Papa Raymond, my 88-year-old father-in-law, will have his second hip replacement surgery of 2021 tomorrow afternoon, on Veterans Day. Later this year, he’ll have eye surgery. You see what he’s up to, right? His plan looks obvious to me. Over the course of the next few years, he’s going to methodically replace all his body parts. He’s going to begin his ninth decade of life with the body of a 20-year-old. His 90th birthday cake will read, “Happy Birthday, Benjamin Button Climer!”
Preparation for tomorrow’s surgery begins at midnight tonight when Papa begins to fast. Wanting his next-to-last meal prior to surgery to be a good one, I made him my specialty: grilled hot dog with cheese and onions, along with a side of mac & cheese. As my cooking skills go, this is high-end. Whenever Big Steve lights the grill or pulls out a saucepan, something special is going down.
Toward the end of lunch, Papa did something he never does… ask for seconds. This is a man who eats like a dieting canary and weighs 138 pounds soaking wet. He never asks for seconds. For that matter, he rarely finishes firsts. So, when he asked to finish off the mac & cheese, we were all stunned.
“Tomorrow’s a big day, a lot going on,” he smiled and said. “Better get my nourishment today.”
Papa is a wise man. This isn’t his first rodeo, nor his first hip replacement. He knows what’s involved. It will be a challenging day, featuring drugs, needles, IVs, hospital food and, if he’s lucky, cute nurses. It all begins with about 15 hours of fasting. For a guy who likes his morning strawberry strudel with coffee, that’s tough. It’s a challenge. It’s a big day, especially for an 88-year-old.
How does he prepare? He loads up on nourishment today. He knows an extra scoop of mac & cheese today will strengthen him for whatever challenges tomorrow brings. This proactive consumption of calories might also make tomorrow’s inevitable 11 a.m. hunger pains a little more manageable.
On this beautiful fall day in Maryville, Papa’s words are now looping in my brain: “A lot going on tomorrow… better get my nourishment today.”
And then I look out on the back porch and see Papa. Like almost every other day of his life, there’s an open Bible in his lap.
“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:6-8
On the radio today, a local businessman discussed an interesting aspect of the Coronavirus pandemic. He said it forced him to prioritize and categorize the relationships in his life.
Category 1 contains his “worth getting sick for” friends and family. These are the most important people in his life. He cherishes these relationships so much that he has been willing to risk getting the virus in order to be with them. Put another way, the real loss of not being with these special people for months or years trumped the potential risk of catching or spreading the virus.
Category 2 contains his “not worth getting sick for” friends and family. These people are still valuable to him, but they are not in his inner core of relationships. These are people you would regret not seeing for a year or longer as you wait out the virus, but they aren’t your most critical relationships. They aren’t worth the risk.
You may take exception to his approach, but he’s right in that we all prioritize our relationships. Your spouse and children mean more to you than the other people in your neighborhood. You may value your Christian friendships over casual acquaintances at the office.
Jesus makes no distinctions. He loves every one of us. He didn’t wait for us to love him or to stop sinning before He was willing to die for us. He selflessly and proactively gave himself up.
With Jesus, there are no “worth dying for” and “not worth dying for” categories. He loves all of us equally. We’re all worth it. He was willing to go far beyond the risk of being harmed. He came to Earth knowing full well the certainty of a horrific, painful death.
Still, two categories remain:
Christians – those who are obedient to God’s Word. They believe in Christ, have confessed His name, have repented of their sins, have put on Christ in baptism, and continue to live faithfully.
Everyone else.
In John 14:6, Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Have you heard the expression, “I like the idea of…”?
I like the idea of writing a book. Translation: I would love to be an author, but I don’t intend to literally go through the difficult process of turning an idea into a book.
I like the idea of hiking the entire Appalachian Trail. Translation: I like the idea of being an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker, but I don’t intend to literally climb up and down mountains for 12-15 miles each day for the next six months.
I like the idea of being healthy and fit. Translation: I know a healthy and fit lifestyle would be good for me, but I don’t intend to consistently eat right and exercise. That’s too much trouble.
What about the Bible? Do you like the idea that God took the time to communicate to us in writing? How about liking the idea of certain Bible passages? Let’s take Hebrews 13:2: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”
That sounds like a neat idea. I like the idea of it.
