O hush the noise

Yesterday, I finally was able to take the photography class in Dallas that Brian bought me for my birthday (the last one was rained out).

We met at White Rock Lake in Dallas.  I hadn't been there in years, and we were blessed with lovely weather to enjoy it.  Our teacher, Henry, is a soft-spoken man who has been a commercial photographer for 25 years.  He spent the first portion of the class discussing composition techniques and showing us photographs to illustrate.  Then he closed the book, looked around the group, and smiled.  "Your first assignment," he said, "is to walk around for the next 5-10 minutes. Do not take any photographs. We live in such a fast-paced world that we miss so much. Instead of letting your feet set their usual pace, let your eyes set the pace. If you see something interesting, go look at it, from all angles, and only move on when you are satisfied. Then meet back here." 

This might be a good time to mention the condition in which I arrived to class.  After enjoying a delightful morning with my grandmother, I left Grand Prairie with what I considered to be a generous amount of time to arrive (an hour). Zipped along on I-30, and then things stopped about 3 miles short of the mixmaster.  Wreck?  Yes, I saw one. SMU football game?  Probably. It's been a while since I pounded on the steering wheel in frustration, but that happened, too.  Finally made it to White Rock 30 minutes late for class and in quite a state.  Talk about your feet setting the pace.  Let's just say Henry's instruction was timely.


We spent the next 90 minutes meandering around the shoreline, letting our eyes set the pace. It's amazing what you see when time and obligations are taken out of the equation, and when you're given some guidance over what to look for - a kite in a tree; the shadow cast by a leaf; the man who spent all afternoon sitting and enjoying the sunshine; plants with fluffy seeds glowing in the sun; ripples in the water made by an unseen object underneath the surface; the texture of a tree's bark; the S-curves of a goose's long, sinuous neck. 

You hear things, too - the man playing bongo drums; the cacophany of geese and gulls and ducks and grackles; the lapping of water; the laughter of a child along the shoreline; the whir of an approaching bicycle; quiet conversations between friends walking the path.

As we regathered to share photos and unpack the experience, Henry observed something important. He said it never fails to be true that when he brings people here and they let their eyes set the pace, they are changed - changed physically, in posture, in demeanor, in spirit.  I felt it myself.  The gift he gave me extended far beyond learning to take a better photograph.

This morning at Minter Lane we shared carols and readings about the birth of Christ as we continue celebrating the Advent season.  It's easy to roll past those lyrics that we know so well, but we sang one of the lesser-used verses in "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear":

Yet with the woes of sin and strife the world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong;
And men, at war with men, hear not the love song which they bring:
O hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing.

May I make a confession?  I know Christmas is supposed to be my favorite time of year....but it's generally not.  It is stressful, loud, tiring, with schedules out of whack. And as I get older, the dissonance in my mind between what is expected (buying presents, decorating), the person I want to be (filled with the shalom of Christ), and what the world dishes out as "Christmas" is somewhat appalling.  I feel like a spiritual failure, seemingly unable to get past all of this to hone in on the heart of the season.

This morning as we sang this hymn, written over 160 years ago, I was struck by what a timely message it contains. Sometimes I think it must have been easier back in the good old days.  But composer Edmund Sears felt the tension, too.  Each generation has its version of sin, strife, wrong, suffering, war, and deafness to the love song the angels sang to the Bethlehem shepherds.

Father, please help me hush the noise so I can hear Your song, in Advent and always.

Standing on the promises

You know how God sometimes arranges a sequence of events so that you’re bombarded with a particular theme from a variety of sources? That’s recently happened to me. Our kids on Wednesday nights are studying this whole year on the covenants of God; last month we studied about Noah, this month about Abraham, so I’ve been looking at clip art to help the children associate their memory verses to God’s promises. Last week Jonathan Storment from Highland spoke in chapel about the Noah story, though in a somewhat different context, and this week Justin Hatfield spoke on the covenant with Abraham. OK, OK, I get it!

The big attention-getter for me came about ten days ago. Brian and I took a quick trip to Angel Fire, NM to rest, read, and rejuvenate. The scenery there is lovely and teeming with wildlife. We experienced everything from sun to thunderstorms to snow during our four days there. I had the opportunity to see the “signs” of God’s promises in nature. Here are a few examples:

 

And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. (Gen. 8:12-15)

Then the word of the Lord came to him: “This man will not be your heir, but a son who is your own flesh and blood will be your heir.” He took him outside and said, “Look up at the sky and count the stars—if indeed you can count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” (Gen. 15:4-5)

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?..... But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. (Matt. 6:25-27, 33)

The same God who keeps those promises is faithful to keep them all. There are days I need to remember some more than others! Here are a few of my favorites – I hope you’ll add yours to the comments below.  

