A Human Being First and a Husband Second

Jim was in his late sixties when he was admitted to hospice for brain cancer. He was tall and lanky; well over six feet tall. He was bald from surgery and chemotherapy and unable to talk. During my initial visit Jim sat silently folded into his wheelchair. His appearance disguised his accomplishments and abilities, but his wife, Mary made sure I knew what kind of man he’d been. She informed me, “He was a brilliant man. He was strong- willed and self-disciplined. He was gifted in mathematics and sciences; he was a chemist and the nationwide quality control director for a large corporation.”

After reviewing the challenges that she and Jim had experienced because of Jim’s cancer, Mary concluded, “You can learn a lot from hard times if you are willing. Other people can be your teachers. And you can learn as much from bad examples as you can from good ones. You can learn what not to do.”

Naturally, I asked Mary what she’d learned through Jim’s illness and she paused a few seconds to reflect and concluded, “I’ve learned to look at Jim as a human being first and a husband second, because you expect more from a husband than you do a human being.” Mary’s statement stopped me in my tracks. As she continued talking I struggled to stay connected, to listen. I felt immediately compelled to inventory my relationships. Who have I failed to see as a human being first? Upon whom have I laid unrealistic expectations, and why?

I’m reminded of Jesus’ rebuke of the legalistic, hypocritical Pharisees of His day; “They bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers (Matthew 23:4) Let’s admit it, we do the same thing today, don’t we? We “bind heavy burdens”, in the form of unrealistic expectations, and lay them on the shoulders of our spouses, our children, our parents, our friends, our pastors, our physicians etc. We expect more from them than we do from a human being.

Tim Keller, the pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Manhattan wrote a powerfully penetrating and enlightening book titled, “Counterfeit Gods”, in which he explores and reveals the roots of our unrealistic expectations. His words spoke so strongly to me that what I write from this point on feels like I’m flirting with plagiarism. But I’ve written them on the tablet of my heart and they now feel like a part of me. So I give Tim Keller credit for any good thing you may receive from this point on.

Tim Keller contends that the human heart is an “Idol factory”; that we take “good things” like romance, love, marriage, family, approval, personal success, health, beauty, and material possessions and turn them into “ultimate things”.

These good things can become our idols, our “counterfeit gods”. An idol is anything we consider essential to our happiness and fulfillment other than God. How many times have you said to yourself, “I’d be happy if…If I only had…..if I could only…If they would only ...”?

Tim Keller concludes that no human being, husband, wife, child, or parent can stand up “under the crushing weight of our divine expectations…No human being is qualified for that role…and the inevitable result is bitter disillusionment”. You see, when we turn a “good thing” into an “ultimate thing” we always end up disappointed; because they can never live up to our expectations. And in the light of truth, in the light of who we are, who others are and who God is, it’s not only insane, it’s unfair.

The subtle danger lies in that idols are almost always good things. But freedom isn’t found by no longer loving and appreciating the good things, but in loving God so much more that we don’t become “enslaved by our attachments”. For we all worship something and whatever we worship we serve. Therefore, our idols can’t just be removed they must be replaced, “supplanted by God himself…not as a hedge against failure. Not as one more resource to use to help us achieve our agendas…He is a whole new agenda.”

In conclusion, I challenge us to identify our “counterfeit gods” Then maybe we can see others as human beings first; and maybe we’ll wise up and stop going to dry wells for a drink of water.

My people have committed two evils. They have forsaken Me, the Fountain of Living Water. And they have hewn themselves cisterns, broken cisterns that hold no water. (Jeremiah 2:13)

What If You Jump?

Carlos was admitted to hospice for lung cancer at age eighty-two. Carlos was a devoted Kiwanis Club member. Four years earlier, when Carlos’ wife, Pearl, was still living and on hospice, he roped me into speaking at his Kiwanis club luncheon. Carlos didn’t have to tug very hard though; because I’ve always been thankful for the New Boston Kiwanis Club. You see, they sponsored our high school National Honor Society and managed the low-income apartments where I lived for about a year while in college.

