Choosing A Birthday Gift

When we become parents, we tend to measure time by our children. When we think of a certain date or event, we pinpoint in our timeline by remembering how old our children were at the time, or what phase of their development or spiritual growth they were in. I still do that. Birthdays are especially significant.

I remember two years ago when my son's birthday was coming up--June 22, 2006. It was the first birthday we spent without him. He would have been 29 years old. I considered spending the day like a hermit, closed off away from the world. But that wasn't Jonathan's way, so neither would it be mine. I didn't want to slink back under the covers and pretend the day didn't exist. So I decided to face his birthday in a positive way.

In the days leading up to this milestone, I thought long and hard about what I might have given him for his birthday had he still been with us. Clothes? Electronics? Something for his apartment? But those things all seemed so shallow and trivial. I wanted to give him something with more lasting value--something for which he did not need a receipt so he could return it.

So I pushed my mind outside the box of traditional thinking. If Jonathan could be here for one more birthday, I'd want to give him . . . laughter and joy, peace, and . . . time.

But as I pondered each "gift", I came face to face with my own human fallibility. Yes, perhaps I could have done something for him to make him laugh or give him joy. Then I remembered a dream I had not long after he died. I dreamed I heard Jonathan laughing. The pure sound of it was an incredible, exquisite, joy-filled laugh, and I simply had to know what it was that had brought my son such joy. So in my dream I followed the sound of his laughter until I found him. He was on his face before Jesus, bathing Jesus' feet with joyous tears and kissing the nailprints. How could I ever expect to give my son a gift of laughter or joy that exceeded the joy he was already experiencing with Jesus?

My worldly gift of peacefulness also shriveled in the light of restful serenity that only comes from God. His peace is not like any other, certainly not like the peace the world gives. Our concept of peace is that of calmness and quiet feeling of satisfaction. In my humaness, any element of peace I might have given Jonathan would have been inconsequential, temporal, and superficial.

My last intended gift, the gift of time, surely must have had the angels in heaven scratching their heads and wondering, "What is she thinking?" How preposterous! Why would I want to give my son more time on this earth after he has tasted heaven? Then I realized this gift was not for Jonathan. It was for me. I wanted more time with my son. My motive was purely selfish.

James 4:14 says that our life is but a vapor that appears for a brief moment, no longer than a single heartbeat, and then it vanishes. But the stretch of time called eternity has no end. Jonathan is enjoying laughter, and joy, and peace--for timeless eternity.

These gifts I wanted to give my son for his birthday--gifts that sounded so noble and lofty coming from my lips--fell worthless into the dust of this earth. Jesus has already given each of these gifts to Jonathan. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above..." James 1:17. The gifts Jesus gives are permanent, eternal, rooted and grounded in God's love. And Jonathan doesn't need a receipt so he can exchange them for something else.

Happy birthday, son. I pray you will have the most joyous birthday ever.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

The Miracle Of The Oil

There are numerous accounts of miracles in the Bible: a blind was made to see, a lame man walked, the sun stood still in the Book of Joshua, Lazarus was raised from the dead in the Gospel accounts, 5000 people were fed from five loaves and two fishes, and Jesus rebuked the storm and said, "Peace, be still", and it was so.

In the book of 2nd Kings, there was a widow woman who had no money, and her creditor was coming to take her sons to be his slaves as payment of the debt. She needed a miracle, and she sought God on behalf of her sons. Elisha, the prophet of God, asked her what she had in the house. All she had of any value was a small jar of oil. Elisha's instructions were to gather up as many vessels as she could find, and he admonished her, "Do not gather just a few." Then he told her to begin pouring out the oil from the small jar into all the larger vessels. So she poured out the oil until every vessel was filled and she said, "There are no more vessels." And the oil ceased. God gave her a miracle to save her sons. I wonder if she had gathered dozens, or hundreds more vessels, would God have filled them all? Yes, I think He would.

For eleven years, I prayed for "my miracle". My son, Jonathan had turned his back on God and denied the Savior he once loved. In anguish, I pleaded with God for Jonathan to come back and kneel at Jesus' feet once again. The deepest desire of my heart--my miracle--was for my son to return to the Lord. Sometimes I grew weary in well-doing, and God asked me, in essence, what did I have in the house. There was nothing I could do in my own strength to change Jonathan's heart. Everything I had fell away--worthless. Only in the power of the Holy Spirit of God would my miracle be possible. So I began gathering vessels in preparation for the oil to pour out, and I kept on praying for my miracle.