God's constant presence:  Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” So we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?” (Heb. 13:5-6)

God's plan for our future:  Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going. (John 14:1-4) 

God's rest:  Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (Matt. 11:28-29) 

God's grace when I'm weak:  But [God] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (2 Cor. 12:9) 

God's protection: Jesus said, "My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one can snatch them away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and he is more powerful than anyone else. No one can snatch them from the Father’s hand." (John 10:27-30, NLT) 

God's peace:  I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. (John 16:33, NIV) 

God's help when I am afraid: 

Don’t be afraid. I am with you.
Don’t tremble with fear.
I am your God.
I will make you strong,
as I protect you with my arm
and give you victories. (Is. 41:10, CEV)

Remembering what God has done in the past gives us a quiet confidence in what He will do in our present and future. Thanks be to God!

Saying Kaddish

On Saturday we buried my grandfather, Bun Bun. I wrote about him earlier this summer - he made the last leg of his earthly journey on Wednesday. Family and friends from far and near gathered to mourn our loss and celebrate his gain.

The service was unlike any I had ever attended. Weeping, yes. Sadness, too. But we had church - and not some boring monologue. Bun Bun loved music, so we sang several songs he loved, including Holy Ground. A friend and community pastor sang He Touched Me, which was his hands-down favorite, and rightfully so - he was a man who had been touched by the Lord and was never the same. We laughed hard as stories were shared. There were amens and clapping punctuating the remarks throughout.

The best part, however, came as Pastor Skaar shared about the last few hours of Bun Bun's life. His long-time cardiologist, Dr. Bode, went by for a visit and asked Bun how he was doing. The answer surprised him: "I'm going to my reward." Later that evening, my uncle noticed him struggling to sit up. As Dan went to his bedside, Bun Bun raised both of his hands in the air, saying "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" He then entered his eternal rest. I can't imagine a better ending to the life he lived.

Recently I read the book Night by Elie Wiesel. Wiesel speaks toward the end of the book about the Jewish custom of saying Kaddish for the dead.  I know very little about the liturgy of Kaddish and its place in Jewish theology, but what I have read fascinates me.  Here is an English translation of the mourner's Kaddish: 

Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon; and say, Amen.

May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity.

Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen.

May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.

He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen. 

It's noteworthy that the mourner's Kaddish says nothing about the dead! It instead magnifies the character and qualities of our Creator God. What better way to give mourning the appropriate context? Saying Kaddish is a deliberate act in the face of grief, an acknowledgement of God's eternal existence that is so briefly punctuated by a human life, a reorientation much like Habakkuk's determination to praise God whether the fig trees fail or the stalls lie empty. And all of the "amens" call the community to stand with the mourners in agreement.

The next day at church was an extension of the worship begun on Saturday. My grandparents' church has been through hard times lately, including the sudden death of their minister just about a month ago, and now one of their elders. As I stood beside my 91-year old grandmother, with tears streaming down my cheeks, she joined the congregation in singing these words:

So listen to our hearts, hear our spirits sing
A song of praise that flows from those You have redeemed.
We will use the words we know to tell you what an awesome God you are,
But words are not enough to tell you of our love,
So listen to our hearts. 

So, though we are not Jewish, we say Kaddish - for Vernon Jackson, for Larry Keirn, for Dorman Vance, for so many gone before and those yet to come.  May God's great name be blessed forever and to all eternity. Amen and amen.

A still, small voice

This week I've had the privilege of traveling to Minnesota and Wisconsin for the first time. I had a conference in Minneapolis, but I decided to spend a couple of vacation days exploring before the conference began.

This part of the country is quite beautiful.  It ranges from land that's pretty flat around Minneapolis (though very green!), to hills and falls and rivers, to amazing Lake Superior, to agriculturally rich farmland.

However, for some reason I was captivated on this trip by the sounds I heard. And the sounds reminded me of the story of Elijah's flight from King Ahab chronicled in 1 Kings 19. After 40 days and nights in the wilderness, Elijah had a lot of questions for God.  The response?  An amazing offer to stand in the Lord's presence as He passed by.  You may remember how this transpired:

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.  When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

I don't know exactly what it was that Elijah heard, but he gained clarity from watching and listening, even to the sights and sounds that the Lord was "not in."

Not sure how it is with you, but I am perpetually surrounded by a cacophany of sounds - TV, Spotify or Pandora, the dinging of text messages or Words With Friends, phones ringing, background conversations, traffic noise, even things like the sounds of  the air conditioner cycling on and off, the dishwasher, the washer or dryer. These aren't bad things. But I often have a hard time hearing the gentle whisper of God in the midst of it.  It's good to have a change of environment occasionally - it throws me off balance just enough to notice things that I've stopped noticing.

I had forgotten the song the aspens sing when the breeze blows, almost like a tiny wind chime in the distance, swirling and whirling around the trees.  

The roar of water over Gooseberry Falls spoke of the power and persistence of God.  

Lake Superior was a study in contrasts, a huge almost-ocean that lapped quietly and gently against the rocky shores.  

The little skitter in the woods always made me stop in my tracks in hopes of seeing a bird or squirrel or chipmunk, holding my breath, waiting in stillness to see what would happen next. 

Even something recorded - Handel's Messiah - out of the official Christmas season, spoke the word of the Lord to me:  "For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead.  For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive."  

