Moving Bus Meditations

Ordinary Man, Extraordinary God: A Tribute to My Grandfather, Elmer Forrest Bender

2012-02-29T02:54:00.000-08:00

Today (February 29) marks 20years since my maternal grandfather, Elmer Bender, passed away at age 79. I was 18 when he died, so I remember him well. But I never knew much about the first 60 years of his life. His wife Geraldine (my Granny) is still alive—97 years young, and as beautiful as ever. She consented to my writing a tribute to Papaw here on the blog. This is the fruit of our long conversation about his life, and what shaped him into the man he was. I loved my Papaw Bender dearly, and I hope this post will help you understand why he was so special to everyone who knew him.

Born to William and Dolly Burton Bender on November 27, 1913, Papaw grew up with his pant legs rolled to the knee and dirt between his toes. From the time he was old enough to walk, he explored the sycamore-lined stream that meandered along Bonser Run. In his 79 years of life, his eyes knew little more than that wild, wooded holler in the heart of rural southern Ohio.

The avid outdoorsman, 1934.

His lifelong love for the wilderness took root early on, in the company of his three siblings: Ada, Dorothy, and Sam—and Geraldine, a neighbor girl down the lane. With each briar that grabbed at his trousers, nature took hold of his heart. It became the place he most loved to be—hunting, fishing and sitting silently for hours on end, even into his latter years in my memory. I think that’s where he felt closest to God.

When he was a boy, Papaw walked many miles to and from school in the humid heat, the pouring rain, and the driving snow. In that time and place, Money was tight and truancy laws were loose. So at 16, he dropped out of school to try to find work. He picked up odd jobs when he wasn’t plastering houses with his dad.

At 18, a traveling evangelist came to the area to hold a week of tent meetings. On one of those nights, Papaw saw Geraldine, the neighbor girl, across the way. He asked her if he could walk her home. That night marked the beginning of their 5-year courtship. They got married in 1936. He was 23, and she was 21.

Papaw cleaning his gun, 1940s.

Papaw and Granny had 2 daughters—Dottie was born the week after Christmas in 1940, and Diane (my mother) was born the week of Thanksgiving in 1948.

But a quarter century later, one moment in Papaw's life would be so defining, so devastating that it would just tear his heart in two.

It happened in 1971, when he was 57 years old. He was working at the State Highway garage at the time, driving salt trucks and repairing roads, depending on the season. One sweltering July evening after work, he had a hankering to enjoy an ice cold beer when he got home. He decided to take a different route home to pick up a case from a local carryout, when an unthinkable tragedy struck.

After he left the carryout, he headed up over Woods Ridge, which to this day is a road known for its steep inclines and hairpin curves, on one of the area's many Appalachian foothills.

As he was negotiating one of the ridge's many twists, a pickup truck sped around a blind curve on a steep incline, its left front fender just over in Papaw’s lane. He knew who it was. It was the Baker family. Mrs. Baker was one of Papaw’s distant relatives.

Target shooting with a muzzle loader he made himself, 1943.

Several children were lounging in the bed of the truck. One more little boy was standing in the middle of the bench seat of the cab, between two adults. They had just come from a birthday party, and were high on life.

Papaw drove as far over into the weeds as he could to avoid the truck. His car’s fender barely brazed the truck, but it was enough of an impact to eject the little boy from the seat of the truck cab, right into the road.

After the impact, the Mr. Baker must have panicked. The truck started rolling backwards, and ran right over the young boy. Miraculously, all of the other children in the bed of the truck were OK. But the boy died at the scene.

Granny and Papaw sitting on their back stoop, 1957.

That moment in Papaw’s life—the sound of the collision, the image of the little boy’s lifeless body—would stay with him forever.

The Bakers didn't press charges, but nothing would ease the stinging pain of that calamity. And the looming fear of a delayed law suit was a recurring nightmare that haunted him hundreds of nights.

Papaw never drove faster than about 40 miles an hour after that day, even when he was on the highway. He lost his ability to sleep, and was prescribed Valium to help his insomnia. Valium would be a constant friend from that point on.

Granny describes Papaw as a kind, gentle, “moral” man. That’s how I remember him, too. During most of his life, he reckoned he didn’t need Jesus because grace was for the lawless, the thief, the murderer. Even after the accident, he continued to suppress God and the gospel.

But it was clear that his heart was full of turmoil. Granny recounted that on the Sunday she was baptized, Papaw lay on their bed and wept with conviction the entire afternoon. He would not finally surrender his life to Christ for many more years.

Me with Granny and Papaw, sometime around 1980.

Papaw’s glorious conversion in 1980 didn’t erase the pain of that horrible accident. But the experience of it gave him a deeper gratitude for grace. In hindsight, his sorrow was a merciful stepping-stone that led him to realize his need for a Savior. Jesus finally freed him to live above the burden of that day, despite its long, foreboding shadow. He never grew numb to the pain. In fact, he was one of the most teary men I knew. But he drew nearer to Jesus because of it.

Perhaps the one thing I remember most about Papaw was the way he would pray before a meal. You had to really listen hard to hear his prayers, because they were just one notch above a whisper. But hearing his low, quivering, and often tearful prayers always gave me a tangible sense that God was right there with us at the table. Papaw clearly knew and loved the Lord.

In 1986, Papaw started a downward spiral into dementia, which finally took him on February 29, 1992. He wasn’t really himself for those last 6 years. But we don’t dwell on the dementia-ravaged man who was forgetful, unstable, depressed and distant. We knew his better nature too well, and choose to remember who he really was. We remember his laugh, his love of nature and the outdoors, and his gentle way with friends and family that made him so easy to love.

Elmer Bender was an ordinary man who lived an ordinary life. He didn’t have a commanding presence, or eloquent speech. He didn’t make millions. He didn’t make the history books. He endured unimaginable sorrow, and was familiar with grief. But my last memories of Papaw Bender are of a man with a deep, stilled reverence for God. It’s a reverence that continues to sing in his grandson when I think of him, and when I think of his extraordinary God.

#MarriageLetters (Vlog Edition): "I Knew You Loved Me When"

2012-02-27T04:27:00.000-08:00

Each Monday, Joy and I have been writing love letters to each other on our respective blogs. It's a wonderful movement started by fellow blogging couple Seth and Amber Haines that invites couples everywhere to write each other letters as a way to fight for their marriage. Join us any Monday with your own letter to your spouse. Amber hosts a link-up on her blog, so please share your letter there! This week, our topic was “I Knew You Loved Me When.”

Chock it up to Oscar night, or our giddiness from daffodils peeping up out of the ground. But this week, Joy and I mixed our marriage letters up a little with a vlog this week. We each had stories in mind that we knew would be best told in a face-to-face conversation.

We did this in one take, and only edited out one short sequence somewhere in the middle for length. You'll notice that we even encounter a visit from one of our four-legged friends toward the end, which was completely unscripted (like the rest of it).

In our 13 years of marriage, we've had thousands of conversations on this couch. We're glad to let you in on one of them we had along the way.

Remembering Elli: 2-26-00 - 10-19-08

2012-02-26T04:00:00.000-08:00

Today, with heaviness of heart, we remember what would have been our first daughter Elli's 12th birthday. Elli went home to be with the Lord on October 19, 2008. This photo is me holding Elli just hours, maybe minutes, after she was born at 8:17 a.m. on February 26, 2000.

Below is what Joy and I co-wrote for the programs we distributed at Elli's wake, on the night before her funeral. We wrote it in the first 24 agonizing hours after she died, with her wheelchair sitting empty in the living room, and her bedclothes still fragrant from the sweet flowery scent of her last bath.

To our knowledge, this tribute has never been posted publicly, so I am eager to share it here. Our aim was to help people truly experience who Elli was—even those who may not have known her. I hope that in reading it, you find that to be true.

Elli, just a few weeks before she died.

Elli Renee Bennett went hometo be with the Lord during the early morning hours on Sunday, October 19, 2008. In His great mercy, God chose to gently andquietly call her home in her sleep, with no apparent distress orsuffering. In this time of anguish andweeping, we are deeply grateful for that.

Elli had life-threateningcongenital heart defects that left her fighting for her life from the day shewas born. A lack of oxygen and criticalillness shortly after her birth left her with severe cerebral palsy and manyother physical challenges. She never ceased to amaze the many doctors andnurses who cared for her throughout her life. Despite dire predictions, sheclawed her way back from death’s door countless times.

Despite her many physicalchallenges, Elli’s mental faculties were intact. She was a bright girl who had amazingabilities, even though she could not walk, talk or do anything for herself. We and countless gifted people devotedourselves to finding ways for her to demonstrate those abilities in ways thateveryone could understand. She learned to communicate with a touch-screencomputer and had begun learning to read. While this process of learning often led us through seasons offrustration, we took such pleasure in the priceless moments of delight when shemastered something new.

