I finally knew what to do. I got a set of metric sockets earlier today, and a can of stuff that eats away carbon, and I waited for the right opportunity.

Tonight, after the kids were in bed, I made my way to our garage and got to it.

It felt GREAT to take part of the van engine apart, and finally reveal the culprit. After disconnecting hoses and unclipping sensor wires, and removing nuts and bolts, I finally lifted the air intake cover off the engine, and there was the carbon-clogged EGR port. It was COMPLETELY blocked.

I cleaned out the part still attached to the engine, and then I cleaned out the part on the cover that I removed from the engine. It felt so good to get it all opened up again and clean.

I put things back together. I felt joy at doing this job.

Once everything was put together again, I opened the garage door and started the van engine. What a beautiful sound. The engine sounded as good as it ever has.

It took me just one hour. I spent around $29 on the socket set, a driver extension, and a can of stuff to eat away the carbon. I saved myself over $300 by doing it myself. It felt REALLY good.

I grabbed the container of pumice goop and went into the bathroom to wash the engine grime off my hands. I knew to use just the goop first without water, and I enjoyed seeing the blue pumice turn black on my hands, knowing that it was getting the junk off my skin.

I slowly added water and watched the black goop wash down the drain. One thing surprised me, however. I looked at my hands and saw that much of the black goop was still around the edges of my finger nails.

See this detail suddenly transported my thoughts to a memory of standing in the bathroom of the home where I grew up, watching my dad wash his hands after coming home from working in the garage. That was his job for many, many years – working as an auto mechanic.

I loved standing in that bathroom by the blue ceramic sink watching him wash away the engine grime that had accumulated on his hands during the day.

I remember seeeing the dark grimey parts accumulate around the edges of his fingernails. He never really got it all off. It was just how his hands looked after he washed them. I loved being there next to him, watching him wash the day’s work off his hands. It meant that my dad was HOME.

It was always GREAT to have my Dad home. He was like an anchor for me and for our family. When He was home, everything was okay. To stand next to him in the bathroom while he washed his hands was like getting to be part of the “welcome home” ceremony that happened each day. It was joy to have him home after his day of work at the garage.

So, tonight I was given the gift of remembering my dad’s hands; and I was given the gift of seeing his hands in mine. I dont’ know all that much about engines, but I love learning about them, and I love digging in and fixing stuff on the van. I love it. But, tonight, the best part working on the van was to be suddenly surprised by seeing my Dad’s hands in my own hands and remembering all that he did and all that he was to me as a boy.

I’m thankful for my Dad’s hands and all that they represented in my life then…..and now.

It’s Sunday. This morning, in between sound check for the worship service and the actual service, I led a discussion among some of the worship team members. We sat around and talked about a passage from the book of St. John in the Bible.

We talked about the story in which Jesus had just fed over 5,000 people with just a couple fish and a few loaves of bread. Jesus headed up into the mountains to pray and the disciples headed across a huge lake (more like a small ocean) in a boat…oh, and it was at night.

The story is that a storm blew up, and the waves became turbulent and the disciples were pulling hard on the oars, trying to keep the boat going the right direction, and I’m sure they were trying to avoid turning over.

In the middle of the turbulent darkness, they see someone out walking on the water and getting closer to where they are.

The Bible says, “…they were terrified.” Yeah, I’d think so.

So, we talked this morning about the “terrifying” situations in our lives….past or present.

For me, this story is pretty easy to transmit to our lives today. It’s a practical application all ready to be picked up and applied. The disciples were in a REAL LIFE difficult situation. It was the middle of the night. They were out on a huge lake. The wind was blowing hard. Waves were building and crashing into their little boat. Then, on top of this, they see something that they couldn’t have even imagined - a fugre in the distance walking TOWARD them on the water. “Terrified” is a pretty good description.