So many messages from our Father!  Here are a few:

• I AM the breath - the holy wind - of life, ever present, ever speaking, ever refreshing.
• I AM the Living Water - life-sustaining, cleansing, bringing a steady pressure that erodes sharp edges and carries debris away.
• I AM the only being who is enormous and small at the same time - enormous enough to create the universe, while choosing to become small enough to dwell in the hearts of people.
• I AM revealing Myself in tiny ways that you will miss unless you stop, just for a moment, to listen and observe.  You think that's just a squirrel?  Take a minute to marvel at its tiny hands, to watch the way the sun makes its furry tail glow, to see its industry and enthusiasm for the work I made it to do ... and be thankful that I AM present in all the details, squirrel details and people details.
• Behold, I AM making all things new!

I hope in the next day or two that you can take a few minutes to listen to God's still, small voice.  Take a walk.  Sit in your backyard and watch the sunset.  Do one thing at a time and be fully present in that act, whatever it may be.  You might just get a chance to hear God's whisper in the ordinary ... if there is really such a thing as ordinary.

 

Reflections on Fifty

Well, I’ve been anticipating it all year, but the time finally came this month to welcome my 50th birthday.  This summer has been full of reminiscing for me, and this topic is no exception.  Think back to some of your birthday milestones.  I remember my fellow campers singing “Sixteen Candles” for my 16th at Camp Koinonia.  At 17 I took my first dunk in the GATA fountain at ACU while doing Summer Scholars. On my 25th birthday, we were mourning the loss of Brian’s mom and also expecting our first child. For my 30th, my parents gave me the best birthday present ever – a KitchenAid mixer, still going strong. Number 46 was spent with Brian’s extended family, a moment of joy in the midst of sorrow, since his dad, Fred, died the day before.

With the exception of the mixer (an epic win, and hard to forget because I use it all the time), I really can’t remember much in terms of gifts or parties.  What I do think of is the glorious quilt of relationships God has blessed me with over these 50 years. My youngest friend is baby George; the oldest, Roland Johnson at 99. I have friends as near as Abilene and those who live as far away as China, Ukraine, and Australia. I had the great gift of knowing three of my great-grandparents, all four of my grandparents into adulthood, and still have two remaining.  I never doubted my parents’ love, and I was grafted in as a daughter to the Hahn family.  Those closest to my heart – Brian, Katie, and Bekah – have loved me unconditionally through depression, sickness, joy and sorrow.  Why would I possibly need a present when I have so much already?

Though I have much yet to learn and many miles to go on my journey, I have learned a few things.

• Fifty really is nifty. And fabulous.
• According to Proverbs, "Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness" (Prov. 16:31).  I am thankful I didn’t have to be righteous on my own, so I’ll give thanks for the gray hair, too.
• Laughter makes everything better, and singing does, too.  I'll be happy to be remembered as a person who laughed and sang often and with enthusiasm. And I'm thankful to have passed on the gift of laughter to my girls.

• My old eyes may have a hard time reading small print, but they're getting better and better at seeing the fingerprints of God all around me - in nature, in children, in relationships.  So beautiful!
• God is good - all the time.  His grace is amazing.  And I'm glad that, as I get older, I've stopped chasing the elusive dream of trying to wrap Him up in a box with a nice pretty bow.  It feels good to lean into what I don't understand, knowing that His love is enough to satisfy what I need, and to trust that He knows exactly what He's doing.

So, surrounded by the great cloud of witnesses - those living, and those gone on to be with the Lord - I am content and grateful. Here's to fifty more!

 

 

 

Victory in Jesus

This weekend, Brian and I took a short trip to the metroplex to celebrate our 29th anniversary.  In between other things, we went to see my grandfather, Bun Bun, at the nursing home in Arlington and stayed with him for the afternoon.

Bun is a fiercely independent guy who has been laid low by old age and near-blindness. He grew up on a farm in Fairy, Texas (the closest “big” town is Hico), the oldest of four siblings and the only boy. Theirs was a hard-working life, but was also full of laughter, family, and music.  I can remember times when we would get together at their house, and one of my great-aunts would play piano, Bun would play the organ, Mom (my great-grandmother) would play the fiddle, and Pop (my great-granddad) would play harmonica.

Johnny, Vernon (Bun Bun), and Valeria Jackson, mid-1920s

When Bun Bun graduated from high school, he decided farm life was not for him and embarked on quite the adventure.  He and three of his buddies pooled their resources, drove to Los Angeles, and applied to work at Lockheed. It was the war boom in aviation, and he went to school to learn the fine art of riveting, bucking, and sheet metal assembly.

My grandparents on the flight line with the North American P-51, early 1940s

After his training, Bun Bun came back to Texas and was hired by North American Aviation in Dallas, right by the Dallas Naval Base. He worked his way up to supervisor, and it was there he met my grandmother, who was an executive secretary on the night shift.  Eventually he bought a vending route and began building a business, with my grandmother at his side.  He taught himself to play the organ, fished a lot with Uncle Milton, raised two girls, served on the school board, grew a massive garden, and was an elder in the church. When the grandkids came along, he occupied his time with mischief (mainly related to teasing the pets and doing practical jokes).