Harold, the Kiwanis apartment manager back then, taught me some painfully valuable lessons about “choices and consequences”. I remember the day he knocked on my apartment door, apartment L-2, and said, “You’re evicted! And I want you out of here right now!” I defiantly, and overly confidently, declared, “I’m not leaving! You can’t make me! I know my rights!” Well, later that same evening Harold was at my door again, this time accompanied by a New Boston police officer. I moved out the next day. I think that’s all I better say about that.

When Carlo’s daughter, Vicki, shared the following story with me, I knew I had to pass it on. Vicki recounted: “It was about fourteen years ago, back when mom just got saved and was studying the Bible a lot…Mom had only been a Christian for about a year. She and dad got saved at the same time…When my granddaughter, Kelsey, was about a year old; mom and I were in the back yard watching the kids play. We were standing by the back porch.” Carlos added, “I built that porch. It was a small porch with an awning over it.” Vicki continued; “Mom and I were talking and all at once Kelsey jumped off the porch towards me. I turned around real fast just in time to catch her. Mom said, ‘That’s the kind of faith that God wants us to have in Him; the willingness to jump to Him, to trust Him to catch us.’”

Pearl’s profound realization reminds me of a song by Nicole Nordaman titled, “What If”: “What if you’re right and He’s just another nice guy? What if it’s true; they say the cross will only make a fool out of you…? What if you pick apart the logic and begin to poke the holes? What if the crown of thorns is no more than a folklore that must be told…? But what if you’re wrong; what if there’s more?

What if there’s hope that you’ve never dreamed of hoping for? What if you jump; just close your eyes? What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?”

My eviction from the Kiwanis apartments, some thirty-eight years ago now, was a part of a series of events that lead me to the edge of a cliff. I was defiant, empty, desperate, directionless, guilty and ashamed. To complicate my situation, at age sixteen I had decided that I would never depend upon or trust anyone again, that I’d make it on my own.

But at the age of nineteen I wasn’t making it. It was then that a caring person simply told me, “Loren, Jesus loves you and I wish you had what I have.” I could see it in her eyes, in her countenance, that she had something that I didn’t, something that I longed for. I didn’t know how or where to get it, but I was self-determined to find it. So I started searching.

One night at five o’clock in the morning, alone in my bedroom, after reading the Bible for five hours, I gave up and cried, “God I can’t do it. If I’m gonna be saved, you’re gonna have to do it for me! I decided to give God one more chance and I opened the Bible and read, “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find, knock and the door will be opened to you…”(Matthew 7:7-9). I thought, “Surely it can’t be that easy. Surely I have to do more than just ask?” Then I prayed, “God, either this is true or you are a liar. And if it’s true, then it’s true for me. So I’m taking you at your word. I’m asking.” That night I “jumped” and the arms that caught me caught me by surprise. For I didn’t think anybody would ever love and accept me just the way I was.

And now I’m here telling you, “Jesus loves you and I wish you had what I have. And I’m asking you, “What if you jump?”

It's What You Didn't Do

David was a self employed business man; a logger and saw mill owner. He was in his mid-fifties when he was referred to Hospice due to terminal cancer. I expected him to be rugged, strong, reserved and self-reliant. But I was wrong, as I frequently am when I form preconceived ideas, just figments of my imagination.

I made my first home visit and David answered the door. He was about 5’8” tall, medium built, muscular, and dressed in blue uniform type pants and a white tee-shirt. His hand shake was firm and enthusiastic. I found him rugged but gentle, strong but humble and giving God the credit for everything good in his life. Tears filled his eyes as he talked about his family and friends, God’s love for him and his love for God. He was animated when sharing his vision of Heaven and how thankful he was that he would be going there.