I re-read an earlier blog about the place fear has held in my life at times. I said something like, “It’s usually when the fear is kept at a distance that it seems to have the most power in my life.” I think the same thing applies in this story. Jesus was at a distance, and they didn’t know it was him. They were terrified.

The question was asked this morning, “Have you ever been terrified, or scared, by Jesus?” It’s hard to imagine Jesus, God, puposely planning to “scare” someone. I guess if anyone could do it, He could.

I mean, come on, he HAD to know when first set foot on the edge of that lake, headed out toward his followers that they weren’t going to take it very well…at least not at first. I can’t imagine that He did it just for chuckles. (Although, really, I CAN see Him in my mind laughing slightly at the thought of their first sighting of him.)

But, He had to have had something bigger in mind. I think part of it may have been this: no matter how dark and stormy and scary the experience of life, He is still more powerful, and He is still in control; and most of all, He still has things “up his sleeve” that are SO WAY PAST our understanding and ability to even imagine.

I think that sometimes He either allows or He engineers (not sure yet which I believe) the storms in our lives just so he can show up in them….if we are watching for Him and if we are willing to let Him get into our boat with us.

When I have encountered storms in my life, sadly, it hasn’t always been my first reaction to look for Jesus in the storm. Usually, I’m looking up and asking “WHY?” or “God where are You?”

I forget to consider that perhaps He is actually IN the storm, coming near me, THROUGH this storm. I wonder if the water was actually calm when He first stepped out onto it. I wonder if the water couldn’t take it and couldn’t help but churn out white waves of praise for their Maker.

I’m not sure where I’m heading with this. I do know this, however: the circumstances of our lives are NOT outside the realm of Christ’s control and power. He is the Creator, and He comes to us always – and ESPECIALLY in the times when the world is turning upside down in an ocean of darkness.

He comes, and if we are looking and listening, we hear Him….speaking to US….saying, “It is me, don’t be afraid. relax….I’m coming to you.”

God, help me to keep my spritual eyes peering steadily…searching for You in everything…calm and storm. The writer of Psalm 139 said, “The light and the dark are the same to You.” He sees it all.

The storms will come. I know this. But, even so, He is with us…even when we are straining at life and fearing for our lives…He is with us.

But, then it gave some suggestions of things that will continue on after I’m gone.

One of these was my children.

It made me stop and think. Do I want my children to deal with the same struggles I’ve encountered in my life? I know that I cannot shelter them from the difficulties of life….and I wouldn’t want to do this. It has been through some of my life’s struggles that I have grown stronger – as a man, as a friend, and as a follower and friend of Christ.

But, there are some things that I want to be sure my children know.

I haven’t given it a whole lot of thought this morning since reading that email, but some that come to me now are these:

1. First of all, trust God. Read the Bible and believe what it tells you about God. God loves you…and he will never stop loving you.

Come to think of it, I do tell my children this. Actually, what I tell them is this, “I love you, and I will never stop loving you, no matter what.” I mean it, too. I realize there may come days when my children may make choices that I do not agree with or understand. But, I will always love them. I will always welcome them to where I am. I am their father, and each of them are my own children. I will never stop loving them…no matter what. I pray that they will see God in these statements and know that He is their God and that because of Christ, they are HIS children as well.

2. Feel what you feel, and don’t run from pain.

You cannot help your feelings. They are a normal part of the experience of being a human. Feelings come up. Don’t run from them. Don’t stuff them. Feel them. Experience them. Even anger…feel it.

But, learn to feel within the safety of boundaries. You cannot always act on your feelings, nor should you. Sometimes feelings are the result of misunderstandings. Sometimes feelings are the result of physical sickness or pain. But they are as vital a part of who we are as the heart beating in our chest.

For some people, when encountering trauma in life, they have stuffed the resulting feelings only to have them surface again – sometimes years later – in difficult and bewildering ways. The memories of the trauma may be long gone, but the feelings continue to surface until they are acknowledged and allowed to run their full course. The only way through the difficulties – emotions and all – is THROUGH them. Not around them. Through them.