Just don’t expect me to do it.
I mean, I’m hospitable to my family. We open our doors to loved ones and celebrate family gatherings with feasts and frivolity.
I’m also hospitable to my friends. We have hosted many friends travelling through East Tennessee and have shared many meals with our church friends. Are we hospitable? Absolutely!
But that’s not what Hebrews 13:2 is about, is it? Hospitality to strangers is a whole different ball game. When was the last time you invited a perfect stranger into your home? The very notion sounds risky, even unsafe. That may have worked in Bible times, but today, not so much.
At a restaurant, when was the last time you invited a stranger, sitting alone, to join you and your family? Seems a little awkward. I mean, you don’t know the person. What if they’re weird? What if they have a virus? What if they have nothing in common with you? What will you talk about?
Don’t get me wrong—I like the idea of being hospitable to strangers. But in practice, I’m going to take Hebrews 13:2 and line through “to strangers.” Isn’t it enough for me to just be hospitable? Shouldn’t I live prudently, manage risk, and limit my social contact and generosity to known quantities?
But wait, Hebrews 13:2 isn’t finished. The stranger before me might be an angel. Isn’t that special? I like the idea of it.
Of course, it’s not realistic. It’s probably an exaggeration—a divine figure of speech. That stranger sitting across from me at the restaurant, or three pews in front of me, or on the street corner asking for his next meal, couldn’t possibly be a messenger from God. That’s silly. What are the odds?
So, while I like the idea of Hebrews 13:2, I’m going to reword it as follows: “Show hospitality to your friends and family.” Now that’s more like it! Thanks for accommodating that quick edit, God! I’m going to show hospitality to my family and friends like never before! I appreciate you working with me on that. I think we’ll find this approach is more reasonable and less risky.
While I got you here, God, can we discuss Matthew 5:44? I mean, I like the idea of loving my enemies…
It’s taken me a couple of days to process and try to make sense of the situation unfolding in Afghanistan. I hope you’ll give me the space to “think out loud” for a few moments.
I could write about politics and unload on this Administration. Not so much that we’re getting out of Afghanistan, but how we went about it. It’s a travesty on multiple levels, but I try to avoid divisive politics on social media. Few minds are ever changed. Vote your conscience.
I could write about national strategy as it relates to Afghanistan. I’ve studied national strategy and warfighting at one of our nation’s most prestigious schools. Tens of thousands of debates have occurred, and papers have been written, on our interests in Afghanistan. Do we stay and keep fighting for a third decade? Do we get out completely? Do we leave a smaller contingency force behind to gather intelligence and put out fires? How do we balance humanitarian interests and nation-building with the loss of American lives? Queue the endless debates.
I could write about one of the fundamental principles of leadership: owning a mistake, learning from it, and committing to do better. Blaming others doesn’t instill confidence. I wish there was more personal accountability and less political posturing in government. I can’t fix that. I can only own my own mistakes.
Instead, I want to share with you how this hit me personally. My youngest son, sensing all may not be well between my ears, checked on me late last night. I told him it had been a surprisingly difficult day emotionally. I’m dealing with anger, frustration, and sadness. I can only imagine what those who lost friends and loved ones in Afghanistan, or served multiple tours there, are dealing with. I can only imagine the suffering on the ground there—our Allies being rounded up, young girls being plucked from their homes, etc.
Through all those emotions, one question is stuck in my head: Was it worth it?
I volunteered to spend 6 months at Bagram Air Base in 2007—6 months away from my wife and two young sons—because I wanted to do my part. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help support the Airmen who were directly killing terrorists. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of the Afghanistan people.
Watching the videos of The Taliban in the presidential palace and walking around Bagram Air Base was shocking. Seeing terrified Afghans scrambling and dropping from an airplane broke my heart. It felt like we were back to square one. It felt like the loss of life and billions of dollars spent over the past two decades were a complete waste. It felt like I would have been better off spending those six months being a present, supportive husband and a dad to my sons.
Those feelings make me highly cynical and jaded. I start thinking… “Because it didn’t last, it shouldn’t have been started. Because it didn’t turn out as we had hoped, it was a wasted effort. The poor, long-term returns prove it was a misguided investment.”
