I give Tim Keller credit for any good thing you may receive from this point on.

Tim Keller contends that the human heart is an “Idol factory”; that we take “good things” like romance, love, marriage, family, approval, personal success, health, beauty, and material possessions and turn them into “ultimate things”.

These good things can become our idols, our “counterfeit gods”. An idol is anything we consider essential to our happiness and fulfillment other than God. How many times have you said to yourself, “I’d be happy if…If I only had…..if I could only…If they would only ...”?

Tim Keller concludes that no human being, husband, wife, child, or parent can stand up “under the crushing weight of our divine expectations…No human being is qualified for that role…and the inevitable result is bitter disillusionment”. You see, when we turn a “good thing” into an “ultimate thing” we always end up disappointed; because they can never live up to our expectations. And in the light of truth, in the light of who we are, who others are and who God is, it’s not only insane, it’s unfair.

The subtle danger lies in that idols are almost always good things. But freedom isn’t found by no longer loving and appreciating the good things, but in loving God so much more that we don’t become “enslaved by our attachments”. For we all worship something and whatever we worship we serve. Therefore, our idols can’t just be removed they must be replaced, “supplanted by God himself…not as a hedge against failure. Not as one more resource to use to help us achieve our agendas…He is a whole new agenda.”

In conclusion, I challenge us to identify our “counterfeit gods” Then maybe we can see others as human beings first; and maybe we’ll wise up and stop going to dry wells for a drink of water.

My people have committed two evils. They have forsaken Me, the Fountain of Living Water. And they have hewn themselves cisterns, broken cisterns that hold no water. (Jeremiah 2:13)

What If You Jump?

2010-01-17T08:00:00.008-05:00

Carlos was admitted to hospice for lung cancer at age eighty-two. Carlos was a devoted Kiwanis Club member. Four years earlier, when Carlos’ wife, Pearl, was still living and on hospice, he roped me into speaking at his Kiwanis club luncheon. Carlos didn’t have to tug very hard though; because I’ve always been thankful for the New Boston Kiwanis Club. You see, they sponsored our high school National Honor Society and managed the low-income apartments where I lived for about a year while in college.

Harold, the Kiwanis apartment manager back then, taught me some painfully valuable lessons about “choices and consequences”. I remember the day he knocked on my apartment door, apartment L-2, and said, “You’re evicted! And I want you out of here right now!” I defiantly, and overly confidently, declared, “I’m not leaving! You can’t make me! I know my rights!” Well, later that same evening Harold was at my door again, this time accompanied by a New Boston police officer. I moved out the next day. I think that’s all I better say about that.

When Carlo’s daughter, Vicki, shared the following story with me, I knew I had to pass it on. Vicki recounted: “It was about fourteen years ago, back when mom just got saved and was studying the Bible a lot…Mom had only been a Christian for about a year. She and dad got saved at the same time…When my granddaughter, Kelsey, was about a year old; mom and I were in the back yard watching the kids play. We were standing by the back porch.” Carlos added, “I built that porch. It was a small porch with an awning over it.” Vicki continued; “Mom and I were talking and all at once Kelsey jumped off the porch towards me. I turned around real fast just in time to catch her. Mom said, ‘That’s the kind of faith that God wants us to have in Him; the willingness to jump to Him, to trust Him to catch us.’”

Pearl’s profound realization reminds me of a song by Nicole Nordaman titled, “What If”: “What if you’re right and He’s just another nice guy? What if it’s true; they say the cross will only make a fool out of you…? What if you pick apart the logic and begin to poke the holes? What if the crown of thorns is no more than a folklore that must be told…? But what if you’re wrong; what if there’s more?

What if there’s hope that you’ve never dreamed of hoping for? What if you jump; just close your eyes? What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?”

My eviction from the Kiwanis apartments, some thirty-eight years ago now, was a part of a series of events that lead me to the edge of a cliff. I was defiant, empty, desperate, directionless, guilty and ashamed. To complicate my situation, at age sixteen I had decided that I would never depend upon or trust anyone again, that I’d make it on my own.

But at the age of nineteen I wasn’t making it. It was then that a caring person simply told me, “Loren, Jesus loves you and I wish you had what I have.” I could see it in her eyes, in her countenance, that she had something that I didn’t, something that I longed for. I didn’t know how or where to get it, but I was self-determined to find it. So I started searching.

One night at five o’clock in the morning, alone in my bedroom, after reading the Bible for five hours, I gave up and cried, “God I can’t do it. If I’m gonna be saved, you’re gonna have to do it for me! I decided to give God one more chance and I opened the Bible and read, “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find, knock and the door will be opened to you…”(Matthew 7:7-9). I thought, “Surely it can’t be that easy. Surely I have to do more than just ask?” Then I prayed, “God, either this is true or you are a liar. And if it’s true, then it’s true for me. So I’m taking you at your word. I’m asking.” That night I “jumped” and the arms that caught me caught me by surprise. For I didn’t think anybody would ever love and accept me just the way I was.

And now I’m here telling you, “Jesus loves you and I wish you had what I have. And I’m asking you, “What if you jump?”

It's What You Didn't Do

2010-01-10T16:17:00.009-05:00

David was a self employed business man; a logger and saw mill owner. He was in his mid-fifties when he was referred to Hospice due to terminal cancer. I expected him to be rugged, strong, reserved and self-reliant. But I was wrong, as I frequently am when I form preconceived ideas, just figments of my imagination.

