Moments

Intentional living. Our discussion on Sunday was about this complex set of words. The dawn of this discussion rose out of a study of the sixth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel. Our discussion was led by my teacher, my friend, John Park.

The red letter words of Christ led to open discussion about what we worry about or what we place value upon. The list was filled with obvious and some not so obvious examples. Most would fall under the broader headings of money, family and pleasures. Everything from shopping to the cost of college education was written on the white board. Practical needs to guilty pleasures.

The teacher guided us along the path that Jesus tread so many years ago. We create the worries or inflate the values with intent. So why, did the teacher inquire, can we not instead live with the intentions that Christ commanded?

As I listened to John’s words and the responses and contributions of the class participants my thoughts focused on one word, moments. I considered the moments in my life when the decisions I made leaned away from God’s teachings. Yes there were moments that leaning would be a grossly inadequate description, running and hiding would more satisfactorily describe many of the choices I have made. But regardless of the degree of rebellion there was always a moment when my decision to do right or wrong was made.  

 I recalled the moments when Christ told me to take His hand, to trust Him. But I couldn’t because of what I held in my own hand; worries, money, family or pleasures. Our hands are full of what we want, what we love. The more it means to us the tighter our grip. 

If I took His hand it would mean first letting go.

I glanced at the words written on the white board, how many of those pseudo-tenets had prevented me from understanding the red letter words of Jesus Christ? Then I realized that valuing life had been left off this list of Self. An internal debate began in my own mind. Is it possible to cherish life more than the Giver of Life? 

Would I die for Him?

Suddenly on Sunday morning, sitting in Trinity Baptist Church, I had a moment. Not a moment of choice but a moment of learning, learning about how we should value life.

I sat in my chair watching and listening to our teacher, John Park.  Those of you who do not know John also wouldn’t know that he is facing cancer. The doctor’s prognosis is not good. The time they have given him is too short. I sat and watched as he taught in the same manner he has for many years. No pleas for sympathy, no insipid heroic prose. The thing that I witnessed in John is the very thing that I have been searching for…contentment. It was not his contentment for living or dying, it is John's contentment for God’s decision, whatever it may be, that led to this moment.

When the time comes, surely too soon, John's hands will be empty, his life will be full and he will hear the red letter words come to life.

Moments.

You Can Let Go

Recently Sara, my youngest daughter, told me that she had found “our song”. The song is “You can let go” by Crystal Shawanda.  If you’re not familiar with it be sure to check it out, it is a wonderful song caroled by a heavenly voice. I had heard the song before but never really paid attention to the lyrics. The refrain goes-

              

             

                 “You can let go now, daddy, you can let go.

                  Oh, I think I am ready to do this on my own.

                  It’s still a little bit scary but I want you to know

                   I’ll be okay now, daddy, you can let go”

The story of the song follows the life of a little girl and her daddy.  Sadly it ends with the father dying. I am sure Sara was not including this little bit of information when she deemed this “our song”.

Sara tapped her music player and the song filled the cab of the truck.

Memories are often difficult for my mind to generate with accuracy. Age and brain damage usually cast a mist around the memories.  But this day God blessed me with clarity of thought. As I listened to Crystal Shawanda sing her words a flood of memories came forth.

I remembered Sara Rose lying in an incubator, just a few hours old, with I.V.’s taped to her little body. A small mask placed over her eyes. Wires that led to numerous alarms extended from her small chest. I remembered the nurses telling me that I could not touch her. Stimulation was to be held to absolute minimums, her brain needed rest.

I remembered her first birthday, and thanking God because 364 days earlier I didn’t know if she would ever celebrate a birthday.

I remembered teaching her to ride a bicycle and the cries that first accompanied  scraped knees, then the cries of triumph as she mastered the road.

I remember when she came home one Sunday from church and told me that she was saved. I might have cried a little.

I remembered when she first shared with me that she “liked a boy”. I might have cried a lot.

I remembered her words written on my birthday card a year and a half ago-together we can handle anything.

Memories turned into thoughts of the future. I pictured her walking across the stage at her graduation ceremony. I pictured her walking down the aisle of our church….

The memories came in a flood and rapidly. My thoughts were interrupted by Sara only about fifteen seconds into the song. The mind is an amazing instrument, a lifetime had passed in but a few seconds.

Sara said, “But you can never let go Daddy”.

My daughter is amazing. God is amazing, that He would know to gift such a wonderful child to a person like me. What makes it even more amazing is that He has done so six times.

Don’t worry Bam Bam, I will never let go.

Beef Jerky, Chips and a Reminder

There is a feeling, or perhaps better said, an emotion I want to explore with you. I am not sure if it has a one word description like “sorrow”, “joy”, “hope” or “fear”.  It comes quickly, but its stay is oh so brief.  I can only believe that everyone has experienced it at one time or another, at least I hope so. The triggering mechanism may differ for each person or even for each occurrence; I know I have experienced on more than one occasion.  To provide a narrative in lieu of a single word description;

A sudden rush of pure love grips you without warning, love that is reserved for those we adore the most.

Forgive me for the sappiness; it is contrary to the typical image I have worked so hard to develop. But I can’t find a single word, much less a masculine one, to describe this event.  Let me tell you what happened.

Wednesday evening I was driving to San Antonio with my two youngest (and last) children with me. Rush hour had not quite vanished. My day at work had left me in a not-so-great mood.  A slight pressure was cultivating in the base of my neck; a sure sign that a full blown headache was soon to blossom. Much needed sleep was still hours away. 

I pulled into the parking lot of the local grab and bag to get a snack and drink to tide the kids over until dinner. Sara selected beef jerky and a Coca Cola; Joseph grabbed his favorite Sour Skittles and a bag of chips. (Don’t judge my parenting skills, it was just a snack!)

We jumped back on I35 and resumed the forty minute trek into S.A.

My kids are great. Grant it I am somewhat biased, what parent isn’t. Now of course my children are not immune to bouts of sibling rivalry on occasion. Competition for coveted time on the computer is a semi-regular debate. Whether the toilet lid should be left up or down and discussions on bad toilet aim have more than once crept into our little household. I am fortunate that the rivalry has never elevated to the hair pulling, face slapping or bra snapping levels. At their age I am quite certain that I was either the deliverer or recipient of these tactics and many others.  As for my two youngest (and last) children I believe they may survive cohabitation by mostly ignoring each other.

The traffic was clearing so I increased my speed and tried to erase the problems of the day by tuning into the music playing in the truck; Adele singing about setting fire to the rain. The volume was high but I didn’t complain, it acted as a melodic white-out over the memories of the day. Minutes passed without much notice when I realized that my two youngest (and last) children were in conversation. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, their words no competition for the blaring radio. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Joseph offer Sara his open bag of chips then Sara reciprocate with her open bag of jerky.

The trigger.

In that brief moment, from those insignificant gestures, this sudden rush of fatherly love filled my heart, my mind and my soul. I love my children all the time, every minute of every day, but this incredible rush of love was…incredible. For that moment nothing else existed or mattered.

God is everywhere.

I wondered if God ever has this unnamed feeling. Does He look down upon His creation, His rivaling children and see just one small gesture that causes His heart to swell? Does it remind Him of why He created us in the first place?

A reminder. That is the one word description of this feeling that rushes in unannounced. With that feeling God reminded me of what is important, what is precious. The problems of the day will go away only to be replaced by others. Bills, taxes, and headaches will come and go. But the love for my children; my reasons for living, my reasons for facing life over and over, will never fade.

Thanks for the reminder God.