But do they?
This isn’t the first thing in my life that hasn’t, over the long haul, turned out as planned.
As a teacher, youth minister, and mentor, I’ve invested countless hours in some young people who “didn’t turn out as planned,” although God’s not through with them yet. Wasted effort?
As a missionary several years ago, I worked tirelessly alongside others to help plant a church in a third-world country, only to see it fold a few years later. Wasted effort?
As a disaster relief worker, I’ve “mucked” and hung dry wall in many flooded homes, only to see those same homes and communities flooded again in subsequent years. Wasted effort?
As an Airman, I deployed to Afghanistan to help good people and stop bad ones. Yesterday, the bad people won (at least until God settles all accounts). Wasted effort?
As a Christian, I’ve prayed for sick people, including my mom, to get well. God had other plans. Wasted effort?
That kind of thinking will leave one jaded and cynical. You stop trying—stop trying to do good in the world—because your efforts may not work or may not last. Given the lack of a guaranteed, long-term return, we don’t invest.
So, rather than debate politics and national strategy this afternoon, I just want to encourage you to keep doing good.
Invest in teaching and mentoring young people—some lives will be changed.
Share your faith, go on mission trips, plant churches—some will take root and last.
Help disaster victims. If the need arises, help them again.
Deploy to trouble spots or support those who do. Show kindness in the moments God has granted you, be that in a war zone, a school cafeteria, or your home.
Keep praying, even when some prayers seem to go unanswered. The Father knows best. And before bashing our leaders with perhaps well-deserved criticism, take a moment to bow and pray for them.
Like many Americans, I’m profoundly disappointed in what is transpiring in Afghanistan, but I’m not going to become jaded and cynical.
The truth is, sometimes I let my family and friends down. Sometimes, many times, God has every right to look down on me as a flawed human—a poor long-term investment.
“To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though not being myself under the law) that I might win those under the law… To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.” – 1 Corinthians 9:20, 22
While volunteering at Palmetto Bible Camp in South Carolina, my burly friend Joel and I put our spouses in charge of planning our day off. Big mistake. Instead of the obvious options of fishing, going for barbecue, or relaxing in our RVs, Janet and Karen suggested we attend an equestrian competition at the nearby Tryon International Equestrian Center.
“They want to go watch dressage,” Joel lamented, running his thumb and index finger over his white, bushy mustache.
“What’s dressage?” I asked.
“It’s the French word for dull and boring.”
“Oh, quit,” Karen interjected, as she herded us toward the car. “It’s horse reigning. You’ll have fun.”
Aside from our preference to eat pigs rather than watch horses and riders execute a series of predetermined moves, why were Joel and I so reluctant?
We didn’t know anybody. We had no children, grandchildren, spouses, or friends among the competitors. We hadn’t placed any bets. We had no dog, or rather horse, in the fight.
We didn’t understand the jargon, competition elements, time limits, deductions, brackets, arenas, and prizes. None of it made any sense. Just outside the arena, vendors were selling jewelry and windows. That didn’t make any sense either. Joel and I followed the lead of our fellow spectators and applauded but didn’t know what the horse or rider had done to earn it. We didn’t get it.
Since we didn’t get it, we didn’t fit in. This wasn’t our culture. These weren’t our people. We were surrounded by horse people doing horsey things. We were RV guys who would have felt more at home at an RV show (or eating barbecue). We didn’t belong here.
With few exceptions, the spectators weren’t all that into it. A few hooped and hollered but most sat passively and offered only cursory applause at the end of each performance. This was no Saturday afternoon college football game. Since the other spectators weren’t all that into it, why should we be?
I’ve had bad experiences with horses. My wife loves horseback riding and I’ve reluctantly joined her on many rides around the country. After sizing me up and inquiring as to my comfort level, the cowboys always pair me with the oldest and slowest horse in the barn. Then they chastise me throughout the ride for not keeping up.
One painful beach gallop—an anniversary gift to my wife—resulted in tears in my eyes and a week-long limp. On another ride, I watched a church friend crack her head open after being thrown from her horse. I rushed over and applied pressure to her wound with my t-shirt. It was traumatic not only for her and her children but for our other church friends who saw me shirtless. Yes, I’ve got horse baggage.
