A Testimony of Tears

Tears. My son's science book tells me they wash away germs and impurities from our eyes. Perhaps. But I've found them equally effective as soul cleansing agents.

This week someone close to me went to Heaven. You might think that had something to do with my last blog entry, "Does Heaven Smell Like Brownies?" But my friend Jim felt just fine on the day of that post. Today, after a sudden illness, he's gone.

Jim is the third close friend or family member of mine to die in slightly over a year. So, eternity and grief have been on my mind a lot lately. At today's memorial service, I started thinking about God's gift of tears.

Tears are often a testimony to the affections of the heart. When my long awaited son was finally placed in my arms, my eyes over flowed. When my husband and I married, our joy streamed down our faces while the musicians sang. When I watch my father play with my children, I feel a lump in my throat and a sting in my eyes. In each case, tears are a testimony of love.

Sadness, of course, also brings weeping. If a friend hurts my feelings or if I fail to reach a goal I've set, I might cry. Parenting can bring many opportunities for a good wail, and of course marriage can bring happy tears and sad. Again, these tears tell me something about my heart's affections. Sometimes, they also testify to a misplaced affection or a lack of faith.

Which brings me to today's thoughts. When a Christian dies, are we allowed to cry? Many of us would quickly respond, "Yes! Of course we can cry. We are happy our loved one goes to Heaven, but sad to live without him for a while." And I agree. But I think there's more to it than that.

When a person dies, he or she leaves behind the decisions made during a lifetime of choices. Our tears are a testimony to those choices.

Consider a man, for example, who never received a hug from his father. When the father dies, his son cries not only from the loss of his father's presence but also from the loss of a certain kind of hope. The hug will never be. It's a second death.

Or consider a husband and wife who argue before she stomps angrily out of the house, slamming car doors and squealing tires down the street. If she dies before coming home, her husband will not only grieve her absence but also the lost opportunity for forgiveness.

I've been blessed this year. Each funeral I've attended has been an inspiration. The circumstances that caused the funerals were different, and the deceased did not know each other. Yet, there was a common thread. All three lives elicited smiles through the tears. All three lives were lived in such a way that they comforted those of us who were left behind.

Cheri, taught us to live intentionally. She smiled all the time. She blessed people on purpose every day.

Grandmother taught us to face life courageously. She loved God's word and never gave up on even the most wayward of family members.

Jim taught us to live out loud. Whether at home, work, or church, he did all for the glory of God. And while his faith was unmistakable, his generosity was a quiet but very real help to those in need.

All three were lovers of family. At each funeral I attended, children rose to the platform and gave tribute to the impact of the departed parent. Lifetimes full of choices that blessed children who grew into adults blessing others.

And so, I cry. I cry because I want to pick up the phone and ask Cheri to pray with me, but I can't...and I miss her laugh. I cry because I want my children to eat Grandma's famous sugar cookies and open zany presents at Christmas time, but they won't...and I miss the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

And Jim? His death still doesn't feel real to me. It seems like I'll be seeing him at church on Sunday. But I won't. I'll miss his hearty singing and ringing "Amen's." I'll miss his Sunday hugs, and the way Linda looked at him like he hung the moon...he was almost tall enough to have done just that! And as I type, I realize that I'm surrounded by Jim's love. My credenza, my book shelves, and the desk at which I write these very words were all crafted by his loving hands. I was once -- no, many times -- a recipient of his godly generosity.

And so, our tears can be a tribute to a life well-lived. When someone beautiful is taken from our lives, it's fitting to cry. I can't really explain why, but there's something cleansing about that... something that cleans up the grief and helps us stand and face another day.

Tears testify to love. What better reason to cry?

Gettin' Real!
Melodie

Does Heaven Smell Like Brownies?

Or perhaps it's more like jasmine, or the way an orange orchard smells when the fruit is blooming.

My son once asked me, "If you bounce a ball in Heaven, will it fall out?" What a great question! I liked the fact that he took it forgranted that he would be bouncing a ball.