3. Be Friendly. Be the type of friend you want to have….and don’t be afraid to actually say what’s in your heart.

I wish someone would have told me this years ago, and helped me understand this. I’m still working on it. One thing I think I’m doing a little better at, however, is speaking the truth that arises in my heart as I move through relationships and friendships. If someone makes me happy, I want to tell them. If something in a relationship with someone brings me joy, I want to tell them.

On the flip side, if there is something that bothers me in the relationship…I want to bring it up and address it. It may well be that I have misunderstood. It may well be that there is something that I still need to learn and be open to accepting in my life. But, I’ll never know if I keep it buried inside me. It’s part of the actual relating to each other for each of us to speak what is in our minds and our hearts. It is vital to actually growing in a relationship.

So…these are just a few things….but I realize that if I do what I can to teach these things to my children, that I can make an enduring differenct in their lives long after I’m gone. It will make a difference in my grandchildren’s lives.

Some things I got from my parents I want to discard, and some things I cling to. I want to give my children and all those after me as much as I possibly can that they can cling to, and which will make their lives better.

Just my thoughts for today. I want to live today so that even after I’m gone, what I did and said will continue to bring good.

November 3, 2005

Dear Worship Arts Member:

This is a personal letter from me to you.

Today, I was thinking about all that has happened over this past 5 weeks. There are a few of you I have talked with in-depth, but for various reasons, I have not had opportunity to talk with others of you who are a vital part of the Worship Arts team in our church.

I just want to let you in on what’s been happening in my life over these past few weeks. Perhaps I could have gathered you all together and talked to you, but I know that not everyone would be able to make it to such a gathering, and besides, I’d hate to call you out of your busy lives to yet another “meeting.” So, here it is in a letter, and I hope you will read it thoughtfully.

Most of 2005 up till now, I have been leading the transition team at our church, preparing for the move into the Family Life Center for worship. There were many people on this team working so hard to make it all happen. Even so, I found myself with a lot of extra weight and responsibility in the process. I had to maintain regular service planning, rehearsals and leading worship, and making hospital calls, but along with it were added the details of coordinating the move to the FLC. I had to maintain a high level of intensity and constancy of attention to the details to make this move come together. Once we actually made the move, I found myself completely worn out and needing a breather.

I had planned for this, and had scheduled a week of vacation beginning on Monday, September 26. That day, however, was the day we discovered that Heather died. So, we were thrust from a needed vacation into a nightmare.

No one can plan for something like this. When it happens you just have to walk through it, and hope you come out the other side still standing. Terry and I had to feel our way through it, and we have been stunned by it all. The deep hurt and pain from the loss of a baby is something that we cannot and will not get over. We are moving on, and our emotions are healing, but the loss will always be part of our lives. The only way I can explain it is that we had the hope and joy of expecting this child, and we had no reason to believe that God would allow something like this to happen in our lives. We had the immature and mistaken belief that things like this don’t happen to people who love God and serve Him. I wouldn’t have acknowledged such a thing before it happened; I thought I would know how to handle a tragedy like this, and that I would understand why it was happening – that I would somehow be buffered from the pain. But it isn’t so.

I am very familiar with the story of Job. But, I have always been able to read the rest of the story and see that, in the end, all was restored to him and that he came out okay after all. However, I had never lived in that space where some of the dearest things in life are ripped away, and I cannot see the end, and I don’t know why it’s happening. I had never lived in that space where a child is taken away, and all that I expected with that child…the joy of life, the hopes of life with this child joining the rest of the family…the imagining of what he or she would look like, the sound of their voice, holding this child closely, the smell of this baby’s head. And my belief that God would never allow something like this to happen in our lives…it was all shredded. So, I never realized what it was like to live in that part of the story where everything is all violently wrong, and I’m spinning, vulnerable, alone, bleeding, naked, and I don’t even know why.

