“To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak…” – 1 Corinthians 9:22a
Although I’ve enjoyed every mission trip I’ve been on, they are not like being at home. I’m not in my comfort zone. The Honduran food, while outstanding, is not the same as my wife’s cooking. What’s with the gooey fried plantains crowding my flour tortillas?
The housing situation, while decent, is not the same as home. Lying on a “church camp mattress,” I see the light of a friend’s reading lamp, hear a chorus of snorers, and smell damp towels and soiled work clothes. I reach for my earplugs and eye mask, then dab menthol ointment under my nostrils.
The work, while rewarding, is not the same as my usual tasks. The poverty in every direction evokes sadness and maybe a little guilt. The home-building stretches muscles beyond what they’re accustomed to. Carrying two 25-lb bags of food up a hill in a poor village multiple times taxes the forearms and lungs. Rewarding, but uncomfortable.
The language, while fun to learn, is not the same as speaking English. My poor pronunciation and grammar elicit puzzled looks, giggles, and the occasional wrong food order. In Mr. Gaspar’s 8th grade Spanish class at Mascoutah Junior High School, I wish I had learned how to order the #2 meal at a Tegucigalpa KFC rather than recite the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish. When trying to communicate anything beyond basic phrases, I’m not at my best. When in doubt, I offer “No comprendo. Lo siento. Dios te ama.”
Driving in Honduras? More terrifying than uncomfortable. Driving a pickup truck in Choluteca several years ago, I got honked at and “gestured” for stopping behind a stopped school bus dropping off children. What was I thinking? Uncomfortable, for sure. But I keep driving. Albert Einstein once said, “A ship is always safe at the shore—but that is not what it is built for.”
Experience has taught me that my uncomfortableness with the food, housing, workload, language, and driving is by design. The note from my Bible’s margin reads: Working outside my comfort zone has a three-fold purpose:
I learn to rely on God, rather than myself. “God, I’m weary, but give me the strength to finish the day.” “God, I don’t know the exact words to say to this poor widow standing in front of me but help me to convey that Jesus loves her and I do too.” “God, if I end up with original recipe and coleslaw rather than extra crispy and mashed potatoes, help me to be thankful to you that I’m eating today.”
I learn to identify with the people I’m serving. After a night of restless sleep in an unfamiliar environment, I may better appreciate the predicament of someone living in a cardboard box under a tarp. After a bout of upset stomach from drinking non-potable water, I may be more empathetic to the family whose only water comes from a nearby mud puddle.
I grow into a better version of myself. After a week of serving souls in uncomfortable environs on foreign soil, I may return home with increased sensitivity to the needs of hurting people in my own community. Is it possible helping others, every day, can become my new normal? I hope so. Can I become a little bolder in letting my light shine in a dark world? That’s the goal. As Brene Brown puts it, “You can choose courage, or you can choose comfort. You cannot have both.”
Granted, my uncomfortableness is on a far lesser scale than people living in poverty, unsure where their next meal will come from. I thank God for blessing me physically and spiritually. But I also thank God for the times I’m pushed outside my comfort zone. I’m old enough to know that what doesn’t challenge me, doesn’t change me. Sometimes it’s only by being uncomfortably challenged that I truly lean on God—only then that I open my eyes to the plight of those He has called me to serve.
“‘Meaningless! Meaningless!’ says the Teacher. ‘Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.’” – Ecclesiastes 1:2
The funnel cakes at the Tennessee Valley Fair are overpriced and unhealthy. The Beer Garden is not my scene. Likewise, I have no desire to peruse the horticulture competitions, featuring the “Best Pair of Okra Pods.” Still, I go to the annual fair if only to visit my all-time favorite attraction—the petting zoo. Where else can you bond with a drooling camel or watch a boa constrictor suffocate and devour third place in the commercial bred rabbit division?
The crown jewel of the petting zoo, however, is the duckling exhibit. For 20 minutes, I watch dozens of adorable baby fowl swim in a baby pool, climb a ramp, and jostle for position to reach a food container. As they strain for the unreachable pellets, they drop onto a ramp and slide down into the water to repeat the process. All day long!