Still, Joel and I were there, getting our dressage on, surrounded by a few hundred people in an arena designed for a few thousand. Our experience and attitude regarding equestrian competitions reminds me of the way a lot of people view going to church.
“I don’t know anybody. It’s an auditorium full of strangers.”
“I don’t know what’s going on. There’s a lot of unfamiliar jargon and peculiar practices. What’s with the bread and juice ritual? What are elders and deacons? Where does the money go? How does this class or sermon relate to my real-life problems? I’m so confused.”
“I don’t belong. They have established friend groups and I’m an outsider. These are church people doing churchy things.”
“I’ve had bad experiences. I remember the way the church treated my parents during their divorce. Also, no one visited me when I was in the hospital, or the year I was shut-in due to the virus. I’ve got a closet full of church baggage.”
“The church members weren’t all that into it. No one made comments or asked questions in Bible class. The singing was ho-hum—not much energy. Everyone sat far apart from each other, even pre-Covid. Not much Spirit in this place.”
The result? Fewer people attend worship services these days. Like the Equestrian Center, many faith groups struggle to fill their building. What can be done? How can we reverse the trend?
Invite people. Bring them to a decision point. When is the last time you invited someone to church?
When visitors show up, introduce them to others. Connect them with potential friend groups. Take them to the appropriate Bible classes. I left the Equestrian Center with no new friends—no connections. I didn’t get the backstage tour—didn’t meet any riders. It was not enough to just watch them do what they do. We can’t afford for that to happen in our worship services.
Explain terms. Answer questions. Don’t assume people know what’s going on. At the Equestrian Center, one volunteer answered our questions and made sure we had a program. The program explained the scoring, categories, and other relevant material. I read about “change of foot”—a scoring element—and started looking for it. My experience improved once I understood what was going on.
Make people feel like they belong. Get them involved in a ministry. At the Equestrian Center, imagine how our experience would have been different if they had asked Janet to help transport the horses, Karen to hand out programs, or Joel and me to help repair a barn door. We would have felt needed—a part of the action. There would have been instant buy-in to what was going on.
Worship in Spirit. Along with your Bible, bring your passion to worship. Sing out. Participate. Make comments in class. Sit together like family. Say “Amen.” I’m not suggesting a rock concert scene, but worship doesn’t need to be a boring funeral service either.
Finally, consider things that may turn people away, such as archaic terminology or cliques. If you want Joel and me to frequent your equestrian events, or visitors to frequent your worship services, you don’t need throw out the rules—the doctrine. But you must see those events from our perspective. The note from the margin reads: Like Paul, we must consider the perspectives and the culture of the people we’re trying to reach.
Whether Joel and I attend another equestrian event doesn’t matter. Church attendance, however, is paramount. Hebrews 10:25 tells us to, “not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing.” Let’s do all we can to make visitors feel welcome and more likely to return. I may not understand dressage, but I know church services are where we worship God, learn His will, and draw closer to one another.
I had very little exposure to death as a child. There was the rare funeral for a grandparent or great-grandparent. I heard the occasional announcement from the pulpit that some elderly church member or shut-in had passed. I said goodbye to a couple of family dogs and the occasional, underfed goldfish. But I didn’t lose friends, read obituaries, or keep up with celebrity deaths. Death was rare in my childhood world, and that was alright by me.
All that has changed. An unpleasant aspect of growing older, I’m finding, is an awareness of death. I’ve now said goodbye to my mom, four grandparents, and a great-grandparent. I’ve learned of the deaths of a dozen classmates, about 5% of my high school graduating class, some who tragically took their own lives. The deaths of some of my favorite musicians and actors continue to pile up. I’ve eulogized a few friends from pulpits and sat through a few dozen funeral services. My wife and I even cowrote a book, The Eulogy, partly based on our experience caring for my dying mom.
More recently, we learned of the passing of Michelle Ashby, a long-time family friend, after her courageous, decades-long battle with cancer. She was a marigold lover, and I’ll be planting one of those in our garden today in her honor.