This is what I’ve been experiencing and dealing with the past five weeks.

We chose to handle our pain and grief in the best way we knew how. We have chosen to stay close to each other and lean on each other. We have not wanted to try to explain it to anyone. We have welcomed conversations with those who have experienced this in their own lives. There is a “knowing” that cannot be explained, and there is a comfort in being with those who, unfortunately, “know” this pain.

We have not been able to recount the terrible details of Heather’s birth with person after caring person who wants to know and help. We realize that being a pastor in this church family has put us in the enviable position of being loved by so many people. Yet it is also a difficult position. As much as we would like, we cannot be close to everyone. There are only so many minutes in a day, and it is a challenge to build strong, meaningful relationships with many people. We know that people in our church love us, and care for us. We have felt God’s power in our lives through your many prayers. We have received so many meals and have eaten them with grateful hearts….especially because we didn’t feel we could do anything….not even preparing food.

I know that Pastor Jeff told you all in his messages to not try and “fix” us – to not try and make us feel better. There really is nothing that anyone can say to make this better. It cannot be made better. So, I think that many of you have not said anything to us at all about the loss. You haven’t known what to say…and I understand that. I want you to know that it’s okay to talk about it. We actually want to talk about it. Just know that we’re not broken; we’re wounded, and we’re recovering. We want people to acknowledge Heather’s death, not ignore it or pretend it didn’t happen. But please don’t treat us like we’re a “special case,” or like we’re going to fall apart. Yes, there may be tears well up in our eyes again, but we won’t fall apart.

I want you to know that my emotional state has been on “overload.” I know that I was in great need of rest as I came out the transition team work; but to add to that the grief and loss has made me numb. Honestly, I have found myself emotionally not caring about anything else. I haven’t been able to. I have not been able to shoulder any other cares. I have been available to my wife and to my children, grieving with them. Some days helping to process and bear their grief, other days them bearing mine. We never know whose turn it will be.

So, over the past 5 weeks, I have not been able to make myself engage again in my everyday responsibilities in the life of our church. I have said to a few of you these past weeks that really “I don’t care.” I haven’t wanted to feel that way….but, like it or not, that’s how I felt. I could not force myself to care about anything else. The tech team has been operating without a set schedule. The Praise Singers have been on a hit and miss schedule, sometimes not singing at all. I have been pulling myself through Sundays and Wednesday nights, many times feeling like I wasn’t even there at all. Going through the motions…..but not feeling anything. Not caring about anything else. Not able to care about anything else.

Today, I was telling a friend that the past 4-5 weeks for me feel like a big missing chunk. I cannot remember a lot of what has happened in the past 5 weeks. I have tried to retain certain facts, and later found that I was remembering things just the opposite of what they actually were. I have been pretty much floating around, trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It’s been like a big blank space in my life. I’ve never experience anything quite like it before.

I guess I just want you to know that I know that things have been different in the Worship Arts the past 5 weeks. I’m aware of the disorganization and the chaos that has taken place in many areas of the Worship Arts. I’m the one here who is supposed to give leadership to this area…and I’ve been wounded and “out of service.”

But, I also want you to know that every day, I’m coming back. Day by day, my heart and my thoughts are freeing up again. I’m able to concentrate and give attention to the things that need to happen. I really feel as if I’m waking up again. But, as I emerge from this, it is with a new perspective. I’ve been changed by this. I cannot help but be changed by it. For one thing, Terry and I need and look for opportunities to laugh and have fun. Moments of laughter and joy are so much sweeter to us now than ever before.

I also have a deep need to surround myself with beauty. Don’t ask me why….I just want to see and experience the beautiful things of creation and relationships; and I hunger for this at a depth I’ve never experienced before.

And, now I also know that no one is exempt from the bad experiences of life. I know, too, that no matter what happens, God will walk through it with me.