I made my first home visit and David answered the door. He was about 5’8” tall, medium built, muscular, and dressed in blue uniform type pants and a white tee-shirt. His hand shake was firm and enthusiastic. I found him rugged but gentle, strong but humble and giving God the credit for everything good in his life. Tears filled his eyes as he talked about his family and friends, God’s love for him and his love for God. He was animated when sharing his vision of Heaven and how thankful he was that he would be going there.

Over the next few weeks David shared freely about many things, but one thing in particular made an indelible, sobering mark upon my conscience. One day Dave’s typically exuberant expression suddenly paled as he looked me in the eyes, as if to say, “Pay attention. I’m about to tell you something very important”. He then soberly reflected: “Sometimes you might be working and out of nowhere the thought comes to you, ‘I wander how old Jim is doing. I haven’t seen him for a long time. I should drive around the ridge to see him.’ But you put it off. A couple of weeks go by and again you think, ‘I wander how Jim’s doing. I really need to stop and see him.’ But you get busy and again you put it off. A few more weeks go by and you run into Jim in town. You look each other in the eye and you both feel that something’s come between you and it’s not anything either of you did, it’s what you didn’t do.”

I casually tuned into a radio broadcast by Dr. David Jeremiah this week (WCDR, 88.3). It was the first of a two part series on procrastination. He quoted a poem by Charles Town which ushered me back several years to those wonderful conversations with Dave. As you read the poem you’ll understand why: “Around the corner I have a friend, in this great city that has no end. Yet days go by and weeks rush on, and before I know it a year is gone. And I never see my old friend’s face, for life is a swift and terrible race. He knows I like him just as well as in the days when I rang his bell, and he rang mine. We were younger then. And now we are busy and tired men; tired with playing a foolish game; tired with trying to make a name. Tomorrow, I say, I’ll call on Jim, just to show him that I’m thinking of him. Tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes, and the distance between us grows and grows. Around the corner yet miles away, here’s a telegram, ‘Jim died today’. And that’s what we get and deserve in the end, around the corner a vanished friend.”

Need I write more? I don’t think so.

I just Can't Stand To See Him That Way

2010-01-03T16:05:00.001-05:00

I’d known Delbert since he was a teenager. He was a few years younger than me and was a friend of my younger brother. Delbert had a legitimate reputation as a rebel. I visited Delbert, as a fellow New Bostonian, at the hospital when he was first diagnosed with cancer. And Delbert, like most people with a terminal illness, was taking inventory of what he really believed. He was searching for God but ended up being the one who was found.

Over the next ten years I ran into Delbert here and there. He always greeted me with an enthusiastic, “How are you doing brother!” And before you knew it, he was testifying about how good God had been to him. He was never ashamed of the “Gospel of Christ” (Romans 1:15-18). You see, Delbert’s was a real transformation, a reformation, not a “fox hole” type of religion.

My last encounter with Delbert was a little more formal. He was referred to Hospice for colon cancer at age 39. But he was the same old Delbert, still talking about how good God had been to him. You know, it’s natural to praise God on the mountain tops, but it’s an altogether different climate and experience when walking in “the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23). The most inspiring people I’ve known are the ones that claim, like Job, “Though He slay me yet will I trust Him”. (Job 13:15)

Delbert shared that the thing he missed the most because of being house bound was seeing his “buddies”. His wife commented, “The guys he was closest to haven’t even stopped to see him. They act like there’s nothing wrong.” Delbert added, “You know, I’m really surprised that my buddies haven’t stopped to see me yet. I thought for sure they would be here.” Delbert’s wife attempted to console him, “Honey, they said they just couldn’t stand to see you like this.” But the proffered consolation provided little relief for Delbert’s disappointment and sense of abandonment.

Delbert’s situation is all too familiar. How many times have we heard people contest, “I just can’t stand to see him that way”? As a matter of fact, three years earlier, Delbert’s father was a hospice patient. He was retired, and like many retirees, he met at the same restaurant every morning for coffee with his buddies. Eventually he also became house bound and admitted to me, “I really thought my buddies would have stopped to see me by now.” His wife added, “They never stop to see him. If they only knew how much it hurt him. The counter girl told me she always cries when she sees him come in the store. She says she just can’t stand to see him that way. But how does she think it makes him feel?” Delbert’s father concluded, “They’re shit heads, that’s the way I look at it!” I considered censoring his comment, but I decided it needs to be stated, unvarnished, with all its intensity. We need to hear it the way it is.

I’m reminded of what my old friend Loyal said when I asked him what it was like to have cancer. He replied, “I feel like I’m out of the stream of life.” During the construction of the Hoover Dam, the engineers temporarily redirected the Colorado River by dynamiting a new channel through solid rock. If they could redirect the Colorado River, surely we can redirect our lives so our friends and family don’t feel, “out of the stream of life”.

“Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. (Philippians 2:1-4)

Where Are You Christmas?

2009-12-27T16:25:00.011-05:00

Phyllis, age eighty, was admitted to hospice for lung cancer in August of 2008. Phyllis and her deceased husband, Floyd, had six children and a colorful life together, partly because of their frequent moves. They lived in Xenia, Ohio for five years; moved to Wilmington, Ohio where they owned a grocery store until it burned down. Next they moved back to Xenia, then to Phoenix Arizona, and then to the desert between Las Angeles and Las Vegas, where the entire family operated a “Stuckeys” roadside service station-restaurant. But it’s their pilgrimage to, and experiences in, Phoenix Arizona that I want to focus on today. I’ll let Phyllis tell their story:

“We moved to Arizona because Pam had spinal meningitis. She was around three years old at the time. She was susceptible to colds and infections so the doctor told us that we needed to move her to a better climate. So we stored our furniture and took what money we had and headed to Arizona; all seven of us in a station wagon. We had five kids from ages two to twelve, and a little dog. And all we had with us was our clothes.