Last Monday, Michael Polutta, another family friend, died from a heart attack at age 58, while out mowing the grass. Just like that, this man of God was gone, at least in the physical sense. He wasn’t “some really old guy,” although my younger readers might argue that 58 is “getting up there.” He wasn’t out of shape—Michael was a fitness nut known for his CrossFit interval training. He wasn’t doing anything reckless. Just a 58-year-old guy out mowing the lawn.
Deaths aren’t increasing, of course, only my awareness of them. Like wrinkles, heartburn, and a few extra pounds, exposure to death is a part of growing up and growing old. As humans, we all have a terminal illness. None of us are getting out of this world alive.
I was blessed to be able to live-stream Michael’s memorial service this past weekend. Heartbroken family and friends gathered. Beautiful hymns were sung. We listened as various friends and family members stood behind the podium to tell Michael’s story. He had an impact on the world—an impact on people, in ways big and small. He loved God and the church. He loved and cared for his wife and children. He was a devoted friend to many. He was a talented musician who built more than a dozen custom guitars. He loved Palmetto Bible Camp and served there for many decades. Michael took the many talents God gave him, along with a capacity to love, and did something incredible with that. He turned the 58 years God granted him into a masterpiece!
The following day, Janet and I sat at the breakfast table, relaying some of the highlights of Michael’s service to her parents. I said something along the lines of, “You know, I don’t really like the whole eulogy system. Who came up with that? People line up at a memorial service to beautifully honor and pay tribute to the deceased, but he or she is already gone. He can’t hear them. I would love for Michael (or Michelle, or anyone who has passed away) to be able to hear the words spoken at their memorials. I want them to appreciate the impact they had on so many people. Why do we wait until they are dead to lay all that out? That’s a messed-up system. I mean, it’s good for their loved ones to hear all those things, but it would be even cooler for the person who died to feel that love and know that impact before they leave this world. There’s got to be a better system.”
Papa Raymond, my 87-year-old father-in-law, sat across from me, listening to my rant while nibbling on his morning strawberry strudel. He was adorned in solid blue, long-sleeved cotton pajamas, with his cane resting against his chair. With the addition of stripes, he would have passed for an elderly prisoner, perhaps incarcerated for the crime of distributing weekly S’mores without a license.
Like Jesus giving a parable, Papa Raymond cleared his throat and dropped this John 12:43 truth bomb on me:
“It’s not about the praise of men. Our goal is to please God.”
Mic drop.
As Papa digested his last bite of strudel, I digested his words.
“The praise of men.”
Isn’t that what we often focus on? Isn’t that what my eulogy system rant was about?
In 1 John 2:16-17, the apostle John writes, “For all that is in the world-the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and the pride of life-is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.”
The praise of men. The pride of life. To some extent, it affects all of us.
Look at my new big house (or car, or boat, or…)
Have I mentioned my book sales figures lately?
I wonder how many “likes” this social media post or blog will get?
With just the right bikini, in just the right pose, I bet I can go over a million Instagram followers!
Have I not posted a picture of my bulging muscles at the gym recently? Let me fix that.
Pretty sure my casserole was the crowd favorite at the potluck
We’re in Maui! If 200 photos of our adventure aren’t enough, we’ll post more!
Look at our baby/child/teenager/adult and what they accomplished! They’re an honor student! They just got a full ride to college. To help you remember that, I’m getting a bumper sticker!
I’m not knocking all of that. I like to see your vacation photos. I’m happy that your teenager was named Homecoming Queen and glad you shared that. Your green bean casserole was amazing, and you should be proud of it. Sometimes your accomplishments, especially your acts of service, inspire me to be a better person.
What I’m knocking is a tendency by some, or at least by me, to focus more on the praise of men than pleasing God.
I focus more on accomplishing things than living faithfully. As I sip my first cup of coffee in the morning, I rarely ask myself, “What is something amazing I could do for God today?” More often, the focus is on pleasing myself, impressing the boss, satisfying the spouse, or getting the day’s chores accomplished and errands run. God being pleased is too often an afterthought, if thought of at all.
I have no doubt what was most important to Michael and Michelle was not the praise of men, but pleasing God. That’s the kind of people they were. The only words they wanted to hear, and undoubtedly did hear, were, “Well done, good and faithful servant.. Enter into the joy of your lord.”
