Extremely Close

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.  Your rod and staff, they comfort me."  Psalms 23:4

He was born on a Monday, and he died on a Tuesday, and he only lived 52 years, 2 months and 23 days in between those two days.  The older I get, the shorter his life seems to me.  It has been 11 years, 9 months and 9 days since the Worst Day of My Life, and in some ways it seems like it was yesterday, and in some ways it feels so far away.

My father had his first heart attack when I was just 16 years old.  I was in church.  My mother had stayed home with him that morning because we all thought he had a stomach bug.  I remember I was wearing a green dress with a black bow that was actually my sister's and I had snuck it out of her closet without her knowing it, and I was sitting with my friend Victor during preaching when we heard the church phone ring.  Whenever the church phone rings during Sunday morning service, it is always bad news, and I remember feeling a shiver as I wondered who that dreaded call was about.  When Mr. Threet came and got me from the pew, I was stunned.  He pulled me into the hallway and told me to meet my parents at the hospital.  My brother and sister were both already gone to college, and that morning had been so exciting for me because my mother let me drive to Florence to church by myself, a very big deal to a 16-year-old.  I cried the whole way from church to the hospital, praying Daddy would live and that I wouldn't have a wreck and that my sister wouldn't kill me when she got to the hospital and saw me wearing her green dress.

God gave us 8 more years with him after that first heart attack.  In those 8 years, we spent a lot of time in hospitals.  My brother and I spent one night sleeping together on a waiting room sofa in the UAB ICU waiting area, terrified as the ambulances screamed through the night.  Even though I was 17 and he was 22, we were so scared that it didn't feel at all awkward to be wrapped up in each other's arms on that couch.  We prayed, and we prayed, and we prayed.  And he lived through that open heart surgery.  He lived 7 more years after that.

Even after a heart attack, and even after a quadrouple bypass surgery, our Daddy beat the odds.  He was a living, breathing, walking, talking, laughing, answered prayer.  He lived, oh, how he lived!  He lived each and every day loving all of us, making friends, spreading joy and laughter, leading his community, loving his wife, pulling off hilarious practical jokes on his friends, plowing the ground, loving the Lord.  He got mad, he got sad, he cried, he prayed, he ate, he tried to lose weight, he got new puppies, he hated people who were fake, he got in arguments, he talked on the phone all the time, he drove a truck, he smelled like sunshine and strength and sweat, and he was our hero.  He was larger than life.

Then, shortly after having some extensive dental work, he caught a virus in his heart.  That same heart that had been attacked, that same heart that had been bypassed, that same heart that held so much love and laughter--why did that heart have to get a virus?  Why not the heart of a meaner man?  Why this good, pure, loving heart?  The doctors told us in that hospital waiting room that his heart was now too weak.  There was a high chance he would not survive a year.  They prepared us for the worst, and they talked about the chances of success with a heart transplant, which was still a new procedure back then, and they didn't think it would work.

We prayed, and we prayed, and we prayed, and we prayed.  I quit my job and moved home to spend more time with Daddy and plan my wedding with my Mom.  I was 22 years old, and I was terrified he wouldn't be there to walk me down the aisle.  I prayed every night that he would live.  And he did.

He lived!  He walked me down the aisle.  He beat the odds--once again, his lion heart rallied and kept on beating!  We felt like champions, we prayer warriors, he lived!

And then, one Easter weekend when I was 24 and a newlywed, we all came home to be together.  My brother and his wife, my sister and her husband, my new husband and me, my Mama and Daddy, and two precious nieces who had joined our clan.  We were all together under one roof--a rare and wonderful weekend of the entire family around one table.  But all weekend, he wasn't himself.  He was quiet, he didn't laugh much, he didn't eat much, and late one night, I found him sitting in his chair in the den, tears streaming down his cheeks as he listened to gospel music on TV.  This sight shook me up--a child never gets used to seeing their Daddy cry.  I walked into the room, and he asked me if he died, if my brother and sister and I would speak at his funeral.  Of course we would, but he wasn't going to die--he always lived!  I got mad, as all-knowing 24-year-olds do, and I told him not to even say such things.  On Sunday when I was loading the car to leave, I was still mad at him.  I told him I loved him, but he knew and I knew that I was annoyed. 