As I breathed and wished the clock would stop on September 26, I thought there was no way I could walk through that day and do what I knew we would have to do. We were told that we would have to return to the hospital later that day and Terry would have to deliver our baby…and that the baby would be dead upon delivery.
Just a few hours earlier, we were happy, holding hands and skipping into the sonogram room with our three children, ready to find out if we were expecting a new brother or a new sister. Moments later, our minds were jarred into an ugly reality that we weren’t ready to accept – this same child would be born dead that very day.

As I looked into that “black hole”….peering over this cliff into blackness….I knew there was no way I could survive the fall. I couldn’t do it. It was the first time in my life I wished I could unzip my skin, step out, and let someone else get inside and take care of the rest of my day….while I cowered in the corner.

But….I couldn’t unzip myself… and I had to walk through that day, as did Terry. We faced the terrible, horrible reality, and we had to get up to our elbows in the blood and pain and searing heat of the loss. We had to walk through it. But all along the way, God made himself known. EVERY step of that journey, He let us know that He was indeed right beside us. There was never a doubt in our minds or hearts that He was with us. He was.

Now….a few weeks after it all….and after our bodies and our minds have had time to rest and begin to heal, I am living in an awareness that God is with me and that He will be with me.

Well…I just wanted you to know that I’m aware of what’s happening. Thank you for your understanding. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for stepping in and taking up so much of the slack that has been left left as I had to let go of the rope. Thank you for your prayers, and thank you for your love for me and for my family.

I guess this is part of what it means to “do” life together – to have these experiences together – and to lift each other up and support each other. Thank you for being here for us.

Scott

Today is “April Fools Day.” This morning, Evan came into my room while I was getting ready for the day. He tried to play a joke on me, and immediately blurted out, “April fools, Dad!”
I turned around, and with all seriousness, looked him in the eye and said,
“Evan, today isn’t April Fools Day.”
“Yes, it is,” he shot back.
“No,” I said somberly, “they changed it.”
He looked at me with wide eyes, and couldn’t believe anyone would do such a thing. He had fallen for it. I couldn’t hold it in. I cracked a smile, and he knew he had been HAD.
He flashed a huge grin at me and threw his body into me. I put my arms around him, and we laughed. It was great. I loved it.

What a GREAT way to begin the day and the month – with some April joy

One year ago, my wife and my children and I were enjoying the normalcy of a regular life here in Indiana. There were challenges, but we were living our normal lives, enjoying our friends and our church, and our God.

It was Sunday, April 6 – the end of a long day after being with an out-of-town guest. We got home and Terry looked at me and said, “Scott, something’s wrong.” She was pregnant with our fifth child; she was in her 23rd week of pregnancy. (We had lost our fourth child a few years earlier at about the same point.) She knew something was wrong.

After a call to the doctor and a night’s rest, things hadn’t changed. After we got to the doctor’s office and the initial exam began, so did our roller coaster ride.

The short story is that our baby, Esther Hope, was born on Tuesday of that week. She was just 23 weeks and 4 days old in her development.

We began a journey of 114 days in the NICU. I told someone just last night that it was on me and Terry’s wedding anniversary, July 30, that Esther came home. There is nothing wrong with her. She is living proof of God’s help and power.

I think back on those beginning days of our long journey through the “tunnel” while Esther teetered on the brink of survival in the isolette in the NICU. We were bewildered. Our heads were spinning. We weren’t supposed to be here, I told myself. This had to be a mistake. This wasn’t supposed to happen in a “normal” life.

But, indeed, it does happen.

There are so many things that we learned through that turbulent, strange time. But, I believe the one most important thing that I have learned through it is this:

No matter what happens to me, or my children, or my wife, and no matter what circumstances boil over into my life, the single most important thing I need is to be with my Heavenly Father.

Even when I wake up at the beginning of each new day, I can’t see any further into it than where I am right then. I have no idea what it will hold. I found out this past year, that the one place where I can stand up is in the security of my relationship with Christ in God. If I don’t have this one place together, nothing else keep me from flying apart.

