ANSWERLESS-QUESTIONS and WHAT-IFS

ANSWERLESS-QUESTIONS and WHAT-IFS

Why do we torture ourselves with AQ’s and WI’s (answerless questions and what-ifs)?!  And, then there are also PA’s (pat-answers – [why do they call them “pat” answers?]) that are applied, as some sort of “dollar store salves” on some egregious “cancer”, hoping to find relief from the pain!

Life, in this messed-up world, is far from perfect?!  Sand has been kicked into the gears and His precision machine lurches and grinds along, for now.  When there is a bump, or a thud, or even a Wheel that comes off, we ask, even implore, “WHY?!”  We want answers.  Life needs to make sense.  We find ourselves off-balance, stumbling around, in the dark.  “… why did she leave me …?”  “…shy did my baby have to die …?!”  “… I thought that I would retire from that job; why did my job go away …?”  on and on …

Next (or, maybe first for tender hearts) we begin to wonder what we did wrong!  “… was there some sin?   … that is why I am being punished?!”  “ … if only I had (done something else) …?!”  “… if I had gone straight rather than turning …?!”  “… if only I had prayed more, more seriously, more often …”  what if … what if …

God above must have a tear tracing down his cheek.  To the patriarch, Job, came “friends” whom the Lord eventually muted with the accusing “…“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?”  (Job 38:2)  People mean well, I guess;  but, an open ear and shut mouth are often the best medicine for what ails another.  “… God has a plan …”  “… time heals all …”  -- Agh!  The Snake comes to kill, still, and destroy!  The Lamb of God came to give us life!  Abundant life!  There are hard theological questions, maybe some with no answers, at least not easy answers.   

Ironically, as I sit here writing this, little Hannah mumbles, “… why did the baby have to die?”  I do not know.   She is knee deep in an I-Pad game, but her five year old heart asks a fathomless question.  Now she is giggling as she watches her brother play another video game.  “… we will get through this …” (with Heaven’s help)

“God help us.”

EMPTINESS

EMPTINESS

“Lord, fill the void.  Emptiness expands, controls, overwhelms.  Fill the darkness with light; fill the cold with warmth; fill the aching hollow with your Spirit of peace and joy …”

Such was my prayer as I lay awake, sleepless in a borrowed bed, the lower bunk in two of my grandkids’ room.  In another room were their grieving parents.  Beside me was my restless wife, rehearsing the day’s stress-filled events.  And a single word, “emptiness”, keeps reverberating in my mind.  There is so much emptiness. 

“Stillborn” is a word I have read somewhere.  I have even done one SIDS funeral for some un-churched, near-strangers who needed a preacher.  But, yesterday, 08/23/16, this word took on deep, ominous, life-sucking meaning – my grandson had no heartbeat at his 8-month prenatal check-up.  Less than two weeks ago the ultrasound revealed a bouncing baby boy.  But, it seems he had turned one too many flips in the womb, rejoicing, celebrating, anticipating the life ahead of him.  His lifeline became too constricted to connect him to his life-giving mother.  My DNL asked the fretting nurse, “… you are not getting a heartbeat, are you?”  There would be a birth, but “nothing to look forward to …” (in the words of his disappointed, confused dad.)

Empty arms – “why didn’t I hold him, as my wife did in the delivery ward?!”

Empty baby bed – no need to be quiet to keep from waking the baby.

Empty hearts, aching with unfathomable despair and answerless questions.

Empty forms – no birth-certificate for a “stillborn”?!

Another empty form  – funeral home records with “baby-boy Cornelson” in the name blank, to which his dad insisted it be changed to “Nathanael Isaiah Cornelson”

An empty 1st-grade desk in a few years.

An empty short-stop position?!

An empty valedictory slot in 2034?! (I know, somebody else will fill some of these; but it will not be Nathanael)

An empty seat at the dining room table, in the fishing boat, in Sunday School cradle-roll class

An empty spot in some future Baptism Sunday … (a free ticket for this “guileless son of Israel”)

Empty numbers – no SAT score; no SS number; no GPA, no cell-phone number, no employee clock number  …

An empty atmosphere?! maybe it is just the claustrophobic bunk bed, but I lay here suffocating as I try to go to sleep …

We fill these first few empty days with cathartic chatter, with therapeutic toil, with distracting doodling, … whatever seems to help with the emptiness.

“Gracious Father, fill our hearts with hope, fill our days with visions of love, fill our minds with faith in joyful reunion with lost loved ones.”