We didn’t know anybody in Phoenix and when we got there we stopped at a small hotel to stay the night. When we told the hotel manager our story he said, ‘I have a house just for people like you. It has everything you need. It’s fully furnished.’” Phyllis reflected, “I always thought that God takes care of you, that there is somebody watching over us. But that proved it to me. We ended up staying there for three months until we got another house.”

Phyllis continued, “Floyd was an architectural cabinetmaker. He was good at woodworking. He had good references and a good reputation so he never had any trouble finding a job. He always ended up the manager every place he worked. But things were tough when we first moved to Arizona. We told the kids that Santa wasn’t going to be able to bring them much that year.”

Pam took over the story from there, “Mom made popcorn balls and dad made a Christmas tree out of them. We opened our presents and we all got wooden airplanes with propellers on them and we spent the whole day together flying our planes. We flew then in the dry water canal across the road from our house. That way we didn’t have to walk as far to pick them up. We had hot dogs for lunch and Sauer kraut and wieners and mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner.” Phyllis added, “But we wouldn’t have had hot dogs if my mom hadn’t sent me some money. We only had one or two dollars left to our name.” Pam concluded, “It was the best Christmas we ever had. We laughed, and smiled and played together. It was the best Christmas we ever had because we were all together. It was family.”

A few weeks ago Phyllis and Pam gave me a surprise present, a balsa wood airplane just like the one they got for Christmas, just like the ones that I used to play with as a child. Now it sits on the book case in my office as a reminder of what Christmas is really all about.

It’s easy to lose the true meaning of Christmas in the midst of all the hustle and bustle. It reminds me of the song, “Where are you Christmas”, from the movie, “The Grench Who Stole Christmas”: “Where are you Christmas, where can I find you, why have you gone away? Where is the laughter you used to bring me, why can’t I hear music play? My world is changing, I’m rearranging. Does that mean Christmas changes to? Where are you Christmas do you remember, the one you used to know? I’m not the same one; see what the time has done. Is that why you have let me go? Christmas is here…if you care. If there is love in your heart and your mind, you will feel like Christmas all the time. I feel you Christmas; I know I’ve found you. You never fade away. The joy of Christmas stays here inside us. Fills each and every heart with love…Fill your heart with love.”

A fellow pilgrim shared this quote with me and told me that I should include it in this story, and I agree; “If you don’t have Christmas in your heart, you aren’t’ going to find it under a tree.”

“…God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another”. (I John 4:7-11)

Isabella's Chicks

2009-12-24T03:32:00.001-05:00

This week I’m revisiting my old friend, Ed. You may remember him. He’s the ninety-two year old man who taught us about “The joy of a thankful heart”; about “counting our blessings, not our birthdays” and the danger of “getting old before our time when we get old in our minds”.

I unexpectedly encountered Ed in the hospital before he died a few years ago. He hadn’t changed a bit. Sitting in his chair, draped in a hospital gown, with a wide smile on his face, he declared, “I’m using those words, ‘thank you’, while I’m in here. Every time one of the nurses does something for me I tell them, ‘thank you’. They really appreciate it and it doesn’t cost a cent.” Instantly I knew I would eventually publish this story that Ed then shared with me. Listen as Ed blesses you with this sixty year old memory:

“I took some envelopes to the post office at about four-thirty in the morning so they would get to the depot in time to go out on the morning train. Back then (1940’s) the post office window was open all night. You could go there any time. While I was standing at the window I heard a bunch of baby chicks cheeping. There were fifty baby chicks in a great big box. I asked the fellow where all those chicks came from and he said that someone ordered them but decided they didn’t want them. He was stuck with them so he asked me if I wanted them for the cost of the postage, about two dollars. I thought, ‘Isabella could probably use them.’ She bought chicks and raised them for food.

Ed continued, “Isabella was a black lady who did housecleaning for my wife, Mary, and I. She did cleaning for four or five other families too. Everyone loved Isabella; you couldn’t help but love her. She never said an ill word about anybody. We didn’t look at color we looked at her heart. Every thing was ‘praise the Lord’ with Isabella. She had so much faith. There were times when she didn’t have a bite to eat in the house, but she would still set her table like someone was coming to dinner. Then someone would show up with food.

Getting back to the chickens, I took them home in the car. You have no idea the noise that fifty baby chicks can make. I called Isabella that morning and told her I was coming over with the chicks. She told me, ‘Boy-oh-boy, praise the Lord. I didn’t have any money to buy any chicks and I’ve been praying.’ When I got there she had everything all ready. She had a pen made in the house with newspaper spread on the floor. She had one of those infrared lights for heat. You usually lose some chicks but she raised all fifty of them and didn’t lose a one.”

What faith Isabella had! I don’t know about you but my faith pales in comparison. In the Book of James we are told, “…You do not have because you do not ask God.”(James 4:2) Why don’t we ask? Could it be that we really don’t believe? In the eleventh chapter of the Book of Hebrews we are told, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen…without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.”