Using her communication device to talk

Elli enjoyed music from birth.We played music constantly when we were in the hospital, in the car, and athome. When she was a baby, her favorite songs were the ones with hand motions.

As she grew older, she constantly requested either Veggie Tales music or praiseand worship music. And when we would sing in church, she would smile from earto ear, and then loudly protest when we stopped.

More recently, Scott begansinging 80s pop music to her. She pretty much loved anything her daddy sang toher.

Everywhere she went, Ellimade friends. The therapists who came to our home when she started EarlyIntervention still remember her today. She loved going to the Aaron W. PerlmanCenter and learning to use computers, communication devices, and power chairs.

Singing a goofy song to make her laugh, 2 years old

One of her favorite things was swimming and playing in the water. Sheparticipated in aquatic physical therapy on a regular basis, and enjoyed everyminute. She was able to control her body so much better in the water – walking,swimming, and playing games with her swimming buddies.

At school, Elli neverlacked for volunteer helpers among her classmates. She competed in the SpecialOlympics in first and second grade, and rang bells in her second grade musicconcert with the help of a classmate.

Elli was a pretty typicalkid, too. She grumbled at her siblings over which video to watch and complainedwhen she didn’t get her choice. She would hear someone mention McDonald’s,immediately go to her McDonalds touch-screen page, and request a yogurtparfait. She was very sensitive to anyone hurt or upset around her, and would weepwith those who wept.

Sunday afternoon in the hammock, summer 2008

Through the ups and thedowns, the terrifying moments and the serene, the frustrations and the laughs, Elliwas an ever-present reminder that God makes no mistakes. He orchestrates allthings for His greater plan and purpose, even the things that don’t make senseto us in the here and now.

Elli’s little life changed somany lives permanently. Her radiantsmile shining right through her challenges has been one of the greatestblessings to so many people.

You may ask: “Why does God allow suffering in theworld?” To have people in the world withElli’s joy, shining through such profound limitations, can glorify God morethan almost anything in the world, apart from God’s own gracious, spiritualpresence with us.

Elli, you are a precious giftof heaven. You have left God with us.

Precious by Proxy ... Or Why I Love the Church

2012-02-24T13:50:00.000-08:00

“What Christians offer is an understanding that the world is not ours, that we are not the ones that give things value.” - Wendell Berry

I am the altogether wrong demographic. But there's a mysterious allure about Antiques Roadshow that draws me right in. It's just everyday people like you and me, presenting their vase or clock or etching to someone who is uniquely qualified to appraise its value.

From the intricate and beautiful to the downright bizarre, every kind of dusty attic artifact and flea market find has appeared on Antiques Roadshow at one time or another.

With palpable uneasiness, the owner of the antique sits and listens, while the appraiser divulges its entire history. The owners are understandably nervous. After all, this could be the conversation that changes everything. This family heirloom could become their family fortune, right before their very eyes.

My favorite moments are when the appraiser almost breaks into song about the exquisiteness of a particularly dilapidated piece, or how it's perhaps the only one left in the world, or how Abraham Lincoln probably sat on it ... you get the idea.

As the appraiser's crescendo of praise builds, you can watch the once anxious owner's shoulders rise. She smiles, looking down at her dusty old ugly something-or-other again, and again. By the end of the spiel, her tentative posture melts away, and celebration ensues. She falls in love with its ugliness all over again because of what someone with authority says about it.

Something great happens in our hearts when an objective, outside authority declares an item of unknown value to be one of uncommonly high value. It may be cracked, stained, faded and full of holes. But that doesn't matter, because the basis for its value shifts from the appearance of the object to the authority of the observer.

If I'm not careful, I can start to see the church—the body of Christ—as a dim, dusty, dilapidated old antique. Voices around me downplay it, claiming it doesn't fit with our more sophisticated society. It's the digital age. Individualism is alive and well. A connected collection of diverse people who come together for the love of worship and the Word is simply obsolete. It's a sign of weakness.

Besides, people are messy, and they get their moth ball smell all over you. Pieces of them fall off on you. They're brittle, and we like new things. Instant things. Shiny things. Strong things. Convenient things. Customized things. Personalized things.

But the authority to "appraise" the church's value in the world does not belong to me. I look to Christ, who has been given all authority in heaven and on earth. I listen to Him—like that antique owner listens to her appraiser—hanging on His every word. Christ alone is crowned to make that "appraisal" (if you will).

Even as a church-loving Christian, my view of the church can be superficial, sentimental, subjective—and at times, sour. And sooner or later, it may even fail me, hurt me—or just plain frustrate me. I need to lean on an Objective, Outside Authority who declares it impenetrably precious, and thus fall in love with it all over again.

More than merely speaking highly of the church, Christ bought the church. He called her His bride. He obtained her with His own blood (Acts 20:28). He loved her, and gave Himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25). He nourishes and cherishes her (Ephesians 5:29). This is far more than any mere appraisal. This is an act of unparalleled devotion that leaves me in stunned silence. It dazzles the mind.

Despite the decades of ministry-inflicted scars I bear, Christ's bride remains deeply and timelessly precious to HIM.

My growth in grace is a process whereby what is precious to Him gradually becomes more and more precious to me. As I love Jesus more, I will grow to want to serve and love His people more. What was once precious by proxy blossoms into being precious to me personally.

I will never give up on the church because Christ gave Himself up for her. When I stop and consider that He sees her as precious—even when I may momentarily not—it changes everything.

That's what brings me back to loving the church—over and over again.

Demystifying "Family Devotions" - Part 2

2012-02-22T05:06:00.000-08:00

As I said in Part 1 of this post, the discipline of family devotions can be a hit-or-miss, or even flat-out neglected part of our family life because it mystifies us—we don’t know exactly what it is, or should look like—or because the ideal we have created in our head is simply unattainable. So we don’t try.

The aim of the next two posts is to bring family devotions back down to the level of real life, where so many variables are at play, wrecking our routines. With God’s help, it is possible to break through those variables and keep them going by simply exercising a kind of “flexible faithfulness” and working diligently with the time God has given you on any given night.

As an aside, one of our biggest (and most pleasant) surprises has been the enthusiasm our kids have shown toward family devotions. Since it has become such a mainstay, they count on it. They ask when we are going to do it. They enjoy it. We consider it a great mercy of God that the kids are actually asking us to do it, especially on those nights when we are extra, extra tired.

So at the risk of being cliché, here are five out of ten things I want to encourage you to keep in mind as you embark on a more consistent and meaningful family devotions time in your home:

Find a window of time that is most predictable in your home for family devotions. For us, it’s between 7 and 8pm — after dinner and bath time, and right before the kids go to bed. For families where a parent(s) may work second shift, that golden hour may be 10am, and so on. When you do family devotions is the least important thing, as long as you find a time that is relatively predictable for everyone in your household.

Don’t demand their undivided attention. “What??” you say? Yes. While we would all prefer that our kids make eye contact with us and nod in agreement at the things we say in family devotions, we have to realize that toddlers and school-age kids are quite adept at listening and even retaining information while being busy with their hands.

I use the word “demand” very intentionally here. Make no mistake, we should “request” their undivided attention. But most “demands” we make point to an idol in our heart. The idol of feeling entitled to respect can cause us to make harsh, angry demands that exasperate our kids, which can turn them away from us, and from enjoying family devotions. We must lead in such away that fosters a climate of healthy, glad respect and submission from our kids during these and all other occasions, with very reasonable expectations of what they can do.

Biblical truths—and a real sense of God’s greatness—can be communicated to kids while Legos are being built, cars vroomed and dolls stroked. While I encourage the kids to pay attention, I only pause to give correction when their voices or their activities escalate to a level that makes them a distraction to their siblings.

If a child persists in distracting behaviors during family devotions, whisper gently to them 1 on 1 as you are tucking them in bed that you want them to do better next time, or there will be consequences. I have found that these gentle yet firm reminders in private are more successful than spewing harsh public demands.

If you do nothing else, pray. Some nights, if it is well past the kids’ bedtime, I simply say that I am going to pray before I tuck everyone in bed. Family prayer is such a precious time. A parent’s simple prayer can give children a sense of God’s magnificence and “declare His mighty acts” like nothing else.

Pray prayers that exalt God above all things. Thank Him for being in control of clouds and bugs and runny noses and flowers and ponies and bunnies and planets and trees and elephants. Earnestly ask Him for help with small things and big things. Thank Him for loving the world so much that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not die, but will live forever and ever and ever. Tell Him you love Him, and thank Him for loving us first. Thank Him for a cool (or warm) and dry place to sleep, and for soft beds and blankets and pillows. Thank Him for being the giver of every good thing. Thank Him for His promise to never leave us or forsake us.

If you only pray, you have left them with a keener sense of God’s greatness than they had before, and therefore you have blessed them greatly.