But, when I do have this relationship right, and current, then it is enough to sustain me and hold me together.

So many times I had to just rest there. I’ll never forget the moment this past year, when Esther was at her worst, pneumonia, sepsis, kidney failure, edema. Everything looked so bad. Every doctor and nurse had bad news. There were no smiles, no re-assurances. It was in that worst possible time that God said to me, “Do you trust me?”

In my mind, I stammered, “Yes, I trust You.”

Then He said to me, “Then why are you all tied up in knots inside?”

The truth was, I WAS all tied in knots inside. Everything my eyes and ears took in said that there was no hope for our baby.

God then said to me, “How would you feel if your children came to you for help, and you were able to help, and even as you were helping them, they were anxious and afraid and uncertain of YOU and your love for them?”

It hit me hard. “I wouldn’t like that at all,” I answered. 

“How do you think I feel about it?” He asked me.

“I’m sorry, God. I trust you.” And with that, I relaxed and melted into Him. I slept better that night than I had in a long time. I had to make that decision to just trust a few times over in the following days. But, I rested in that trust.

I’m really not sure how it all happened. But, I know God led me through that lesson – like a wise professor taking a keen interest in a prized student. He hovered over me and whispered to me and led me in the learning process.

So….really, this is a different world today than the one I was living in one year ago. Thank God that He is God, and I am not.

Even if there were two Apple grave stones out in the Noblesville cemetary today instead of one, God would still be good, and would still be God. I just need to be with Him.

Earlier today, I heard little Esther belly laughing. The sound of her laughter is sweeter than any other. It’s the sound of joy and hope.

I’m so thankful for what He has done, and I’m so thankful that He could teach me through all that has happened. For what lies ahead, I know that I  just need to be with Him.

February 9, 2009

One week ago today was our mother’s funeral. These past few days have been an introduction to a new, unwanted reality.

We all will grieve in our own way. I don’t want anyone else to feel as though you have to do it the way I’m doing it. My purpose is not to try to make anyone feel anything. The thing is….the world keeps going. People keep moving in and out of their days, some of them know I just lost my mother. But here is the disconnection: it was my mother, and not theirs, that passed away. They can’t really identify with the death of Irene Wisehart Apple the way I (and we) can.

Somehow, I’ve learned to process my feelings through written words. I’m sending this on to you, because she was your mother, too. I need to be connected to you…somehow to process my thoughts and emotions among you, my family.

So, I hope you don’t mind me writing and sharing with you what I’ve been experiencing these past few days.

I called Dad again today. Joe left this morning, and Dad was alone in the house for maybe the first time since Mom died. It was so difficult…I found myself wanting to ask him how Mom was doing. I wanted to ask him about his visit with her – as if he had just been there with her at Miller’s.

I talked with him, realizing that he will not be going back there to see her. I talked with him, wondering what he was going to do today. What could he possibly be doing now? His life has been given to going and being with Mom. He went there every day, and fed her and cared for her, and listened to her and talked with her. He took her the home decorating catalogs and seed catalogs that she loved to look at. He was with her every day. He kept the hope alive that they would again be together at home. He encouraged her and kept their dreams alive. Today, I didn’t know what to say to him. There were no encouraging words I could speak. The best I could do was to say, “Things are really different now, aren’t they?” He just said emphatically, “YES, they ARE.” We both quickly tried to change the subject.

You know that Terry has been dealing with a neck problem. She finally had an appointment today with a neurologist. His office is in one of the medical buildings on the back side of the hospital where Mom passed away. We had to drive past Miller’s on the way. I had to take the same exit off the freeway that I took to go see Mom when she was in the ER just over a week ago.

The feelings began to be overwhelming. I deliberately drove around the back side of the hospital so I wouldn’t see where I had been when I went to be with Mom. I missed the first parking lot entrance, and the road led around the curve to the lot entrance next to the ER. I could barely stand it. I looked over and saw where I had parked on that night, and I saw the doors where I entered and left that night.