Something interesting happened to Bun Bun in his older years. He was raised by a staunch Church of Christ family that had a very black and white view of the world. Add that to his natural temperament – a “lion,” my-way-or-the-highway kinda guy – and you get a man who didn’t have much room for anything beyond the party line. But then….then Bun Bun discovered the Holy Spirit (or maybe I should say that the Spirit finally broke through to him). Suddenly the boundaries of his world expanded and a softness grew in him. I got to witness this firsthand, since I worked for him one summer in college, and then later after Bekah was born. The change was amazing.

Over the last 20+ years, he and my grandmother have hosted a prayer breakfast every Saturday morning, rain or shine. It’s a very ecumenical group of prayer warriors and a beautiful testimony to the power of a changed life. Back before it was commonly accepted, Bun Bun would raise his hands in worship, unashamed to praise the God who saved him.

Fast forward to 2012. When we arrived at the nursing home, Bun was asleep; when he woke up, he was pretty disoriented.  My aunt Jorja had given me two helpful tips: (1) they were serving ice cream in the common area at 2:00; and (2) there was a piano and the residents would like it if I played. So we trooped down and got him a big bowl of strawberry ice cream for the win. 

The piano was nearby, with a lone hymnal perched on the music rest.  Brian served as conversation partner, and I began to play the old hymns. At first it was quiet, but then I played “I Come to the Garden Alone” – a sweet voice behind me began to sing. Then there were a few amens. Then more residents came, and several sang along. A lady sang “How Great Thou Art” at the top of her lungs. When I played “Spirit of the Living God,” my granddad said, “Hallelujah!” After about an hour, we wrapped up with “Victory in Jesus.” It is a marvel to me how our shared story of song cuts through gender, age, race, denomination, and social distinctions – at that moment in time, we were all the same, all thankful for the work Jesus has done in our lives.

I personally think it’s pretty great that a man who is 90, mostly blind, mostly deaf, weaker than he would like, and with trouble remembering can still celebrate Jesus’ saving grace. Back at the room, some old friends came by for a visit, and Bun Bun insisted that we have a time of prayer together, with everyone participating. Praise and prayer – his life is wrapped up in these two things. I can’t think of a better legacy.

I heard about a mansion He has built for me in glory,
And I heard about the street of gold beyond the crystal sea,
About the angels singing, and the old redemption story,
And some sweet day I’ll sing up there the song of victory.
Oh, victory in Jesus! My savior forever;
He sought me and bought me with His redeeming blood.
He loved me e’er I knew Him, and all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory beneath the crimson flood.

My dad's better than your dad

Do you remember those verbal wars with your friends over whose dad was the best dad? I can recall some heated arguments on that subject from so many years ago. And, quite frankly, I would go to the mat on it even now.

My dad with his parents and sister

My dad was born to J.P. and Lizzie Young in Plainview, Texas. He had one sister, twelve years older, and a host of aunts, uncles, and cousins. They spent time in Abernathy, then Carlsbad, and then moved to Mancos, Colorado when he was a teenager. They ran cattle, raised hay and feed, rode horses, maintained a series of irrigation ditches around the property, and had a large garden, so there was always plenty to do!

Dad celebrated his first Father's Day a month shy of his 21st birthday. My brother, Jay, was born about 18 months later. So he and Mom did what most of us do - they learned their parenting through the school of hard knocks. I was pretty much born talking and running amok, then when Jay came along it was times two.

Over the years, my dad did lots of things. He worked on the ranch with his father; he ran vending machines for his father-in-law; he moved to Brenham to work in urban renewal during a time of great racial and social change; he bought a struggling business and made it work. On the side, he served as an elder and deacon, coached my brother's little league team, sat through many a band concert, and taught us to ski during family vacations. Now that he's in the "second half" of his life, as it were, he leads Faith Mission, a ministry in Brenham that provides a broad array of social services to individuals in Washington County - a role that is the culmination of so many experiences.

When I married Brian 29 years ago and gave birth to Katie five years later, I saw my parents transformed by the experience of grandparenthood. There is something very beautiful about seeing the love you experienced for your whole life multiplied and poured out on your own children. Katie and Bekah now have a rich and full relationship with them both.  What a blessing! I saw Dad rock, hold, tickle, make popcorn, take them fishing, make swings and merry-go-rounds, and be the encouragement to my girls that he always was to me.

Katie with Grandy - popcorn time!

Bekah playing with Grandy

Dad has taught me many things, but here are just a few.

• There are always two sides to everything.
• Even when you don't feel beautiful on the outside, a father's love can see you through it.
• Love God and look for Him in Christians of all flavors - you'll find precious believers everywhere if you'll just be available and open.
• Love your spouse, and keep laughter in your marriage.
• Be a person of integrity - if you promise to do something, do it.