Share prayer requests, majoring on thankfulness. So many passages in the Bible make a heart of thankfulness one of the hallmarks of a true believer. So to cultivate the habit of having a thankful heart, we ask each child to share something he or she is thankful for, in addition to sharing prayer needs. We have done this ever since they were able to talk, and sometimes the comments have been quite humorous. But hearing a toddler express things for which she is thankful is a rare and precious gift.

We also have the kids share prayer needs, or requests. I have found that once a prayer request is introduced to young kids, it sticks like glue. For example, we support two missionary families in Turkey. And every night for the past several months, the kids have prayed for this family without any prompting from us. What a marvel that night after night, this family has been lifted up by a 4, 6 and 9-year old with astounding consistency — more than any adult (including me) could ever hope to maintain.

Give everyone the opportunity to pray. Some believe that, because young children who have not expressed belief in Jesus are unregenerate, their prayers are null and void and there is no value in having them pray. But I would callon John Piper to refute this notion better than I could ever say it:

“I think we should teach our children to pray as soon as they can say anything. The first words they should say are, “Dear Jesus, thank you.” … practically, it seems right to put the vocabulary of prayer into a child’s mouth from the very beginning. That way, when his faith is born, he has a whole vocabulary, orientation, and habit that the Lord can use … Build the disciplines of the Christian life into your children from the beginning, all the while praying that they are going to grow up and mean what they say.”

— excerpt of John Piper: Should children be taught to pray even if they haven’t professed faith?

Some of the first prayers of a toddler are as simple as “Dear God, thank you…” and that is OK. I am simply exhilarated as I hear the words of our kids today, who have been praying since age 1. Their prayers are an ongoing source of encouragement to us. When we hear them break out of learned, routine word patterns and express unprompted, spontaneous words of thanksgiving and praise to God, I get a joyful sense that God is indeed answering my never-ending prayer to help them finally “mean what they say.”

My next post will give five more tips for your own family devotions.

A Letter to Joy: My Job, Your Job

2012-02-20T07:59:00.000-08:00

Dear Joy,

I like the way we get it done around the house.

From early on, we loosely agreed that whoever cooks, theother does dishes. You pay the bills, balance the checkbook and plan the menufor every night of the world (unless I swoop in with takeout). I'm the officialtoilet plunger, landscape manicurist, garbage handler, and Scutigeracoleoptrata killer (unless you're situated near a shoe with somesubstantial sole when they slink by).

You keep your eye on the kids' clothes hampers, while Ikeep my ear to squeaking serpentine belts under the hoods. This loose list goeson.

But even these rules aren't Rules. On any given day,one might say, we both do both. On plenty of occasions, thingsturn the rules and roles round.

Some nights, I cook and do dishes; or you do.Neither of us holds tightly to our tasks, nor do we hold it against the otherwhen they reverse. You've killed your share of S. coleoptrata, mowed withbeaded brow in the 90-degree heat, and courageously cleared many a jammed john.We just roll with it.

Rolling with it - and settling for its less-than-perfectresults - is a best-kept secret to the longevity of this parable we're livingout. Never being above a job. Tackling a basket of clean laundry that needs folding,a dirty dish that needs rinsing, a renegade dust bunny or a burned-out lightbulb. Throwing ourselves into what might be the other's task, chasingbitterness away with Bible.

We don't do it perfectly, but we aspire to. We have ourdays. But I must say, God has been kind to bless me with such a roll-with-itkind of woman.

And oh, by the way, I have to work late tonight. Can youset the garbage out on the curb?

Love,

Scott

On Mondays, Joy (don’t miss her letter thisweek) and I join Seth and Amber Haines asthey fight the good fight for their marriage. They call this weekly series“Marriage Letters” and pray that it encourages each of us in our own hardwork of marriage. This week our topic is “His job, her job.” You can join usany time with your own letter to your spouse, whether you both write or blog ornot. Amber hosts a link-up on her blog, so we hope you’ll share yourletter there!

De-Mystifying “Family Devotions” – Part 1

2012-02-14T19:18:00.000-08:00

“You shall love theLORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all yourmight. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. Youshall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when yousit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, andwhen you rise.” Deuteronomy 6:5-7

“One generation shall commendyour works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.” Psalm 145:4

Let’s face it. The idea of organizing, leading andmaintaining a consistent time of “family devotions” in the home can seem likean insurmountable challenge.

Between the long hours at work, the manyresponsibilities outside of work, and the daily demands that fall into the categoryof “all other”, it seems there is never enough time for any kind of focusedfamily devotions.

And so we walk around with a perpetual sense ofdiscouragement. We know we need to be doing it. But it’s just so hard to fit itin on top of everything else.

Part of the reason we don’t even start (which can apply to pursuingANY spiritual discipline in life) is because it mystifies us – we don’t knowexactly what it is, or should look like – or because the ideal we have createdin our head is simply unattainable.

We conjure up false expectations of family devotions time: our kids, sitting in perfect formation likemilitary cadets, their hands pressed together with not one hair out of placeand not one cross word spoken between siblings. We daydream about deeptheological talks with tiny toddlers that plunge the depths of the depravity ofman, the horrors of hell, the glory of God and the power of the cross of Christ.

While none of these expectations is completely out of the question, they arerare-at-best during real family devotions with younger kids. And if held ontotightly, they are a recipe for disappointment.

Commending the works of God to the next generation should bea way of life for pastors, parents, grandparents, teachers, babysitters, auntsand uncles alike among the household of faith. What I am calling “family devotions”time is only a fraction of the fuller-orbed vision set forth by Deuteronomy 6.But I believe it is a critical time that may actually be simpler — and moreurgent — than we make it out to be.

I cannot overstate the brevity of life, and the urgency toteach the children in your life about God while today is called today. I havebeen a father for 12 years. My oldest child, who was born 12 years ago, didnot live to see her ninth birthday, and is home with the Lord today. The time Godhas given each of us to teach the next generation is terribly, terribly short.

My fondest memories of my daughter are the nightly bedtimeroutines we spent together in family devotions – especially the last time.

On the night before she slipped into eternity in her sleep,we sang some praise songs, just like we always did. I read a short passage of Scripture.We shared prayer requests, and each of us shared something we were thankfulfor. Each of the children who were able to talk muttered a short prayer. Then Iprayed, and tucked everybody in bed. As I tucked my oldest daughter in bed, Ikissed her forehead and whispered in her ear the same words I had been whisperingin her ear almost every night for about the last year of her life:

“The LORD bless youand keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you;the LORD lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.” (Numbers6:24-26)

Those last words I spoke to her are permanently etched in hertombstone today, and serve as a persistent reminder to me of the preciousnessof focused family devotions. Had my last words to her been throwaway words — orworse, bitter words — God’s grace would have sustained me through the inevitableguilt. But instead, I live with the sweetness of having pronounced a blessing onher, which brings a smile as I consider the degree to which God did indeed“make His face shine” on her, beyond that which I could have ever asked orimagined.

God summons us to teach and declare His mighty acts to thenext generation. And as Joy and I have painfully learned, any given day may be yourlast opportunity to do so. Family devotions is a time to declare God’sgreatness in a focused format that, when done with some variety and creativity,kids will grow to love and enjoy, making it an enduring highlight of your home life.

In a second post, I will provide some practical (and perhapssome surprising) tips to help as you embark on your own style of family devotions.

A Letter to Joy: Patience

2012-02-13T06:09:00.000-08:00

Joy and I are writing each other on our blogs each Monday, as part of a Marriage Letters series started by fellow blogging couple Seth and Amber Haines. We're doing it to celebrate our marriage, and encourage couples everywhere to keep fighting for their own. Today is our 5th installment in the series, on the topic of "patience."

Dear Joy,

In the long summer months leading up to our wedding day,there were a LOT of things I looked forward to about being married to you. Patience,I reasoned, was something I would need to exercise until that day, and not a day later.

Six hundred fifty miles separated us during our engagement(which, by the way, was both a blessing and a curse). To pass the time, I woulddwell on things like the impending thrill of exploring you with playful, nakedabandon; never needing to say good night and go our separate ways again; sleepingand waking next to you, spitting cherry pits with you, living with you, laughingwith you. This was what consumed me. But for now, I needed to be patient.

This letter is starting to write itself, huh?

Yes, our wedding day was just the beginning of God’s innerworking of patience in my heart. Those vivid fantasies of satiny romance androse petals, while definitely strong at the start, have been a grueling gig tomaintain. Real life kicks in, and with it comes real conflict.

In those first few years, we saw so many things differentlythat we never saw coming—from financial decisions, to bedtime routines, toorganizing strategies, to laundry philosophies. We’d lock horns. Ice would enterthe room. And I quickly realized that my pre-marital patience was actually another word that starts with “P” and endswith “E”: practice.

Now thirteen years later, every day is still abending-over-backwards exercise in pleading for the Spirit-wrought fruit of patience.While much has been ironed out, plenty of wrinkles remain.

