For those of you who have followed the HelpForMyLife.org blogs over the past year,  you may remember Kevin and Dawn. I featured them in my December 22, 2010 blog, A child is born . . . and one is taken. What a privilege to be with this amazing couple!

Their story is one of sorrow and grief, courage and compassion, endurance and hope. Having lost their precious son, Braeden, to cancer just a little over two and a half years ago, just shy of his 4th birthday, they allowed us to take the journey of grief with them as they shared their story.

And it’s a story worth telling.

Our hope in this new year is to launch a new portion of our website that features the stories of real people with real struggles that requires real faith. We’re thinking of calling it, The Journey Through . . . series. It’s because we’re always in process. We don’t arrive until we’re finally and fully restored in the presence of our good God. So on this earth, we’re all journeying through something.

For Kevin, Dawn and their remaining children, their hurt hasn’t evaporated over the past year. They quickly dismissed the notion that “time heals all wounds.” It doesn’t. Braeden’s absence at their Christmas celebration this year is just as poignant and painful as last year and the year before. But they also reflected something that only they can through this journey through grief . . . hope.

Kevin and Dawn readily admit they’re not immune to grief. Neither are they incapacitated by it. Instead, they are inspired by hope. They are using their experience to touch others who have lost children too. They want to share what they’ve learned on this journey they never chose, but that chose them.

What became very clear to all of us who witnessed their story first hand is this:

They have a story to tell. And we have the privilege of telling it.

Their story is not about a destination, but a journey through grief.

Their story is not over yet. They are still on the journey, they haven’t given up . . . because they have hope.

Why? How? As they would tell you emphatically, “God is in this.”

And their story inspires me to hope too.

So as you celebrate this holiday season with your family and friends, be grateful for those who are present, grieve over those who are not, and always remember the  glorious Hope that arrived under the cover of darkness to a couple in a stable 2000 years ago who is our Prince of Peace who heals the brokenhearted and brings comfort to the grieving (Isaiah 61:1-3).

Merry Christmas.

And, look for Dawn and Kevin’s story of hope in the new year at HelpForMyLife.org.

Frank Graeff experienced just that as a pastor who went through some ve­ry dif­fi­cult tri­als.  Graeff was wrestling through a time of profound de­spond­en­cy, doubt and phys­ic­al pain. When he turned to God’s Word, 1 Peter 5:7 was the text that caught his eye and touched his heart: “casting all your anxieties on him (God), because he cares for you.”

Peter’s words provided a level of com­fort and encouragement that–while not relieving his pain–bolstered his heart with the tender reassurance of God’s loving care: “He cares for you.” Af­ter med­i­ta­ting on that truth, Graeff was inspired to write the lyri­cs to a song that reverberated from a grateful heart that knew what it meant to struggle with despair:

Does Jesus care when my heart is pained Too deeply for mirth and song
As the burdens press, and the cares distress, And the way grows weary and long?

Refrain:
O yes, He cares I know He cares! His heart is touched with my grief
When the days are weary, the long nights dreary, I know my Savior cares

Does Jesus care when my way is dark With a nameless dread and fear?
As the daylight fades into deep night shades, Does He care enough to be near?

Does Jesus care when I’ve tried and failed To resist some temptation strong
When for my deep grief I find no relief Tho my tears flow all the night long?

Does Jesus care when I’ve said goodbye To the dearest on earth to me
And my sad heart aches till it nearly breaks Is it aught to Him? does He see?

So, if you have ever wondered like most of us have as to whether or not Jesus cares about the struggles and pain you are currently facing that seem insurmountable, Frank’s answer is a resounding “Yes!” And I agree.

If you have a story of pain and struggle where you’ve experience the restoration of the God who cares, please feel free to share your story to encourage others along the path that they are not alone and can make it too.

“Preach the Word; Love the People,” is Karl’s motto. I like that. He lives that.

But Karl has also recently taken on a unique kind of restoration project that is a real metaphor for what he does with people.

Do you know what it is?

Take a guess.

Any ideas?

Come on, you’ve got to have some ideas.

Take a shot.

The year?

The make?

The model?

Give up?