Now for the more painful reality; James added, “When you do ask, you do not receive, because you ask with the wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your own pleasures (James 4:3). Selfishness and self-centered requests, Ouch!

I think we sell God short, don’t we? We fail to see Him as the loving, caring Father that He is. But like any wise and compassionate parent, He may not give us everything we ask for, but He will certainly give us everything He knows we need. So in conclusion and contrary to what we’ve always been told, maybe we should “count our chickens before thy hatch.”

“…So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?'…your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. (Matthew 6:25-34)

Something Just Told Me

2009-12-13T14:46:00.000-05:00

This is part two of a two part series about Ronnie, a 45 year old hospice patient with cirrhosis of the liver. In part one, “Living and dying the choices I’ve made”, Ronnie shared about his acquaintance with George Jones, and the words of George Jones’ song, “Choices”, are worth repeating: “I’ve had choices since the day that I was born. There were voices that told me right from wrong. If I had listened, no, I wouldn't be here today; living and dying with the choices I made.”

Ronnie realizes he’s “living and dying with the choices” he’s made. And when I asked Ronnie if it was okay if I wrote about his alcoholism he replied, “It’s alright with me. I don’t care. The truth is the truth.”

George Jones was right, wasn’t he? There are “voices” that tell us right from wrong. And how many times have we regretfully sighed, “If I had listened”? Well, this week I’m writing about a time when Ronnie did listen.

Ronnie and his sisters cared for their mother, Anna Ruth, when she was dying of cancer. Ronnie’s sister Net, recounted: “Mommy was a special person. Everybody who knew her called her ‘Mommy’. She was good to everybody, but she wouldn’t let anyone run over her kids. Her kids were her life. Mommy didn’t want to die alone. She wanted us kids right by her side. So we took turns sleeping with her. And Ronnie took the night watch.” Then Ronnie picked up the story: “I was in the bath room and something just told me to check on mommy, that something was wrong. When I checked on her she’d just died.”

“Something just told me”, but who or what is that “something”? Some people refer to it as a “premonition”, “a sneaking suspicion” or a “hunch”. I’m persuaded that it’s the “still small voice” of God (I Kings 19:12). Whatever we choose to call it, we know it when it speaks. Ronnie, Net and I talked about how we frequently rationalize it away and fail to heed what it is nudging us to do. Net exclaimed, “We just don’t pay attention!”

Henry and Richard Blackaby, in their book, “Hearing Gods Voice”, wrote; “Unbelief can render a person stone deaf to Gods’ voice.” If you don’t believe that God exists, that He is omnipresent, that He is interested in the intimate details of your life, then you may not hear him when He speaks. Allow me to illustrate the point with a story.

Bob and Jim were college roommates, but after college their careers took them down distant paths. Bob became a naturalist and took off for the outdoors. Jim became an investment broker and landed on Wall Street. One day while at a conference in New York City, Bob decided to look up his old friend, Jim. As they were walking down the busy streets of New York City together, Bob said, “Hey, Jim, hold up a minute. I hear a cricket.” Then Jim replied, “There aren’t any crickets on Time Square. And besides, if there was a cricket, there’s no way you could hear it in the middle of all this noise.” Then, to Jim’s amazement, Bob walked over to a large concrete planter, reached in, pulled out a cricket and said, “See I told you.” Jim asked, “How in the world did you hear a cricket in the middle of New York City? And Bob replied, “We all hear what we are listening for. Let me show you.” Then Bob pulled out a hand full of change from his pocket and threw it on the sidewalk. Everyone around heard it hit the pavement and scrambled for it. Then Bob said, “See what I mean.”

Just because we haven’t heard God speaking to us, doesn’t mean He isn’t. In Net’s words, maybe “We just don’t pay attention”. Hopefully the next time we will.

“Behold I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me. (Revelations 3:20); “Today, if you will hear His voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.” (Hebrews 3:15)

Living & Dying The Choices I've Made

2009-12-06T13:19:00.002-05:00

Ronnie was forty-five when admitted to hospice for end stage cirrhosis of the liver. He’s lived with his sister, “Net”, for the past thirteen years. But he does have his “man cave”, a renovated shed behind the main house, to which he retreats. After all, a man does need a little solitude from time to time.

Ronnie is an alcoholic but hasn’t drank for two years. Net stated, “The doctor told him that if he drinks anymore it will kill him…The only time he wasn’t drinking was when he was sleeping…Mom used to buy him beer but I’m sterner than mom. Ronnie took after mom. He’s soft hearted. He would give you the shirt off his back. But he lost his family over drinking.”

Ronnie admitted, “Nobody makes you do anything. You’re the one that does it. Nobody is holding a gun to your head. They aren’t twisting your arm…When I was a kid my dad told me, ‘Son, you made your bed; now you’re going to have to lie in it.’ When I was a kid I didn’t know what he was talking about. I thought, ‘I didn’t even make my bed!’ It took me a long time to figure out what dad was talking about.”

I told Ronnie that his life reminded me of the George Jones song, ‘Choices’: “I’ve had choices since the day that I was born. There were voices that told me right from wrong. If I had listened, no, I wouldn't be here today; living and dying with the choices I made.”

Then Ronnie exclaimed, “I met George Jones! Me and my wife lived in Lakeland, Florida before we broke up and George Jones had a house down there. He always bought his whisky at the liquor store where my wife worked. And our house was just across the road so I saw him all the time. He was just as common as me and you. He drove an old Volkswagen Beetle. He told me he had fancy cars too but he would rather drive the old beetle…He once bought a decanter of whisky that looked like Elvis from the liquor store. That’s where he came up with the words in that song, ‘I drank Elvis to the pelvis’”.

