The Day After Tomorrow

After 20 hours behind the wheel, 1300 miles and way too many diet Cokes, I finally slept in my own bed last night. You see, I had driven to Independence, Kansas, to participate in John Palmer's memorial service this past Monday. It was one of those sad celebrations. Sad because we won't be able to fellowship with John for a while, yet a celebration over the fact that he lived well and because of his faith we know where he is.

I seem to be doing more funerals lately and they are for people who are closer to me in age. At 62 I realize that I'm not so old when compared to some but I also see that if I should live as long as my dad did I've only got 20 years left. And if they go by as quickly as the last 20 did, well.....that's just the day after tomorrow.

So what do we do with our time? I find myself wasting way too much, but there are some things that seem to grow in importance. I want to make sure that Jane knows how much she's loved. I want my daughters to know how proud I am of them. I want my sons-in-law to know what a privilege I think it is to be "family" with them. They're just awesome. I want my grandsons to know grandpa and to know how much they are loved by the big old guy who insists on teasing them and tickling them. And even though I'm not serving in a full time position as pastor these days I stll want my life to count for Christ. I want to find ways to encourage folks. My favorite phrase for several years has been to tell people, "you're probably doing better than you think you are."

I'm reminded of a sermon that I preached years ago. It was called "Finish Like A Pro." I'm not sure I did that in my last full time assignment. I have some regrets there. But as long as I have breath I still have days to change the outcome when it comes to the big issue of life. I want to be able to say with the Apostle Paul, "for me to live is Christ, to die is gain."

Rest well, John Palmer

Flaws And Good Intentions

When our oldest grandson was five he was part of the kid's choir in our church.

He stood on the first row of the risers singing his heart out (when he wasn’t elbowing the girl next to him). He clapped and sang and sat when he was supposed to. As I watched him I couldn’t help but reflect on the heritage that our family has in the Church of the Nazarene and the importance of the role the church has played in all our lives. You see, my grandsons are fifth generations Nazarenes. 

Pastoring a church and raising a family isn’t always easy, and to be honest, my wife was left with much of the responsibility. But we found time to create strong bonds with our children. Times as simple as the evening meal. It was an important tradition for us. From the time they were old enough to talk we would gather around the table and pray. As we ate we found many things to laugh about. Our home echoed with laughter. 

We also found ways to remind our two girls of the incredible honor of being a pastor family. They witnessed the people of the church caring for us and bringing by produce or filling our freezer with meat. They saw first hand the advantage of being able to take time away to attend a General Assembly or having their dad at church camp with them. Yes, they also saw and heard some things that disappointed them in the church but we always tried to remind them that those actions did not reflect the church, just certain people in the church.

Today our girls are grown, married and each have two boys. They are part of dynamic churches and give their mom and dad reason to be proud. But it all started when they were young, around a dinner table laughing and praying with their parents.

Now it’s exciting to see them working to teach their boys the same principles that we tried to teach them. At times we thought we had failed, but their lifestyle now shows us we did better than we imagined.

Augusten Burroughs said, “I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.” I can identify with his thought yet it’s comforting to know that our girls understood our good intentions as well as our flaws. If we’re honest with one another, a parsonage is a wonderful place to raise a family.

The Light In The Window

THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW

(This is my favorite Christmas story. I know. It’s not Christmas, but a dear lady at the LaJunta Church asked me to write it for her. It’s a true story, originally told by my favorite preacher, my uncle Sam Stearman). 

It was Christmas Eve day, early in the morning and the year was 1944. My father was involved in the China/Burma/India Theater of war, uncle Lloyd was in a fox hole in Germany and my uncle Sam was at the army base in El Reno, Oklahoma waiting for his orders to ship overseas. My grandparents lived in Wichita, Kansas and they knew it would be a lonely Christmas with all their boys involved in the Big War. 


Shortly after day break a communiqué  went out across that El Reno base stating that any soldier who’s home was within 150 miles of the base could have a three day pass for Christmas. Wichita is 147 miles from the base. Within the hour Sam had his duffle bag filled and stood outside the gates hoping to thumb a ride home for Christmas. He wouldn’t have been able to take public transportation if he’d had the money. The busses and trains were all filled with holiday travelers. So, there he stood, waiting. 


In a short time a family in a 1936 Chevy pulled to the side of the road and invited Sam to climb in. He did. The car was occupied by a family of four traveling north to be with extended family for Christmas. 


As they traveled, it began to snow. A perfect addition to the fact that Christmas was going to be special for Sam. Yet, in Oklahoma the snow doesn’t fall straight down making nice fluffy piles on tree limbs. No, it blows sideways. Oklahoma usually gets snow that was meant for Kansas.  


As it snowed, the old roads grew slick. The car slid occasionally and eventually ended up in the ditch where workers for the WPA helped push it back on the road.


As they continued north the snow continued to fall. The sun sat and the evening grew into night when they finally drove into the little Kansas town of Kingman, fifty miles west of Sam’s destination in Wichita. The driver pulled the car to a stop under the one street light in town and informed Sam that they were continuing west. He stepped out of the car pulling his duffle bag after him and stood, a lonely silhouette under a dim street light as show continued to fall. 
Within a matter of minutes a guy driving a poultry truck screeched to a halt and hollered to the snow dusted soldier, “Jump in. How far you goin?”  


“To Wichita.” Sam answered. And off they went with snow flakes and turkey feathers swirling around in the cab of the old truck. 


In the wee hours of the morning they finally slid into Wichita. Now the snow had stopped falling, the clouds had dissipated and the moon was beginning to shine brightly casting long shadows on the freshly fallen snow.  When they came to the corner of Illinois and Maple, the driver stopped. Sam got out of the truck, thanked his new friend and started walking down the long dirt road to his parents home, crunching through the snow. 


With the exception of the moon, the lane was dark. Not a light on in any house….except...down at the end of the road where his parents lived Sam saw one of those old fashioned red cellophane wreaths hanging in the window with one little four watt bulb burning brightly in it’s center. He was amused. Grandpa was “frugal.” What would cause him to leave a light on? 


He approached the house, climbed up on the old wooden porch and stomped the snow from his combat boots and rattled the screen door. There was a stirring in the house and then the door opened and my grandfather looked out into the night to see his son standing, smiling from ear to ear. Grandpa swung open the screen door and welcomed his boy with a warm hug. By now, grandma was awake and they moved to the kitchen where coffee was put on and a few Christmas snacks were produced on little plates. They gathered around the table on, what was now, early Christmas morning. They laughed together and enjoyed the unexpected gift of being able to be together in such an unexpected way. 


In time, Sam remembered the small light in the cellophane wreath and he asked grandpa, “Dad, I noticed the little light in the window. Why did you leave that light on? You know DeWayne was in China and Lloyd was in Germany and that I was going to be shipping out. You knew that none of us would be home for Christmas. Why did you leave the light burning?” 
My grandfather answered in a way that was so simple, yet so profound. He simply said, “Oh….I don’t know Sammy. I guess I left it on…..just in case.” 


2000 years ago, God hung a light in Eternity’s Window….Just In Case there would be a boy lost in the storm. Just in case there would be a girl away from home and seeking her way.  


“For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whosoever believeth in His should not perish, but have everlasting life.”