Then, in April of 2005, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer.

Faced with his own mortality, he heeded the whisper of God's voice. A dear friend, Brother Tim Butler, drove several hours to come and spend time with Jonathan and talk to him about his relationship with God. The oil began pouring out into the vessels, and I kept on praying for my miracle.

On May 15th, the phone rang. Jonathan called to tell us he had kept a divine appointment with God. Weary of running and powerless to change his life, he fell at Jesus' feet in repentance and faith. He cried out to God like a drowning man, and God restored the fellowship between Himself and my son. And the oil did not cease.

Jonathan did not try to "make a deal" with God, promising to serve Him in exchange for healing. No, he determined to praise God regardless of what happened with his cancer. The oil overflowed onto everyone who knew Jonathan or came in contact with him. Jonathan's life reflected the Savior, and my miracle was a reality.

In January of 2006, Jesus came and carried Jonathan Home. I miss him more than I can describe, but the pure joy of my miracle springs up within me and spills over my being. The miracle of reconcilliation and restoration is a promise from God, and because of that miracle, I will see Jonathan again--when God calls me Home.

Miracles happen. Mine happened on May 15, 2005. Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Come Away With Me

Last week was my husband's birthday. I wanted to surprise him with something special (other than the new laser-guided mitre saw I gave him--so many power tools, so little time!) so I made reservations at a lovely hotel in the North Carolina mountains. When he arrived home from work on Friday, I said, "Get in the car, we're going somewhere." He had no idea where we were going and tried to guess a time or two, but eventually I could see the stress lines on his face begin to smooth out as he leaned back and enjoyed the ride. When we arrived at the hotel, we were delighted to find our beautiful room featured its own private balcony that overlooked the river. We slept that night with the balcony window open so we could listen to the soothing rush of the water over the rocks. Sometimes getting away from the daily pressures and tension is the best medicine.

Jesus says in Mark 6:31, "Come aside by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while . . ." When life becomes brutal, a temporary reprieve for a breath of fresh air offers the opportunity to seek out the sanctuary of God's grace. We've all heard it said that God won't ever put more on us than we can bear. If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it. After a while those statements begin to sound like over-used cliches to the one going through the difficulty. When we find ourselves drowning in stress, we don't need cliches. All we want to hear is the whisper of God's voice telling us to come away for a while, rest in the comfort of His sanctuary, refresh our spirit and renew ourselves in His presence.

During the months I was caring for our son during his cancer battle, I was "on call" 24/7. Taking a physical vacation was out of the question. No force on earth could have torn me away from him. But I still sought the rest and sanctuary of God's presence. In the midst of the the ravages of my son's disease, the long hours, the sleepless nights, the grim faces of the doctors, and the intimidating side effects of my son's treatment, I could stay within God's sanctuary. He walked with me through every aspect of the disease, and as long as I didn't run ahead of Him, I could remain in His shadow. Only if I strayed would I be vulnerable.

When my strength and endurance fails, I have an advocate. His is my refuge and rock. He is my shelter and strong tower. When I feel like running away from home, I run to Him. The best news is, I don't have to make reservations or an appointment, I don't have to fill out insurance forms or sit in a waiting room, and nobody will ask me for my credit card number. He is near, closer than my own breath. When I am confronted by fear, weariness, dispair, or just plain day to day stress, where else would I go but to my God? He is calling to me to come away with Him for a season--a respite of renewal, a safe place in the shadow of His wings.

Thanks for letting my share my heart.

Constructive Convalescing

Experiencing hurtful circumstances is like going through surgery. There is pain, fear, and a tense time of waiting, but there is also reassurance from the surgeon, comfort from the nurses, and get-well wishes from friends. Sitting in a waiting room while surgery is performed on someone we love can be just as painful, sometimes more so, than undergoing the procedure ourselves. Afterward, there may be physical therapy along with a period of slow healing. The eventual outcome is a healthier person.

Spiritual surgery isn't too much different from the physical type, except the roles are played by Someone we can't see. The Surgeon who cuts away the harmful or destroyed tissue doesn't have an MD next to His name. He is higher and greater than any physician on earth, and His name is Jehovah-Ropheka, the Lord our healer. The role of the nurse who administers physical comfort is now taken over by the Holy Spirit, the One whom Jesus sent after Himself to be our Comforter. As we submit ourselves to the ministrations of God, we can expect a transformation, but it's rarely a season of ease. Most often, this operation is an ordeal of painful consequence, but one of necessity. The spiritual waiting room can be lonely and frightening unless we allow God to shed His light around us.