Just this afternoon, we had a painfully difficultconversation about a matter on which we continue to see things quitedifferently. For the thousandth time, our hearts' gears ground, and thosemuscles of patience flexed further and further for both of us. It will not bethe last time, because we are in this for life.

God has been so patient with both of us through the years. WithoutHis perfect patience pouring out of us in those moments, we would be dry wellsof bitterness and begrudging scowls. The patience we find is not native; it isfrom above. And so we get down and plead for more.

I hope I have been half as patient with you as you have beenwith me.

I love you so much.

Patiently yours,

Scott

A Prayer for the Pillar of Truth

2012-02-09T05:03:00.000-08:00

Today I'm thrilled to be contributing to an incredible series put together by Preston Yancey entitled "At the Lord's Table." In just under a month (from January 25 to February 22), Preston's series is featuring posts from over 50 writers from all different walks of church life, all united under one topic: why we love the church. I'm humbled to be one of the newbies among this seasoned line-up of writers contributing to such a much-needed series. I encourage you to join in the conversation on Preston's blog.

5:58 pm.
I take my last breath of cool air in the cavernous lobby andlean into one of its gold revolving doors. They spin me round and spit me outinto the city, transporting me from one world to another. I slide on mysunglasses and speed up to a run-walk pace through the downtown streets—5blocks to the bus stop—in the hazy, humid 90-degree heat.

It’s my first time outdoors in 9 hours, and the air isbarely breathable. After a few yards, I cock my head back and look up. Themile-long wall of high-rises on either side of me leaves only a narrow strip ofsky visible above. Concrete and metal have crowded the heavens out.

I’m late for the 6:08 bus, as usual.

Read the rest of the story on Preston's blog.

A Letter to Joy: Opposites Attract

2012-02-06T04:29:00.000-08:00

Joy and I are writing each other on our blogs each Monday, as part of a Marriage Letters series started by a fellow blogging couple Seth and Amber Haines. We're doing it to celebrate our marriage, and encourage couples everywhere to keep fighting for their own. Today is our 4th installment in the series. This week we landed on the daunting topic of "opposites attract."

Dear Joy,

My first clue that we’re quite a bit different came duringour 1996 Spring Quarter in college. It was the night of those terrible flashfloods on campus—remember? We weren’t really even “dating” yet. We barely kneweach other.

I was settling in for my usual evening of sedentary studywhen you rang my dorm phone.

“Come out to the lobby for a sec,” you said.

I walked out to find you standing there with your friend, Lisa.Both of you were soaked to the skin with rainwater.

“Lisa and I are slip-and-sliding in the flooded field, outby the dorm. Wanna come out with us?” (This is an actual photo from thatmoment. I have no idea who took it, or how I got it.)

Every bone in my body wanted to say, “Heck, no.” That photoof me? That is my “Heck, no” face. But I knew you well enough to know that you simplywouldn’t accept that answer.

I eventually went back to my dorm room, put on my oldestclothes and, with a mixture of frustration and trepidation, met you and Lisa inthe parking lot. My hall mates’ jaws dropped as I walked out of the room. “Thisis completely out of character for you, Scotty,” they jeered. “It must belove.” They must have been right.

Little did I know that my slip-and-slide escapade in thatflooded field with you that night would set the rhythm of our relationship fromthere on out.

I am the quintessential stand-back-and-watch-until-the-coast-is-clearkind of guy, while you’re a why-bother-waiting-for-the-ice-to-break kind ofgirl. I’m content to sit on the back row and keep my questions to myself, whileyou lean forward on the front row with your hand raised high. I could go on fordays about all the ways we’re different.

To make things even more interesting, we each violate thestereotypes of our respective gender. I am the epitome of a feeling, sensing,perceiving introvert. You’re an equally strong thinking, intuitive,compartmentalizing extrovert. It’s been quite comical to see the faces of thosewho have counseled us in the past. They really don’t know what to do with us.

Finding our way hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world.But we seem to have found a method for melding our proclivities into a rhythm that’squite a thing to behold.

Based on our experience, I’m a firm believer that oppositesmake great marriages. In our 13 years, you have dragged me out of manyproverbial dorm rooms to puddle dive with you in the rainwater. I have triedthings I would have never tried without your persistent elbow poking my ribcage.

And I think I’ve helped you in equally opposite ways—encouragingyou to pause a little longer until the time is better to speak, or write, or call,or commit. Together, we’ve stretched and saved each other’s necks more timesthan I can count.

I can’t credit myself for having the foresight to findsomeone like you. On paper, it’s pure insanity. But it’s just like God toshatter statistics and create inseparability from two oppositely charged particleslike us.

Keeping my ion you,

Scott

Severing the Root

2012-01-31T19:52:00.000-08:00

The Sermon on the Mount shines a blinding light on thedesires that lurk beneath my deeds.

Blow by blow, Jesus systematicallydeconstructs the notion that my deeds can be good enough. And He takes direct aim at my desires, and the heart from which they came.

Jesus spent much of His ministry turning righteousness "outside in." He continually brought things back to the heart. Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. What comes out of a person is what defiles him. This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.

He condemned the scribes andPharisees, whose empty deeds were deceptive coverings for dirty cups. And hecommended the poor widow, whose deed proceeded from a desire to give everything she had.

As I read slowly through the Sermon on the Mount on thismorning’s bus ride, I started to take a much closer inventory my desires—my affections. And honestly, I didn’t likewhat I saw.

I was reminded of how C.S. Lewis described self-examination so wellin his book The Four Loves:

[It’s] like gettingyour household furniture out for a move. It did very well in its place, but itlooks shabby or tawdry or grotesque in the sunshine.

Dragging dark desires out into the bright sunshine of God's Word is a very unflattering experience. It sobers me greatly to think that I am only as sanctifiedas those darkest desires. I can abstain from pornography and adultery in deed,but not at all mind the bikini-clad banner ad. Jesus says that makes me anadulterer. I can abstain from murder, but mentally mutilate people who cut meoff on the highway. Jesus says that makes me a murderer. I can abstain fromovereating, but burn for a bowl of ice cream at bedtime. Jesus says that makesme a glutton. I can go to men’s Bible study, but secretly desire to sleep in.Jesus says that makes me a sluggard.

I may look pretty good on the outside. But I'm an adulterous, murderous, gluttonous sluggard through and through because of what's secretly raging on the inside.

In His book TheMortification of Sin, John Owen describes the battle with indwelling sin assevering the root. In otherwords, sin is a foe that must be faced at the level of my desires. Far deeper than dwelling on my evil deeds, I must cultivate a genuine distaste for the evil desires that first gave birth to them. I must earnestlyask for help hating the things thathinder me from savoring Christ above all things—things that are actually far less satisfying than He is. And when He does His work inme, He gets the glory.

This takes a supernatural work of His Spirit in me, and anutter dependence on my part for His help. It takes a Savior who fulfilled allrighteousness because I can’t do it in my own strength.

The unachievablestandard of the law Christ lays out in the Sermon on the Mount is like a blinkingneon sign pointing me directly to Him. Though it deeply convicts me, it also liftsme to praise God for sending a perfect Savior—apart from whom I would have no prayerof ever severing sin’s root. To which I say with Paul, "Wretched man that Iam! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesusour Lord!"

May God give us all Gospel strength in the root-severing work of sanctification.

A Letter to Joy: Weathering With You

2012-01-29T20:33:00.000-08:00

This is the third installment of a Monday Marriage Love Letters series Joy and I have been writing along with fellow married bloggers Seth and Amber Haines. You can jump over and read Joy's post here. And please let us know if you'd like to be part of our little marriage letter link-up!

Dear Joy,

Thirteen years ago, I stammered out my wedding vows to youon that unseasonably warm September day. I was an absolute mess. I could onlywhisper the words between sobs. My lower lip twitched like a dog’s hind legwhen you rub that perfect spot on its belly. I was so happy, and I rememberthinking, “What’s happening to me?” (I’m so glad our ceremony didn’t end up onfilm, or any recording device, for that reason.)

You probably didn’t know before that day that I was given tocrying in public when I’m saying something for which words are sorelyinsufficient. I mean really, how can anybody say, “until death” without being acomplete emotional wreck? It takes a stronger man than I.

But fortunately for me, you didn’t seem phased by mycomplete lack of composure from being so overwhelmed by the moment. You lovedme right through it.

And that would definitely not be the last time I would cryin public. Ten years later, we were holding hands again on a church platform ona chilly October night, saying goodbye to Elli with 500 onlookers weeping withus.

But fortunately for me, once again, you didn’t seem phasedby my complete lack of composure from being so overwhelmed by the moment. Andonce again, you loved me right through it.

We have weathered so many “hair-down” moments in ourmarriage, when composure and calm went completely out the window. Emotions wereraw. Tears flowed. As the “head of the household”, there have been moments whenI definitely didn’t keep it all together.