Trying to explain God is futile. Trying to interpret his providence is like repeatedly pushing the button at a crosswalk in order to make the light change faster. His thoughts are higher than our thoughts and his ways are higher than our ways. (Isaiah 55:8-9) He is God and we are not. Try as we might, we’re not going to adequately define him or put him in a box.
Still, I’m part of a group of Christians who believe that God is at work in the world. He loves us and providentially cares for us. He ensures that, ultimately, all things work together for good. (Romans 8:28) That doesn’t mean today will seem “good” or easy—mine wasn’t. You may be fighting cancer, trying to make ends meet, or fighting to save your marriage. I get that. What it does mean is that, for those who put their faith in God—who trust and obey—your story ends well…regardless of how or when it ends.
Today, our 10th day on Maui, started out with great promise. We were finally going to begin our journey on the Road to Hana—Maui’s #1 attraction. The 53-mile long, picturesque, curvy road is like a highway of undiscovered treasures waiting to be opened. Those who know me well will not be surprised that I have done extensive research and had a plan. Over a period of three non-consecutive days, Janet and I would travel the road in three sections and make 29 different stops, to include notable nature hikes, funky food huts, historic church buildings, and scenic overlooks. Getting behind the wheel this morning, I felt like a wide-eyed 8-year-old on Christmas morning.
As boxer and renowned philosopher Mike Tyson once put it, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” Today I got punched in the mouth.
At mile marker 2, the first recommended stop on the Road to Hana, we pulled into a rocky parking lot at the Twin Falls trailhead. The one-mile, roundtrip hike through a rainforest is easy, accessible, and breathtaking. We stopped for photos along the way and even had the opportunity to ford a shallow stream.
Upon arriving at the Falls, Janet asked if I was going in for a dip. Of course, she already knew the answer. I have a bit of an adventurous streak in me that compels me to go on long hikes, explore the unknown, stretch my comfort zone, and extract every ounce of fun from whatever setting I’m in. When I’m in Maui for what may be my only trip here, at a waterfall I may never see again, I’m going to get wet! It’s how I’m wired.
Twin Falls, Road to Hana
About 11 a.m., I swam over to the waterfall and let the cold, refreshing water crash down upon me. So exhilarating! Along with the other tourists frolicking in the water around me, I felt so alive! This was a special place—I had opened the first of 29 Road to Hana gifts!
Photo by Paul Stamatiou
As I turned to swim back to shore, I noticed a mother and her three children off to my left. One of the boys, about 10 years old, was up on a boulder, just a couple feet above the waterline, holding on to a long vine that extended from the roof of the cavern. Clutching the vine, he jumped from the rock, swung out into the water, and dropped with a scream and a splash. How fun! The little voice in my head spoke up, “You’ve got to do that!”
I swam over toward the vine and watched as the other children took their turns on the swinging vine. I realized they are children and I am not. I understood they are little, lightweight bluegills and I am a pudgy, 55-year-old manatee. But the voice in my head persisted, “You’ve got to do this!” As Seals and Crofts once put it, “We may never pass this way again.” Carpe diem!
I stepped up on the rock, steadied myself, and reached for the vine. I looked out to ensure the landing zone was plenty deep and free of obstructions. As vine/rope swings go, this one was pretty lame. I would travel 8 or 9 feet, at most, and then plop into the water with a splash.
I gripped the vine as high as I could, jumped off the rock, and swung just a few feet before releasing my grip and splashing into the water. But right as I hit the water, something came crashing down on my head! That something turned out to be a dozen or so rocks that had dislodged in the cavern ceiling above me, although the vine remained in place.
As I staggered to my feet, the mom swimming nearby, with a look of horror on her face, said, “Oh my! You’re bleeding bad! You need to get to shore!” I looked down and my entire chest was covered in blood, along with my hands. My first thought was to put direct pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, so I reached for the source of pain—the back of my head—and applied pressure. As Janet scrambled to make her way over from the other side of the shore, a man steadied me and helped me to the shallow rocks. I never lost consciousness but I’m pretty sure I was in shock for several minutes.