The other day, my daughter and I were talking about friends and relatives who have gone to Heaven recently. We agreed we missed the people we love but are glad they are happy with Jesus. "Mommy," she said. "Heaven is the best place in the world, right?"

Perhaps she doesn't have the location correct, but she certainly has the right idea.

Some people think Heaven will be boring. I've been asked, "Are we just going to sit around and worship all the time?" But that question reveals more about a lack of enthusiastic worship here on earth than it does about the quality of excitement in the hereafter.

The Bible gives us a few glimpses of Heaven. They are anything but boring. The elders and alien beings do worship, worship, worship. But the scene seems more like the cheering of a great happy host, than a somber, serious place to snooze. Think football stadium rather than quiet cathedral. But the "rock" star on center stage is the Stone that the Builders rejected (Jesus). He's the one who is worthy of our wildest applause.

Don't get me wrong, there is a place for quiet contemplation and serious reverence in our worship. I'm sure we'll experience sensations of God-centered peace and quiet like none we can fathom on earth. But here's my point: the God who created our home on earth is the God who created our home in Heaven.

Speed, excitement, bouncing balls, beautiful sunsets, athletic exersion, color, wind on our faces, gentle mists on warm afternoons, hugs, romance, the aroma of brownies baking in the oven -- all of these where created by God. Why do we expect anything less in Heaven?

Which brings me back to the the five-year-old perspective. Until we get to the real Eternal Home, God give us little glimpses of it here on earth. Every time we stop and take note of his temporary gifts, we have an opportunity to taste a little of what the eternal gifts might be. The Bible says that whereever our treasures are, our heart will also be. If you think about it that way, we carry a bit of Heaven around in our hearts every day.

So, maybe Hannah wasn't so far off after all. Heaven is the best place on earth.

Gettin' Real!,
Melodie

Life is Hard

Preachers, Bible teachers, and Christian writers all share a similar danger: the appearance of more godliness than we possess. Those of us who are called to speak God's truth need to keep this always in the forefront of our minds. It's the light that is holy, not the light-bearer. I hold the torch over my head; it is higher than I.

Of course, that's no excuse to go out and do whatever I want. Teachers, according to the Bible, are to be held to a higher standard of conduct. Even so, my humanity courses through me. I will never escape it. I am in the same process of transformation as any other believer.

So, in the interest of authenticity, let me Get Real! and admit that sometimes my pastor-husband gets on my nerves and I on his (although I can't imagine why). Sometimes I gripe at my kids, and they gripe back at me. (But they start it!) I have to fight not to say critical words about others. I often think too much of myself or too little of myself in Christ. Frequently, I care more about what others think of me than what God is doing in my life. And just yesterday, a driver wouldn't let me into the lane I needed -- so I called him a jerk, under my breath. (After all, isn't everyone else supposed to yield to my personal agenda?)

To top it all off, I've gained two pounds since the school year ended, which explains why I couldn't get into those pants I really wanted to wear the other day. (But that didn't stop me from brownies last night...or this afternoon.)

What's the point? I'm amazed by the God who loves me, even when I'm the one who's being a jerk. He extends grace to me, even when I hesitate to extend it to others. He doesn't excuse my sin, but he does draw me to repentance and cleanse me. His Spirit lives within me, patiently convincting, correcting, and encouraging.

He transforms from the inside out, and I can see the changes. I know how I responded to stress two years ago, and how I respond to it today. I can find my way to peace more quickly than ever before.

Then there's joy...an undefinable bubbling fountain...that is beginning to well up even on tough days. I know I found it more often when I was younger, but adulthood has a way of trying to fill it with mud. I'm learning to find it again, in spite of the muck. And when I plunge in, I find the mud was an illusion all along. The reality is pure, inexplicable, cleansing joy.

My daily joy is a bit wobbly. Daily peace is a little stronger, but I still have to battle my way to it sometimes. The more I exercise these things, they stronger they grow. Funny thing, though, to exercise them, I must identify my weaknesses and God's strengths. In prayer, I declare my neediness and God's sufficiency.