Yet fortunately for me, you seem to be into men who aren’tafraid to cry. Each of those moments has seemed to to bring us closer together.With each storm, we’ve just huddled closer under the umbrella. Then when theumbrella got taken away, we just sat in the rain together while it pelted ourforeheads in the night.

I guess that’s what I was thinking about when I sobbed outthose vows. I was thinking about the storms, and knew that the person standingin front of me would be huddling under there with me, with her hand squeezingmine for dear life, unphased by my lack of composure.

I love you,

Scott

If I Should Lose My Mind

2012-01-24T19:06:00.000-08:00

My paternal grandfather, my dad and me after a long day's work. (1992)

Both of my grandfathers died of the same disease. And itwasn’t cancer.

They had good cholesterol and strong, healthy hearts. Theywere not diabetic, obese or hypertensive. These were rugged, hard-working blue-collarman’s men, with thick callouses on their hands and elbows. They drove tractors,dump trucks and buses their entire adult lives—yet they did notdie in “accidental deaths” (although it’s somewhat of a miracle that neither ofthem did).

No, none of these things took them. Instead, these words markedthe beginning of their end: “You have dementia.”

Their diagnoses came about 6 years apart, during my teenageyears. My maternal grandpa’s decline began in 1986. He died in 1992 at age 79.Then 6 years passed, and my paternal grandpa (pictured above with my dad and me) began his plunge in 1998. He diedin 2003 at age 76.

In these painful years between diagnosis and death, dementiaall but liquefied both of their brains before our very eyes. It progressively ravagedtheir memories, leaving them able-bodied but unable to think clearly, if at all.And since the brain is the center of all bodily functions, it eventually ravagedthose, too, rendering these respected men almost vegetative by the time Godfinally and mercifully reached down snatched them home. All we could do wasshake our heads and ask, “Why, God?”

My speculation about their shared disease deepens eventoday, as I look back on their lives. Both of them lived within 10 minutes ofeach other their entire life. They even worked together for a time. My paternalgrandfather owned his own construction business, which he inherited from hisfather. My maternal grandfather drove a school bus for 16 years, then workedfor the state road maintenance crew for the rest of his working years. Betweenthose jobs, he put food on the table by working for my paternal grandpa buildinghomes.

I can’t help wondering if something struck themsimultaneously during those few years they worked together in the 1960s—brushingon the same lead paint, breathing the same asbestos fibers, bulldozing the samedirt—that set this eerily similar scourge in motion decades before it drew itscrushing blow to both of them.

I wonder if it was environmental, or if I carry the samegenetic predisposition with me. Sometimes I’m optimistic, and sometimes it’smore of a morbid fatalistic feeling that I, too, am on this unstoppable divetoward dementia.

It is foolish to turn a deaf ear to heredity. Dementia isthe strongest common denominator in my family lineage, especially among themen. Like anyone, I often wonder how the Lord will finally take me, if anaccident doesn’t.

In light of what seems like overwhelming odds against me, Ihave researched what lifestyle changes help promote neurological health. Iconsciously hold my fork and brush my teeth with the opposite hand on occasion.I sometimes drive with thick gloves on. I work word and number puzzlesregularly. I try to read things that stretch me. My mind still feels incrediblysharp. My memory is uncommonly good. I frequently floor my colleagues with myability to recall random details about projects we did together years ago.

But then, both of my grandfathers were sharp as tacks untilthe dementia abruptly pulled the rug of recall out from under them. They werehighly skilled at calculating construction measurements, shooting small gamehigh in treetops and eyeballing plumb lines—to no avail.

In the end, I have to remind myself that dementia is notdeity. God numbered my neurons when I was in the womb. They are no match forHim. He knows my frame, and has declared the beginning from the end.

I remind myself that, ifI should lose my mind, He will not have lost His. My lucidity is not themeasure of His love. He will sustain me with His right hand, no matter how thickthe fog may get.

So while I’m in my right mind, I’m redeeming the time totrust Him more. Depend on Him more. Love Him more. Because losing my mind, asscary as that may be, is not the worst thing that can happen to me. Dementiamay take my body, but it can’t touch my soul.

A Letter to Joy: That Thing We Do

2012-01-22T19:32:00.000-08:00

Every Monday my wife Joy and I are participating in a little writing project called Marriage Letters started by Seth and Amber Haines in an effort to encourage other married couples in the hard work of relationships. This week we wrote on nightly rituals. (Don’t miss Joy’s letter here.)

* * * * *

Dear Joy,

I have to admit: I have a little tinge of guilt every timewe do it.

It happens on many nights, right after we tuck the kids inbed. We close their doors behind us (well, except Anna’s, because she insists onkeeping hers cracked). We slide into our modest, comfy pajamas, saunter backout to the family room, plop down on opposite ends of the couch, fire up ourrespective laptops and stare longingly into their mesmerizing glow for the next2 to 3 hours.

We occasionally talk, and occasionally share things on ourscreen with each other, in our own geeky, giggly way. Sometimes—or dare I say,often—we even find ourselves simultaneously on Facebook, posing as duelingcommenters on the latest status of one of our friends. It’s sad, but true.

I guess it’s par for the course, since we both seem to bewired that way (pun intended). Some of our very first conversations as a coupletook place on that chat room site in college … oh, what was it called … Cactus?My handle was Linguine. Yours was ReesesPBC. I still remember how my heartwould skip a beat when your status would switch to “Active.” Yep, we’re geeks.

In our own defense, on most nights we have legitimatereasons to be dueling laptoppers on the couch. Sometimes I have work to finishup, or the church website to update. You’re putting the finishing touches on apost that goes up early the next morning, and the ending isn’t quite comingtogether for you. You need that time, as do I.

And there’s something great about being so comfortable witha person that you don’t feel the need to fill the room with words when you’retogether. Being under the same roof is enough. I do believe we have a mutualvibe that everything’s OK when we engage in duel laptopping. We never do it ifthere’s any tension between us. If there is, we use the time to talk it out.

But I sense that we sometimes slide into our dueling laptoproutine not for legitimate reasons, but for leisure.Those are the nights I think, “Gosh, we’re pretty sad sitting here on separatelaptops having a Facebook conversation with two people on opposite sides of theworld. How did this happen?

A little bit of that is OK (I think). But the truth is, I muchprefer the more, oh, relational things we do together. Like when we read aloudto each other, or have face-to-face conversations during those last 2 hours ofthe day about how we’re doing spiritually. Or when we spoon on the *gasp* SAME side of the couch and watcha movie. And how, early in the movie, you gaze at me with those eyes that canonly mean you want one thing: popcorn.

My point is this: we should be more deliberate in discerningwhen we need to be on the computerand when we want to be on thecomputer. Let’s commit to declare a night (or two, or three) of the week to belaptop-free. And you might as well throw mobile devices in there, too, whichcan be an equally formidable distraction.

Thousands of healthy distractions are always going to viefor our attention—not just today, but as long as we live. Let’s work on givingthem the cold shoulder and getting to know each other on a deeper level, day byday.

Besides, you’re much more fun to look at. ;-)

Here’s lookin’ at you, my love,

Scott

A Letter to Joy: Future Fantasies

2012-01-15T18:45:00.000-08:00

Today, Joy and I decided to write letters to each other on our respective blogs on the above topic. You can jump over to her blog to read hers. We got the idea from Seth and Amber Haines, a fellow blogging couple, who hit this idea out of the park last week on their blogs. In addition to each having their own blogs, Seth and Amber are regular contributors to the collaborative blog A Deeper Story - Tales of Christ and Culture. You should check it out.

* * * * *

Joy,

There’s something you should know.

Ever since we knew we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together, I’ve found myself having the most far-flung fantasies about you.

No, I’m not talking about that (this time, haha). I’m talking about the future.

“What will it be like,” I’ve often thought, “to grow old with Joy?”

From early on in our marriage, these latter-life fantasies of mine mostly revolved around unbridled world tourism—gondola rides through Venice; fjord cruises in Norway; safaris through the Serengeti; breakfasts on scenic rooftops in Mediterranean cities. The list goes on.

The almighty empty nest—and the sacred rite of retirement—would usher in a season of well-deserved delights like collecting seashells on sugary sand beaches and enjoying breathtaking vistas together for the rest of our lives. We could finally get on with our fantasy-filled life of leisure, free from the trappings of work and child-rearing—all great stuff, but style-cramping stuff.

Then early on, real life flogged those fantasies of mine right up side the head.

Over the course of our 13-year marriage, we’ve brought four children into the world, two of whom had life-threatening congenital birth defects. When Elli was an infant, we had to figure out how to manage and administer 45 doses of 9 different life-sustaining heart medications around the clock, without falling asleep at her bedside in mid-dose. We went for days on end sleeping in short shifts, taking care of a child whose default settings were set to “cry” most of the time.