My sister, who was expecting her son at the time, stayed with my parents that week with her baby girl.  On Tuesday, Daddy told her to come and jump in the truck with him.  She left her baby daughter with our Mama, and she and Daddy went to a neighbor's house.  As they got out of the truck, Daddy started telling a joke to the neighbor, and then he died.  Just like that.  The ambulance came, but they never revived him.  They took him to the hospital and began to work to try to bring him back, but to no avail

My phone rang just after supper.  I was wearing a grey shirt and black pants.  I had just finished cleaning up our little kitchen in our newlywed house from the supper I had burned, and I was sitting on the couch watching a Biography of Princess Diana.  Stuart was in the driveway changing the oil in our cars and I am sure wishing he had a bride who could cook.  My brother-in-law was the voice on the other end of the line, and he said, "Honey, let me speak to Stuart."  I knew it was something terrible.  I gave the phone to Stuart, who turned away so I wouldn't see his tears.  All I knew was that Daddy was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital, and my poor pregnant sister had been standing beside him when he dropped to the ground at her feet.

We quickly packed our bags and threw them in the car.  Stuart drove so fast, but it was over a 2-hour drive home.  We prayed, and we prayed, and we prayed, but this time it was different.  We both knew it in our hearts.  And then, when we were about 45 minutes from home, a very beautiful star fell right out of the sky right in front of us.  And we knew his bright light was gone from our lives forever.

True to his request, my brother, my pregnant sister, and I all spoke at his funeral.  I know that God got us through that day.  We lived in a town of 1,500 people, and well over 3,000 came to his visitation and funeral.  He was a great man, a man who was loved by all who knew him, a man who lived his life well.

Since then, my brother, sister and I have had 6 more children between us.  We have laughed, we have cried, we have loved, we have fought, we have grown closer together, we have been broken-hearted.  We are so proud of his legacy, and we love seeing him in these magical 8 grandkids, who each have a little piece of him living in their hearts, even though they didn't know him.

He would have loved Mission Athens.  It would be right up his alley.  When he died, several people came by the house to give my mother money.  He had given so many people loans that she had never known about.  One man who none of us knew brought his chainsaw to give my mother.  He said he didn't have the money to repay the loan, but he thought my Mom could maybe use the chainsaw.  We were so touched by all the things people did to comfort us.

Those days following his death are so poignant in my memory.  The horror of going to the funeral home and picking out a casket, the feeling of extreme exhaustion that comes from night after night of tears and no sleep, the huge amounts of food that none of us felt like eating, the sad dogs who missed him so much, the endless line of hugs and stories at the funeral home, the blisters on our feet from uncomfortable shoes, the throbbing headache, the raw, bleeding heartache, the smell of him on his sheets, the tragic discovery that a well-meaning friend had washed his clothes and sheets and his smell was gone, his handkerchief and pocket change I carried in my purse, all his sticky notes with doodles all around the house, sitting in his messy truck and crying huge sobs of pain.  It was a wonderful, beautiful, painful, awful, nightmare, but it was real, and it was true--it was life in its rawest form.

God does not promise us an easy road.  He does not promise us that He will answer every prayer.  God simply tells us to follow Him.  I spent about 2 years following my father's death being really angry with God.  I didn't pray except to tell Him I was mad.  I had crippling anxiety attacks when I was in large crowds because I would see my father's face in the crowd and for a brief moment think he had come back.  My heart grew very cold, and I didn't attend church very often.  My mother had a completely different response--she drew so close to God.  She told me He was the only thing keeping her going.  I was in awe of her faith and still am, but then God sent me an angel to remind me He was always with me.