God has brought to my attention recently, something of which we are all aware, but often lose sight of. It's easy to forget that others are struggling through difficult circumstances when our own situation looms as a daunting mountain. All around us are people who have lost loved ones, perhaps they are fighting to keep their head above troubled financial waters, watching disturbing events unfold in their lives and having no power to change them, or experiencing the ache of watching a child make unwise, and potentially disasterous choices.

When God allows us to walk through a dark and frightening valley, of course we can rejoice in the comfort of knowing He is as close to us as our very breath. There are others around us, traveling through similar pain, but our focus is on ourselves, our loved ones, our situation, and hopefully our God. If I've learned nothing else in the past three years, it's that God never wastes a hurt, and nothing takes Him by surprise.

During our time of healing, the blinders fall away from our eyes, and we become aware of those hurting people around us. Their situation may not be exactly like ours, but their pain is just as real. As our surgical scars begin to heal and God brings renewed strength, we are confronted with opportunities to be a blessing to others. It might be a ministry we didn't desire or choose, but one for which God prepared us through our own journey through pain.

Those who struggle around us take on a new importance. We are given a fresh look at the pain of others. Because we've been there ourselves, compassion loans us insight into their struggle. Allowing God to use us to minister to these is akin to working side by side with the Holy Spirit as He pours out comfort, mercy, and grace.

When we enter into a time of spiritual surgery, we need do so with a watchful heart. No doubt God is preparing us to be a vessel for His use. It's up to us whether or not we allow God to fill us and use us. What a waste it would be if we discarded all that pain and heartache we encountered and let the memories of God's comfort and mercy crumble into dust.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

I can't, but HE can

Have you ever been faced with a monumental task and thought, "I can't do this!" Sometimes God asks things of us that we view as arduous or intimidating, but which He intends as an opportunity. A situation that is far beyond the safe confines of our comfort zone can stretch our faith and strain our capacity to trust to a tenuous degree.

When we find ourselves in this position, we have a variety of choices. The easiest choice is to simply refuse delivery. But saying "no" has its consequenses, the least of which is loss of a blessing and the most grievious being loss of fellowship with God.

We could step tentatively along, agreeing to follow God's leading, until the pressure becomes too intense, at which time we find, or invent, an excuse to discontinue participation. But that, too, would fracture our intimacy with God.

What if the request is someting about which you feel passionate, but the circumstances to fulfill the task cause you to quake in your shoes?

I was reminded this week by a dear friend that when God directed Moses to confront Pharaoh and be a voice for the people of Israel, Moses responded with an excuse. He told God he wasn't a good speaker and didn't know what to say. So God asked him, "Who made your mouth? Was it not Me, the Lord?" Then God directed Moses to go, and He would tell him what to say.

This week I was asked to appear at the Georgia State Capitol and speak to the Senate Sub-Committee regarding an issue about which I feel passionate. The Cancer Treatment Centers Of America asked me to testify to the members of this committee about the incredible treatment my son received at their Tulsa facility. While I was elated at the prospect of Cancer Treatment Centers Of America locating a new facility in Georgia, the very thought of speaking to senators and congressmen filled me with such a dread, I nearly forgot how to breathe. But I said "yes" wondering at the time if perhaps I'd lost my mind.

When the day arrived, I thanked God that one of my best friends volunteered to drive me to downtown Atlanta, because she knows of my phobia of Atlanta traffic. (Thanks, Suze!) One prayer answered! Then, because the sub-committe's docket was so full, they limited the number of people who could speak. So I was asked to go down to the offices of the senators in our district and speak to them one on one.

"God, I can't do this!" I repeated it silently every step of the way down the stairs and the hallway. "God, I can't do this! You know how I stutter and stammer when I'm nervous. These senators will think I'm nothing but a blathering idiot. That won't do CTCA any good. They need someone who is eloquent and articulate. I can't do this!"

And God said, "I made your mouth. Now go. I will tell you what to say."

And I said, "But God, I can't do this!"

And God said, "I know, but I can."