We’ve stayed together through 6 open-heart surgeries, close brushes with death and innumerable nail-biting procedures between our two sick kids. Then death didn’t just brush—it visited us in the wee hours, snatching Elli from our lives when we least expected it.

In His grace, God used these trials to douse my youthful disillusionment with a heavy dose of reality. And although we’ve had our conflicts, He has been kind to keep us together in His strength.

Incomprehensibly, we still love each other. Shoot, we even like each other. We haven’t walked away from our marriage promise, despite the statistics that scream otherwise for couples in our situation.

But although my commitment to you hasn’t changed, my far-flung fantasies about the future have. Trials have a way of turning priorities upside down.

Oh, I still aspire to enjoy some of those prior delights with you. But it’s much different now. Loss has taught me that leisure is never a given this side of heaven. With Elli no longer with us, the splendor of heaven has become sweeter to me than the sands of Hawaii. The great work of ministry holds more attraction for me than the Great Wall of China.

I daydream about walking with you into the office to counsel the young couple in crisis—listening with extravagant grace, weeping with them, speaking the truth in love, seeing their marriage through one more year, or decade.

I daydream about waking up next to you in a humid, mosquito-filled tent, our salt-and-pepper hair matted from sweat, with a full day of village visits ahead of us—working, singing, sharing, learning, hugging—showing Christ’s love to everyone in sight.

I daydream about being your companion down those treacherous Bolivian mountain passes you once traveled, holding your hand as you introduce me to the men, women and children who changed your life last year, thanking them for the precious gift of hope they gave you—and in turn, gave me.

I daydream about standing next to you in special needs centers around the country (or even around the world), giving a child a voice through the foundation we formed after Elli died. Few moments in our marriage have been more exhilarating than the day we gave Sebastian his device last year.

I even daydream about co-authoring a book with you that helps bring hope and help to people out there we've never met. (And hey—maybe that’s where the exotic beach vacation comes in! The code words “writing sabbatical” can be our cover ;-).

In a nutshell, I daydream about our one-flesh ministry making more of a difference in the world than we ever could as two separate individuals. And that’s not just for some day way off in the future. That's for today, too.

My fantasies are still pretty wild, but they have taken on an accent of heaven they didn’t have before. They’re public, not private. They desire to alleviate pain, not ignore it. They pursue the world’s difficulties, not its delicacies. They reflect my strong conviction that “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

So now that the secret is out … are you in?

Your fantasy-loving hubby,

Scott

Returning to the Scene

2012-01-10T20:56:00.000-08:00

Today, we took our 4-year-old son to the hospital for aroutine procedure.

He whimpered out his fears during the short car ride,knowing full well what was ahead.

“I don’t want to get poked,” he said in a soft, brokenfalsetto.

We patted him calmly from the front seat, and promised an ice creamcone on the way home.

By the time we arrived, his tears had dried, and he hadmoved on to other topics at hand. After we parked, he practically skippedthrough the parking lot toward the glass entrance.

The huge glass canopy above us had bright photography of sunflowers and seascapes on its underside, tooffer visual comfort for kids who come in on stretchers.

They thought of everything when they built this hospital,which first opened in the summer of 2008. It is a spectacular facility.Everything about it is state-of-the-art.

I should know.

In God’s providence, I’d had the privilege of serving as aparent advisor on the construction of this hospital. For several months beforethey broke ground in 2006, and all during its 2-year construction, I sat on a small advisorycouncil made up of parents, children and some hospital staff.

Once a month, we would huddle in a small constructiontrailer where architects, interior designers and hospital executives wouldpresent drawings, designs, floor plans and flow concepts to us, to get ouropinions and advice. As construction got underway, we took hard-hat tours,making suggestions every step of the way for how to make the hospital aspatient-centered as possible.

So today, as we walked into the main entrance of this3-year-young hospital, I saw my fingerprints all over the place—from the photomural choices, to the paint colors, to the furniture, to the location of theelevators. I’d had a hand in all those decisions. This place is a real symbolof personal achievement, collaboration and great teamwork.

But that’s far from the only thing this hospital symbolizesfor me.

On a chilly October Sunday morning in 2008—just a few short weeksafter the pomp-filled ribbon-cutting ceremony for the hospital—I entered thelobby of the Emergency Room wing, out of breath, frantic. The ambulance hadarrived shortly before with our 8-year-old—unresponsive on a stretcher—and mywife in the front seat of the ambulance.

I had stayed home until a babysitter could come and be withour other 3 kids. Then I jumped in my car and sped over to the hospital—thathospital I had come to know like the back of my hand.

I barged through the entrance to that slick, clean, brandnew ER. Not a soul was in the waiting room except for the receptionist and asecurity guard. The receptionist’s facefell.

“Are you Dad?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

She picked up her telephone, said a few words under herbreath, and hung up. “The charge nurse will be right out to get you,” she said.

It seemed like forever, but it was only a couple of minutesuntil someone came out. I followed her back through the double doors. As soon as I entered the hallway, I saw another nurse wheeling a bed down thehall with Elli on it. She was draped in a starched white sheet up to her neck,so I could only see her face.

She looked like she was sleeping peacefully, which struck meas horrifyingly strange. Every othertime I had seen her being wheeled down a hall on a hospital bed unconscious,she had a million lines, cords and IVs going into her body. There was none ofthat this time.

That was the moment I was sure we had lost her. She wasgone.

They wheeled her body into one of the brand new triage rooms andpulled a heavy white curtain behind us, so we could be in a private place withher body. One of the nurses stayed in the space at all times. She said she wasnot allowed to leave us alone with her, but that we were free to stay therewith her body as long as we wanted.

Joy and I slumped in chairs next to Elli, weeping andpraying.

They gave us tissues, but I just kept wiping my tears withthe sheet that was draped over Elli's body. A thousand thoughts raced through mymind as we sat right next to the gurney, stroking her forehead, her hair and her hand,which had now grown cold to the touch.

In a moment, the place I had once thought would always be asymbol of personal achievement for me was instantly eclipsed by the pain of losingElli there. I would never see it the former light again.

As we left the hospital today, with Luke happily skippingout ahead of us, the memories were almost too much for Joy and I to bear, had it not been for Christ's new mercies pouring down into the moment.

Myfingerprints may be all over the walls, but our hearts still roam the halls,missing the girl who left us for heaven that day.

We miss you, Elli.

Photo credit

Coming to Terms with [Her] Doubt

2012-01-02T19:13:00.000-08:00

“And have mercy on those who doubt.” — Jude 22

For theChristian, doubt is normal. We experience seasons of doubt about the securityof our souls. We doubt if there’s a heaven, and/or a hell, from time to time.We doubt the Canon, the cross and the credibility of all things unseen. ProminentChristians misbehave, and we feel a strong temptation to dissociate with themby dissociating with God and/or the church altogether. We all have Thomas-liketendencies, and it’s a broad spectrum.

For what it’sworth, my wife and I sit at quite different points on this vast spectrum ofChristian doubt, with me on the more confident end. Sure, I have doubted myfaith at points in my life. I do not wear a cape. But God has been kind to giveme an abiding assurance that He is good, His promises are true, and He is bringingall things to pass in His perfect time and wisdom. Most of the time.

Speaking of Hiswisdom, God united me permanently to a wonderful woman who has, in recent years,been severely dogged by doubt. She shrouded it for the first several years ofour marriage—tagging along on my theological journey with unquestioningaffirmation. We attended Bible conferences and retreats together. We sang duetstogether. We read theology books together. We talked about spiritual things forhours on end. There was no sign that anything was eating her. I was completely clueless.

Then in 2008, tragedyshook the rafters of our relationship, and her insides oozed out. Our8-year-old daughter’s sudden death was a kind of soul-deep explosion that turnedher affirming smile to an accusatory scowl. She began to indict the doctrinesshe’d once affirmed. Safety, it seemed, was something she had always expectedfrom God. He had catastrophically let her down.

Tragedy shatteredher faith into unrecognizable fragments, right before my eyes. It felt like Iwas helplessly watching a priceless vase fall off a table onto a tile floor.

If Elli’s deathwas the explosion, my wife’s spiritual recovery since has been much like the 47reconstructive surgeries for anyone who miraculously survives a blast. She lived.Thank God, she lived. But holding her hand through this process (3 years andcounting) has been marked by slow, steady improvements punctuated bydiscouraging setbacks and turns for the worse. It has not been an easy roadbeing at her bedside, nursing her back to health.

As one who has adifficult time relating to chronic doubt, I first saw hers as a real downer inour relationship. It embittered me, and I did not meet it with grace. To thisday, it can be a mountainous test of my patience and gentleness. I have notbeen the perfect husband. My responses to her doubt have, at times, been heatedand condescending. Sometimes I want to hold her face in my hands and whisper,“Will you just snap out of it?”