On a Monday, my baby boy was born.  I kept my Daddy's picture in my hospital room.  I stared into his eyes and introduced him to my son.  I felt his love for me in a whole new way when I held my own child in my arms.  I knew then that I had to live.  I couldn't let resentment and bitterness rob me of my life.  I vowed that day to be grateful for the time I had with him, for the gift of being his child.  I made a promise to myself that I would try to love my babies as much as he had loved me and to teach them to use their lives to spread joy as he had.  I made peace with God.  Shortly after that birth, I found a wonderful new church home, where my husband and I started our family and grew closer to each other and to God together.

For the past two weeks, I have been thinking a lot about death and about how painful it is.  Last week, the Mission Athens team along with a dear friend in our church helped a family with funeral expenses for their teenaged daughter who was tragically killed in an accident.  I can only imagine their aching pain after this terrible loss.  It gives me comfort to know that God hears our prayers for this family--won't you pray for them, too? 

Last weekend, following this painful Mission Athens case, I went with friends to see the movie "Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close," which chronicles a little boy's grief following his father's death in the World Trade Center on 9/11.  It was very hard for me to watch, as it brought back so many painful, raw memories. 

Then, yesterday would have been my father's 64th birthday.  Now that I am 36, I am just 16 years away from being the age my Daddy was when he died.  I don't know if I will die at 52, but I think about it all the time.  Am I using each day to make a difference?  Am I spreading God's love?  Am I loving my husband and children enough to last them a lifetime?  Am I a person of grace and mercy or a person of judgement and bitterness?  Am I using all the gifts God has given me to bring glory to Him?  Am I a good and faithful servant?

The sharp knife of a short life makes me ask these questions.  For those of you who are still reading this blog and who have not experienced a death in your immediate family, thanks be to God!  For those of you who have, you know exactly what I mean.  Death, especially a sudden, tragic death of someone who was too young to be gone so soon, changes all of us who survive it forever.

I have come to see my father's death as a tool that God used to bring me closer to Him.  I still can't make sense of it, and I have stopped asking "why."  Instead, I am so thankful God gave him to me for 8 years past that Sunday when a scared 16-year-old in a green dress drove crying to the hospital.  I don't know why some people have to lose a parent at too young an age.  I don't know why some people have to bury their children.  I don't know why others live for years with horrible diseases.  I don't understand, and it makes my heart ache and my head hurt when I hear about all the tragedy in this world.

I simply know that because He lives, I can face tomorrow.  I know that without Him, life is truly tragic.  He is the fount of every blessing, the well of living water, the beginning and the end.  He gives me hope that I will see my father again.  He gives me the strength to put one foot in front of the other on days when my heart is weary, and I am burdened with a load of cares too big for me to handle.  He is the way, the truth and the light, and He has given us this life with all the joy, all the pain, all the passion, all the laughter, all the heartache and all the craziness.  It is all part of His plan for us. 

He wants us to bear each other's burdens, and we all know that death is coming for all of us.  It is a certainty, it is inescapable.  There is a comfort that comes from surviving death--I know now that I can truly "do all things through Christ who strengthens me," even survive The Worst Day of My Life and bury my father.  I can move on and move up and keep going and keep growing.  It is all part of this beautiful gift of life.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven;

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a tiem to pluck up that which has been planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-9



Spreading The Word

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."  John 1:1

When did you get your first Bible?  I remember having a small, white copy of the New Testament that I carried to Sunday school as a small child.  I also remember coloring in it and getting a hard pinch from my Mama during preaching, but that is a story for another blog post about naughty little girls who grow up just fine, thank you very much!

There are two Bibles that I have received that were very special to me.  The first was given to me by a beloved preacher who presented it to me just after my baptism when I was 15.  It was pink, and he had it engraved with my name in silver.  On the inside cover, he wrote me a note, and he included this verse from Psalms, which has always been a favorite ever since, "How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to Your word."  Psalms 119:9.  The second Bible was given to my husband and I by my father-in-law just after we were married.  It is the first item we had that was engraved with our names as "Mr. and Mrs."  Both were thoughtful gifts from godly men, and I treasure them to this day.

In 2012, the Mission Athens team would like to give the gift of the gospel to all those we touch.  Whether we help with a past due utility bill, makeover a house, give food or clothes, we would like to also give the gift of Jesus.