Missed again!
I want to shout to these naive little ducklings, “Excuse me! Can I have your attention, please? Your system isn’t working! You keep circling and climbing and reaching, but you never get full. There’s got to be a better way!”
Toward the end of his life, Solomon realized that everything in the world was empty and void of meaning. He sums up his depressing viewpoint with, “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14).
Note the phrase “under the sun”—the key to the verse and the entire book. Solomon is sharing an earthbound, godless perspective—life “under the sun.” Throughout Ecclesiastes, he shares 10 meaningless, earthly pursuits: human wisdom (2:14–16); labor (2:18–23); amassing things (2:26); life itself (3:18–22); competition (4:4); selfish overwork (4:7–8); power and authority (4:16); greed (5:10); wealth and accolades (6:1–2); and perfunctory religion (8:10–14).
The note from my Bible’s margin reads: Apart from God’s will, earthly pursuits are meaningless—a chasing after the wind. Solomon had the resources to try it all, but when he left God out of the equation, he was unsatisfied.His life lacked purpose. He was like those ducklings—circling, climbing, jostling, and reaching—but unfulfilled. In Ecclesiastes 12:13b, he concludes, “Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.”
What are you circling and chasing? What rewards do you seek? Is the ladder you’re climbing leaned against the right wall?
On Saturday, April 24th, 2010, we loaded a church van full of 25 or so eager young people and made the two-hour journey to Florida’s Mount Dora Christian Academy. We spent the day doing yardwork, sharing lunch, having a devotional, and hanging out with the residents of the children’s homes and their house parents. At the conclusion of our annual pilgrimage, we said farewell and loaded the bus for the journey home. As I took my place on the front right seat, across from bus driver Jim Adair, I reflected on a tiring but productive youth outing.
At approximately 4 p.m., while traveling southbound on Florida State Road 33 in Polk County, I was chatting with Jim about our favorite college football team, the Tennessee Volunteers. Suddenly, a car in the northbound lane lost control, swerved to the right, then careened counterclockwise into our lane. I yelled something and extended my arms to brace for impact. Our alert driver swerved to the right to avoid the car but hit it broadside and drove it several yards off the road, narrowly avoiding a tree.
With adrenalin pulsing through my veins, I swung my head around to check on our young people. Though shaken and in various stages of shock, there didn’t appear to be any life-threatening injuries. I yelled, “Is everyone okay?” and they responded with head nods. Our bus driver was also intact, despite the deployed airbags and the front end of our church van being completely crushed.
I told everyone to stay put—that I was going to go check on the other vehicle. Austin Clouse, a high school student in the back of the bus, replied, “Shouldn’t we pray?” His instinct blew me away! Still does to this day. Here we are in the middle of a horrific accident scene and a high school sophomore has the presence of mind and faith to suggest that before we do anything else, we touch base with God. I nodded and Austin led us in a brief prayer, asking for God’s help as we dealt with this terrible situation.
I exited the bus and made my way over to the passenger side of the crushed Volkswagen. The driver, 47-year-old Becky Barner of Groveland, Florida, was deceased. Her passenger and best friend, Irma Rosario, was banged up but alive. Irma asked, “Is she okay?” I patted her shoulder and replied something along the lines of, “Ambulances are on the way, ma’am. Just take a deep breath and try to remain calm. I’ll stay here with you.”
By that time, a couple of neighbors had exited their homes and our young people were departing the bus on account of the dust particles from the deployed airbags. They were separated into two groups: those that were uninjured and those that were banged up and would need medical attention. The neighbors were kind enough to let us use their restrooms and stayed on the scene until the ambulances, EMT, and various parents arrived.
The memory from that day left an emotional scar—some scenes can’t be unseen. From that point forward, loading a church van full of young people took on added significance. Seatbelt reminders became visual seatbelt checks. The incident reinforced the notion that a youth minister’s concern for his youth group involves more than just their spiritual condition. It also served as a reminder that life comes at you fast and none of us are guaranteed a tomorrow. The time to be ready to meet God is now—at this very moment.