Over the next few weeks David shared freely about many things, but one thing in particular made an indelible, sobering mark upon my conscience. One day Dave’s typically exuberant expression suddenly paled as he looked me in the eyes, as if to say, “Pay attention. I’m about to tell you something very important”. He then soberly reflected: “Sometimes you might be working and out of nowhere the thought comes to you, ‘I wander how old Jim is doing. I haven’t seen him for a long time. I should drive around the ridge to see him.’ But you put it off. A couple of weeks go by and again you think, ‘I wander how Jim’s doing. I really need to stop and see him.’ But you get busy and again you put it off. A few more weeks go by and you run into Jim in town. You look each other in the eye and you both feel that something’s come between you and it’s not anything either of you did, it’s what you didn’t do.”

I casually tuned into a radio broadcast by Dr. David Jeremiah this week (WCDR, 88.3). It was the first of a two part series on procrastination. He quoted a poem by Charles Town which ushered me back several years to those wonderful conversations with Dave. As you read the poem you’ll understand why: “Around the corner I have a friend, in this great city that has no end. Yet days go by and weeks rush on, and before I know it a year is gone. And I never see my old friend’s face, for life is a swift and terrible race. He knows I like him just as well as in the days when I rang his bell, and he rang mine. We were younger then. And now we are busy and tired men; tired with playing a foolish game; tired with trying to make a name. Tomorrow, I say, I’ll call on Jim, just to show him that I’m thinking of him. Tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes, and the distance between us grows and grows. Around the corner yet miles away, here’s a telegram, ‘Jim died today’. And that’s what we get and deserve in the end, around the corner a vanished friend.”

Need I write more? I don’t think so.

I just Can't Stand To See Him That Way

I’d known Delbert since he was a teenager. He was a few years younger than me and was a friend of my younger brother. Delbert had a legitimate reputation as a rebel. I visited Delbert, as a fellow New Bostonian, at the hospital when he was first diagnosed with cancer. And Delbert, like most people with a terminal illness, was taking inventory of what he really believed. He was searching for God but ended up being the one who was found.

Over the next ten years I ran into Delbert here and there. He always greeted me with an enthusiastic, “How are you doing brother!” And before you knew it, he was testifying about how good God had been to him. He was never ashamed of the “Gospel of Christ” (Romans 1:15-18). You see, Delbert’s was a real transformation, a reformation, not a “fox hole” type of religion.

My last encounter with Delbert was a little more formal. He was referred to Hospice for colon cancer at age 39. But he was the same old Delbert, still talking about how good God had been to him. You know, it’s natural to praise God on the mountain tops, but it’s an altogether different climate and experience when walking in “the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23). The most inspiring people I’ve known are the ones that claim, like Job, “Though He slay me yet will I trust Him”. (Job 13:15)

Delbert shared that the thing he missed the most because of being house bound was seeing his “buddies”. His wife commented, “The guys he was closest to haven’t even stopped to see him. They act like there’s nothing wrong.” Delbert added, “You know, I’m really surprised that my buddies haven’t stopped to see me yet. I thought for sure they would be here.” Delbert’s wife attempted to console him, “Honey, they said they just couldn’t stand to see you like this.” But the proffered consolation provided little relief for Delbert’s disappointment and sense of abandonment.

Delbert’s situation is all too familiar. How many times have we heard people contest, “I just can’t stand to see him that way”? As a matter of fact, three years earlier, Delbert’s father was a hospice patient. He was retired, and like many retirees, he met at the same restaurant every morning for coffee with his buddies. Eventually he also became house bound and admitted to me, “I really thought my buddies would have stopped to see me by now.” His wife added, “They never stop to see him. If they only knew how much it hurt him. The counter girl told me she always cries when she sees him come in the store. She says she just can’t stand to see him that way. But how does she think it makes him feel?” Delbert’s father concluded, “They’re shit heads, that’s the way I look at it!” I considered censoring his comment, but I decided it needs to be stated, unvarnished, with all its intensity. We need to hear it the way it is.

I’m reminded of what my old friend Loyal said when I asked him what it was like to have cancer. He replied, “I feel like I’m out of the stream of life.” During the construction of the Hoover Dam, the engineers temporarily redirected the Colorado River by dynamiting a new channel through solid rock. If they could redirect the Colorado River, surely we can redirect our lives so our friends and family don’t feel, “out of the stream of life”.

“Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. (Philippians 2:1-4)