Life is all about God. Connecting with Him is the way to purpose and peace.

Gettin' Real!
Melodie

Michael Jackson -- Great American Tragedy

The King of Pop lay in a golden coffin today, eulogized by the stars. Video montages, press coverage, metallic gold brochures, and mourners who won a ticket lottery all combined to create a memorial service like none other. Hours before the service, the circus quite literally came to town. But the lumbering elephants in downtown LA were upstaged in the days leading up to the funeral. Ring masters of the media circus analyzed, hailed, and hashed Jackson's life and career, calling him everything from a genius to a pervert. The adults were caught up in the frenzy. It took a broken-hearted little girl to Get Real! about the true importance of Jackson's life.

Paris-Michael Jackson, a child consistently shielded from media eyes, finally took the stage. "Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine," sobbed the-eleven-year-old. "And I just wanted to say I love him."

God created people to love and enjoy Him forever. We are intended to be a reflection of his glory and a celebration of his personality. All of us are created in his image. Jackson's talent and creative genius were a reflection of that image.

Review the media coverage since his death and you'll see an often repeated phrase: God-given talent. People, even those who don't often talk publicly about God, recognize that when extraordinary talent is all bottled up in one person, something supernatural has taken place.
Herein, lies the glory and the tragedy.

Talent, creativity, beauty, inspiration, and "star quality" are meant to draw attention to the Creator. All too often, we worship the creature instead.

When we use the word "idol" to describe a pop star (or any other kind of star), we are more correct than we realize. The problem is, human beings are not created to be idols. And when they step into that role, they crumble from the inside out.

Consider Jackson's life. His parents saw the star quality in their children from the start. Instead of nurturing the family by building healthy relationships, molding character, and drawing the children to a vibrant relationship with God, the Jacksons sacrificed the talented siblings upon the altar of show business. All else took second place. Fame and fortune were the goals, and the goals were realized. But what was the cost?

Michael Jackson may be buried in a golden coffin, but even that didn't go with him beyond the grave. Fame and fortune are past now. What does his future hold?

We are eternal beings. We do not end when our life is over. We face our God. The only treasures we take with us are the ones we send on ahead. (See Randy Alcorn's book The Treasure Principle.)

Talk like this seems rather old fashioned, I suppose. People often think that if we emphasize living for Heaven, we somehow minimize the abundant life God promises for the here and now. However, I'm beginning to realize that a rock solid faith in God's promised eternal rewards is the path to today's abundant life. If I know that every heart ache has eternal pay off, that every sacrifice for the higher good is not really a sacrifice at all (because it brings a great reward later), that every loss is actually a gain, it's hard to be less than joyful. The challenge is learning to live out that kind of faith on a daily basis.

How would Jackson's life have been different if his parents had put more emphasis upon building for eternal reward than in clamoring for fame? How would it have been different if Jackson himself had stopped looking backward for a lost childhood and inward at an empty heart and started looking upward toward the God who always had a hand of love stretched out toward him.

The image of God was still in Michael Jackson, however distorted it may have been. Somehow he managed to shine some of God's Father-image upon his daughter. She knows that the real value of Jackson's life was bound up in his relationships. At least she knows in part. I pray that she and his other children discover the rest of the truth: relationship with God is the ultimate source of life's value.

Whatever suffering this life brings can be endured with joy if we are connected in vital union with our Creator. Whatever treasures we send ahead will be enjoyed forever with the Father who never dies.

Gettin' Real!
Melodie

The Pastor's Wife

Yesterday, I read The Pastor's Wife by Diane Fanning (St. Martin's Press, 2008). In one day, I read cover to cover about the murder of Matthew Winkler, pastor of Fourth Street Church of Christ in Selmer, Tennessee. Today, I can't get his wife Mary out of my head.


Seems Matthew and Mary possessed all the external appearances of a great relationship. Most acquaintances thought the Winklers were great people with a great marriage. A handful of friends thought Matthew might be a little overbearing. One or two now claim they suspected abuse. No one imagined that the quiet, shy pastor's wife would grab a shotgun and blow her husband away.