This Father's Day I also celebrate the father that Brian has been to our daughters over these many years. He has endured girl drama to the max and managed to retain his sense of humor.  Brian did many of those same things that my dad did. He's been a trooper through piano and dance recitals, band and choir concerts, plays, movie musicals, and basketball games. He's taken the girls on dates as they grew up so that they could have special time with him and see what kind of treatment they should expect from their future boyfriends and husbands. He demanded respect from them toward me as his wife. He's taught them how to build models and change tires and love God.  I am so very thankful for the man he is and for all he continues to do to bless all of his girls.

 

So, Dad - and Brian - please know how grateful I am for you both, and for your fathers and grandfathers who helped show you the way(Psalm 78:1-8). Thanks to you, new generations of Christ-followers are here, and there are many more yet to come.

Sing to me of heaven

A confluence of circumstances brought times past to remembrance in an intense way this week. On Thursday I was invited to eat lunch with some of my Young family cousins.  Yes, hilarity ensued, but at the same time there was sweet sharing of stories about our ancestors, those dear ones who helped make us the people we are today.

The third couple from the left is J.P. and Lizzie Young, my paternal grandparents,
and sitting in front of them is my great-grandfather, Mike M. Young Sr.

On Saturday I got up early to go to the farmers' market downtown, and I came home with a beautiful batch of produce. Tomatoes made me think of my granddad; squash reminded me of my grandmother; and those purple-hulled peas! As I shelled them later that day, I thought of the many times I sat beside my great-grandmother, Valeria Jackson, in her tiny little house, shelling peas for what seemed like forever. I could see her smiling eyes, her gnarled hands, hear the laughter from her kitchen. Saturday was also the day my grandfather Bun Bun Jackson had a health scare that landed him in the hospital for a few days, so I had him on my mind as well.

Visiting my great-grandmother, Valeria Jackson, in 1990, the year before she died.

Vernon "Bun Bun" Jackson in his garden, around 1990.

Then today at Minter Lane, something very special happened. We had a scripture reading by Tom Smith (age 85), another reading by Lloyd Boyll (age 95), prayers by Roland Johnson (age 99!), and song leading by Jack Boyd (as he put it, the "stripling" of the bunch at age 80).

All of these things combined caused the fabric between earth and heaven to seem very thin to me. And Lloyd's reading was from one of my favorite passages in 2 Corinthians 4 and 5. He started in one version, paused with a smile, and asked our permission to read from another version. I believe it was from the New Living Translation:

That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18, NLT)

While this passage may be encouraging for me, it is real for Lloyd - 95 years old, with a wife who's confined to home by illness. It's real for Roland, whose daughter today simply said, "Daddy's tired." It's real for Tom, who will have major surgery in the morning. And when I look at these men, I see the glory in them already - the glory that only the Father of light can give mortals in dying bodies.

So tonight I weep for loss that is sure to come, while also smiling to know the victory that awaits, humming that old hymn we know so well:

When our hearts are weary, when the days are long,
Sing to me of heaven, sing that old sweet song.

Sweet indeed! Praise God.

P.S. A beautiful modern song about heaven is "Sing Me to Heaven" by Jane Griner and Daniel E. Gawthrop. I recorded Bekah singing it with the Cooper High School Choir, and the lyrics are here.

Grackles are people, too

I love to watch birds. Everything about them fascinates me - the variety of their calls, the intricate details of their plumage, even their behavior in terms of raising their young and protecting their territory.

However, there is one exception: the ubiquitous grackle.

My grandfather called grackles "trash birds." If you've ever had your car pooped all over at the mall, grackles were likely to blame. They hang out in large groups reminiscent of "The Birds." And the sounds - the sounds seem better suited to an alien landscape than good old planet earth. They are annoying, irritating, and everywhere.

The other day I stopped at Wendy's for a quick bite to eat while in the middle of a bunch of errands. We had enjoyed a big rain earlier in the day. There were big puddles in the grassy area near the parking lot...and the scene was set for a grackle pool party!

For a moment, I was transported while watching the grackles play and splash. I forgot all my ill will toward grackles in general. Strangely, at that moment, they held all of the delightful characteristics of other birds.

This week I've been reading a book for work entitled Leadership and Self-Deception. It's one of those books that lays out principles that are simple on the surface, yet profound in scope. One of its key principles relates to how we view others - are they people, with hopes, dreams, and desires much like our own? Or are they objects to be used to further my purposes, or perceived obstacles impeding my own progress? Most of us operate as the latter, even though we don't know it. Something magical happens in the moment we really, really, look a person in the eyes and truly see them in all their humanity. Prejudice and anger melts away; respect and empathy grows; we are freed to love and be loved.

If you're not sure how this is done, look to the Master. Several stories from the gospels come to mind. The woman with the hemorrhage, touching the hem of Jesus' garment (Matthew 9:20-22, "Jesus turned and saw her."). The rich young ruler (Mark 10:17-31, "Jesus looked at him and loved him."). The woman caught in adultery (John 8:1-11). The Samaritan woman at the well (John 4:1-16). Each of these experienced something very special - Jesus looked through the exterior to see the hurting person beneath. He gave the gift of physical touch. He saw their humanity - actually, the image of God himself - and in so doing changed each person's life forever. Don't we all want to be seen and understood?