Terry had a second doctor’s appointment this afternoon. This one was across the street from the hospital. As we left that appointment to return home, we were pulling out of the parking lot, and I looked left to make sure there was no oncoming traffic. What I saw to my left was the little bend in the road that I used to take to go in the back way to see Mom at Millers. It felt like someone dropped a huge steel weight on my soul. We had to get back on the interstate to come home again, and again we had to pass Millers.

I’ve had to drive past Millers more times this past week than in any one week I can remember. I’ve had recording sessions downtown…and I’ve had to go past Millers and the hospital….doctor’s appointments, and I’ve had to go by Millers and the hospital.

It feels like every time I turn around, the rug is being pulled out from under my feet. I’ll remember something about Mom, and the rug is pulled out again, and down I go. Tonight as we ate dinner, it was a good meal…and suddenly, I was remembering again how many times Mom fixed a great meal. As the memory lodged in my heart, the next swallow stung as it went down.

Last night just after Terry and I got into bed, I was flooded again with the reality of the loss. It was overwhelming. I lost my mother. We lost our mother.

I know that we have been in days past the time that she would be able to can 75 quarts of green beans again – past the days she would take a walk around the yard and admire the flowers – past the days she would stand in church and sing from her heart with gusto – past the days she would triple her Twinkling Roll recipe and make yeast and cinnamon rolls – past all those days. But somehow, when she was still here, there was still this hope – or maybe it was just that she was the link to all the life that has been poured into each of us. While she was alive, she was the living link to all the good days we had with her.

When she breathed her last breath, that door slammed shut. There is no more possibility for more of the good stuff that we did have. Now, what I have is just the pictures on the walls of my heart, and the echoes of her voice. It’s hard to bear it. I don’t want this new reality. Maybe living here and driving on these roads eventually will turn out to be a good thing…but for now, every time I encounter them, it hurts. Every time I drive past Millers now is like someone is forcing my head under water keeping me from breathing. I hope it stops soon.

Today, I’ve had to make myself do things….fix dinner, do the dishes, change diapers, put clothes in the washing machine. I haven’t felt like doing anything. I have wanted to just lie down. Right now, dinner dishes are still on the table, the children are watching the “Snow Buddies” video, and Terry is asleep on the couch….Esther is asleep on top of her. This is the first time today I’ve been able to just sit and process. I realize I’m in a time of life that has a lot of demands….and I’m trying to process all that is stirring around inside me.

I’m not looking for anyone’s pity or sympathy. I just want to know that others hear me and maybe identify with what I’m sharing.

I love you all so much.

Scott

The “funny” part of fear, is that all its power lies in keeping me at a distance. As long as I don’t get too close to it, it wheezes and huffs and puffs, and threatens to blow me down. I get closer, and it gets fiercer. But, if I actually step into it, something strange happens. I see it for what it really is. Most often, it’s just inflated and paper-thin.

I’ve lived with some fears for most of my life. Obviously, some fears are healthy, and should be respected. I have a healthy respect for gravity, fire, and velocity, for instance. But, the “funny” fears I’m thinking about as I write, are the ones that lurk in the shadow of my mind, not completely exposing themseles to the light of reason or examination. They usually stay just far enough out of sight and out of reach to remain a bit of a mystery. But, these are the fears that also have blocked me in for so long.

Recently, I went through a little “excercise.” I’m pretty sure God was the one behind it. He has a way of piercing my armour with a multi-faceted attack that gets my attention fairly quickly. I get shot with ”arrows” from multiple, and seeimginly unrelated sources…and they all have the same “note” attached. It usually only takes about 3 or 4, when I realize He’s trying to tell me something.