That’s okay. I didn’t know what it was either until I finally asked “What year is that?” Well, if you guessed that it’s a ’54 Chevy truck, you’d be right on.

But open the hood and you’re in for a surprise, because there’s nothing inside. I mean nothing. No engine. No transmission. Nothing.

Open the cab doors and you find the same thing. Nothing. No gauges. No gas pedal. No brake either. Just 4 wheels, a frame, and a body. She’s just the hollowed out shell of her former glory that’s been stripped out for parts. (Oh, and don’t ask me why cars and trucks always are referred to in the feminine gender. That’s a discussion for another day.)

But I digress . . .

There’s a few observations that my friend shared with me about what he affectionately referred to as his “Kansas yard art.” First, he’s had a lot of interest from folks he’s never had the opportunity to talk to because of it. Quite often a new conversation starts out along the lines of, “Hey, ain’t you the guy with the old blue Chevy in the yard? What are you going to do with it?”

His response: “Restore her.” But not just back to OEM specs (For you non-gearheads, that’s Original-Equipment-Manufacterer specifications). Oh, no, he’s got plans to install a snappy rebuilt powerplant  with some spunk, pair it up with a transmission and rear end that will throw a little gravel–if you know what I mean. Nothing fancy is planned for the exterior, but a little screamin’ machine hidden underneath an understated exterior.

Second, his goal is not merely to have fun restoring a vintage truck that had long since been forgotten, overlooked, and given up on by many–although I know he’ll have fun doing it. Rather, it’s the conversations that are instigated over “that old blue truck” that leads towards a renewed vision for a restored hope in God as the Ultimate Restorationist. He takes broken down, discarded, overlooked, and forgotten lives and sets about the process of restoring them not to their original specifications, but to rebuild their hearts and lives better than they ever dreamed possible.

Karl sees the potential in an old truck, just like he sees the potential in peoples’ lives. And that’s a reflection of his belief in a God who sees our potential for restoration better than we can see ourselves.

God has restoration plans for each of us. Sometimes, amidst the rust, dents, and broken parts of our lives we can miss His vision for us. But He is not discouraged. Nor is He deterred. Listen to His heart for restoration . . .

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you  and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. You will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” (Jeremiah 29:11-13)

I want to submit to God’s restoration plans in my life. And, like Karl, I want to help others find that new hope and future in God’s vision for restoration in others too.

And . . . I hope to get back to Kansas next year . . . and maybe get a ride in that old truck that everyone’s talking about. Because restoration is a beautiful thing. People know it when they see it . . . or in this case, when it rumbles past them sounding real sweet.

I remember sitting at this desk–the same desk where I’m writing this blog from today–and the president of our ministry coming down the hall and informing us that a plane had just hit Tower 1 and that there were some concerns that it may have been a terrorist attack. Several of us quickly crammed into the TV edit studio to watch a live news feed on a small monitor. That’s when we witnessed the second plane slamming into Tower 2. It’s a memory that I’ll never forget.

But remembering is not only a collective effort on the part of a nation or people. It’s also intensely personal as well. In a sense, yesterday reminded many of us that we are all called to remember.

It’s good to remember . . . even when it hurts.

Without memory, we’re lost. We’re left meandering around in the muddle of our seemingly disjointed lives without the handrails of perspective that only memory can provide. Remembering plays a critical role in our lives: it helps us find not only our place in our own stories but also in God’s larger story.

Without memory, we don’t know where we’ve come from, where we are, or where we’re going for that matter. Why? Because we have no reference point, no North Star to help us get our bearings to find our place in the story of our lives.

Without memory, we don’t know what we’ve endured or enjoyed, what we like or dislike, what we need to celebrate or grieve, what we need to let go of or cling to, or what we need to forgive or how to live on even when we’re hurting.

The Bible affirms the importance of memory. A quick search with Bible software for the word “remember” reveals 231 usages of the word in both the Old and New Testaments. If you also search for the word “forget” (the opposite of remember), you get an additional 64 passages.

What’s the point?

God places a premium on remembering and not forgetting what’s really important. Perspective is born out of our memories. And perspective that is proven trustworthy in our darkest hours can also be trusted to carry us forward into the uncertainty of each new day.