But God has beenworking in me as much as He has been working in her. In my own shock,embarrassment, guilt and anger, I have experienced grace that I never thoughtpossible. God’s grace has been sufficient, and has allowed me to spill it overinto her life.

In Jude 22, “Havemercy on those who doubt” refers to people in the church to whom Jude waswriting who stood on shaky spiritual ground after the destructive influence offalse teachers. Forces from without had shaken the foundations of their faith,and they had not made it out unscathed. They were still staggering around the blast site, spiritually disoriented fromtheir injuries. They were victims—yes, victims—who were still recovering from anexplosion. And Jude’s words are like pure gold: “Have mercy on those who doubt.”

If God brings aperson into your life who doubts—whether it’s your spouse, a close friend or afellow church member—treat their doubt like a wound. This is no self-inflictedwound. It is probably collateral damage, shrapnel from a trial that has rattledtheir faith somewhere along the way. Sometimes it takes a long, long time toheal. Infections flare up and take you by surprise when you thought everythingwas better.

Be sure of this: noone enjoys their doubt. They want to work through it as badly as you want themto. As odd as it may sound, sometimes silence is the best counsel you can offersomeone who struggles with doubt. Words—even well thought-out ones—often fallshort. Hug them. Tell them you are there for them, no matter what. And pray for them. We can’t tryto be their Holy Spirit and strong-arm their spiritual growth on our timetable.

Above all, be afriend who is truthful yet tender, patiently waiting for God to work his goodpleasure in them. Love them unconditionally—and tell them you love themunconditionally. Weep with them. And when the time is right, do a happy danceand rejoice with them.

Or better said, “Havemercy on those who doubt.” You will probably find that you grow as much as theydo in the process. It's just like God to work that way.

Pastors, Lead Like There’s No Tomorrow

2011-12-28T14:54:00.000-08:00

Today as I was rummaging through my hard drive, I stumbledupon an old group photo of the small congregation I helped pastor from2005-2009.

There were about 50 of us at church that day, and we all sat on oneside of the auditorium for the photo. It looks like the photo was taken earlyon in that ministry—sometime in 2005.

I smiled as I studied it closely. My children looked so small compared to howthey look today. Some of the adults I see regularly today looked soyoung, including myself.

But as I kept looking at the photo, it went from humorous to haunting as I started to count how many people in the photo are nolonger alive. These were not the oldest ones, either.

For one, our daughter, who is sitting in the very front inher wheelchair with a huge smile, would die in her sleep at age 8 in 2008.

Dave, our preaching Pastor, would die of cancer in 2011, just afew months after being diagnosed in his mid 50s.

Joyce, one of our dear older saints, would go to heaven in 2009 aftera decades-long battle with infections she contracted after a terriblemotorcycle accident in the 60s.

Many of the people in the photo now live in different parts of the country.Pimple-faced kids in the picture are now in college and doing great things.

The photo tells a compelling story about the brevity andtransience of our time on earth. But more than that, it is a chilling reminder of theurgency and the weight of what it means to be a Pastor.

How would Pastors preach, teach, counsel and love with morepassion if they viewed themselves—and their people—as being on the very brinkof eternity?

Far too many of today’s Pastors are out to impress people with their intellect, amuse people with their wit, and shame people with their man-made hobby horses. They have little sense of the urgency or the weightiness of life, death and eternity.

The world needs more Pastors who are dominated by a sense of God’s holiness, their helplessness and Christ’s poweralone to awaken the dead. Broken, tearful pastors who have tasted the grace of Christ, and are humbly extending it to those in their care. Pastors who completely give themselves to the Word they teach, and who are themselves being transformed by it weekafter week. Pastors who passionately study and know the Bible, and who believe in the Holy Spirit's power to changehearts far beyond any great anecdote or illustration can.

I was in the room with some 3,000 other Pastors on April 13,2006, when Dr. John Piper preached the best sermon I have ever heardabout this matter of the urgency and the weight of preaching. I keep this sermon on my iPod,and have listened to it countless times since that night. Tears stream down my face every time I listen to it. I will carry those 52 minutes with me for the rest of my life. I'm telling you, there was something going on in that room that night.

Stories abound of men in that room with me, whose lives were changed permanently when they heard that sermon. Some moved to distant mission fields where Christianity is a crime, and have suffered great loss as a result. It is a sermon that has reverberated with gospel-spreading power in the hearts of countless Pastors.

In lieu of quoting the entire sermon here, I will leave youwith this quote:

“God planned for his Son tobe crucified, and for hell to be terrible, so that we would have the clearestwitnesses possible to what is at stake when we preach. What gives preaching its seriousness is that the mantle of the preacheris soaked with the blood of Jesus and singed with the fire of hell. That’sthe mantle that turns mere talkers into preachers.”

Pastors, preach, teach and love your people like there’s notomorrow. They may not be with you after today.

The Deep, Settled Confidence of Christian Hope

2011-12-23T13:08:00.000-08:00

1 Peter 1:3-5– Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord JesusChrist! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to aliving hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to aninheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven foryou, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation readyto be revealed in the last time.

The other night, Iwas watching some bonus features on our Lordof the Rings DVD. This particular chapter contained interviews with life-longscholars of J.R.R. Tolkien, who talked about the many hardships and traumatic experiencesearly on that shaped Tolkien’s writing later on.

Tolkienexperienced many dark seasons in his life. Both of his parents died well beforehe reached adulthood. He experienced the horrors of war first hand when hefought in World War 1. He watched the belching smoke of the industrialrevolution choke out the pastoral pasturelands that had once surrounded hisneighborhood. The stinging pain of real life and sense of innocence lost pressedhard on Tolkien.

Over theyears, many have tried to allegorize Tolkien’s stories based on his lifeexperiences. For example, they try to say that The One Ring has a directcorrelation to the atomic bomb, and so on. Yet Tolkien hotly denied theseconnections. He spoke ill of allegory, and insisted that allegory was a wasteof time.

Tolkienpreferred the term applicability overallegory. He wrote about universal themesof human existence that every generation experiences in its own way—things like having hope when everything around us seems hopeless.

Knowing from what Ihave read that Tolkien was a born-again believer, I have a degree of confidencethat I can keenly relate to his hermeneutic of hope. Which is why I was botheredby what seemed like one Tolkien scholar’s misrepresentation of the theme ofhope in Tolkien’s writing. Patrick Curry said:

“Despair is for people who know, beyond any doubt, what the future isgoing to bring. Nobody is in that position. So despair is not only a kind ofsin, theologically, but also a simple mistake, because nobody actually knows.In that sense there is always hope.”

In other words, youcan have hope when things seem hopeless because the future is unknowable, andhope just might be lurking somewhere in those folds of uncertainty.

This is thepolar opposite message from 1 Peter, which teaches that my (and Tolkien's) hope is grounded in asure and certain future that was established in Christ before I was ever born.I must not despair because the future is knowable.

1 Peter 1:3-5 shattersthe notion of holding out hope because nobody knows the future. Peter gives me a deep,settled confidence in what the future is going to bring. It's a capital "H" kind of hope based on objective reality.

No matter what trials Iencounter in this life, I have a heavenly inheritance that is imperishable,undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for me. God’s very power is guarding itfor me—a power that is beyond all comprehension.

Can life seemhopeless? Yes. Does the ground beneath me shake and shift? Yes. But, praiseGod, I don’t have to rejoice in the fact that “the great unknown” holds some remotepossibility of hope. THIS would drive me to despair like nothing else.

Inthe movie The Return of the King,Pippin the Hobbit and Gandalf the Wizard are cowering behind a large stone doorthat is being rammed by the enemy, and are awaiting probable death. Here’s their conversation:

Pippen: I didn't think it would end this way.
Gandalf: [smiling] End? No, the journey doesn't end here Deathis just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain curtain of thisworld rolls back. And all turns to silver glass. And then you see it.
Pippen: What, Gandalf? See what?
Gandalf: White shores. And beyond, a far green country undera swift sunrise.
Pippen: Well, that isn't so bad.
Gandalf: No. No, it isn't.

I think that’s the kind of hope Tolkien is bringing to bear in his books. A hope that can weather uncertain times because of a certain future. A hope that can endure temporaryaffliction in the forward-looking joy of a permanent inheritance.

This is no fool’s hope. It was Tolkien’s hope. It’s the Christian’s hope. And nothing can take it away.

In THAT sense, there is always hope.

Image credit.

Grace to Disobey

2011-12-19T12:06:00.000-08:00

Romans 6:12-14 — Letnot sin therefore reign in your mortal body, to make you obey its passions. Donot present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but presentyourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and yourmembers to God as instruments for righteousness. For sin will have no dominionover you, since you are not under law but under grace.

The book of Romans teaches us that being a Christian doesnot mark the end of the battle against indwelling sin. Rather, it marks thebeginning.

