Touched by a Friend's Concern

You never know how much someone cares about you until something goes wrong. Time after time in my life I have been amazed when people I barely knew expressed concern when something unfortunate occurred in my life. When I recently said goodbye to my Sunday school class at church to become a teacher in another class down the hall, I hoped that it wouldn’t change the closeness I felt with my former classmates. Apparently it has not. It all started recently when, on a Sunday morning before class started, Mike and Gary were engaged in a deep conversation about a recent mishap. When Bruce overhead some of the details, he joined in. “Have you heard about Rusty?” Mike inquired while looking at Bruce. “No, what’s wrong?” answered Bruce, as the anticipation of unfortunate news formed a sizable lump in his throat. Mike glanced at Gary then returned his gaze to Bruce, looking him straight in the eye as he spoke. “We found Rusty lying in Gary’s front yard the other day,” Mike began. “Gary rushed over to him and I ran over from next door when I saw what was going on. When we reached him he was listless and unresponsive.” I’ve known Mike, Gary, and Bruce for about a year and a half now. I was told their concern for the situation was moving to everyone who listened in on the conversation. Bruce seemed especially upset and disturbed. I shake hands with Bruce most every Sunday morning and we share pleasantries when time allows. Bruce is known for uttering impressively profound insights in Sunday School, which has heightened my respect for him. And as a result of the aforementioned situation, I discovered that Bruce feels strongly about me as well. And for that I am thankful. “Well, tell me what happened!” demanded Bruce, slightly agitated that the church members hadn’t been informed of the situation immediately. Gary quickly answered, “When we couldn’t get a response from him, we decided we needed to get him somewhere immediately. We placed a blanket around him and put him in the front of my truck and rushed him to the doctor, who instantly sent him on to the hospital. Obviously you haven’t heard, but he was there for three days. They hooked him to an IV and put him on some antibiotics. They think it was some type of toxic shock or E coli but to be honest, they weren’t really sure.” By this point Bruce was horrified. His concern for a Christian brother was touching to all who were privy to the conversation. I was told later that Bruce was nearly at the point of tears. Again, it was heartwarming to know that someone who many might consider a casual acquaintance would express such a genuine and deep concern for me. However, Gary began to sense that Bruce’s concern was deeper than the situation dictated. “Uh, Bruce,” he said, “You do realize we are talking about Rusty, my dog, don’t you?” Tension-breaking laughter filled the room as it became clear that Bruce’s concerns had been misdirected. And they all couldn’t wait to tell me all about it, which they did. By the way, Rusty the dog was released after three days and is doing well. Both Bruce and I are relieved and now we are closer than ever.

Believing that God is Bigger Than Anything Requires Faith

The purpose of this week’s column is to remind you that God is good and He is always in control. Actually, it’s more to remind me of that truth than it is you. But since it has become somewhat of a responsibility of mine to make sense of things that don’t always make sense, I feel the need to share my inner struggles with you this week.

I had another column on another subject all typed out and ready to go just before deadline time. But when it came time to press the send button on my computer, I just couldn’t do it. My heart and the hearts of a number of fine folks in my community are heavy at the time.

This past week, the Gardner-Webb family lost a valuable member. Dan Goodman made people smile. He inspired them. He encouraged them. And when his students gave less than their best, he challenged them.

Because our sons are friends and played on several teams together, I was able to sit with or near Dan on occasion at sporting events. We needled the refs occasionally but always in a good-natured way that produced smiles in return instead of resentment. Dan had a sense of humor that produced a lion’s share of laughter during his short lifetime.

Beloved by his students, respected by his colleagues, and adored by his family, this man of God most certainly is in the presence of Almighty God as you read this. I kept reminding myself of that fact at the chapel service on the day of his passing. My heart breaks for his family but good ole’ Dan is living it up with his Savior at the moment.

But those of us here are left with more questions than answers. The essence of the Christian faith is the acceptance that God is in control, even when happenings here on Earth make absolutely no sense to us. How can a 40-year-old man who I saw almost every day playing tennis with his sons be taken away in an instant? Like many other questions that have perplexed me in my lifetime, I am left with no satisfying answers. I simply cling to a faith that trusts my Creator to have a greater plan and a clearer picture than the blurry one I am forced to peer into.

What words can I offer my son when two of his friends have lost their fathers within the last few weeks? How do I answer the question “Why?” I don’t have answers- I can only share with him that faith is believing that God is bigger than anything.

It makes me ache for those who don’t have faith in God. I have no idea how folks without faith cope. I’m not judgmental of them and I certainly don’t look down upon them. I just wonder how in the world a person handles tragedy, heartbreak, or the storms of life without the assurance of the Father’s love in their life?

I am simply too afraid to live without faith. If so, I would be basing my hope in life on some vague definition of fate, chance, odds, or luck.

I’ll admit I’ve been a little confused this week. But I know this much. God is still in control. And for that I am thankful.