The Apostle Paul wrote a powerful call to remember in his letter to the Ephesians, where remembering becomes the fertile context for a new hope:

Remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ . . . through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit. (Eph. 2:12,13,18)

Remembering is crucial to hope. To remember God’s faithfulness in the past serves as a continual reminder that we can trust Him for our present and future.

There is much more to be said about memory and how God uses it, but that’s enough from me for now. Now it’s your turn. Maybe God is in the process of redeeming some of your memories. If you’d like to share them here, we’re listening.

I’ve been gone.

It’s been a rainy season for me and my family.

“When it rains, it pours,” was a saying my Grandma would often use when things were piling up and we were feeling overwhelmed. You know, like when when the muffler falls off the car, then the hot water heater sprouts a leak and floods half the basement, and the door on the toaster oven breaks and you have to jamb a pencil in the latch to make it work because you just spent what money you had on getting the items needed to get your kids prepared for the new school year.

You know what I mean.

Don’t you?

But those kinds of things aren’t life-changing. Frankly, they’re just plain annoying.

But what about when significant losses begin stacking up one on top of the other? That’s not just annoying. That’s overwhelming. Drowning or suffocating is more like it.

That’s been my summer so far.

My wife fell on April 29th, tearing all three hamstring muscles away from the bone on her right leg. Surgery was require to reattach them. Twelve weeks in a brace and no weight bearing, followed by 42 weeks of extensive physical therapy. Yep, that’s 54 weeks total recovery.

On May 13th my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died 3 weeks later on June 3 at 81 years of age. A shock to all of us since she seemed so healthy just 6 weeks prior to the diagnosis.

Then my dad began to fail. Alzheimer’s had been stealing his life away for the past 7 years. He didn’t know mom or any of us for most of the past 2-3 years. And in spite of the fact that we didn’t tell him about mom’s death, after 60 years of marriage, he somehow just seemed to know that his sole mate had gone home to heaven to await his arrival. And he didn’t waste much time. 8 weeks and one day later he arrived to greet her with a healed body and mind.

Yesterday I snapped at my 20-year-old daughter about something I thought she was negligent about. Her defenses shot up. We both felt the tension tighten. She called me on my “accusational” tone. She was right. And I knew it.

She asked me what was going on with me. I didn’t know, but soon I was reduced to tears. And I still didn’t know why.

Then it hit me: “I’ve got no emotional margins left. I’m depleted.Wrung out. Overloaded.” The losses have piled up around me. I just buried both of my parents within 2 months. My wife has begun a long road to recovery. And I feel buried emotionally.”

The journey through grief is a long one. Especially when it’s compounded by multiple losses. “Personal, painful loss forces a door open into the deep parts of our soul, exposing what which we’d just as soon not admit exists, let alone face”(p. 3). I believe that. I wrote that 20 years ago in a booklet on grief, How Can I Live With My Loss? Now I’m re-living it afresh.

Loss is as common as the air we breathe. But our journey through grief is unique to each of us. I’m on that journey. Maybe you are too. Let me reassure you with words from my Father that I find deeply encouraging and comforting in the middle of turmoil that is so disconcerting:

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deut. 31:6)

“. . . because God has said,  “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Heb. 13:5)

What’s reassuring for me is that I’m never alone on this messy journey of grief after a loss. And neither are you if you’ve put your hope in the God who raises the dead.

I’m sure there will be more to come as I process what God is doing in me because of these losses. For now, knowing He’s always with me is what keeps me going.

On Sunday, I was thinking about decisions I’ve made over the past 10 years. Many of the choices brought me so much happiness. They’ve brought me joy like nothing else.  But as I sat on my couch, an overwhelming feeling of dissatisfaction rose up inside. I questioned a couple of significant decisions I’d made.

I felt sick to my stomach. I thought I had done the right thing at the time. No, I knew I had. So why now the doubt?

There were pros and cons to each side of this one particular decision. Each side had its significant life-changing side-effects. This was not a moral dilemma; it was a choice of preference.  Do I prefer it this way or that way?  I chose this way.  Now I wish I had chosen that way.