As with most tragedies, blessings emerged. I’m grateful for our alert bus driver, Jim, whose quick action to avoid the tree prevented an even worst catastrophe. I’m thankful Miss Irma recovered from her injuries. I’m grateful for the neighbors who comforted and attended to our shaken young people. These neighbors were so impressed with the composure of our youth that they came to worship with us the following two Sundays. That’s a blessing. And whenever I read “a little child shall lead them” from Isaiah 11:6, I’m reminded of a high school sophomore who, in the heat of the moment, taught us all a valuable lesson on prayer.
Nahum 1:7 – “The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him.”
As I turned northward onto Peterson Road on Wynne, Arkansas’ eastside, I encountered a scene out of an apocalyptic war film. To the right, three homes had been completely wiped off a ridge by an EF-3 tornado that ripped through the town on March 31st. All that remained were driveways rising to concrete foundations. The still visible homes to the left were in shambles—barely standing among massive piles of debris. Windows were blown out. Construction material was strewn about and lodged in tree limbs as high as 40 feet. In every direction, there were gnarled tree limbs, crushed belongings, and shattered lives.
My mission that morning was to find someone to help. The organization I work with—the Churches of Christ Disaster Response Team—has volunteers from across the country, a semi-truck full of every tool imaginable, along with household supplies, construction material, and food. In a town so devastated by a natural disaster, finding someone to help would seem to be an easy task. The reality is that uninhabitable homes are vacant, and the owners of many salvageable homes are waiting on insurance claims to process before rebuilding can begin.
As I was about to give up on finding a customer along this desolate, marred landscape, I spotted an older woman pushing a wheelbarrow full of debris across her front yard. The roof of her house was blown off and a large pile of debris rested in her front yard. Where there is manual labor underway, there is opportunity. I pulled into her driveway, approached her, and explained my purpose. The woman, Miss Kay, didn’t hesitate to respond.
“I appreciate your offer, but surely there are people in worse shape than us. We have been blessed.”
If that was her attempt to get me to leave, it didn’t work. People who think they are unworthy draw me in like a magnet. All the better that she was pushing a wheelbarrow to try to improve her situation. The Bible verse on the front of her t-shirt wasn’t required for her to receive help but added another dimension.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry this happened to you. We’re going to have some people here tomorrow morning to help you move that pile, cut down those tree limbs, and help you with anything else you need. May I ask if you were at home when the tornado hit?”
“We were. This was our new home—we’d only been in it a few months. My husband and I were inside along with one of our grandsons and his precious girlfriend. We huddled in a small coat closet and prayed out loud.”
“The tornado hit in the afternoon?”
“Yes, around 4 p.m. It came right over that ridge. Some of our neighbors lost everything. They always say a tornado sounds like a freight train and that’s what we heard. We thought this was the end for us—that it was time to join our girls.”
Miss Kay elaborated on her feelings in a Facebook post: “In the middle of all the horrible destruction we had peace. We all knew our Redeemer lives! We feel so blessed. Yes, we lost a lot but what we lost is all earthly and as we call it ‘just stuff’ and sometimes that’s what weighs us down, so we aren’t grieving the loss of our home. We are praising the Lord who sheltered us in that horrible storm. So now we should be homeless, but we have had so many people offer us shelter that our words of gratitude can’t cover what we feel for them… Yes, we are blessed much more than we deserve… There aren’t enough words to express what we feel in our hearts. Thank you is too small.”
Miss Kay
I asked Miss Kay about joining her girls—what she meant by that. She removed her gloves and wiped sweat from her brow.
“We lived in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, back in 1991. Emily, our youngest, was 16 at the time and our oldest, Amy, was 18. I heard a sermon one Sunday in which our preacher encouraged us to talk to our kids about faith. He said not to assume that faith is real or personal to our kids just because they go to church and are ‘good kids.’ You’ve got to talk to them.”