We’ve all had “choices” since the day that we were born. And when we try to escape responsibility by blaming, or with lame excuses, we end up escaping freedom. We become, “whitewashed tombs…full of dead men’s bones” (Matthew 23:26-28). We bury ourselves alive under every shovel full of excuses. And we really know how to shovel it don’t we. After all, it comes natural.

Men and women have been blaming since the “Garden of Eden”. You know the story; the serpent talked Eve into eating the forbidden fruit. Then Eve gave Adam a bite. And suddenly, “Their eyes were opened and they knew they were naked.”(Genesis chapter 3) And when God confronted them how did they respond? Adam blamed, “It was the woman you gave me.” Then Eve blamed, “The serpent tricked me”. Or in the words of “Geraldine”, the old standup comedian, Flip Wilson’s character, “The Devil made me do it!”

We aren’t much different are we? Several years ago my marriage was on the rocks. Or on second thought, maybe I was. I vividly remember sitting at the kitchen table and praying (blaming?), “Lord if only Susie…” Before I finished my sentence, that “still small voice” of God (I Kings 19:12) spoke to me loud and clear, “What are you doing to show her that she is the most important person in the world to you? There’s never any excuse for unholy behavior. You are responsible to me no matter what anybody else does. You just put me first and I will take care of the rest.” That’s been over thirty years and three daughters ago. Thank God for loving me just the way I was, but loving me too much to let me stay that way.

You see, lame excuses don’t fly with God. God can’t and won’t forgive excuses. But the good news (The Gospel) is, He will forgive sins repentantly confessed: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:9) So, don’t you think it’s high time to stop blaming and “come clean”?

When I Became a Man

2009-11-29T07:36:00.001-05:00

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” (I Corinthians 13:11-13)

This is the second of a two part series about Rose and Ken. If you missed last weeks story titled, “Don’t be such a Ham about it”, you can view it at here.

Rose, who has a type of dementia called Pick’s Disease, took an unexpected turn for the worse this week. She spiked a fever and was readmitted to our inpatient hospice unit. Her husband, Ken, told me, “Buddy, I thought I’d lost her. I really did. She wasn’t responding at all.” Ken’s eyes welled with tears as he said, “I was never a man to cry. You couldn’t make me cry. I’ve been hit so hard that it was like being kicked by a mule. You see this scar on my chin? I’ve been hit so many times. I’ve got scars all over my head. But I’ve never been hit hard enough to make me cry or to make me want to give up…I’ve always been the kind of person that if I told you something you could bank on it. And I won’t lie to you. I once got a butt whipping in school because I wouldn’t lie. I could have gotten out of it if I would’ve lied. And I don’t believe in pretending to be something you’re not. What you see is what you get.”

Ken may never have been hit hard enough by a man to make him cry, but the mere thought of losing Rose hit Ken hard enough to stagger him, to almost bring him to his knees. His eyes welled with tears again as he talked about their life together: “Back when we were young, before we had any kids, I was laid off for about six months. We didn’t have anything coming in at all. A preacher heard about it and came to talk to me. He offered to help, but I told him that we would try to make it on our own. So Rose and I painted barn roofs to make money. She got right up there with me. And she helped me load coal in the back of a pickup and we sold it for $5.00 a load. One day I got cheated out of two loads, but that’s alright.” Ken reflected, “The only thing I regret is that I wished I’d gone to church with her sooner…but you have to do it on your own. If you try to push people into it, you only push them farther away…The day that I finally got baptized the church was crowded. I think they all came to see if they were going to drown me.”

Ken’s “tender loving care” of Rose, reminds me of a song by “Alabama”: “I was taught to believe and never to doubt, the Man up above knows what he’s talking about. So when I heard that voice, so loud and clear, speak to my heart, I knew that she must be near. The Maker said take her and love her forever. Take care of her for life; and treat her right. I never was the one to listen very well. I walked my own way and felt what I felt; the further out of touch with a master plan. Well she was like a flight to the promise land. And the Maker said take her and love her forever. Take care of her for life. Never forsake her don’t be a heart breaker, the Maker said take her and treat her right, just treat her right. He placed an angel in the palm of my hands; and for once in my life I obeyed his commands. I’ll take her and love her forever, take care of her for life, never forsake her, don’t be a heartbreaker…just treat her right...” (The Maker Said Take Her)

We conduct interdisciplinary care planning meetings every Thursday morning and about 20-25 staff members participate. When Rose came up for discussion I shared my plans for this column. But I also decided to stick my neck out and make a confession. I told the team: “I know that this is going to sound strange for one man to say about another man, but Ken makes me want to be a better man.”

I should have expected the comment that came next; because; “If you dish it out you have to be willing to take it.” I’m continually casting out comments, like lures, trying to get others to bite on them, especially the females. So, Dr. Bonzo, with a satisfied smile on her face responded, “I bet Susie wishes you were a better man too.” Then the other females, knowing my wife Susie, chimed in with an enthusiastic, “Yeah!”

As I sit here writing this column, I’ve concluded that Dr. Bonzo’s comment, even though made in jest, probably contains some element of truth. Susie probably does wish I were a better man. And there’s probably a reason why Ken makes me want to be a better man; because I need to be. What about you?

