Sorrow, Loss, and Legacy

I attended another visitation/wake for a friend this past weekend. This gentleman lived a wonderful 89 years. We who knew him grieved our loss, but something absolutely amazing caught my attention. At the service, his daughter told me that, as far as she knew, no one had said a bad word about him in all those years. What a legacy to leave behind.

Part of his legacy is a family with very successful children and grandchildren; successful in many ways, worldly and spiritually. Another part is his own personal successes, which were substantial. But to me, the most amazing part of his legacy is the positive image he left behind. After 89 years, not an ill word of him is known. Amazing.

Of course, I know that somewhere, sometime, someone said something less than positive about him. That is human nature. He was too successful for someone to have not said a jealous word somewhere along the line. But that's not the point. The point is he lived his life in such a way that people propagated the positives of his life, and downplayed the negatives. In our world, that is rare. Look at the news--tragedy and failure sell, while no good deed goes unpunished. People thrive on sensationalism. One bad apple spoils the bunch, and that is true of our legacies as well. One bad day can sour years of otherwise spotless reputation.

But there are standouts in this world. My friend was one of them. 89 years. His legacy stands. What will my legacy be? Or yours?

When the grieving is over, and the shock of sorrow and loss lessen, what will people remember? What will people pass along in their stories as they wait in line to shake hands with and hug my family members? Or, for a more true picture of legacy, what will they say a week, a month, a year after I am gone? That is when people will say what they really think.

My friend's daughter laughed--that sorrow tinged laughter that you hear at funerals--and said that she had already missed her chance at such a legacy. I knew what she meant; I too have already had people say a bad word or two about me--and I deserved it.

But legacies can be repaired. Sins can be forgiven, both forever through Jesus Christ, and amongst ourselves. A legacy is really the sum of what we do. We can never earn our way to Heaven--that comes only through Jesus--but we can earn a positive legacy. And that matters. It matters because a positive legacy is evidence of a life well lived, a life full of joy, generosity, love, and happiness. Not so coincidentally, all of those are important to God. The same things which cause us to leave behind a positive legacy are pleasing to God our Father. Two birds with one stone.

So, I repeat my question from above. For myself, I ponder what my legacy will be, and purpose to act to improve it. As for you, what would your legacy be if you left this world today, and what are you going to do to change it? 

Guess What Today Is . . .

June 21. The first day of Summer, the day with the most hours of sunlight. And also our wedding anniversary. The longest day of the year.

Now, you can read that and go a couple of different ways. The first inclination of most, and that probably includes you, is to read those words in a negative connotation. "Oh my goodness," you probably thought, "he's saying his anniversary is the longest day of the year--that's not nice!" Well, it's true; my anniversary is, by daylight hours, the longest day of the year. But, that means it is the day with the most light in it. And light is good, right?

Yes. Light is good. In the Bible, belief in Jesus Christ is described as "light," while disbelief is described as "darkness." Everyone I know enjoys the longer days of Summer, and dreads the short days of Winter. You probably know someone who is afraid of the dark, but do you know anyone who is afraid of light? Probably not.

So. . . even though I often joke that our anniversary is the "longest day of the year," knowing how people will take it, in truth, this day marks the beginning of greater light in my life. Jesus Christ is the brightest light I have, but my wife is certainly next. My family is great, my kids are wonderful, but my wife is a brightly shining light. Without her, I would not be as close to God as I am. That's another story . . . maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. But even apart from that, my life--and I myself--am better for her presence.

17 years ago, my life changed. I knew she was the one on our first date. That was right around Thanksgiving. I proposed New Years, and we married in June. We would have married even earlier, but to avoid family strife, we had to wait for June. Alas, another story for another day . . . And, for the suspicious, our oldest is 13. We were not "in trouble." We were "in love," but more than that, it was just right.

And so it has been for those 17 years. We are still "in love," but more than that, we are right. Right for each other, right for God's plan, right for life. She is right for me and somehow, though I'm not sure why, I am right for her.