We have kicked off our 2012 Mission Athens Bible Drive this week.  We are asking all our friends to donate new or gently used Bibles that are not engraved with names beginning now through the end of February.  We prefer to have the NIV, New American Standard or The Message translations as these are easier to read and understand.  Collection bins have been placed in the front hallway at Central Church of Christ.

Thank you in advance for helping us give The Word as part of our work this year.  We hope these Bibles will become treasured by all who receive them, and that God will work in each and every life we touch through Mission Athens in 2012.

The Well

"But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him will be a well of water springing up into eternal life."  John 4:14

One of the things that we have learned over the past year is that there are many people who do not feel comfortable attending church regularly.  Perhaps it is the nice clothes we all are wearing; perhaps it is that they don't know the songs we sing; perhaps they have had a bad church experience in their past; perhaps they don't feel good enough to go to church, or perhaps it is some other reason.  Who knows?  We just know that a very real and tangible barrier exists between "church" and the "unchurched."

In a few weeks on February 11, a small group of families will be hosting a special event called "The Well."  They asked us to help spread the word on this blog.  Please share this information with all you know--all are invited to attend.  "The Well" will begin at 6 p.m. and will include a time of worship and fellowship with a meal provided.  It will take place at The Athens Visitor Center, 100 N. Beaty Street.  This event is for anyone who wants to know more about Jesus, and we hope to encourage families who want to learn more about our Lord.

Jesus has not promised us that if we follow Him our lives will be burden-free, but he has promised us that He cares and wants us to cast our burdens upon Him.  We hope to share the gift of His everlasting love, His living water, to all who are hungering and thirsting for a new purpose in their lives.  Please help us share the news of this event, and please invite your friends who need Jesus to attend.

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

"If one of you says to him, 'Go, I wish you well, keep warm and well fed,' but does nothing about his physical needs, what good does that do?"  James 2:16

When I was seven years old, the same age my daughter is now, my family lived in an old farm house out in the country.  In the winter, my parents heated the home with a wood-burning stove in the basement that sent heat up into all the rooms on the first floor.  When it was really cold, we would close off some of the rooms downstairs and use kerosene heaters in just a few rooms to supplement the wood-burning stove.  On the second floor, we had a central heat and air unit, and that is where we slept.  I remember coming downstairs on those cold winter mornings and how opening the doors to one of the "closed off" rooms would take your breath away because they were so freezing cold. 

For people who grew up in the country, that scene doesn't sound too strange.  That's just what life was like then, and that's just how things were done in the country.  I remember well the contrast between the rooms we heated and the rooms we didn't.  It certainly gave us an appreciation for the warm rooms when we had to go practice the piano in the freezing living room!  After practicing the piano, I would come into the kitchen and put my cold hands on my mother's warm cheeks.  She would hug me tight and say, "Cold hands, warm heart!"

If you have ever been outside in really cold weather, you know the comforting feeling of walking into a warm house and warming your hands by the heater.  If you've ever had the opportunity to be outside for a long period of time and walked into a cold building, you know the inherent disappointment you can't help feeling.  For many of our neighbors, there are no "heated rooms."  They don't close off rooms in their houses to conserve heat because all their rooms are cold.  There simply is no heat because there is no power after the utlities have been shut off, or there is no money for kerosene heaters, or, worst of all, there is no house at all.

This week, the Athens community had a blast of "arctic air" that hit our area, and temperatures dipped into the low 20s with wind chills in the single digits.  At my house, the kids got really excited about the possibility of snow, we all hoped for a delayed start to school, but no such luck.  We got up in our warm house, put on our warm shoes and coats, stuffed our cold hands into warm gloves, and headed out for school and work in our warm car.

Across town, a family's only heat source died.  This family already lived in a cold house, and to have no heat at all forced a truly desperate situation.  I can only imagine that the kids in this family were not excited about the possibility of snow.  Instead, they were huddled together under blankets, thinking warm thoughts and praying for school to start on time so they could at least be in a warm building.  Luckily, God lead us to help them with some temporary heaters so that they can be warm over this freezing weekend as part of our Mission Athens work.