“So, you talked to your girls?”
“Yes, I called for a little mother-daughter conference. We climbed up on my bed for a heart to heart. Emily did most of the talking. She assured me, as did her sister, that her faith was real and genuine. She wasn’t pretending.”
Miss Kay took a deep breath and sat her work gloves down on the pile of debris in the wheelbarrow.
“The next day, Emily died in a car accident.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Kay.”
“She was a Junior at Riverdale High School. The person she normally drove home with wasn’t available that day, so she got a ride with someone else. The driver went just a little on the shoulder of the road and then over-corrected. The driver survived but Emily did not. It was a tragedy, but I’m so thankful to God for that conversation we had the night before. Those were the last meaningful words we shared together. That was a blessing. That brought me peace.”
“I’m sure it did.”
“Steve, do you have a moment? I want to show you something out on the back porch.”
“Sure.”
We walked through her front door and past broken glass, exposed ceiling, and the closet where the family had hunkered down when the tornado came through. On the back porch, she called my attention to her grill.
“Are you familiar with the Big Green Egg?”
“Yes, ma’am, my dad used to have one of those.”
“Well, when the storm hit, Phil and I had three things on this back porch: the Big Green Egg, some wicker furniture, and my daughter Amy’s swing.”
Miss Kay took another deep breath and continued.
“This is where God was at work again. Amy had some heart problems—something that runs in our family. Several years ago, prior to moving with her family, she asked if I could hold on to her swing for her. This was our family swing—a place where we would gather to talk about life and faith and watch fireflies at night. Her new home didn’t have a place for it, so I agreed to take it and put it on our back porch here in Wynne. Well, back in December of 2020, in the middle of Covid, my sweet Amy got really sick and died suddenly of a heart attack. She was 47 and left behind a beautiful family.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Your family has been through so much.”
“We have, but God has carried us through all of it.”
“So, where does the Big Green Egg fit into all of this?”
“Good question. So, we had the Egg, Amy’s swing, and some wicker furniture on the porch. After the tornado, we found the Egg a quarter mile away in a neighbor’s yard. We still haven’t found the wicker furniture. But Amy’s swing was left unharmed, right where it sat.”
“That’s amazing!”
“Yes, and it wasn’t bolted down or anything. Aside from memories and her family, it’s really the only thing I have left from Amy. I think God spared it for us—to remind us of her.”
Amy’s Swing
“So, with the tornado barreling down on you guys, you thought you’d be joining Amy and Emily that afternoon.”
“We did, and that would have been okay—a blessing, really. We miss them so much. And someday we’ll join them. But God must still have plans for us.”
“Some more family time on Amy’s swing.”
“Yes, I think so. Our God is bigger than any storm. We’re just going to put our trust in Him and keep on keeping on.”
Sometimes disaster relief is about more than just handing out food and cutting up trees. Sometimes the conversations run deep.
So, as you talk to your kids about faith… on a pew, atop a bed, or perhaps on the family porch swing, remind them of this: The tornado that hit Wynne, Arkansas, on March 31st, 2023, was big and was devastating.
But also remind them of this: “The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him.”
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
I’m around a lot of broken people. In the past two years, my in-laws who live with us have endured a combined three hip replacements, an eye surgery, a broken foot, Covid-19, shingles, pneumonia, diabetes, tremors, stage 3 kidney disease, and six falls. With all the medicines, medical equipment, and physical brokenness around us, our home feels like a hospital ward. My 89-year-old father-in-law often reminds us, “Getting old isn’t for sissies.”
I work with people going through emotional and financial brokenness. In myriad disaster zones, I’ve encountered people in shock from having lost almost everything. Many are too overwhelmed to know where to begin the recovery. They’re faced with burying loved ones, completing mounds of relief paperwork, and adjusting to life on a cot in a gymnasium full of other devastated souls. Some see their brokenness not as a temporary phenomenon but their new normal.