So, let me challenge you (and me!) today - who is the "grackle" in your life today? You know, the irritant, the one you avoid, the one you are sure has it out for you? Would you be willing to take a moment to sit and see this person in their God-created glory, and let Jesus fill you with the love he has for them? They - and you - will never be the same.

An honorable man

I have been blessed to have many wonderful men in my life - a wise and loving father; two grandfathers who spent time with me (even when I was a pesky little twirp); a brother who stuck with me through thick and thin; and I even had the privilege of knowing my great-grandfather up into adulthood.  Then, of course, there is Brian - the love of my life, with whom I will celebrate 29 years of marriage in just a few weeks....but that's a story for another day.

However, with Brian came a free bonus - my father-in-law, Theodore Freddie Hahn, or "Pop," as I liked to call him. Fred was a melting-pot child, the youngest of 13 children born in 1932 to parents of Prussian-Bulgarian-German-Romanian descent. He grew up working hard and playing hard (so many stories of naughtiness!).

Fred and Lavelle Hahn

Fred joined the Air Force on January 14, 1951 at the age of 18. It was a pre-emptive strike against the draft (his draft notice came three days after he was sworn in). He initially received his training in administrative school, but his first big assignment was as a medical technician for the 374th Troop Carrier Group in Korea, picking up wounded personnel from M.A.S.H. units, taking them to Japan, then returning to Korea with supplies. After a couple of years, he returned stateside to lovely (not really) Laughlin AFB in Del Rio, Texas. However, he found beauty in the middle of that desolate place, meeting Lavelle Henrichsen, who would soon become his wife.

He thought life would be better as a civilian, so he got out of the Air Force in 1955, but re-enlisted in Oct. 1956.  Fred did an additional 13-month tour in Korea, and he also worked 12 months in Thailand as an air attache, traveling into Viet Nam, Rangoon, Burma, Vien Tien, Laos and Cambodia. He called it "delivering the mail." All I know is that he was left with a leg wound from a Viet Cong booby trap (pungee stick) and a cloud of sadness that descended every Christmas because of terrible things that happened on that day in that place.

During his 20 years in the Air Force, Fred did administrative work, recruited for the Air Force, inspected units with the Inspector General's Office, and retired as a Master Sergeant. Other than his short-term overseas tours and travel with the IG's office, he and his family (including Kevin and Brian) somehow managed to have assignments that stayed within the great state of Texas. Fred retired from the Air Force on June 30, 1974, and on July 2 began work for the National Guard at Camp Mabry in Austin.  He did 20 years there, too.

Brian, Fred, Lavelle, and Kevin Hahn, early 1980s

Fred in the kitchen on Patton Ave., cooking something delicious!

Jan and Fred with Katie, 1988

Fred was a survivor - he survived injury, hardship, separation from his family, watching his fellow soldiers fall.  At the same time that he served in the U.S. military, there was another life that happened in tandem. Some might call it ordinary. This is a man who drove to Rosenberg every other weekend for what seemed like forever to help his aging in-laws.  He raised two sons to honor their country, to honor their mother, to work hard and serve in the church and do the right thing.  He loved his wife, and then, after enduring the pain of being widowed, loved and cherished his second wife, Jan, with all the energy he could muster. He welcomed me into the family as though I were born into it, and he did the same with Jennifer, Julie, Joel, Sandie, and their families. He reigned supreme in the kitchen, with a level of pre-planning, logistics, and enormous commissary trips that could only come from military training! He finally succumbed to illness in July 2008, teaching us lessons up to the very end.

Was he a perfect man? Absolutely not. But an honorable man? Yes. I am thankful to have known Fred Hahn, to see his mark on the lives of his children and grandchildren, and to pay tribute to him this Memorial Day.

Grandpa Fred with Bekah, 1991

P.S. I have borrowed heavily from a booklet of stories that my mother-in-law, Jan, was finally able to wheedle out of Fred and edit into print form in 1991. It was under her gentle, loving care that he finally shared some of his personal history. She captured his sense of humor and mischievous nature in a way that makes me smile all over again as I read it!  Thank you, Jan, for all you meant to Fred and all you mean to our family.

Tomorrow will be different

I had the privilege on Friday of taking candid photos at the retirement reception of friend and co-worker, Dr. Bruce Evans. Bruce is a wonderful, wise Christian man who has blessed family, friends, schools, churches, and non-profits throughout his career in ways that will only fully be seen in eternity. He and his wife, Jane, have a love story that continues to this day and is a beautiful example of Christian marriage.

As different attendees gave tribute to Bruce, many common themes were expressed.  Bruce is a true Southern gentleman, slow to speak, quick to listen - attributes that have endeared him to friends young and old.  He knows how to laugh and not take himself too seriously (he tells the best planned giving jokes ever!). There's nothing quite so joyful as watching a grown man back his head and laugh with his friends.