Either way required a sacrifice on my part.  And what I’d sacrificed for choosing route “A”, resurrected itself in me and it was as if it was fighting for justice, a fair trial, like it was saying, “Hey!  Look at me! You can’t just toss me aside as if I don’t matter.” And I felt intense pain because of what I gave up. I didn’t see it or feel it then as clearly as I did just a few days ago.

The feelings scared me. Had I sinned? How could I have been so wrong? How can I know anything? What if I will always regret this decision? What if I live for the rest of my life with this sinking feeling of what I’d given up? Oh God, I prayed, I can’t live like this.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Help me, God. Despair swam around me, like a shark about to devour any happiness I had.

Then I felt a bit of a nudge toward something. Grief.  Grieve what you’ve lost, Allison. Feel your pain, express it, and push through it. Don’t run from it, numb it, push it down. Don’t despair.   Because despair is the result of believing that what I lost would have saved me; that it was my source of life.

It’s not. Nothing will save me or give me life, except Jesus.

And, with my husband beside me, with his help, this is what I ended up with:  whispering His name:  Jesus. In that desperate moment, Jesus became my answer. He is all I need. He is more than sufficient.

If my life depends on my ability to make “good”, non-regrettable decisions, I’m doomed. I can’t rely on myself to give me what I need. Only one person can do that. Jesus Christ.

Rarely has there been a clear-cut path to where I should go or what I should do. And the times when I’ve been so sure of myself, I now question some of those decisions. My point isn’t that we can’t ever be sure of ourselves or know what a right path is. It’s that I realize that I’m in the thick woods of life. It’s complicated and difficult at times. Even when it seems easy, it’s not. I step forward, and a limb hits me in the face. The brush is so thick I can’t see two feet in front of me.  And the path is uneven, too. How many times I’ve stepped into a hole and stumbled.

The message of the cross, which is love, is power to us who are being saved (1 Corinthians 1:18.) And God will destroy the wisdom of the wise, the intelligent of the intelligent (v 19.) He will make Himself known through His love, not through the wisdom of man.

Walk by faith, not by sight. Moment by moment, seek love and follow Jesus. I think that that, not making good decisions, is the point of life.

And then, after some time has past and some things change in your life journey and you reread one of those puzzling passages and go, “Oh, I think I get it now!” Has that happened to you?

It has for me. Here’s one of those baffling texts that became clearer recently for me:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting . . . Prov. 7:2a

Now I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought that being invited to celebrate at a party was much better than attending a funeral. One is happy. The other is just plain hard. Right?

But having just gone through the first week after my mom’s funeral, I think “I get it.” Or at least I understand it better than I ever have before.

The writer of Proverbs went on to explain,

. . . for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Prov. 7:2b

Since I received the call 2 weeks ago today of my mom’s death, there has been one theme that has dominated my thoughts, invaded my dreams and ransacked my emotions–death. But when I say “death,” I don’t just mean my mom’s departure from this planet. I mean eternity. Her’s, mine, and everyone else’s who matters to me. Eternity is life viewed through the door of death as the exit from this world into the next. Death is not a cessation of life. Rather, it’s being transported from this reality into the next. It’s letting go of this present reality of struggle and being released into the reality of freedom and joy in what Jesus called “Paradise” (Luke 23:43).

Death pushes our buttons like nothing else in life. It is the finale enemy to be conquered (2 Cor. 15:26). No one gets off the planet alive. If we live long enough, we all die (Heb. 9:27). It’s a foregone conclusion.

But, we spend so much of our lives distracted from what’s most important. Parties do that. They’re distractions. They distract us from the realities of eternity that are vividly unavoidable standing before an open casket with the lifeless body of a loved one inside.

Funerals bring what really matters into HD reality. It’s like watching a football game on a  standard definition 18″ TV. It’s good. You see all the plays. You know what’s happening and you’re fine with it. But then replace that TV with a High Definition 1080p large screen plasma and watch in amazement how the same game explodes with all the crisp, clear, and vivid colors that were unimaginable before. That’s what the writer of Proverbs is saying.

At a funeral, the issues of life and death, of love and relationships, of meaning and what really matters are strikingly displayed for all to reckon with. And like it or not, we all do reckon with them one way or another. And if, in that reckoning process, we “take things to heart” we’ll discover that the little things that really don’t matter much, just don’t. And the important things that do, really do.