I read the book looking for answers. What would drive a respected, well liked woman with no criminal background to commit such an act?

An abusive home life growing up? Her father was a dominant figure in her childhood home. So what else was new in most Tennessee homes of the 1970s?

A trauma ? Post traumatic stress disorder was the diagnosis of Dr. Lynne Zager. Unresolved childhood grief over her sister's death compounded by several stressful moves, the more recent death of her mother, a domineering father in her childhood, and a domineering husband in her adulthood all caused Mary to snap.


Well, okay, I guess. I mean most of us have experienced significant losses and stressors. But is this the cause of murder?

What about the the doctrines of the Church of Christ? Fanning asserts that in that denomination, the husband's headship is emphasized and wives are expected to be obedient. In addition, divorce is not an option unless adultery has been committed.

But if Church of Christ theology creates murderers, then why aren't the prisons filled with wives from this denomination? Besides, doesn't this church also prohibit murder? I mean, why stick to the "I can't get a divorce" rule but completely ignore the "I can't shoot my husband in the back" principle?

Then, of course, there is the suspicion of spousal abuse. The abuse alleged in court, while not healthy, was certainly not enough to warrant lethal self defense. There was shouting and verbal degradation. There may have been some pressure for unwanted sexual experimentation. There were allegations of excessive discipline of the children. Inexcusable, all of it, if true. But I've heard much worse from tearful friends in my own living room. Some of my friends eventually needed outside help to get away from their abusers. None picked up a shot gun.

Mary Winkler, herself, stated that she wasn't afraid of Matthew at the time of the killing. He was in bed. She shot him in the back.

So, I didn't find any obvious answers to the question, "Why?"

Throughout the book, family members, parishioners, and friends talked about what good people the Winklers seemed to be. Good works abounded. Counseling. Preaching. Rule following. Ministering. Visiting the sick and elderly. Obeying. Parenting. Touching lives. But in all the quotes author Diane Fanning recorded, there is no single reference to Matthew or Mary Winkler's personal relationship with God.

They appeared to be good people. They did religious stuff. But in quiet moments of their lives, what went on with God? We may never know.

To grow with God, to praise God, to glorify God, to go hard after the Creator -- this is the purpose of our lives.

Grammar teachers reading this want me to correct that last sentence. It should read "these are the purposes of our lives." But in this case correct grammar blurs spiritual truth. These things -- growing, praising, glorifying, striving --are all connected. They are the same purpose. They all share the same root: relationship with God.

We are needy, needy people. We need to Get Real! with our faith. God must be the focus and the purpose behind everything we do and every relationship we build.

Religious activities are easily confused with divine relationship. But all of our activities, whether religious or secular in nature, need to spring up from a well of living water found only through connecting with our Creator. For the heart that pursues God every day, every activity is sacred.

I was reminded of this just the other day by a landscaper I know. Every day he mows lawns for the glory of the one who created the grass!

During the trial of Mary Winkler, Dr. Zager pointed out that Matthew Winkler followed a typical abusive pattern by isolating his wife from her family and other possible supporters. I appreciated Diane Fanning's comments in the book's afterward. She urged church members to be aware that ministers' wives are particularly vulnerable to isolation and need to be provided with opportunities to network with others who understand their unusual lifestyle.

Amen to that! In addition, let me challenge all women, clergy wives included, to be cautious about keeping family secrets. All of us need to find someone with whom we can Get Real! about our marriages and get guidance about the inevitable struggles we face. Far better to get counseling than to grab a weapon!

Thanks for staying with me to the end of an unusually long post. As you can see, this book sparked much thought for me. Check back soon for my next post: Michael Jackson -- A Great American Tragedy.

Gettin' Real!

Melodie

(To learn more about staying connected to God, I recommend Bruce Wilkinson's helpful little book Secrets of the Vine, Multnomah Books, 2006.)