But something in particular came up several times. One of Bruce's favorite sayings is, "Tomorrow will be different."  He speaks it in that low, slow drawl of his, and the expression on his face adapts to the context.  When you think about it, that's a profound little sentence. It speaks to change as a fact of life, not to be dreaded, but welcomed. It reminds us to savor every moment of today, because we aren't guaranteed the same moments tomorrow.  It also reminds us when times are hard that there is light at the end of the tunnel - this, too, shall pass.  Sometimes it is spoken with a tear, sometimes with a shake of the head, other times with a grin.

It reminded me of the old hymn, "Hold to God's Unchanging Hand":

Time is filled with swift transition,
Naught of earth unmoved can stand,
Build your hopes on things eternal,
Hold to God’s unchanging hand.

As Bruce retires, he's entering uncharted territory - what will it be like, after all these working years?  I'm thankful for men like him who show us how to build our hopes on things eternal, while holding to God's unchanging hand....because tomorrow will be different. Thankfully God holds tomorrow, too.

Shouting in the darkness

On Sunday, I had the privilege of worshipping with the community at Christ's Church of Joplin. My brother has attended there close to 20 years and plays bass in the worship band. It was one of those Sundays where God so orchestrated the musical word and the spoken word that the core message was hammered home over and over, and it was a theme that resonated with our family. I wish you could have been there with me! Here are just a few things from a rich and full morning.

Let our shout be your anthem,
Your renown fills the skies.
We are here for You,
We are here for You.
Let Your word move in power,
Let what's dead come to life.
We are here for You,
We are here for You.(from "Here For You" by Matt Maher, Matt Redman, Tim Wanstall & Jesse Reeves)

Higher than the mountains that I face
Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant in the trial and the change
One thing remains
One thing remains

Your love never fails, never gives up
Never runs out on me

In death, in life, I'm confident and covered
By the power of Your great love
My debt is paid, there's nothing that can separate
My heart from Your great love(From "One Thing Remains (Love Never Fails)" - by Brian Johnson, Jeremy Riddle, Christa Black Riddle, Bethel Music Publishing 2010)

You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised. For, "In just a little while, he who is coming will come and will not delay." And, "But my righteous one will live by faith. And I take no pleasure in the one who shrinks back." But we do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who have faith and are saved.(Hebrews 10:37-39)

You stood before my failure
And carried the cross for my shame
My sin weighed up on Your shoulders
My soul now to stand

So what can I say and what can I do
But offer this heart, O God, completely to You?

So I'll walk upon salvation
Your Spirit alive in me
My life to declare Your promise
My soul now to stand

So I'll stand with arms high and heart abandoned
In awe of the One who gave it all
I'll stand, my soul, Lord, to you surrendered
All I am is yours  ("The Stand" by Joel Houston)

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39) 

My God is strong enough to raise me from the grave
Your love is great enough to take away my shame
Your mercy reigns

My God is making new the wreckage of my heart
Your hand is reaching down to pull me from the dark

Your mercy reigns, Your mercy covers me
Your grace sustains, Your grace is all I need

Your Spirit is my strength to overcome the past
I set my eyes on You and find a grace that lasts

I'm forgiven, washed inside a love that never lets go
You never let go  ("Mercy Reigns" by Chris Brown, Mark Bock and Wade Joye (2010 Elevation Publishing)

 

Tim Chambers, long-time pastor at Christ's Church, spoke a brief word. He talked about how his marriage to his wife, Mary, was initially an intellectual and emotional decision, but that over time that relationship changed. Then he related that to our first coming to Christ and His church - over time we move from what was once an intellectual or emotional decision, to an interactive relationship where Christ comes among us, speaking words of consolation and reaffirmation. There's a sweetness to it that wasn't there in the beginning. Finally, the main sermon spoke of the question beneath the question of why God allows suffering in the world - does God, or anyone else, really care if I'm hurting? Pain and suffering drives us straight into the arms of the God who suffers with us (Heb. 2:18, among other verses), and it compels Christians to tangibly give comfort, a listening ear, and aid to those who suffer around us.

What I saw happening during my time with Christ's Church was exactly that. I've experienced the same at Minter Lane. Do you have hurts? We are here with you. Are you suffering defeat? Christ is here with you. Consolation, solidarity, re-orientation and re-focus on God's very present help in times of trouble - you can find these things here, in community with strugglers just like you (and me). Together, we shout in the darkness: "I'm confident and covered by the power of your great love!" Amen and amen.

p.s. Dear friends, thank you for your prayers.  You are the hands and feet and loving arms of Jesus to me.

Forgiving the first time

Once upon a time, there was a little girl with curly black hair. She ruled the roost at her house until her baby brother was born, and then she had to share the limelight. Thus began 48 years of scuffles, wrestling, competition, swimming, teasing, music, nieces, nephews, highs and lows. During the early days, squabbles were frequent....but the two always knew that, when push came to shove (and there was a lot of pushing and shoving!), they could count on each other.  Grandparents told the story of correcting the little boy for some misbehavior, and the little girl reminding them that "you shouldn't talk to my brother like that!

The little girl grew up, got married, and had two little girls of her own.  The little boy grew up, too, and moved his dear family out of state. Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, a time or two in between, with the kids growing like weeds and time passing and peace.