All of us must face our mortality (death) and our destiny (eternity). A funeral helps us do that. Taking this to heart can change the way we live the rest of our lives. It should. I know it’s changing mine, and I don’t want to forget it.

Maybe you’ve had a life-changing experience after the loss of a loved one that you’d like to share with the hfml family. We’d be honored.

Invariably I’m the guy who gets stuck in what I thought was the shortest check out line at the supermarket and then watched as the cashier needs to change the tape in the register, or the 2 items the person in front of me needs “a price check on isle 4!” After what seems like an eternity, I finally get checked out.

Now that’s irritating.

But last week I was sitting in yet another “waiting” room.

I was awaiting the outcome of another serious surgery for my wife. This was her third. A tumor in her abdomen 8 years ago. A thyroid cancer scare just 2 years ago. And now a surgery to reattach all 3 of her hamstring muscles on her right leg that she tore in a fall.

At the same time, I was texting back and forth with my brother on the East Coast regarding my mom’s deteriorating condition after being recently diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and getting the news what she only had a few weeks to live.

I’m waiting for the outcome of two very serious situations to the two most important women in my life. And yet, while I hate waiting, I had a strange peace. Not strange in a weird way, but in a good way.

I felt hopeful for both situations.

Hopeful that my wife’s surgery would go well, that she (after much physical therapy) will be able to again take long walks on the beach or hikes in the woods that we love and have many plans for.

And, yes, hopeful for my mother whose 81-year journey in this world is coming to an end and celebrating her escorted entrance into the presence of Jesus who she told me last week was the first person she wants to see in heaven.

This morning, the text that God reminded me of was Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 1:8-11 when he spoke about enduring hardships which is what the last several weeks has felt like:

We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many.

That’s it! The internal peace that has and is sustaining our hearts is because our hope is set on the One who raises the dead! It’s impossible for us to endure on our own. But our hope in Christ empowers us to endure.

The other amazing this is that much of this is because of the incredible support of the prayers of friends and family, coworkers, neighbors, and many whose faces we will never see in this life who have lifted us up during this time.

As much as I hate waiting, I’m grateful that it’s “in the waiting room” that I’ve witnessed first hand a gracious peace that defies description (Phil. 4:7) “in answer to the prayers of many,” and for which I’m eternally grateful.

This morning I was reading 2 Corinthians 1:

Life was anything but easy for Bethany after she lost her left arm and nearly died after being viciously attacked by a large  tiger shark.  She not only had to rise above her fears of going back into the water and to learn how to surf again with only one arm, but she also had to struggle with how to come to terms with why God allowed such a terrible thing to happen. Although she wrestled to understand God, her faith, like her determination to surf again, remained unshakable.

With the help of family and friends, she came to trust God with her unanswered questions. Eventually, she began to see how God takes something as traumatic and awful as a shark attack and turns it into something beautiful and powerful for good.

Anyone struggling with severe loss or thinking about quitting on life and God might want to consider seeing this film. It is so much more than your typical shark attack movie (I’m thinking Jaws). It’s an amazing story that will move your heart and remind you that while God isn’t always safe, He is good!

You may also want to check out the Day of Discovery program When God Takes What Matters Most, Part II: They Mayer Family.

Seriously, the coming of Spring means a lot of good things to folks who live in my corner of the world…no more ice and snow, warmer temperatures, better road conditions (although  the pot holes are a pain to avoid), sunshine, and of course, what angler like myself could overlook the joy of spring fishing.

But the one thing about Spring that I will never tire of is how nature bursts back to life.

Every year, the Creator of the universe expresses something truly amazing through the return of Spring. Through nature, it is God’s way of illustrating that a day is coming when new life will return and it will never turn to winter again! Spring time points to a time of a future renewal when Jesus “makes all things new” and restores things back to the way their originally intended before sin and evil entered the world (Revelation 21:5).

This year, as nature turns the corner into spring time, let it remind you of the day when Jesus will set things straight as they were always meant them to be. Until then, may the anticipation of a great restoration free us to enjoy the good and to not lose heart.