Nathanael, we will meet again!  That is not an empty promise!

For now, "we will get through this …"

GOLDEN DIRT ROAD

the golden dirt road

been to Walmart this morning after our "date" to McD's and Dirt Cheap, waiting for Melanie to grocery shop, looking through the $5 CD display -- found John Denver's Greatest Hits!  "... we have that, I think ..."  "... don't care; buying it ..."

now, I am jotting down a few thoughts at my laptop, as Melanie sings along with John in the kitchen, putting up the mark-down meat she found.  She knows the words to every song!  taking us back to the '70's ... Time is ticking away.  Nostalgia is such a powerful tug on the heart!  taking us back to when we were just dating...

ever seen "What Dreams May Come"?  in this movie, the afterlife is whatever you personally imagine it to be, different for each individual, depending on their earth-life experiences.  reminds me of a small-group Bible talk I did once, mentioning that, for me, Heaven would be BBQ and bluegrass music -- to which one dear sister, from a different ethnic background, retorted, "... sounds more like Hell, to me!"  we all just laughed.

But, I sit here, listening to Melanie and John harmonize, wondering what a dirt road looks like with golden gravel and dust?  "... take me home, country roads ..."  Look for me and Mel at the end of a golden dirt road, admiring the garden of God, sipping on some ice tea on our front porch ... remembering poems, prayers, and promises ... the sunshine makes me happy ...  now this is a real "rocky mountain high"! ...

thank you, Jesus, for the place you have prepared for me!

.

The Anvil

The Anvil

            I sat there, alone, in the stillness of the quiet, dark shop.  Absent were all the sounds, smells, and commotion that filled the place every day.  Rather than enjoy the rest, I was fussing, fuming and fighting with myself.  Why?  Why was this my lot?  My place?  Surely, I was meant for something else?

            Gone were the customers; but, I could still hear them bragging, posturing, comparing, competing.  “… check out this biodag Smithie made for me!  Now, that’s a dirk...”  “... agh!  Just take a look at this claidheamohmor Smithie sold me!  Now, that is quality ...”  “... would you just get out of the way;  I need this plow repaired ...”   On and on and on it goes!  The hammering.  The noise.  The heat and smoke ...

            But, I am just an anvil.  My top is smooth from all the banging.  The hammers get all the action.  I just sit here, atop this block, and absorb the impacts.  The tools are repaired.  The knives are carefully fashioned into desired weapons.  But, I am “just an anvil”?!

            Daylight is peeking in through the shop door.  And, there is Smithie, already stoking the coal fire for the day’s work.  Here he comes in my direction.  “... good morning, my old friend!  Another day of beating and banging.  But, I can always count on you.  Hammers come and go.  Many a plow and scythe have been repaired on your faithful frame.  Without you, many farms would be in trouble.  And, the knives keep the lasses busy with supper.  Sorry to abuse you; but, I need you to mold and form all these others.  If there is a flaw in your metal, surely it has been beaten out, long since annealed, work-hardened!”

            I am so  sorry and ungrateful, blind to my special place.  I get to be with Smithie every day.  Only on Sundays is he absent.  I guess he himself needs to be at the “Great Forge” occasionally?  But, together, we are making this place so much better.  I’d rather be an anvil, than a hammer, and moreso, rather than a broken plow.  Bring the noise, the heat, the hammering ... let’s fix some plows and cutlery!

BEAUTIFUL BRIDE

BEAUTIFUL BRIDE

          With awed anticipation, the elders, the living creatures, the seraphim, the cherubim, … all creation sat hushed as the Groom entered the sanctuary.  At his side were his attendants, Michael and Gabriel.  Waiting for them, center-stage, the Ancient of Days raised his hands for all to stand as she stepped into the room, making her way forward, slowly, eagerly, anxiously, incredulously …

          Relegated to some dark balcony, the demons, who had often hissed about her faults and blemishes, could almost see through their distorted eyes, but only almost.  She glanced in their direction, and caught her breath, only for a moment.  (but, like Daniel’s lions, their mouths are sealed)  She marveled, “… how did this day ever get here?  I do not deserve Him …”  Then, she looked toward Him, and her heart skipped a beat!

          A smile, as wide as the cosmic horizon, came across His face. What He sees is His “Beautiful Bride” dressed in white, perfect and radiant.  He vowed his love, forever, completely, and boundlessly!  And, then they dance together, swaying and waltzing up into the stars.  There will be no midnight for the magic to end!

 

"I see you dressed in white!"