Our culture, and even our churches, has distorted what it means to be a man. John Eldredge in his book, “Wild at Heart”, writes: “Some women want a passive man…the church wants a tame man…the university wants a domesticated man…the corporation wants a sanitized, hairless, shallow man…”. Consequently, many men have become separated from their own hearts for, “the heart of a man is driven into the high country.”

C.S. Lewis, in, “The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe”, wrote about Aslan, a lion, the true king of Narnia, who was returning to reclaim his kingdom. And when the children asked, “Is he tame?” they are told, “No, he’s not tame, but he is good.” If you want to know what it means to be a real man then just “look unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith?” (Hebrews 12:2). He is the one with the pen in his hand. And don’t be afraid of Him, for “He is good.” But, do be careful; don’t push Him, because “He’s not tame”. After all, He is a Lion.

Dont' Be Such a Ham About It!

2009-11-22T22:53:00.000-05:00

Rose was sixty-seven when admitted to hospice with Pick’s Disease, a form of dementia similar to Alzheimer’s disease. Pick’s is a metabolic disorder in which the person lacks an enzyme required to break down fatty substances in the brain and nervous system. Consequently brain cells swell, then shrink and eventually die; resulting in progressively disabling behavioral and personality changes.

Rose now needs twenty-four hour care and supervision; she restlessly roams, is practically mute and has very limited affect or emotional expression. But she still responds to the love of her life, her husband Ken. One of our hospice inpatient center nurses told me that when Ken picked Rose up at the end of a recent respite stay that, “As soon as she saw Ken she reached her arms straight out for him.” The nurse added, “You sure can tell she adores him.”

Ken reminisced, “I was raised on a farm and I never wanted to go back to one. But Rose came home one day and told me that she’d put $500 down on a farm…So here we are.” Rose and Ken have enjoyed a true partnership. Their relationship reminds me of what God said after creating Adam, “It is not good for man to be alone. I will make him a helper comparable to him.” (Genesis 2:18). According to Ken, Rose has surely been a “helper comparable to him”. They’ve worked side-by-side. Together they’ve roofed barns, loaded, hauled and sold coal, and constructed the house they presently live in. And Ken bragged, “Rose did a lot of the carpentry work her self.”

During one of my visits, as we sat at the kitchen table, Ken reminisced about his upbringing. He shared some of the values he learned from his father: “Dad taught us not to use the word ‘can’t’. He told us to use the word ‘try’. He always expected us to at least try…And dad told us that if you have a bird in your hands don’t grab after the other two in the bush, or you might lose the one you have.” Ken added, “And I don’t like to hear someone talking bad about somebody. I’d rather try to find something good to say about somebody…And I believe that if you tell something on somebody that you don’t know for sure is true, to me it’s the same as lying.“

Ken’s comments ushered my thoughts back to a poignant story about Noah and his three sons, Ham, Shem and Japheth. (Genesis chapter 9) After the flood waters receded and the ark rested on dry ground, Noah planted a vineyard, made some wine, got drunk and passed out “uncovered” in his tent. The story continues, “Ham…saw his father’s nakedness and told his two brothers outside. But Shem and Japheth took a garment and covered their father’s nakedness. Their faces were turned the other way so that they would not see their father’s nakedness.” What a display of Godly respect!

Shem and Japheth’s response to their father’s nakedness reminds me of a chorus we used to sing at church back in the 70s: “We will work with each other; we will work side by side. We will work with each other; we will work side by side. And we’ll guard each man’s dignity and save each man’s pride. And they’ll know we are Christian’s by our love, by our love. And they’ll know that we are Christian’s by our love.”

I ask you, will they know that we are Christians by our love? I confess I have a burning need to complete Step Seven of the Twelve Steps of AA: “Humbly ask God to remove my shortcomings.” And I pray that the next time I look upon the “nakedness”, the shortcomings, of others, that I’ll remember not to be “such a Ham about it”; that instead, I’ll cover them with a garment of respect. For: “Whoever belittles his neighbor lacks sense, but a man of understanding remains silent. Whoever goes about slandering reveals secrets, but he who is trustworthy in spirit keeps a thing covered.” (Proverbs 11:12-14; ESV)

The Bible: The mind of God, the state of man

2009-11-15T11:46:00.002-05:00

Joyce was referred to Hospice with end stage liver failure. As the hospice social worker it was my job to meet with Joyce to reach a mutual decision about whether hospice was right for her. I can still visualize our first meeting. Joyce was in the hospital, in the first bed, beside the door. She was frail and so thin I could have wrapped my thumb and index finger around her arm. She was only in her thirties, but her face reflected a person weathered way beyond her years by a stormy life. She was clearly in the final stage of her disease. I introduced myself and asked about her condition. She boldly admitted, “I know I’m going to die soon.” Since she was so direct I decided to be too. I asked what she believed spiritually, and without saying a word, she reached for a Bible lying on her bedside table. She pulled a creased and stained piece of paper from between the pages and informed me, “Someone at a half way house I was staying in gave this to me. I don’t even remember who it was, but I’ve held on to it ever since.” She handed it to me as if to say, “This is what I believe!” I don’t think I’ve read anything that better describes the value and power of God’s word. Joyce passed it on to me, now I’m passing it on to you: The Bible

This book reveals the mind of God, the state of man,

The way of salvation, the doom of sinners, and the happiness of believers.

Its doctrines are holy; its precepts are binding,

Its histories are true, and its decisions are immutable.

Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe, and practice it to be holy.

It contains light to direct you, food to support you, and comfort to cheer you.

It is the travelers map, the pilgrim’s staff, the pilots compass, the soldier’s sword, and the Christian’s charter.

Here too, heaven is opened, and the gates of hell disclosed.

Christ is its grand subject, our good its design,

And the glory of God its end.

It should fill the memory, rule the heart, and guide the feet.

Read it slowly, frequently, prayerfully.

It is a mine of wealth, a paradise of glory, and a river of pleasure.

It is given you in life, will be opened at the judgment, and be remembered forever.

It involves highest responsibility, will reward the greatest labor,

And condemn all who trifle with its sacred contents.

Owned it is riches, studied it is wisdom; trusted it is salvation;

Loved it is character; and obeyed it is power.

Like a Tree Planted by the Rivers of Water

2009-11-08T10:01:00.000-05:00

Flo was referred to Hospice for terminal cancer when she was in her sixties. She lived alone, was widowed and had no children. She was soft spoken, modest and maybe even a little shy. She didn’t like being the center of attention and didn’t talk much about herself or her illness. She was thankful and didn’t seem to take anything for granted. Her life was simple and her possessions modest, but she was content. Her contentment amazed, puzzled and convicted me. How could she be so content with such a simple life? Even her terminal illness didn’t seem to disturb her peace. There was a deep, quiet strength about Flo. What was her secret? I really wanted to know, so I asked, “Flo, what enables you cope so well? What do you do?” She replied, “I don’t know. I don’t do anything special.” But after a few more seconds of contemplation she added, “Well, there is something I do. I’ve read one chapter of the Bible every day for 20 years. I write five things down in a notebook after reading each chapter; God’s message to me, a promise from God, a command to keep, a timeless example, and my prayer.”

Flo slowly arose from her chair and said, “I’ll be right back”. When she returned from the back room, her thin arms were grasping a small cardboard box filled with spiral notebooks. There must have been ten to fifteen notebooks in there. She pulled one out and shared some of her journaling. I felt so privileged for her to share her personal thoughts and feelings with me. I felt like I was on holy ground, and I was; for the hearts, souls and minds of all men are holy ground. Flo handed me one of her journals, and as I scanned through the pages, I noticed that her prayers all started out with, “Lord Jesus, thank you for a good nights rest and for living to see another day.” I told Flo that I was impressed and inspired by her dedication and discipline. Then Flo exclaimed, “Oh, these aren’t all my notebooks. I have several other boxes full in the other room.” Her deep quiet strength was no longer a mystery.

Flo’s life is a living legacy of God’s promise presented to us in the first Psalm: “Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly…But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; and whatever he does shall prosper…”

I encourage you to embark upon your own personal adventure of routine Bible study. Many people have difficulty getting started because they lack direction. You’ll notice that Flo had a well defined plan. You might consider adopting Flo’s plan or I’d be happy to send you a guide that I synthesized from an excellent book titled, “Living by the Book” by Howard and William Hendricks. The guide will lead you through a step-by-step process of observation, interpretation and application. If interested, you can contact me by e-mail at hardinl@somc.org and I will e-mail or mail you a copy.

Living on Grace Street

2009-11-04T21:21:00.000-05:00

Dennis was fifty-three years old when he enrolled in hospice because of esophageal cancer. Dennis was living on Grace Street in New Boston, Ohio when he moved in with his brother, Dean, because he could no longer care for himself.

Dennis and I both grew up in New Boston, a small Southern Ohio town. I’d even lived on Grace Street when I was in the third grade. It was a lot like growing up in “Mayberry” (“The Andy Griffith Show”, 1960’s and 70’s). We enjoyed a sense of community, safety and security. We had our community characters and even had a policeman a lot like old Barney Fyffe. In New Boston, everyone knew everyone; maybe too well at times. And I knew several of Dennis’ seven brothers and sisters, all with first names starting with “D”; but I didn’t get to know Dennis very well until he became our hospice patient.

Dennis had a tracheotomy and covered the hole in his throat with his finger so he could talk. But he liked to talk and I liked talking with him. While Dennis was in our inpatient care center he and I reminisced about “the good ole days”. We even exchanged a few confessions and Dennis seemed to especially enjoy mine. Dennis later told his sister, Donna, with a grin and some delight, ‘I can’t believe that out of him.’

But Dennis had some pretty interesting confessions of his own. He confessed that he had been an alcoholic. He admitted, “I went to the bars looking for women but I usually came home with two black eyes.” Dennis wasn’t a big fellow but he was game. His brother, Dean, told me, “I had to rescue him from many a fight…He would take on three guys at a time.” Dennis had even been barred from the MT Corral, one of New Boston’s favorite watering holes.

There was something likeable about Dennis besides him being a fellow New Bostonian. There was a grace about Dennis; he didn’t seem to be proud, pretentious or judgmental, which I’ve found is usually the fruit brokenness, of humility. Donna told me, “He would do anything for anybody.”

You know, it’s easy to form a jaded opinion of people with drug or alcohol addictions. I shared a lesson with Dennis and Donna that I learned from my daughter Jessie. After one of Jessie’s close friends died from an overdose she told me, “Dad someone needs to tell people that just because someone has a drug problem it doesn’t mean that they’re a worthless person!” She described her friend as one of the most caring, tender-hearted and understanding people she’d ever known. Her respect, appreciation and grief were all profound.