Then came, as the author of The Shack put it, the great sadness. The boy was broken, the girl felt like someone died, and everyone in their family watched in stunned disbelief. Surely someone was to blame! Surely the girl could somehow fix it, could somehow say, "you shouldn't talk to my brother like that!" But she couldn't fix it, and the boy couldn't either. Distance and geography kept it from being quite as real for the girl.....until today.

**********************

You could turn on the TV at any given time of day, or walk through any aisle of the library, and be surrounded with the idea of revenge.  In fact, one of the top-rated shows this season goes by that name. The range of treatments on the subject varies wildly, from reveling in vengeful victory on the one hand, to stories like The Count of Monte Cristo that show the price revenge exacts from all parties involved.

In spite of cautionary tales, most of us are wired to want to hurt those who hurt us.  We might not be able to fix anything, but it might make us feel better if the other person hurts, too. I suppose Cain felt that way when he blew up and killed Abel after stewing in his own juices for a good long while. And while Peter asked about forgiving seventy times seven, in truth it's the first time that's the hardest.

I know forgiveness is a divine quality, modeled by our Father's relationship with his people Israel, and demonstrated to the uttermost on the cross. Forgiveness is something I aspire to in theory, but when it comes right down to it, I don't want to forgive. It feels better to think badly of the other than it does to remember how much God has forgiven me. And now my time is up - I must come face to face with one whom I love dearly but who has hurt another dear one so very much.

A few weeks ago, Albert Acosta preached from John 20, where Jesus entered the locked upper room to join the apostles. He had a word about forgiveness, too - breathing on them and saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.” He speaks this word to the men who had abandoned him at his point of greatest need.  Albert talked about the "breath" of creation and how that creation power is present in the act of forgiveness, a divine act. Then he started meddling:

• Unforgiveness is the absence of God.
• Where there is no forgiveness, God is not in control.
• Where we practice forgiveness in the name of Jesus, an act of creation happens all over again.

I can't do this. But God has shown the way. Please pray that He can take me, step by step, to participate in the new creation of forgiveness.

Dandelions on the wind

Taraxacum officinale:  the common dandelion. Sure, some people use the leaves for salads and the flowers to make wine - but around these parts, homeowners wage perpetual war against them. And, since everything is bigger in Texas, that includes dandelions, too!

The very thing that makes us hate them - their ability to propagate profusely by self-seeding - is actually quite a marvel. One seed head can produce up to 400 seeds, and a single plant may produce anywhere from 2,000-12,000 seeds! Each seed rides on a fluffy parachute to its new destination, scattered to the four winds, looking for a piece of earth to begin the seed cycle for itself.

The book of Acts tells us about a scattering that occurred among new believers in Jerusalem that came on the heels of the stoning of Stephen:

On that day a great persecution broke out against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria. Godly men buried Stephen and mourned deeply for him. But Saul began to destroy the church. Going from house to house, he dragged off both men and women and put them in prison. Those who had been scattered preached the word wherever they went. (Acts 8:1b-4 NIV)

I doubt that those Christians felt like seeds on fluffy parachutes! No one wants to be scattered. But think of this band of exiles, taking Jesus and The Way with them! The scattering did what staying home in Jerusalem could have never done, hearkening back to the promise of Acts 1: "...and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

When we moved to Abilene almost 19 years ago, it required a big adjustment for me to get used to a college congregation in a college town. I'm a nester by nature - just give me my spot, my friends, my work, and don't make me change anything up too much. Instead, I had to learn what it was like to be in a congregation where every graduation signaled good-bye to students and faculty who had worked, lived, and loved in our church community. And, every Welcome Week in August, the process started all over again. Over the years, the wise ones among us helped me learn to treasure the gift of friendship, no matter how brief it might be, and to do my best as an ever-older member of that community to help love, nurture, and equip those young ones to go out into the world, carrying a little piece of me and of Minter Lane with them.

Yesterday, we celebrated a tradition at ACU - final chapel of the 2011-12 school year. By this time in May, most students have their required chapel credits completed, so usually that day Moody is half-filled with students who really want to be there. It is always very special. Usually the worship team is comprised of students about to graduate, and it is sweet to see the tears in their eyes as they sing "The Lord Bless You and Keep You" and hug each other. 

As I watched this from my seat, I couldn't help but think of how many students have come and go through our 19 years, and to think with joy about where they are now. Teachers, ministers, scholars, missionaries, scientists, actors, artists, moms, dads, Bible school teachers, attorneys, social workers, doctors, business owners - you name it, they are doing it, they are doing it for the Lord, and they're doing it all around the world. That excites me! They are going places I will never go, reaching people I could never reach, extending the hands and feet of Christ to a hurting world. What a privilege to be part of that, even if only for a moment!

So, whether you're in the class of 2012 or just in a time of scattering for you, hold on tight to that parachute and ride on God's wind to your next destination. The Lord himself goes before you, the Christ community here stands with you, and His purposes lie ahead of you. I can't wait to see how the fruit of your life will be borne on the wind for years to come!