Even though it is my anniversary, I cannot go so far as to say that we have had a 17 year honeymoon, or that every day or even every week has been roses and stardust. Life and marriage simply do not work that way. But every year, in all honesty, has been better than the last. I tell people that these are the best days of my life, and I am telling the truth. I often hear that High School, or college, or the "single days" were the best years of someone's life. Not me. Last year was the best year I have ever had, and this year is looking to set a new record. Not because of any one great thing, or lack of any bad events, but simply because life just keeps getting better.

My life continues to brighten year to year, in great part, due to my wife. I really cannot even explain it. Life is not getting easier--the economy, teen and pre-teen children, and my aging body see to that--but it keeps getting better. Some things in life improve with time. I am blessed to say that, for me, life itself is getting better with time, largely because our marriage continues to mature.

For those whom I've made nauseous, gag away. I know what I am saying is against the grain of the world, but that's OK. That's me. And, believe it or not, it's true.

So the longest day of the year is the best day, the day with the most light, the most hours to enjoy the things I love. Such is marriage in my life, and God, I am ever thankful.

Close Calls

My friend wrecked his Harley today. A car turned in front of him and he had to lay the bike down to avoid a collision. His 13 year old daughter was on the back of the bike.

This story could take many different turns at this point. By the grace of God, there is a happy ending. My friend ended up with some road rash and a broken clavicle. His daughter, who rode on his back as they slid down the road, got some fairly minor scratches. The bike, the least important part of the story, had minor damage.

But it was a close call.

This is not a story about the good or evil of motorcycles. While it is true that when you are on a bike, you never know what is going to happen, in reality, we never know what is going to happen, no matter what we are doing. I myself have had close calls while riding, but I've also had close calls in my truck, in my boat, on my bicycle, walking down a street, and when trying to swallow a tough piece of steak that I couldn't chew well enough. Of all of those, the steak probably came the closest to getting me.

The fact is, we don't know when we are going to have a close call of our own. I work with people every week who one instant were living their normal lives, and the next experienced an accident, a stroke, an aneurysm . . . The list of maladies out there is infinite. You just never know when your number is up (for those of you who watch Person of Interest, that has special meaning).

When my friend's wife called me to ask if I could come get the bike and ride it home, I was out the door. I arrived on scene and the police, ambulance, and fire department were still there. I opened the back of the ambulance to talk to my friend, and you want to talk about a surreal experience. Then, I got on the bike--for the first time in 8 years--and prepared to ride the beast to its lair. Yesterday I wrote about fear, and how we respond to it. That came to mind as I balanced 1,000 pounds of steel, chrome, and fiberglass on two wheels; with everyone watching just after they tucked my buddy away in the meat wagon.

Yeah, I'll admit it. My palms were sweating. My heart was racing a little. I fumbled around a while to find the key, the kill switch, the start button. I didn't want the thing to start, but it did. I didn't want to put it in gear, or release the clutch, but I had to. And on that short trip to my friend's garage, I looked at every car within a block as though it were being driven by a kamikaze intent on running me down. If anyone saw a full dressed Harley being ridden like a moped by a wild-eyed, middle-aged man who looked terrified--that was me.

It didn't take long for my nerves to settle, but then I went to the hospital. Thankfully, everyone was fine. My friend's broken shoulder will lay him up for a while, but that's a very small thing indeed in the big picture. It could have been so much worse. Just thinking about that brought all the nerves back. It could have been worse . . .

And that's the point. We never know. Our next close call could be around the corner, at the next step, or even our next breath. You don't know.

This is where I encourage you to think about your relationship with God, and since that is the purpose of my writing, here's the pitch. What if you don't make it through your next close call? What happens then?

I know, for me, what is on the other side. And my friend knows, though thank you Jesus he did not find out today. But do you? If not, use the email contact on the right hand side of this blog, or message me on Facebook, and we can talk. Or go to someone else who knows Jesus and ask them. But don't go on without knowing.