The prisoners and former prisoners I work with face multiple forms of brokenness. Some are in seemingly hopeless, lifelong battles with addiction. Many have destroyed relationships and lost contact with their closest friends and family. Most are in a crisis of faith, searching for a God who at times feels distant and uninvolved. Sitting across from my ministry partners and me in a cinder-block room in their gray pin-striped prison attire, they wonder how they ended up here. What will become of my broken family and my broken life? Does God have a plan for me? Is there any hope?
I feel inadequate in these situations. I don’t have the resources or training to make destitute people financially whole. I’m not qualified to offer medical advice on overcoming addiction or other physical ailments. I’m not a licensed psychologist, counselor, or attorney. My degrees in computer science and national defense aren’t all that useful when sitting next to a broken-hearted friend who, 48 hours earlier, was being administered Narcan from EMTs to save his life from another drug overdose.
Though unqualified to treat brokenness, I know a guy. I’m not referring to my doctor and dentist friends, Eddie and Jake, although they’re qualified to address many physical ailments. I’m not talking about my financial planner friend, Brook, although he’s helped various broken people get their finances back on track.
No, the guy I know—the guy who can do the most good—is Jesus. As the Hebrews writer puts it, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:5-6).
Jesus is always on call. He understands our struggles and knows the grief of losing a loved one. He suffered unimaginable physical and emotional pain and agony on the cross. He gets us. When offering advice or encouragement to broken people, I begin with Jesus. God’s Son and God’s Word provide comfort and guidance for people going through physical, emotional, or spiritual difficulty. Our Savior provides strength for enduring the challenges of this life and, more importantly, offers hope for an eternal life. He specializes in making broken people whole.
When I think of Jesus’ approach to broken people, I think of the Japanese’ attitude toward broken pottery. They view the scattered broken pieces not as a shame but an opportunity. When there is no way to put the pieces back together without the cracks showing, the Japanese turn to Kintsugi. This centuries-old artform uses glittering liquid gold or powdered gold-dusted lacquer to repair broken cracks.
Kintsugi
Rather than hide the broken places, the Japanese embrace the imperfections. They leverage the scars. Using gold—one of the world’s most precious metals—they carefully join the broken pieces together to create something stronger and even more beautiful than the original. The visible flaws become an accepted part of the pottery’s history. What once was broken has been made whole again!
Are you, as the psalmist put it, brokenhearted and crushed in spirit? Has the devastating loss of a loved one, a life-altering addiction, or some other tragedy shattered your life into a thousand pieces? Are you concerned that you may never be whole again? If so, are you open to meeting a restorer who can apply pure gold to your broken pieces and create in you a new creation—a masterpiece?
“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” – John 10:10b
During my mom’s final few years of life, she began unloading her material possessions. Each time my sisters and I visited my parents’ home, we were reminded to take home an antique clock or stake a claim on one of the antique radios, vintage Hummel figurines, or Christmas village houses.
With her earthly journey winding down, Mom understood that her possessions would not be accompanying her to Heaven. She understood Paul’s words from 2 Corinthians 4:18b: “For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” Though Mom couldn’t take these possessions with her, she experienced joy knowing that her beloved antique European stove and other heirlooms would continue to be enjoyed by her children.
While these gifts were and are appreciated, they are just as transient for my sisters and me. We’ll enjoy them for a season and then pass them on to our children. Eventually, a figurine may break, an old radio may be discarded because it no longer works, or the Christmas Village may be lost in a fire. Ultimately, these things are all temporary.
When Jesus came to give us life—abundant lives—he was focused on spiritual matters. He traveled lightly and told his apostles to do the same. Our abundant, Spirit-filled lives begin the moment we become a Christian. He wants us to present our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God—not once we get to Heaven, but today. He wants us to be transformed by the renewing of our minds not when our earthly lives are over, but this very moment (See Romans 12:1-2). Eternal life is not something that begins once I die—it’s a journey I began when I became a follower of Christ.