What happened next may be considered by some to be “good luck” or “random good coincidence.” But as a believer, I’m not ruling God out of the equation. Granted, I can’t calculate the spiritual equation—can’t fully explain it. But somehow, someway, I believe God was involved, providing providential care. I don’t know how else to explain it.
First, at the moment the rocks came crashing down on my head, a couple of firemen were nearby doing a safety inspection of the trail, due to the heavy rains that had recently fallen. They hurried over to me and took over, treating the gash in my head and examining the abrasions on my back and right arm. They were calm, collected, and reassuring—true professionals. God bless them! Joining them was an older woman of German descent who we assume is an employee of the farm this trail is on. She just happened to have a 4-wheeler!
So, I rode shotgun as Janet and one of the firemen got in the backseat. With blood still trickling down my head, I overheard Janet strike up a conversation with the fireman. It turns out he’s a fireman originally from Chicago, and she binge watches Chicago Fire, a show about hunky firefighters from Chicago. So the two of them had a lot in common and a lot to talk about. Don’t mind me! I’ll be up here with a gushing head wound if you need me! Just messing—but I’ll probably get her a Firemen’s calendar for Christmas!
After our half-mile journey on a way too bumpy trail, we were met at the trailhead by several other firemen. They examined my body, reapplied bandages, and asked a bunch of questions, in search of concussion symptoms. To her credit, Janet did not mention any suspected injuries of herself to them.
We declined their offer to call an ambulance. Janet felt comfortable driving the 30 or so minutes back into town and to the nearest hospital. She drove the curvy road like a champ!
Janet dropped me off at the ER check-in, a tent just outside the main building, while she went to park. I was surrounded by patients with an array of ailments. And here’s where God’s providence seemed to be working overtime again. I struck up a conversation with a patient sitting directly across from me, also in the queue to be treated. I’ll call him Andy.
I immediately hit it off with this 31-year-old of Indian descent, who spent most of his life in Georgia. We somehow connected. I explained what brought me to the ER and he reciprocated. Andy came to the island a little over a year ago on business, intending to stay a short while, and then Covid hit. He has an ongoing struggle with alcoholism and was there at the ER to get treatment—“to detox.” Our conversation turned to why we were in Maui which led to a rich conversation on our faith journeys. He has roots in Hinduism but is searching for answers and is “looking for Jesus.” What an opportunity!
By this time, Janet had parked the car and returned to join in on the conversation. We invited Andy to come worship with us and do lunch or just hang out. He intends to do so, hopefully by next Sunday, when his detox is over. I asked if I could pray for him and he said that would be great. About halfway through the prayer, I became overwhelmed with emotion and started to tear up…something that also happened two months ago while praying with my dad. More than anything, I think it dawned on me that the incident near the waterfall, bad as it was, could have been far worse. I, along with that nearby family with children, could have been killed. God spared us. I also felt the emotion of the opportunity God had given me to minister to a young man in the fight of his life. Maybe that, and not snorkeling with sea turtles, is why The Johnsons are really on Maui.
I eventually got taken to a room inside where I got 5 shots of anesthetic, 8 staples in the head, a cleansing of the head, arm and back wounds, a tetanus shot, and a prescription for antibiotic. After waiting 35 minutes for the shot, a nurse came in to check the wounds and said I needed 3 more staples. Those 3 staples felt far worse than the first 8—maybe the anesthetic had worn off some. I can only describe the pain as, well, someone shooting staples in your head.
Chicago Fire, Baby!
So now we’re back home and I’m reflecting on the day that was.
I’m so impressed with Janet, the love of my life, for her calmness, her driving an injured man along the curvy Road to Hana, and her washing around my head wounds this evening.
I’m just overflowing with thankfulness to God, perhaps more than I’ve ever been before.
He spared my life and has given me a new lease on life.
He saw fit, somehow, to have firemen nearby as blood gushed from my head…and provided a sweet, little German woman on a 4-wheeler.
And, most importantly, he gave me the opportunity to pray with a young man and talk to him about Jesus. We talked (texted) again tonight, just before he was admitted. I hope you’ll pray for Andy too—God knows his real name.
Day 10 in Maui had some pain, for sure. But it also, I believe, had some providence.