In the interest of brevity, I’m not writing yet exactly what the fear was, but I’ll just say that He gave me a nudge and asked if I was ready to face it. Maybe He actually took me by the hand and led me toward it….because THIS time, I walked wtih Him. I walked to the fear. I felt it’s hot, angry breath. It stunk. I could almost imagine the sting of it’s fangs sinking into my neck. But, I held tightly to God, and told him, “You know what? I trust YOU. I can’t beat this thing, but I’m sure you can.”

I walked into it, with the full awareness that whatever lay on the other side, God was able to handle.

I’m not Superman. I’m no superhero of faith. But, for some reason, God and I converged here at this point in my life, and I guess I said, “enough is enough, and God, YOU are enough.” So….anyway. This is just for the record. I’m done with this particular fear. God is greater. Who hoo. It feels so good. Later.

In this book, I came across a quote from Howard Thurman, found in Deep is the Hunger. He said, “Despite all the crassness of life, despite all the hardness of life, despite all the harsh discords of life, life is saved by the singing of angels.”

I can only imagine what that would sound like. Maybe it would be that like a memory of someone who loves me that would keep me moving forward and taking the next step through difficult days, that hearing the singing of angels would transform me in the midst of my life on earth?

I sit here looking up…out my office window. Most of what I see is a large, weathered barn. A bit of sky is visible up to the left and to the right of the pitch of its roof. Paint has long been worn away, and most of what I see is gray wood grain “stitched” with rusting nail heads up the side. An open window is near the top. It’s black inside except for a small hole in the roof that’s visible to me through that window.

I imagine that hearing the sound of angels singing would be almost like seeing through a small hole in the roof. If I were to be able to get a ladder and go out there and climb up to that window, I’d be looking in through darkness…blackness…just for a peek through the hole.

I ist here, looking up and out…and I think, “why not ask God to really let me hear the sound of angels singing?” I’ve had thoughts like this before, and have prayed the prayer…and have seen it answered. God has given me gifts like this before. A boldness to ask for something some would consider silly, or needless, or outrageous, or just simply ignorant. But, even so, he has allowed me to pray such prayers because he has wanted to answer them and make himself known to me….even in extravagant ways.

Recently, I watched a movie on the life of Jim Elliot and his death at the hands of Auca Indians in Ecuador. He and his missionary brothers were speared to death by the Indians. One thing I learned from the movie I had never known before: The Indian who was the one to actually spear Jim Elliot later became a Christian and met Jim’s son, and he told Jim’s son that as the missionaries lay there dying on the banks of the river that day, they ALL saw and heard angels around them and in the sky hovering just above them. Everyone saw it…the Indians and the men who were dying.

I sat here, about to ask God to actually allow me to hear the sound of angels singing, and I thought…”but what if this means that in order to actually hear the sound of angels singing, I would have to be in such desperate circumstances…hanging by that fragile thread that separates this life from eternity….the space beyond time, beyond morning and evening.” Dare I ask such a thing? Would it not be better to be safe and comfortable, and never hear the sound of angels singing here in this life? Would it?

 
But, I know that I’m not promised a life without pain. I have never been promised a life without struggle. I have never been promised a life without heart ache. Life on this earth has been tainted by sin, and so there is pain on this earth….for all of us.

So, I have asked. I have asked God to allow me to hear the sound of the angels singing…even while I’m in THIS life here on the earth. I know there is a life to come…with him…but even while I’m still here breathing earthly air, I long to hear the sound of angels singing.

It occurs to me that I must listen for it. I want to see the common, mundane parts of life “shot through with new glory.” I want to see “deep and ancient wounds lose much of their old, old hurting.” Thurman writes that when we do hear the beautiful sound of angels singing that, “A crown is placed over our heads that for the rest of our lives we are trying to grow tall enough to wear.” I will listen and wait and expect to hear it. God’s extravagant love will throw open the window and let the sound flood my life. I know it.

I love the picture of the ocean…standing by the ocean nearly always takes my breath away. I love this picture.

I don’t have a lot of time right now to give to writing, but I’ll be back soon, and will share more. Later.