My first encounter with Ron Swift involved the negotiation of a bride price, as practiced in many countries in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. My eldest son, Jason, had spent the summer of 2013 Facebook-stalking Ron’s daughter, Rachel, as she did mission work, rode elephants, and sported dreadlocks in Cambodia. I may have looked over Jason’s shoulder a time or two, wondering if Rachel was the one. Quite boldly and prematurely, I messaged Ron, offering 50 camels in exchange for Rachel, so that my son would have a life companion and someone to make him Ramen noodles. When Ron immediately accepted my offer, I knew that regardless of what happened with our children, he and I would get along just fine.
My next significant encounter with Ron occurred on the eve of Jason and Rachel’s 2014 wedding. The wedding venue had just held another event, and we couldn’t set up the outdoor seating until around midnight. So, in the light of the moon, Ron and I and a few others set up rows of chairs in a field in a place called Bald Knob. (Ron and I never saw any knobs, bald or otherwise.) The next morning, while officiating the ceremony, I walked up to Ron and handed him the 50th and final camel, this one about three inches tall. The bride price was paid. The exchange of “I do’s” and rings soon followed.
Over the past eight years, my love and appreciation for Ron has only grown. He and his wife, Jackie, were crazy full-time RVers like my wife and I once were… living “in a van down by the river.” His love for Jackie, his children (Rachel and Nathan), my son, Jason, and the rest of his family was expressed regularly and never in doubt. You knew where you stood with Ron and that was a good place to be. The same could be said for “Libby,” his “best dog ever.” Ron understood dogs and dogs understood Ron.
Aside from his family, his dog, and his faith, Ron’s big passion was long-distance bike racing. He was good at it and found community with his fellow racers. When deciding the best places to park their RV for the next season, Ron always factored in the availability of suitable bike trails. Even after taking a nasty spill (or two or three) and injuring himself, he always looked forward to healing up and getting back on his bike.
Ron also faced a challenge most of us will never face—Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). This condition resulted from many years of intense, stressful work as an anesthesiologist—specifically while taking care of critically ill or injured patients in the operating room. Few know the pressure of holding someone’s life in their hands. I mention it here because Ron never shied away from the subject. In fact, he and Jackie allowed me to interview them and include their story in my book, Faith in the Margins. Ron called the condition his “thorn in the flesh.” He shared his story because he wanted to help others going through similar struggles. He was empathetic to what others were facing.
In discussing his illness, Ron would refer to 2 Corinthians 12:7-9. Like Paul, Ron pleaded with God to take away his illness. As with Paul, the Lord’s response was, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Like Paul, Ron was willing to, “boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” Although PTSD was devastating to Ron, he told me he was learning to trust God’s sufficient grace. With each episode, God’s grace emerged.
So, Ron and his faithful companion, Jackie, endured much. He suffered many rough, debilitating days in anguish, unable to function. But there were also some peaceful days—some mountaintops. Playing guitar for family at Christmas. Exploring new places by RV with Jackie. Riding with friends. Vacations with family. Wrestling with his dog. All mountaintops.
But the valleys were deep. Jackie told me that Satan gives you this false hope that things will improve, but sometimes they don’t. She said that if Satan was using this illness to crush Ron—to put him in a headlock—we must remember that Christ has Satan in a headlock.
Toward the end of the interview, Ron said, “We know how the story ends. Christ wins the battle. And I’m in Christ. If that doesn’t give me peace, nothing will. Listen, I wish the situation were different. I pray that it will get better. It might. But it might not. If God doesn’t take this away—if this is as good as it gets, so be it. I’m at peace with that. Let him use me for his glory.” Jackie added, “We have a home in Heaven. And we belong to a heavenly Father who loves us and gives us sonship through Christ (See Galatians 3:26-29).”
Ron said, “I’m counting on that sonship. Think about the prodigal son for a moment. He made some bad choices and ends up eating with pigs, an experience not unlike the valleys mental illness will put you in. But the story doesn’t end there. He ends up expecting, best case scenario, to be a servant to his father. To just be shown mercy. But his father does the unimaginable—he elevates his lost, messed up son to an heir! And he throws a party! My only hope in all this is that God will somehow do the same for me. I’m counting on it.”
Yesterday afternoon, God called Ron home. His family, friends, and all who knew Ron are devastated. In losing Ron, we lost someone special.
But death doesn’t get the last word here. Satan doesn’t have the final say.
Ron was a Christian, you see, and that changes everything. 1 John 5:4 says, “For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith.” As a result, we can proclaim, “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? … But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord, Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 15:54-57). What a promise!
In the end, Ron’s words to me were prophetic: “We know how the story ends. Christ wins the battle. And I’m in Christ.”
I paid a silly bride price of camels for Rachel, but Christ quite seriously gave his very life to purchase those who are in Him. And Ron was, and remains, “in Him.”
We don’t know exactly what Heaven will be like, but we know it will be something special. Ron will exchange his RV for a mansion just over the hilltop. I envision him upgrading his bike for a faster one that doesn’t crash. He’ll exchange his bumps and bruises for a crown. And maybe, at least symbolically, he’ll be reunited with every dog he’s ever owned. I see them pinning him down and licking his face. I can hear his laughter.
No more valleys—only mountaintops. No more anguish—only peace. Heaven is… as good as it gets. So, even as we cry today and in the days ahead, and there will be plenty of tears, we also need to remember Ron and smile. He was another of God’s special gifts to us. And he fought the good fight, he finished the race, and he kept the faith.