Like I said . . . You just never know.

Fear

She was alone.

She didn't know where she was, but Jezebel knew she was alone.

She couldn't see anything. The darkness was everywhere, pressing in on her, stealing the air from around her.

She tried to move. Couldn't.

Then she heard it.

Drip. Drip. Drip, drip, drip.

It was coming.

Drip, drip, drip.

Faster now, becoming a steady stream.

She felt it on her feet, running over her toes.

Water. Cold, dark water.

Koooosssshhhh.

A river now. Pouring down.

It reached her ankles, climbed up her calves. She tried to lift her feet but couldn't. She was stuck!

“Help me!”

Her voice echoed back at her. “Help me. Help me. Help me.”

No came to her rescue.

She was alone.

The water rose to her knees, so cold her muscles cramped in protest. She flailed her arms and lost her balance, almost falling over.

"No!"

The frigid flood reached her thighs. Her legs burned, achingly numb from the cold. She couldn't catch her breath. Every time she tried, the air caught in her lungs.

"Hel . . . Hel. . . Help . . .Me!"

"Help me. Help me. Help me," echoed back.

Her legs disappeared under the ever rising tide, and she was cold. So cold!

It hit her chest, rising faster. Her shoulders went under, and the water kept rising.

It was going to get her.

She raised her chin, trying to keep her mouth and nose above the surface. It was futile. She was going to drown.

Her mouth and ears were covered, but the rush of water stopped.

She could still breath! With her nose just out of the water, she could breathe!

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound was louder under water.

It was still coming. It had slowed, but it was still coming!

Slowly, tortuously it climbed her upper lip, touched the bottom of her nostrils.

She gasped one more time, and water shot up her nose. She held her breath, and the dripping stopped, the tip of her nose just out of the water. She strained to stand taller, to get to the stale air, but couldn't. It was just too deep!

Her lungs burned. Her head started to swim as the darkness came for her.

She . . . couldn't . . . hold . . . her breath.

                                                         * * *

This is an excerpt from my hoping to be published book, The Scroll.  I use it not as a promotion, but as a picture of fear and response to fear.

Some of us, like Jezebel, fear drowning. Others fear snakes, spiders, being alone, being in crowds . . . the list goes on forever. Everyone is afraid of something. All fear is not bad. Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 1:7); that is a good and healthy fear. But sometimes fear can be paralyzing and keep us from stepping out of our comfort zones and doing what we are called to do.

 I think everyone, to one degree or another, has a fear of failing. Some are able to overcome that fear quite easily, while others are so fearful of failure that they can barely function. Most of us fall somewhere in between those two extremes. For myself, I fear failure to the extent that I am willing to try new things, but if I do not have quick success, I am reluctant to continue trying for fear of repeated failures. I'm embarrassed when I perform at less than the goals I have set for myself, because I see that as a failure. And failure is bad, right?

Not always. In fact, as a Physical Therapist, I tell my patients all the time that I am going to challenge them to the point of failing in order to help them to improve. The same is true for anyone who has practiced for just about anything--if you are not challenged to the point of failure, you are unlikely to improve. This is evident in athletics, the performing arts, and every level of learning. Without occasional failure, significant growth and improvement is scarce.

So why then, in life, are we so afraid of failing? When it comes to playing softball, or cycling, I fail at something every time I try; but I do it over and over again. On the other hand, I refuse to play charades because I fear failing and looking like a buffoon. I know I must look as awkward at times standing at home plate as I ever could trying to act out the motions of batting among friends; I am comfortable with the first, but abhor the latter. Why?

Because I fear failing. It took many years after an initial failing to be published before I would try it again. But now I am in the middle of it, and while I have not yet fully succeeded, I have had at least a modicum of success. If I had never tried again, I would have failed forever. That has been a good lesson for me.

