Thanks, Mom

Three years ago today, I lost my mom.  But in all the ways that count, she has never left me, or our family.

Friday, September 24, 2010, started like any other day.  Mom and Dad had gone to Beaumont from their home in Orangefield for an eye appointment, then they stopped at one of their favorite restaurants for lunch: IHOP.  As they were heading home, Mom said that she needed to use the bathroom, but she dropped her keys as she was trying to unlock the front door.  She had already had the stroke that would claim her life.

Dad called the ambulance, and the EMTs promptly arrived.  (The house is out in the country, so thank goodness for enhanced 911 service!)  She ended up at Baptist Memorial in Beaumont.

One by one, my brothers and I, along with other family, arrived as soon as we could get there – in my case, about 3:30 Saturday morning.  The nurses were great, and the doctor was as gentle as he could be later as he explained that this was a “terminal brain event.”

One of my brothers had been on a mission trip to Guatemala, helping drill a water well for a village that needed a new source of good water.  Flights in and out of Central America have a somewhat loose connection to scheduled times, but he was able to get out on time – less than an hour before a Gulf hurricane came ashore, and shut everything down for three days.  He and his wife set a new record getting from the Houston airport to Beaumont.

An hour later, Mom was gone.  Personally, I think she was just waiting on her boys to all get there before she left.  One by one, we got to say our goodbyes, kiss her, hold her hand, and let her go.  It was Saturday, September 25, 2010.

There were so many wonderful friends who supported us, at the hospital, with their cards and visits, and so much sharing of food, of laughs, of tears, of memories.  My brothers and I got to preach her funeral, and that was a special time.  The funeral procession was over a mile long going out to the cemetery.  And even the funeral director felt the need to comment publicly at the graveside about what a remarkable woman she was.

Here’s mom on her wedding day, and 50 years later, at the church, during their golden anniversary reception, visiting with her dear friend Mary Russell.

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Dad has been so strong and brave.  He has learned to live by himself (well, along with his faithful canine companion, Chica), in spite of falling almost two years ago and breaking his leg, which has left him in a wheelchair.  I know that he misses her terribly, but he is determined to carry on and make her proud.

This is one of my favorite snapshots of mom – it’s from Christmas about 2006, with a whole big, rowdy bunch of us crammed into their small kitchen, and her directing traffic and enjoying the chaos and noise of our family.  And that’s not even all of us.

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Here’s Mom, from about 1959, I’d guess.  That’s her with my brother Buzzy, and yours truly, displaying the blazer, bow tie and cowboy boots that the well-dressed young man was evidently wearing that year.

I still hear her voice in my head, and desperately wish we could have had more time together, but I’m thankful for many things.  And so much of what she taught me, that I still hold on to today.

• I learned to love God’s Word from the countless Bible stories that she read to us every night.

• I learned to be passionate about worship from hearing her strong, clear alto voice as she boldly sang out.

• I learned to serve others by watching the way that she volunteered at church and in the community.  (That’s her, in her hospital volunteer uniform.)

• I learned to respect people who were different by the way she would never let us use hurtful words, even in jokes.

• I learned to cherish the moments we have with family and friends, to laugh a lot, to forgive from the heart, and to say “I love you,” and always give “just one more hug.”

Because you never know when you won’t be able to any more.

Do You Trust Me?

All of us are faced every day with many questions.  “What should I wear?,” “Where do you want to eat?,” “When are we leaving?”  But there are questions, and then there are questions.  And in John 11, Jesus asks Martha a question that is definitely in that second category.

The chapter opens with Jesus learning that Lazarus, his friend, was sick – but mysteriously, Jesus does NOT immediately head for Bethany, the village where Lazarus lives.  Instead, Jesus delays for a couple of days before leaving.  The disciples are just as puzzled as we are by his behavior.

Jesus arrives to find Lazarus has been dead for four days.  Lazarus’ sister, Martha, goes out to meet Jesus on the road, and she immediately begins with the accusations.  “If only you had been here, my brother would not have died!”

We have to understand some of the cultural forces at work here.  With their brother dead, Martha and her sister Mary didn’t have a lot of economic options.  It wasn’t like they were getting a big life insurance check when Lazarus died.  And you certainly don’t get the impression that they were financially wealthy – after all, they lived in Bethany, which means, “House of the Poor.”  You wouldn’t expect to find a lot of money in a place called “Poor-town.”

So Martha, ever the practical one, was probably looking past her grief, already wondering how she and Mary were going to get by.  There weren’t very many jobs available for women.

“If only you’d been here, my brother would not have died.”  It’s a sentiment that many of us have wanted to shout at God at one time or another.

• Where were you, God, when my child was killed?
• I have dedicated my life to you, God.  How could you let my business go under?
• How could you make my wife suffer with cancer like that?

There are many other versions of those questions, but you get the point.  Where is God when it hurts?

In his book “God Came Near,” Max Lucado says

You see, if God is God anywhere, he has to be God in the face of death. Pop psychology can deal with depression. Pep talks can deal with pessimism. Prosperity can handle hunger. But only God can deal with our ultimate dilemma — death. …He has to be God in the face of death. If not, he is not God anywhere.

So when Martha confronts Jesus for apparently being AWOL when he was needed most, Jesus doesn’t flinch.  He says, somewhat cryptically, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha thinks Jesus is talking about something off in the future and says, “Yes, I know he will rise again in the resurrection in the last day.”  (As if to say, “That’s not going to be of much help now.”

But Jesus stuns her (and us) when he says, “I AM the resurrection and the life.  Whoever believes in me will live, even though he dies.  And whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”

And that’s when he asked THE QUESTION.

“Do you trust me?”

Now, your translation for that verse probably says something like, “Do you believe in me?,” but I don’t think that does justice to what Jesus is really saying.  You see, for many people, to BELIEVE is something that takes place in the mind.  It’s a matter of giving intellectual agreement.  Yes, I believe I should watch my diet and exercise more.  Yes, I believe that wearing seat belts is good.  Yes, I believe that Jesus is the Son of God.

We say we believe those things, but we may or may not actually DO anything about it.  That’s because in our language, BELIEVING something doesn’t necessarily mean ACTING on that.

But Jesus is not asking Martha if she understands his words intellectually.  He’s asking, “Do you trust me?”  And it’s the same question he asks us today.  He wants to know, even when we don’t understand what is happening, or why, do we trust him?

• Do we trust him in the hospital waiting room?
• Do we trust him in the police station and in the courthouse?
• Do we trust him when our most cherished dreams come crashing down?
• Do we trust him as we hold the hand of one who is slipping away?
• Do we trust him at the cemetery?

The fact is, it’s easy to trust him when life is going well and everyone is healthy and there’s plenty of money in the bank.  But what about when “things fall apart, and the center does not hold?”  Can we still trust him then?

Now of course, we know the end of this story.  We know that Jesus went to the cemetery and called out Lazarus and there is a great happy ending.  But put yourself in Martha’s sandals here.  She didn’t know any of that.  All she knew was that the brother that she loved was dead, her world was upside down, she had no idea what was coming in the future, but here stands Jesus in front of her, asking her to trust him.

Martha gives the answer for eternity.  “Yes, Lord.  I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”

Good words, but more than that.  It’s the response of a broken but trusting heart.

It’s still the response he’s looking for today.

(Max Lucado quotation taken from The Question for the Canyon’s Edge.)