While I appreciate the various family heirlooms I’ve received, they are fleeting. If the thieves don’t get them, the moths and rust will (See Matthew 6:19-21). The real gift my parents gave me was taking me to worship services every Sunday. They modeled kindness, servanthood, and other lasting spiritual attributes for me—things unseen. Mom’s beloved figurines will not last, but my memories of her caring for special needs children have shaped me and will go with me into eternity.
What unseen, eternal things are you leaving your children? Are you helping them store up treasures in Heaven? Are you modeling the abundant life Jesus calls us to live?
“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” – 1 Thessalonians 5:18
In the fall of 2002, I approached the front gate at Spangdahlem Air Base, Germany, one morning and found myself in a queue of about 20 vehicles waiting to enter the base. We had an exercise going on and our security forces personnel had their drug dogs out to randomly sniff the trunks of various cars. I was going to be there a while.
I tuned the radio to Spangdahlem’s own radio channel and heard the DJ announce that John Costello, the base’s financial counselor, was up next. John worked in our Family Support Center which was part of my squadron. In that sense, John worked for me.
For the next 10 minutes, while stuck in line at the front gate, I listened to John give outstanding financial advice and answer questions from a few callers. He was informative, witty, and passionate. Throughout his career, he had spent considerable office time with Airmen struggling to make ends meet. This radio program was one of the ways he did preventive maintenance on our troops’ spending and savings habits. I appreciated the things John shared and was proud that he was a member of the 52nd Mission Support Squadron.
When I finally made it to the office, I decided to call John to let him know I had heard his program and appreciated his efforts. He wasn’t there, so I left a message for him with Erm Rodriguez-Heffner, the head of the Family Support Center. She assured me she would pass along my message.
That afternoon, Erm called me back. She said something along the lines of, “Sir, I gave John your message and he’s like a kid in a candy store over here. I mean, his face is beaming. He told me he’s been doing that radio program for many years, and this is the first time someone in his chain of command told him he did a good job.”
I share this story not to pat myself on the back. My phone call that morning took all of two minutes and my words were not eloquent. If anything, I should have given him that feedback earlier in my assignment.
No, I share the experience because it taught me an important life lesson: words matter. Taking the time to show appreciation—to say, “You done good!” or “I’m proud of you!”—can make all the difference in the world to the person who hears it. It may cause their face to shine brightly as they experience the joy of “returning to the candy store” of their youth. Never underestimate the power of a simple gesture—a simple thanks. Your feedback, however simple or ineloquent, may help someone get through the day, or may sustain them through the next year or longer.
Have you thanked your spouse lately?
How about your children or parents?
How long has it been since your letter carrier, barista, preacher, waiter, checkout clerk, employee, or child’s teacher were told their efforts matter?
“You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.” – Jeremiah 29:13
“If you seek him, he will be found by you…” – 1 Chronicles 28:9b
I’m not a gifted seeker. Search and recovery don’t come naturally to me. When my childhood shoes went missing, my mom would implore me to look for them. After 5 seconds, I would return empty-handed.
“Did you look under the laundry pile in the closet?”
“No.”
“Did you look under your bed?”
“No.”
“How about on the porch?”
“Not exactly.”
I didn’t find my shoes because I wasn’t sincere in my search. I wanted them to magically appear without any effort on my part. I’m afraid I’m the same way today with keys and other missing things, only now it is my wife who must ask, “Did you look in your pants’ pockets?” When the keys are eventually found, she reminds me, “You’re a mess.”
Are we the same way with Jesus? In Matthew 7:7, He tells us, “Seek, and you will find.” I’m all about the finding part. I long for the relationship, the connection, the hidden treasure. But I’d like it delivered on a silver platter. No assembly, or seeking, required.
Seeking Jesus involves more than just loving Him or even following His commandments. It’s a lifelong, all-encompassing, intense pursuit. It’s more than just a priority—it’s THE priority. It’s searching the closet for your shoes as if your life depends on them because with Jesus, your spiritual life does depend on Him. To find Him, other things in the closet will get turned over and tossed out.