In fact, one of the ways we can be confident we are Christ’s is thestrong inner sense that we are engaged in a very real and difficult struggle against indwelling sin—astruggle that didn’t exist before we were saved.

As a new creature in Christ, I still have my sin nature whileI’m in this body. This sin nature is like an ousted king that has not been completelybanished. It is running haplessly about the courtyard, doingeverything it can to convince my members to obey it rather thanChrist, who is the new King.

Even though it’s no longer on the throne, sin can stillsucceed at grassroots efforts to persuade me to obey its passions.Knowing it can no longer work from the top down, it finds ways to work from thebottom up. Still learning and growing in wisdom, I frequently fall for its sordid ponzi schemes.

Romans 6 teaches me about sin’s new mode of operation in mybody. It is making every effort to take back its former reign, with the classic lure of short-termsatisfaction. It tries to twist good and healthy desires into turncoat desiresthat betray their rightful and intended use. It makes empty promises aboutquick and dirty delights that never satisfy, when King Jesus promises fullness of joy in His presence, and pleasures forevermore at His right hand (Psalm 16:11).

Like a caring father, Paul is telling me to hang up on sin. Slam the door in its face. Force Quit the application. Walk another way. Look away. Stiff-arm it. It’s a scam, a very persuasive scam that wants to take me down.

In a word, Scott, disobey.And if it persists past the first attempt (which it most likely will), grab itby the scruff of the neck and drag it out into the light. Sin’s best-keptsecret is that it thrives on darkness and secrecy. Ephesians 5:11 says, “Take no part in the unfruitful works ofdarkness, but instead expose them.” The power of a secret sin is severely hamstrung when others are aware of it, and can help fuel my resolve to disobey it.

Sin’s power isreal, and it is unrelenting. It may win a battle here and there, but it willnot win the war. With Christ on the throne of my new heart, I have far deeper delights to behold. I have divine grace to help me withstand sin's whispers. And I have other believers to encourage me in thebattle.

Thank you, Lord,for the manifold grace you give. Grace to disobey.

The Side of Me You Probably Don't Know About

2011-12-16T05:51:00.000-08:00

It's Friday, so I thought I would take a break from meditations to share some of my impersonations. This is video from last Sunday night, where I continued a long-standing tradition that began in the early 2000s.

Impersonating voices and sound effects has always been a part of me. My earliest memory of this was hearing my dad impersonate Paul Harvey's famous, "Good day" at the end of his program. I thought that was cool, so I started doing it. And I've been impersonating nearly everything I hear ever since.

It wasn't until about 2002 that I performed the "12 Days of Christmas" in 12 different voices at my church's Christmas celebration called Cookies & Carols. It was a big hit, and I have been asked to perform it every year since.

So without further ado...

Asaph's "Occupy" Moment

2011-12-13T04:40:00.000-08:00

Psalm 73:12 – Behold, these are the wicked; always at ease, they increase in riches.

On my way to the bus stop this morning, I heard an NPR story about the latest Occupy protests in California.

It was like I was really there.

The correspondent was on location, narrating the whole chaotic scene. A group of protesters were dragging shards of sheet metal and wood palettes onto the only access road leading to a main port of entry. The road began to clog with tractor trailers. The correspondent struggled to be heard over the hoots and hollers, car horns and cheers.

Like most, I've been observing the Occupy demonstrations from a distance. I'm also employed, which colors my outlook on what's going on.

It's not productive for me to dissect the inner workings of Occupy, and the chief motives of its organizers. My responsibility is to examine my heart to discern how I would respond if I ever had to walk the path of extended unemployment, or financial ruin, in today's rattled financial climate.

I'm sure that, like them, I would be driven to tearfully ask God in the night watches, "Why does Wall Street wallow in prosperity while the honest, hard-working citizens suffer?"

The Bible is not silent on this kind of complaint. In Psalm 73, Asaph articulates a similar inner turmoil that the 99% are experiencing today. And what's best, he responds to it in a beautiful, God-centered way that serves as a model for how we as Christ's people should respond.

In the first half of the psalm, he describes a very Occupy-esque scene. It's his raw, naked complaint about the inequity he sees between the disproportionate prosperity of the wicked and the tooth-and-nail struggles of the upright.

"They are not in trouble like others are; they are not stricken like the rest of mankind."

"Their eyes swell out through fatness; their hearts overflow with follies."

Then about halfway through, Asaph reaches a stunning turning point. He goes "into sanctuary ofGod," and it changes his entire outlook. Through communion with God, the scales start to fall from hiseyes and, by faith, he sees more clearly.

Communion brought clarity to Asaph's confusion, and moved him to a spontaneous overflow of worship. His concluding words coming out of that communion are some of the most beautiful words in the Bible:

Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, that I may tell of all your works.

None of us are immune to joblessness. Financial woes do not discriminate, and can strike at any moment. I could be out of work tomorrow. We're all one conversation away from this path. Or perhaps one shadow on the X-ray away.

But O God, before I hurl that first shard of sheet metal into oncoming traffic, may I run to your Word and rehearse Asaph's progression from complaint to communion to clarity to worship. And may I find worship to be the far sweeter alternative to bitter public protest.

I thank God for the priceless gift of Psalm 73. In it, He reminds me that I am not alone, He is still on His throne, and is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Do you believe this?

Baa, Baa, Baa. I'm a Little Sheep.

2011-12-12T18:25:00.000-08:00

Psalm 37:4 – Delight yourself in the Lord,
and He will give you the desires of your heart.

Have you ever caught yourself subconsciously mapping out mileposts of delight in your future?

I do.

Let me explain. Christmas is coming. Then my birthday is next month. Then three weeks later is a 3-day weekend.Then four months later we go on vacation. Then I have a 3-paycheck month inAugust. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It seems that without having something—even silly things—tolook forward to, I seem to have less strength to persevere in the here-and-now.

I pop empty promises like breath mints, expecting them to be filling.

The ironyof “looking out” at life’s little events with deep longing is that it'sessentially “looking down.”

Earth-bound delights, no matter how far off, were nevermeant to provide permanent satisfaction. I know this because when those long-awaitedmileposts finally do come, I find that they fall short of quenching my desires the way I thought they would.

Stomach flus strike on birthdays. Kids bicker in the van onvacations. Leaky roofs rob our discretionary income.

Yet my natural tendency is to desire fickle delights. I am a sheep, fixated on the clump of grass directly in front of me, failing tolook past it to the vast horizon beyond the rolling prairie. When the green grasswilts, I bleat in the night. At some level, I lose heart.

In two words, Bennett, look up. That hollow echo in your heart forpermanent delight was made for what only God can satisfy. Those clumps of grassin front of you—the birthday, the vacation, the extra paycheck—are merepunctuation points that by themselves cannot tell the whole story.

Every goodand perfect gift comes from above, and should be enjoyed. But they should also pointme to the Father of Lights, with whom there is no shadow of turning, who hasgiven it all.

Psalm 37:4 is the opposite of how I tend to think about things. Offirst importance, I need to cultivate a superior delight in the Lord. How? By ruminatingon the preciousness of the Gospel. By meditating on God’s attributes—His love,his immutability, His mercy, His grace.

I find that over time, the thingsof earth gradually grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace. My heart is slowly and stubbornly starting to desire most highly what the Most High wants, and less of whatI used to so badly want.

That’s a kind of delight that doesn't disappoint.

A Prayer to the God of All Comfort

2011-12-07T18:56:00.001-08:00

Father, You are good when You give,
You are good when You take away,
When the sun shines upon us,
When night gathers over us,

You have loved us from before the foundation of theworld,
In love you have redeemed our souls;
And You love us still,
In spite of our hard hearts, our ingratitude, our failure to trust You as weshould.

Father, Your goodness and Your lovingkindness has been such an ever-present helpand comfort to us over the past year,
You have led me and many others among us though a twisted wilderness,
In our deepest sorrows, you have picked us up to rejoice in the morning,
When tempted, You have helped us to overcome in the power of Your might.

Father, we know that Your sovereign hand has been, and will be with usalways;
And together we join our hearts together with joyful resolve,
Knowing that You are the blessed pilot of our collective future, just as Youhave been the pilot of our collective past.

Father, we bless Your Name that You have veiled our eyes to the watersahead.

You are so kind in having hidden ways that are infinitelyhigher than our ways

So Lord, we trust that if You have appointed storms of tribulation to come,
You will be with us in them;
If we have to pass through tempests of persecution and temptation,
We will not drown;
If we are to die,
We will see Your face all the more soon;
If a painful end is in store for any one of us,
Grant us grace that our faith not fail;

Blessed God of all comfort, glorify Yourself in us whetherin comfort or trial,
And as Your chosen vessels, please God, make us fit for Your use.

This we pray in the Name of Your most Holy and perfect andblameless Son Jesus Christ,

Amen.