And oh, by the way, had those rocks killed me, that would have been okay, too.
I recently contacted a long-time friend and fellow author, Lynne, to ask a favor. I wanted her to take a call from another long-time friend and up-and-coming writer. This young man was looking for advice on writing Christian fiction and Lynne was uniquely qualified to give it. She said, “I would be happy to talk to him. So many people have poured into my life and writing. I love opportunities to pour into others.”
Our conversation and that phrase—poured out—have been looping in my head ever since. The way I get relief from ideas clanging around in my head at all hours of the day and night is to write about them. So here goes…
“So many people have poured into my life.”
I think Lynne speaks for all of us. I got to thinking this morning about those who have poured into my life. An incomplete list includes…
Parents who sacrificed time, money, and energy to raise me.
Teachers who taught me everything from reading and writing to algebra and business law.
Coaches who taught me how to dribble a basketball, field a grounder, and pull as lead blocker on a sweep.
Air Force leaders who taught me about leading people, managing budgets, and accomplishing the mission.
Relatives—particularly sons, siblings, and in-laws—who encourage me regularly with a reassuring phone call, text, or piping hot S’more.
Friends who know me well enough to know it’s time to take Steve for a coffee or a hike.
Preachers and Bible class teachers who have taught me to love God, obey his word, and try my best to live like his Son.
A wife who, every day, has a knack for knowing which of my “battery cells” need water and then topping them off.
A God who pours out his Spirit on me whenever I humble myself and allow him to.
I’m profoundly thankful for the people who have poured into my life and continue to do so. I haven’t thanked you enough.
But don’t miss Lynne’s second statement…
“I love opportunities to pour into others.”
My friend is on to something. At some point in our lives we have to make a conscious effort to go beyond just getting poured into. We have to do some pouring ourselves. We become the parent, coach, teacher, spouse, and friend who pours our lives into others. That’s where real joy comes in. That’s the essence of being a Christ follower. That’s why Lynne was willing to take the call.
The Apostle Paul knows something about being poured out. In Philippians 2:17, he writes, “But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you.” Paul is referring to the Old Testament practice of pouring a drink offering in worship. A priest would sacrifice a lamb, ram, or bull, and then he would pour wine beside the altar. The wine was “poured out”—all of it.
Upon becoming a Christian, Paul picked up his spiritual pitcher, so to speak, and began pouring blessings on others. He was about as all-in on Jesus and faith as you’ll find in Scripture. When we read the powerful words that he wrote and consider his example, he continues pouring into our lives…two thousand years later. Eventually Paul would die for his faith—the ultimate act of being poured out. Of course, a sinless Christ, the Lamb of God, did the same for us.
I’ll leave you with two thoughts:
1. To be in a position to pour into someone’s life—to serve, to give, and to love—you have to have something in the pitcher. All the better if your pitcher is over-flowing to the point it can’t help but spill out on those in your vicinity. One of the best ways to keep your spiritual pitcher topped off is to be in God’s Word every day. Read it. Study it. Feast on it. Meditate on its implications for your life. When you consistently allow God’s Word to fill your heart and life, his Holy Spirit goes into over-drive. Your soul is replenished. And there’s going to be spiritual spillage. Whether they like it or not, those in your orbit are going to get wet.
2. To a young person who might stumble upon this blog… don’t wait until you’re “all grown up” to start pouring into the lives of others. Case in point: As some of you know, I’ve recently gone through a bit of a valley in my life related to some difficult family matters. In the midst of it all, I celebrated my 55th birthday. Among many thoughtful cards and gifts and comments, I received a hand-made birthday card in the mail from Megan, a 2nd grader who I occasionally have the privilege to teach. It absolutely made my day! I mean, how many 2nd graders do you know who send birthday cards to their 55-year-old substitute teacher? (I used to make faces and shoot rubber bands behind the back of my subs!) What kind of a young person goes to the trouble of making a card and locating an address? A child with a heart of gold. A child who Jesus may have had in mind when he said, “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” A child whose spiritual pitcher is over-flowing…and I just happened to be in her vicinity.
“So many people have poured into my life.”
How about yours?
“I love opportunities to pour into others.”
What will you do with the opportunity God gives you today?