During my teen years, my frustrated father once called a family meeting in response to his missing car keys. Determined to find them, he had us walk across each floor of our home, following a grid pattern. We were to flip over every cushion and open every drawer. We were to leave no stone, pillow, or magazine unturned. “We’re going to find them,” he declared, “if it’s the last thing we do!”
What does an intense search for Jesus look like? This morning, did you begin or continue your intense search for the Savior? As you reviewed your daily “to do” list, was Jesus even on it?
Seeking Jesus involves:
Talking to Him (See 1 Thessalonians 5:17). I can’t imagine a morning where my wife and I say nothing to each other. No “Good morning” or “I love you” or “Go make coffee!” The silence would be weird and awkward. It wouldn’t reflect two people who care about each other and are seeking connection. Likewise, I can’t say I’m sincerely seeking Jesus when I rarely if ever touch base with Him in prayer.
Spending time in God’s Word (See 2 Timothy 3:16-17). My sons and their wives are voracious readers. During a recent family holiday, I noticed one of my daughters-in-law reading a book in the car, on the back porch, while playing cards, and even during a movie. The book was always with her, like an appendage. I didn’t have to ask if she was into the book—her actions spoke volumes. Are we that way with the Bible? Would someone examining our daily routine describe us as really into God’s book? We can’t describe ourselves as truly seeking Jesus if we have little to no interest in reading about Him.
Connecting with other Seekers (See Matthew 18:20). It isn’t enough for my daughter-in-law to read books. She is compelled to be a part of a book club—a group of likeminded friends who come together regularly to discuss a chosen book. If we’re truly seeking Jesus, one would expect us to spend time with others in the same pursuit. That includes corporate worship to God, which we’re commanded to do (See Hebrews 10:25). But it also includes caring for, fellowshipping with, and bearing the burdens of other seekers—our church family. We’re more likely to “find Dad’s keys” if we work together.
Being still(See Psalm 46:10). We ultimately found my dad’s keys by stopping what we were doing and helping him think about where he last had them. Sometimes we find Jesus not in activity but in quiet and stillness—on a mountaintop, in a hospital bed, or at a graveside. Maybe the problem isn’t that Jesus hasn’t tried to communicate with us, but that we haven’t been listening.
As I write these words, I realize I have work to do! I’m praying that God will help me to become a better seeker of Jesus. And that by diligently searching, I’ll find Him.
While walking down the hall from a Radiology appointment last week, my mother-in-law, Shirley, aka Mamaw, fell and broke her hip. Two days later, she was having hip surgery. A few days after that, she was moved to Morningview Village for a couple of weeks of rehab and a diet of beef chunks marinated in gravy.
This afternoon, my assigned task was to take my 89-year-old father-in-law, Raymond, aka Papa, to visit his wife. Simple enough. This would allow my wife, Janet, aka Lil Jan, to get a much-needed break from her duties of caregiving and holding nurses accountable.
We arrived at Morningview, signed in, and said hello to the colorful birds in an enclosure in the lobby. I then led Papa down the hallway, to the left, and into his wife’s room—#214. Unfortunately, she wasn’t there.
“She must be at Physical Therapy,” Papa said.
“No, they took her for dialysis. She’ll be gone for 4 hours.”
I glanced behind the curtain and said hello to Mamaw’s new roommate, Ethel. Or maybe it was Martha. Nice lady.
“Hi, I’m Steve, her son-in-law, and this is her husband, Raymond.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
Papa sat down in the guest chair, and I created another sitting spot by removing some of Mamaw’s belongings from the wheelchair and placing them above the TV.
Papa leaned over and whispered to me, “Dialysis?”
“Never mind her,” I whispered back. “She isn’t all there. I’m no doctor, but you don’t do dialysis for a broken hip.”
We retrieved our reading material and settled in for what we thought would be 15 minutes until Mamaw returned.
After 45 minutes, a concerned Papa said, “It sure is taking a long time. I hope she’s okay.”