This family is not the first we have met who have needed heat help this winter.  Just about every week, we have the opportunity to help with utility bills, temporary heaters, warm clothing, coats, blankets, etc.  As we work to meet these physical needs, it never ceases to amaze me how much I take for granted, and it never ceases to break my heart for those in our community living in poverty.  I saw on Facebook this week a question that stopped me in my tracks, "If you started over tomorrow with just the things you thanked God for today, what would you have?"

How often do we stop to thank God for the simple, everyday things in our lives?  A warm bed, a warm house, a warm coat, or most importantly, a warm hug from someone who loves us?  As we go throughout our busy lives, I am afraid that all too often we fail to see those living right here beside us in Athens, AL, who are missing some of these basic necessities, much less take the time to thank our Lord for providing them for us.  As hard as it is to imagine, there are children in our schools who don't have warm homes, don't have warm coats, and don't have warm hugs waiting for them at the end of a long week.

My prayer as we begin this new year is that God would warm our cold hearts and help us to see all the ways we can share the warmth of His abundant love with those hurting around us.  I pray He will fill my heart with gratitude for all He has given and help me to share it with those who need Him.  May He help my actions match my words and my works match my faith. May my cold hands be busy all year working for Him as my mouth sings His praises, and my heart is a warm reflection of His work. 

Dear Lord, please help us to open our eyes and see the needs that are all around us.  Give us the courage to do what we can to help our neighbors.  Help us to live our faith and show Your love to the world.  Help us to put actions behind our words and actively seek opportunities to warm the world with Your grace.  Light a fire within each of us to be the lights of the world and to see those whom we can help.  God, help us to feed the hungry, warm the cold, and love the lost as you have fed, warmed and loved us.

2011 Grand Finale

"I was hungry, and you gave me food.  I was thirsty, and you gave me drink.  I was a stranger, and you welcomed me." 

Matthew 25:35

As 2011 drew to a close, the Mission Athens team worked with all our brothers and sisters at Central Church of Christ to end the year in grand style.  We devoted one night of our church "service" to just that--various acts of service to help those less fortunate in our community and around the world.

We got organized in the Family Life Center, dividing into small groups and tackling various projects.  A small group had planned the food to be included in our Christmas food boxes and bags, and many of our number got to work in an assembly line, packing together various grocery items including turkeys, pantry items, produce, meats and staples to get families through the holidays.

Another small group bundled and bagged the remainder of our shoes that were generously donated as part of the Soles for Souls shoe campaign.  We challenged our church family of around 400+ to donate one pair of shoes per member, and once again, the Central family far surpassed the challenge.  Almost 600 pairs of shoes were collected and will be sent to people all around the world who need them.

Down the hall, another team worked to organize the books that were donated as part of our "Operation Page It Forward" Book Drive benefiting the Downtown Rescue Mission for the homeless in Huntsville.  We challenged our church family to "fill the trailer" with books, and literally thousands of books were donated.  The books were delivered over the holidays, and the Mission staff were so thankful to have these resources in their library for their residents.

While the assembly line continued, across the hall a group of ladies sent over 100 notes of encouragement to friends who have been struggling with illness or hardship.  It's amazing what a note from a kind friend can do to lift the spirits of those hurting.

It was amazing how much we accomplished in such a short amount of time.  Very quickly, the food was organized and ready to go.  We actually delivered two large boxes of items per family, and several of our members volunteered to go out and deliver the boxes and bags to those in need all around Limestone County.

In less than an hour, we prepared and packed over 20 food boxes, 20+ bags for those living in hotels who did not have standard kitchens, packed up thousands of books, bundled and bagged about 600 pairs of shoes, and sent over 100 notes of encouragement.  That work gave the Mission Athens team a whole lot to smile about!

As much fun as it was to work together, nothing could compare with the joy of sharing.  As this sweet friend told us after receiving her food box, "You absolutely made my Christmas."  No, my dear, you made ours!  It is such a joy to give, and the Mission Athens team is so thankful for the ways God has opened our eyes and our hearts to those in need all around us in 2011.  We can't wait to see what He has in store for 2012!