A few weeks before Dennis’ death he wanted his sister, Donna, to take him back to his house on Grace Street for a few hours. Donna recounted, “I was really worried that something would happen. There are three steps and then two steps to get in the house. When we got in he sat down in his chair for a few minutes and went through some papers. Then he said, ‘Alright, I’m ready to go.’” Donna reflected, “I’m so glad I took him.”

In route to visit a patient in West Portsmouth I came across “Easy Street”. Really, it exists! And on Interstate 68, east of Morgantown, W.Va., I saw an exit to Fair Chance Road on Cheat Lake. I guess if you lived on Cheat Lake you would hope for a Fair Chance. You know a lot of people want to live on “Easy Street” but, like Dennis, I frequently find myself longing to go back to “Grace Street”.

I know God’s saving grace but I sometimes fall from His sustaining grace; because I start thinking, “I can do it on my own. I don’t need anybody’s help”; not even Gods. I become deluded into thinking I can be my own savior; that I can prove myself; that I can be good enough. But sooner or later, I find myself back on the knees of my heart praying, “God help me”. And again I find myself longing to be back on “Grace Street”, and I am.

I think many of you will remember this nursery rhyme: “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall; Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. And all the kings horses and all the King’s men; couldn’t put Humpty together again.” Nothing but bad news for Humpty but there’s good news (The Gospel) for us, because: “Jesus Christ came to our wall, Jesus Christ died for our fall; so that regardless of death and in spite of our sin, through grace, He might put us together again.” (“The Tardy Oxcart”; by Chuck Swindoll)

“Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage…whoever of you are justified by the law; ye are fallen from grace.” (Galatians 5:1-4)

Going First Class

2009-10-25T10:21:00.000-04:00

Anna enrolled in hospice on August 18, 2008. She was eighty years old, afflicted with end stage dementia, and profoundly confused. On September 2, 2008, only two weeks after Anna’s enrollment, Shasta, her hospice nurse, called and informed me that Anna was “actively dying” and that the family asked her to notify me. They didn’t request that I come but I read the invitation between the lines.

When I arrived, Anna was unresponsive and the family was at her bedside along with our chaplain, Pete. Anna’s daughter, Karen, with a heartbroken expression, reported, “She’s just not the same”. If you’ve stood at the bedside of someone dying you know how helpless and awkward it can feel. You desperately want to say something to make it easier, but it’s not supposed to be easy. However, I’ve found that it is appropriate, respectful and meaningful to celebrate a person’s life by sharing memories and stories, out loud, so the person can hear. Can you think of anything sweeter or more satisfying to hear during your final moments than your family and friends talking about what you’ve been and meant to each other? What a wonderful way to begin saying goodbye.

So I asked Karen, “Are there any sayings that your mom used to tell you when you were growing up that you will always remember?” Karen thought a minute and replied, “There are two things that mom used to say, ‘Don’t slam that door too hard because you might have to walk back through it’; and she always told me, ‘Karen, remember, it only costs 10 % more to go first class.’. “ Karen added, “I never forgot that.” And now, thanks to Anna and Karen, I don’t think I will either.

But what does it mean to “go first class”? Does it mean being better, best, first, perfect, or always winning? Jim Tressel, football coach for the Ohio State Buckeyes, wrote a book titled, “The Winners Manual For The Game of Life” (2008). It’s a condensed version of his 400 page “Winners Manual” he presents to every new freshman player. It’s a compilation of philosophical principles and practical wisdom that he’s collected during his 23 years of coaching. And surprisingly, it’s more about being “a winner in the game of life” than about winning at football.

Some may disagree, especially after Ohio State’s loss to unranked Purdue yesterday (October 17, 2009, “A day that will live on in infamy”), but I’m persuaded that Jim Tressel’s record, character and reputation rank him as a “first class” football coach, and more importantly, a first class human being. And his book has some valuable insights into what it means to “go first class”. So here are some tidbits.

Coach Tressel has studied the lives, methods and philosophies of successful coaches. One of his “heroes” is John Wooden, the legendary basketball coach of the UCLA Bruins. Coach Wooden penned his definition of “success” in his 1972 autobiography titled “They Call Me Coach”; “Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing that you did your best to become the best you are capable of becoming.” Coach Tressel, in his “Winners Manual” added, “…for the group”. Ponder this definition and the truths will become self-evident.

Do you see that “Going First Class”, being a “winner in the game of life”, isn’t about being best? It’s about doing and giving your best. It’s about doing whatever you put your hand to with “all your heart” (Colossians 3:23-24); not out of “selfish ambition” (Philippians 2:3), but for the highest good of those who are counting on you; who depend upon you, “for the group”.

And the true measure of success isn’t external, but internal. There’s danger in basing our value upon comparisons. It can foster either a false sense of pride or insignificance. That’s why I love the mantra that Coach Tressel has his team recite in the tunnel, just before taking the field: “I am only one, but I am one. I can’t do everything but I can do something. And the something I can do I ought to do. And what I ought to do, by the grace of God I shall do.” I believe that this is what it means to “go first class”, to be a “winner in the game of life”.

Now, for a message to us who can so quickly become armchair critics, spectators criticizing from a safe comfortable distance: “It’s not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly….who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never known neither victory nor defeat” ---- Teddy Roosevelt.

In closing, let’s ask ourselves, if the game of life were to end tonight would we be winners? And never forget, “It only costs you 10% more to go first class.”