Every disaster area offers a blend of devastation and healing, of heartbreak and hope. Every day, God presents the volunteer with a person, an image, or a story. Each random, unexpected blessing is an antidote for the poisonous, soul-crushing environment you find yourself in.
Yesterday, our first day working in Marshall County, Kentucky, God offered two images that struck home.
First, the easel. Around 10 o’clock on the night of December 10th, a young girl and her family huddled in the basement as a nearly 250-mile long, EF4 tornado ripped apart their home and wreaked havoc across her native Kentucky and four other states. The 190 mph winds took the lives of 90 souls, including 75 in Kentucky, and left more than 125 injured.
Thankfully, the girl, her autistic brother, and her mother were spared. Her father, tragically, had died two weeks prior from a heart attack while sitting in his recliner the day after Thanksgiving. The girl and her family emerged from the rubble and walked through the ruins of their family compound the following day. Only one of the girl’s possessions remained intact and unscathed: an easel. I don’t know what it was like for her to stand in a debris-littered yard with nothing but the clothes on her back, holding her only remaining possession. I suppose she was forever changed.
Had the story ended there, that would be enough. A young tornado victim being reunited with her easel is the hope among heartbreak, the healing among devastation. Remarkably, the young girl had something more in mind. She donated the easel to her church—the people who were busy helping her family and other storm victims. “Unless you become like little children…” Jesus once said.
The young girl’s easel is among the first things seen by church members and relief workers upon entering the church’s Fellowship Hall. It contains a message of hope for all who enter: “God’s got this.” For those who know the backstory, the easel represents something more. It reminds us of a little girl who gave up her only possession. She gave us her all.
That brings us to image #2. While knocking doors and assessing needs on Benton’s Carriage Lane, my friend Donna and I walked by a property with no door to knock, bell to ring, or window to tap. All that remains is the home’s foundation and a tree stump. In insurance terms, this is a “total loss.”
Upon closer examination, though, we found something else. Whoever had cut up the downed tree had gone to the trouble to carve a cross from its trunk. Yes, on the south end of Carriage Lane, on a foundation with everything else blown away, all that remains is a cross.
Like the easel, that cross will stick with me for, well, maybe forever.
Long after my Maryville home is gone, the cross will remain.
Long after my life savings are spent or passed on, the cross will remain.
Long after my prized possessions are rendered useless, the cross will remain.
Long after my physical body has returned to dust, the cross will remain.
Long after a life spent pursuing, acquiring, and becoming, Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection are all that will remain.
The easel and the cross. The healing and the hope. The first two of many gifts to be unwrapped in the Benton/Mayfield disaster area.
Merry Christmas from Da Johnsons! Through the years, we’ve sat through many classes on marriage, financial planning, and child-rearing. We know how to balance a checkbook, drive a stick, and cook in an Instapot. But no one teaches you how to care for parents. You get to figure that out on your own.
In 2021, we got schooled in caregiving. We learned how to track and order dozens of meds. We got educated on testing sugar levels, injecting insulin, and limiting S’mores consumption. We practiced quarantining, Covid transfusions, and hearing aid adjustments. We negotiated two hip replacement surgeries and, thanks to Steve’s ill-advised cave tour, a broken foot. We became adept at hearing and responding to a parent on the move in the middle of the night. We got a dad into assisted living and then got him out. We learned how to manage another set of accounts, passwords, and bills. We got to know dozens of healthcare professionals throughout the county, and a few cops at an accident scene. We learned the joy of VA paperwork and unreturned phone calls, and that the timely administration of Coumadin and stool softeners earns you street cred. We learned to caveat vacation and social plans with “if we’re able” and where to find discount garage ramps, walkers, and toilet seat risers. We learned to talk loudly at the supper table and repeat every sentence. And, in case you ever need one, we now know how to give a sponge bath with dignity.
Elfish
More importantly, we learned to sigh at the end of the day. And smile. And hug. And pray. And vent a little. We learned to remind each other that caregiving is an awesome responsibility and a privilege…a way to honor the people who brought you into the world and cared for you for many years. More than anything, we feel blessed by this season of life.
S’mores Master Class
Of course, 2021 was about more than just caregiving. In April, with Janet’s sister Cathy helping us on the home front, we spent an incredible month in Maui! Steve was asked to preach for a congregation there, and we got to snorkel with sea turtles, see waterfalls from a helicopter, hike a dozen trails, whale watch on a dinner cruise, nap on some of the world’s finest beaches, and party at a luau. Also, while traveling the Road to Hana, Tarzan Steve swung from a vine at a watering hole and was rewarded with 11 staples in his head.
In addition to her caregiving duties, Janet is working on her Master of Crochet degree. If she can visualize it, she can make it. She also enjoyed speaking at a couple of Ladies Days this year and handling communication for the Ladies ministry.
Hiking Maui
Steve continues to observe the world around him and write about it, often at coffee shops. In addition to blogging, he’s bouncing between three book projects. He continues to sub all grades at Knoxville Christian School and speak to the Blount County prisoners twice per month. Janet also allowed him to sneak away this year to do disaster relief in Waverly TN and Jean Lafitte LA, with a trip to Mayfield KY upcoming.
In October, we headed to the Florida gulf coast for our niece’s wedding and much-needed beach time with our children. Our sons and their wives make us proud every day. Jason is battling Lyme disease, an illness which has led him to transition from prosthetics to working from home. Kyle became the Preaching Minister at Lafayette Church of Christ this year and continues to impact lives in this new position.
We hope your 2022 is a special one. If you need to get away to the mountains, please stop by and stay in our basement suite. Our free “Airbnb” comes with Roku TV, unlimited Keurig coffee, and a complimentary sponge bath.
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.