I got up and decided to look for her. I asked a nurse, who told me she could be doing PT in the gym on this floor or perhaps in the gym downstairs. After not finding her upstairs, I took the elevator downstairs and looked in the gym there. Nothing. Puzzled, I glanced up and noticed her in a wheelchair entering room #114… her room… a room approximately 14 feet directly below Papa’s location.
I retrieved Papa Raymond from upstairs and got him settled in the correct room next to his wife. Holding her hand, he then asked her the question that had been on both our minds.
A couple years ago, my wife and I received the call you never want to receive from a child.
“Mom and Dad, I haven’t been to the dentist in 6 years.”
Not wanting to discourage our youngest son, Kyle, a full-blooded millennial, we remained silent. Stunned, I closed my eyes and imagined the teeth of a meth addict. My junior progeny pooping on a wilderness trail during his middle school years was one thing, but this was next-level foulness. Janet, tapping into a reservoir of motherly instinct, finally broke the silence and asked, “How are you feeling, son?”
Of course, I wanted to say more. Growing up in a military family and then serving in the military myself, dental appointments were mandatory formations—as regular as my mother-in-law after her morning dose of Fiber One. Every six months, a dental exam appointment notice arrived in the mail. The question was not whether I’d go, but whether I’d choose mint or the slightly naughtier bubble gum as my preferred fluoride flavor. By my teen years, I’d learned to express moderate anxiety as they reclined me in the chair, in hopes of being taken to a faraway place by a snort of nitrous oxide. Good times.
During our Air Force assignment to Germany, our wing commander decided that we should have as many medical-related appointments as possible scheduled on the same day, to reduce time away from the workplace. On my designated day, I sat in the dental chair, as a checklist-toting young dental technician stuck 7 fingers in my mouth.
“Major Johnson, has anyone ever taught you how to brush properly?”
Loaded question. I thought for a moment, then decided to play along.
“No, I don’t believe so.”
The Airman retrieved a mirror from a drawer and handed it to me. With me looking on, she proceeded to brush my teeth, demonstrating the proper circular motion, angle, and pressure. She was so thoughtful and professional, I considered stopping by the clinic after every meal for servicing.
Moments later, she looked down at her checklist, then asked, “Major Johnson, have you been taught how to floss regularly?”
I realized she had a checklist to follow, and that regardless of my answer, I would be spending all day at the dental and medical clinics.
“I don’t believe I have.”
She retrieved the mirror from the drawer again and handed it to me. For the next few minutes, I watched as she sliced through my gums, retrieving a variety of saliva-soaked Doritos fragments.
“Do you floss regularly, sir?”
Hmm. Gut check moment.
“I try to,” I lied. (In my defense, “regularly” is a vague term. One could argue that flossing semiannually, just prior to dental exams, for 50 years, is a regular event.)
An hour later, I found myself sitting across from another young, checklist-toting Airman in a small room at the medical clinic. It was time for her to update my medical history, a series of 300 or so invasive questions covering exercise, nutrition, medications, allergies, past surgeries, my parents’ health, and boxers vs. briefs.
A third of the way through the interview, she asked, “Major Johnson, has anyone ever taught you how to do a testicular self-exam?”
“Yes!” I declared.
Fool me twice.
That brings us back to Kyle. For reasons of poverty, cost-savings, and benign neglect, the adult manifestation of our youngest son had decided dental care wasn’t a priority. For six long years, he valued high end coffee, dense religious tomes, and a Spotify subscription over preventing tooth decay. Apparently more than a few of his peers have made similar choices.
Thus, when he called us recently for a dental update, I tensed up. What had become of his neglected teeth? When he takes the podium each week and smiles before his congregation, do the people on the first few rows shield their eyes? What would young snaggle-tooth tell us?
“I just got back from the dentist,” he proudly declared. “The dentist said I have perfect teeth—in fact, he used the word beautiful.”
“That’s my boy!” I responded, winking at Janet. “Never had a doubt!”
Sometimes fatherly pride runs deeper than a recessed tooth.
Sometimes your worst fears about a child are totally unfounded.
Sometimes parenting is like a hit of nitrous oxide.
