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I'm glad you stopped by. Check out our "Home Page" to see how you can help. This page is a place where I can share my thoughts with you (not necessarily "profound" thoughts), but the ramblings and ponderings of my life. --------------------------------------------------- You can leave a response or message on the Guestbook from the home page. --------------------------------------------------- April What did Easter mean to you? Remember Easter? I know what Easter means to me. It means redemption. The reason I know is that it was made very clear to me at one point in my life. Here's that point. Most of you are aware that I am divorced. During the time that my wife and I were trying to save our marriage, I was serving as a full-time hospital chaplain and was attending a Nazarene Church where a friend was pastor. He did not know what was going on in our lives. Pastor Dave Baldridge, who was at a Methodist Church on Merritt Island, was the only friend with whom I had shared those things. Anyway, one Sunday my Nazarene friend preached from Isaiah. After he read the scripture and started preaching, I continued to read further in the book. I came upon a verse that took my breath away. Isaiah 54:4 said, "Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated." Wow! I looked around to see if anyone had noticed my reaction to the verse. No, my secret was safe. You see, my greatest fear, as I saw my marriage failing, was that I would suffer shame and be disgraced and humiliated. The reality was that "I" thought I "should" suffer shame and disgrace and humiliation. I was afraid of it, but I thought it was what I deserved. I knew what a great failure this was and felt that I deserved everything that came with it. When I read this verse, I shuddered. I wanted to claim it as a promise from God, but didn't think I could. Again, I felt I didn't deserve that promise. I felt that my ministry in the church was over because of my failure. Then something happened. In the midst of my despair (sounds like King James stuff, huh), Pastor Dave called me and said that his church needed me to come on staff to preach one service each Sunday. I asked if they knew what was going on in my life and he said they did. Dave and I had an amazing five years of ministry together in that church. I remembered the verse from Isaiah...wow! Even though I didn't deserve it as a promise, it didn't keep God from doing it. There's more. One day, Dave told me that he wanted one Sunday's sermon to be on divorce. I figured I would get that Sunday off. But no, he wanted us to do a team sermon, where he preached from the perspective of having been the child of divorce and me preaching from the perspective of being divorced. What do you say? I talked about the tragedy of not being able to save a failed marriage, I cried through the part about telling my son, Scott, and then I started closing. I said, "You know, the one thing that I have learned from my divorce is that God redeems failure. Redemption is the message from the cross. It's the understanding of grace and forgiveness. It's the story of Easter." I've recently been rediscovering that grace as I have offered it to others. I began to remember those days of worry about shame and humiliation. I remembered Isaiah 54:4. I thought of something that I had never realized before. If Pastor Dave and his church had not offered me their grace along with God's grace, I think I would have been lost to the church and to ministry. I understood God's grace, but when a church showed me that grace by their acceptance of me and my ministry, I actually experienced God's grace in reality. Before, it was just an understanding, then, it was an experience. That's different! I think it is spiritually worthless for me to talk of God's grace, if I am not willing to offer that same grace myself. If I can't offer my grace, I'd be better off not talking about God's grace, because it would sound shallow and hollow, since it's coming from a place of judgment. Offering grace brings peace. Judgment will shrivel your own soul and possibly the soul of the one judged. I was so close to suffering that...thank God for grace. God's grace becomes real in other people's lives as we offer it ourselves. It comes through us. Really!! Can you believe that God uses us like that? He even uses those of us who don't feel we deserve to be used. He'll even use some of you! When I call people on their birthday, they often say they don't feel their age. If they mention that, I ask them what age they would think they are if they really had no idea when they were born. That's a really interesting question. I surely wouldn't think I'm fourteen, but I don't feel fifty-six either. I would probably put myself in my mid-forties (I said how old I feel, not how old I look), but that doesn't count the days when I feel eighty. As I reach 56, I realize I am on the backside of my 50's. The next big "marker" for me is 60. I guess getting "older" makes me consider my death. Oh, I know, as a motorcycle rider, I should consider it everyday, but bikers sort of live in a world of denial. Now that I think of it, most of us do. Even though death is all around us, we usually refuse to deal with the issues of our own potential demise. You'd be surprised at the times I've dealt with families during a medical crisis and asked what the patient's wishes were and was told that "they never wanted to talk about it." Folks, talking about death won't kill you (pun intended). Discussing the potential will only help you and your family look at the pros and cons of possible treatments when it comes to that. I see people choose treatment options on the spur of the moment at the suggestion of their doctor, because they have never thought about or discussed the options of what to do with some rather terminal disease process. You know, we all have a terminal disease; it's called "life." I often joke about the fact that, for me, "It's downhill from here." What I mean is that, at my age, I'm probably not going to get stronger, healthier, mentally sharper, or better looking (and I could sure use some of that mentally sharper and better looking). From here on out, it's a downhill ride. What I had better figure out is "how to enjoy the ride." I also better talk to my family about what I want to do when the "ride" is no longer "fun." You see, I love to ride the roller coaster, but when it is no longer fun to ride, I get off (although I wait until it stops). These days, I observe people whose lives are miserable due to any number of issues; their health, their spouse, their children, their finances, or (D) all of the above. Then, when they have an opportunity from disease, to "get off the ride," do they? No, they fight like crazy and put themselves through hell, just to stay out of heaven. They have debilitating surgeries; they take devastating treatments; they seem willing to do anything just so they won't die; as if they can keep that from happening. The Lenten Season is coming soon. On Ash Wednesday, we say, "from dust you are and to dust you shall return" to remind us of our frailty. In I Corinthians 15:54, Paul writes, "Death has been swallowed up in victory." Does that sound like something to be afraid of? I realize that I'm not facing a terminal diagnosis right now, and some of you are. I also realize that my thoughts on this issue could change with that, but don't count on it. Life, for me, is not about "how long I can live." It's about "how much living I can cram into my life." It's not about "mileage," it's about "gusto." I'm not talking about a "party" life here, although it's hard to beat a party. I'm talking about living and loving and laughing and hugging and touching people's lives. I'm talking about enjoying life rather than complaining about everything that happens to you and around you. I'm talking about seeing the positive in things and people rather than always looking at the negative. I'm talking about riding the roller coaster rather than watching it. Life is too short to criticize, to hate, to hold a grudge, to wish for what might have been, to regret. It's too short to be miserable. I remember when a friend mine's husband died at a young age. She found a book entitled: Pain is Inevitable, Misery is Optional. She took that as her motto. It's not only right about grief; it's right about life. There is going to be pain, there are going to be problems, tragedy is going to strike, but living a life of misery is surely an "option." It's an option you don't have to choose. You can choose "joy" and you can share that joy with others, and that makes life wonderful, most of the time. It also gets you through the moments that are less than wonderful. |