At the end of the day, the vote was taken and the sub-committee voted 9-5 in CTCA's favor. I was thrilled, but the vote wasn't the reason why. God allowed me to do something I never believed I could do. By clinging desperately to His hand and trusting in His power, for the first time since my son's initial diagnosis, I felt like I was doing something important to help defeat this evil and brutal disease. But it wasn't me who did it. God just used my mouth, and my heart, to speak to these men and women, to somehow convince them how much we need a facility like CTCA here in Georgia.

It wasn't me, it was Him. And a special thanks goes to Josh, my son's best friend, for reminding me Who God is, and who I am. Thanks Josh. I owe you the best dinner I know how to make. Your choice.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Extreme Makeover--HEART Edition

I love the show Extreme Makeover--Home Edition. The Makeover team arrives at someone's house and calls them outside and tells them the good news: they're going to get a beautiful, brand new home, and while it's being built the family goes on vacation. Many of the stories submitted by the families are heart wrenching to say the least.

After the family leaves, the demolition begins. The family watches via video camera, as their old house is torn down in a matter a few minutes. Sometimes the expressions on their faces range from joy and excitement to pain or sorrow or even regret depending on the memories the old house holds. But the tearing down must take place before the building up of the new house can happen.

When God views our old heart, I wonder what He sees. Decay and crumbling structure due to sin? Weak, vulnerable places due to neglect? Broken places due to sorrow and heartache? He sees all that and more. He also sees a heart with possibilities. He looks beyond the present and conceives a dynamic heart filled with joy and praise, a heart of worship linked to a life lived for Him. He sees past the ruin and waste, past the tears and brokenness to a heart that can be renovated, rebuilt and restored. But the tearing down of the old must take place first before God can renew the heart.

God's Makeover Team consists of Himself, His Son, and the Holy Spirit. Together they do what no man can do. God can intervene in a life regardless of the condition of the heart, and create a beautiful new heart--one that beats in synchronization with His. Sometimes the demolition process is painful. Bitter memories are cut away. Regrets are torn down. Anguish and disappointment are raked away. Grief and mourning are burned off. Then, in the midst of the ashes and debris, there emerges the new. A new-found joy, a new song, new praise, and new mercy. New glory rains down, new strength rises up, and new comfort sustains.

For the TV show, each family must make a video and send it in along with hundreds of recommendation letters written by other people declaring support for the family. To receive God's makeover, all one must do is ask, believing He will keep His promises. There are no screaming team members or huge crowds. But I'd be willing to bet the angels in heaven are doing some serious rejoicing. When God takes an old heart and makes it new again, that's what I call an Extreme Makeover--Heart Edition.

Thanks for letting me share my (madeover) heart.

Homecoming Day

I was going through a box of photographs yesterday and found a picture of my son, Jonathan, and his date, all dressed up for homecoming. The photo was taken in 1995. Handsome rascal that he was, his heart-melting grin warmed me as I gazed at the picture. Back then, homecoming meant pep rallies and week-long festivities, football games, topped off by the homecoming celebration held in the school gymnasium with the kids dressed to the nines.

Homecoming means something else entirely now. January 10, 2006 was Homecoming Day for Jonathan. God reached down and cradled my son in His arms and took him Home. Jonathan left behind the pain and brutality of cancer and took up residence in heaven. He's home, he's safe, he's whole, he's cancer-free.

While he lingered on this earth, his days centered around medications, treatments, doctors and hospitals, side effects, and pain. Now his days are filled with singing and praising the One who died so he could have life. The place we call heaven, my son calls home.

When I am out and about, people sometimes comment about the Marine Corps shirts I often wear. They ask if I have a son in the Corps, and I tell them yes. Then the next question is always, "Where is he?" When I tell them he is in heaven, they always say how sorry they are. I tell them, "Don't be sorry. I know where he is, and I know I will see him again some day. 2nd Samuel 12:23 says that my son cannot come to where I am, but I will go to where he is."

We try to imagine what heaven will be like through scripture. We talk about streets of gold and gates of pearl, a land where there is no night because Jesus is the Light that illumines heaven. We try to picture heaven in our mind, but I don't think we can truly know until we get there ourselves.

I'm anxious to go. God has blessed me beyond measure on this earth, but I can't wait to go Home. I want to see Jonathan again. I want to be where he is. I want to laugh with him again. But most of all, I want to be where Jesus is. I want to fall down and worship Him. I want to sing His praise and kiss the nailprints in His feet. Who can imagine the glory of Homecoming Day?

My son is living it.


Thanks for letting me share my heart.