Going Nuts During the Holidays

For the 45th consecutive year of my life, I survived the holiday season. Christmas. New Years. All that cheer and good tidings. But the gaiety of the season is not that of which I speak. My survival story concerns my body’s lifelong propensity to be adversely affected by the consumption of nuts. Not all nuts. Peanuts I can handle. A doctor once told me that a peanut is more of a bean than it is a nut. Whatever. My major nemesis is the infamous Brazil nut, whose mere appearance disgusts me. Other nuts such as cashews and almonds are lesser enemies of mine, but the mighty Brazil variety of nut has nearly done me in twice. But that’s another column for another time. It seems that people want to put nuts in just about everything sweet, especially during the holidays. Nuts show up in various sorts of pies, cakes, and cookies. They’re lumped in there with pretzels and Chex mix a lot. They’re in banana bread and fruit cakes. I’m ecstatic that fruit cakes have nuts. It gives me a built in excuse to politely decline when offered a slice. My nut allergy has caused me considerable social uneasiness at times. Hosts and hostesses’ faces have burned with embarrassment on more than one occasion when they realized everyone would be having dessert except me. I once ate a piece of pecan pie in a social situation where I felt as though I had no choice. I didn’t die but my throat hurt for a while. But since Brazil nuts are potentially fatal for me- and the aforementioned almonds and cashews are close behind- I have learned to be socially brash at times and demand to know the ingredients of particular delicacies. And I was doing fine until one time in college, a girl I was dating at the time invited me to dinner with the parents and grandparents. Until that night, I never dreamed anyone would place almonds in my green beans. I realized my ignorance just as I was about to swallow my first bite. In front of Grandma and my future not-to-be in-laws, I spat a mouthful of salivated food into my napkin in time to preserve my existence long enough to eventually meet and marry another. Grandma giggled but nobody else was impressed. Recently I spoke to a group of about 150 men. As the speaker, I was allowed to eat first. I was in the middle of an excellent conversation and a sparkling piece of spice cake when I realized I had misjudged the ingredients contained therein. I excused myself to the men’s room and stared at my face, fully expecting it to break out in whelps as I watched. However, the only reaction I had was a tightening of the chest and that irritating scratchiness you get in your mouth and throat when you’ve got Strep. I visited my mental happy place for the next thirty minutes and went on with the show, though I expect my ratings were low. So there you have it. I have survived another season of holiday cheer and baking. If I can convince folks to stop adding nuts to asparagus, pork tenderloin, rice, salad, rocky road ice cream, candied apples, and banana bread- I’ll be okay for the rest of the year.

New Year's Resolutions Easier to Make Than Keep

New Year’s Resolutions. Easy to make. Hard to keep. I checked last year’s list and I went six for ten. My failures included: watching a news feature on Britney Spears for more than ten seconds; not putting on sunscreen every time I ventured out in sunlight; occasionally allowing the water to run while brushing my teeth; missing a couple games of the American Legion World Series and Regionals in Shelby. (I gave out a little after midnight during the game that lasted until 3:30 a.m.) Undaunted, I have decided to try again in 2009. Besides, 2008 was declared the Year of Planet Earth, the year of the potato, and the year of the frog. Russia started misbehaving again, Castro let his brother take over Cuba, and frozen water was discovered on Mars. Someone has declared 2009 the year of Natural Fibers. Boring stuff. 2009 needs my resolutions to liven it up a bit. Herewith, I now present my resolves for the coming year: 1. I will not foolishly view the sun with my naked eyes when the total solar eclipse occurs on July 22. I will, however, use my son’s welding helmet if: 1) I am assured by experts it is safe and 2) He lets me. 2. I will not change my hairstyle in an attempt to duplicate the goofy one sported by the embattled governor of Illinois. First, I would have to buy a wig of some sort and second, I can’t afford a wig the way the economy is right now. (And I won’t be his reelection campaign manager, either.) 3. I will make sure someone other than my nine-year-old son is watching if and when I make that bell ring at the Fair or carnival. You know, the one where you hit the square with a sledge hammer. I did it on the first try with J.T. watching but it took me until the sixteenth try to do it again. I had a nice crowd of onlookers for attempts three through fourteen, most of who were laughing at me, not with me. 4. No matter what victories the team I coach may achieve, I will not agree to shave my head, get a tattoo, grow a beard, shave my chest, get a Mohawk, pierce any part of my body, or grow a handlebar moustache. (The boys made a great run last year but fortunately, I had not agreed in advance to any sort of ludicrousness.) 5. I will not fall into the trap of overconfidence concerning the plummeting price of gasoline. Thus I will fix the flat tire on my bicycle and prepare it for battle in case those pesky Arabs start misbehaving again. 6. And finally, I will thank my Father above every day that I have a job. And I will try my best to go on at least one mission trip, though I don’t deserve the blessings it brings. And I will sing praises to God every chance I get, despite the fact I sound like a pig in heat when I attempt harmony of any sort. There you have it. Maybe this is the year I can keep them all. If all goes well I won’t go crazy and have to get a tattoo that says, “I’m wearing these glasses because I looked at the sun during an eclipse.”