Jezebel survives her ordeal--but her fear controls her actions for the rest of her life. She makes many mistakes, and follows many wrong paths because of her fear--among other reasons. If we allow fear to rule our lives, we too will find ourselves on a path other than the one we should be walking. Healthy fear, like that written about by Solomon, can guide our lives to be fruitful. Poisonous fear, however, can ruin everything. And sometimes, it is so hard to know the difference.

So, what do you fear? Is there an area in your life where fear is holding you back from something God wants you to have, or do? Do you have a story of success over fear that allowed God to do something great in your life? If so, share it. 

Maybe you can encourage us all.

I Want More!

I want more! More time, more money, more hits on my blog page . . . I always want more, except when I want less. Less responsibility, less bills, less blogs to write . . .

In short, it seems I'm rarely satisfied. I find myself much like Goldilocks, going from bowl to bowl, trying to find the one that is "just right." But you know what--I don't even know what I am looking for. I'm not sure I would know "just right" or "just enough" if it came up and bit me.

I heard a story today about having just enough. An 18 year old kid was having complicated facial surgery. The surgeons were hoping, but not overly confident, that they would be able to harvest enough bone from his jaw to perform the surgery, but if not, they would have to take donor bone from his illiac crest--his hip. That would complicate the surgery, and the recovery. Prayers were offered up to God, and after a 5 hour surgery, the surgeon reported that everything went well. They had just enough bone from his jaw for the surgery. They didn't skimp, but they didn't throw anything away. It was the perfect amount.

That's what "just enough" looks like. Just what we need; not too much, not too little.

In my life, it seems everyone is telling me I need more. Meal portion size continues to grow, houses continue to get bigger, cars are bigger, faster, fancier . . . The list goes on. To listen to the world, nothing I have is sufficient for me now, let alone the future. If I hope to merely survive, let alone be happy, my TV cannot be smaller than 50 inches, my car must be new, and if my kids aren't reading War and Peace by the age of 3--well, it's hopeless.

I have to tell you--as far as the world is concerned--I'm a lost cause. I don't have any of those things.

But I have just enough of the one thing that matters. There is one area in my life, an area that the world will tell me is not needed, and, in fact, will drag me down, where I have just what I need.

Yep. You guessed it. God. 

Salvation. Jesus Christ. The Holy Spirit.

If these names are offensive to you, if you get tired of hearing me talk about God, I am unapologetic. I am not out to offend anyone, but neither am I out to compromise what I believe. I cannot and will not believe one thing, and say another. Straddling a fence will make you sore in places you don't want to be sore. The same is true with God. You try to straddle the fence in your relationship with God, and you're going to find pain in the most sensitive areas of your life.

But just enough God means being fully on His side of the fence. That doesn't mean being perfect--none of us meet that. But it means recognizing Him for who He is, and accepting the fact that without Him in our lives, we are lost. Without salvation through Jesus Christ, and without the Holy Spirit guiding our way, we will never find a bowl of porridge that is "just right." We will always be looking for something better.

But a neat thing happens when you get off the fence and walk with God. You find satisfaction in where you are, wherever that is. Google Philippians 4:11-13 and see what the Bible has to say about that. And keep in mind, this is Paul speaking. Paul, who was beaten, imprisoned, shipwrecked . . . you name it, he went through it. And he was no different than you and me. He was simply a man who climbed over to God's side of the fence and found contentment in whatever God gave him, whether a lot or a little, pleasant or unpleasant.

I have learned, like Paul, to be content with a lot of things, but I still have a long way to go. I'm still complaining about the long, cold winter we had--even as I complain about Illinois heat and humidity. Read how I started this post--I struggle with wanting more, or less, depending on what it is. But I'm learning.

One thing I have learned is that God is always enough. Never too much, never too little. Always sufficient.

When I think about that, everything else seems to be "just right" as well. Try it for yourself the next time you want more or less of something. Think about the sufficiency of God and see if your attitude changes.