Tag: Hope

God Is Not Handicapped

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Once upon a time Jesus healed a guy with a withered arm. I think I remember studying about that boy and getting the idea it was some kind of farming mishap that rendered his arm useless. The word used in that account means shriveled or twisted up bad.

If you go further back in the Bible you encounter a time when God Himself poses the question, “Does My arm look withered to you?” It was the prophet Isaiah who spoke for God in that instance, I believe. Correct me if I’m wrong; I won’t even google it.

Which brings me to the third (of four) attributions in this “God Is Not…” series of posts. If you’re new to me and are jumping in midstream, I’m taking a few breaths as I prepare to offer a vision statement for this new year. It’s not that I’m doing a drum roll before the ta-da! It’s nothing so dramatic, I assure you. In fact (I’ll go ahead and let you in on it), the ‘word’ I’ve got marinating in my spirit won’t catch you off-guard, yea, it might even be borderline anticlimactic. You might even demand your money back. Wait…

These posts are not a build-up to a crescendo but more of the framing around the message itself. Flying buttresses, if you will. If I’m truly seeing something that presents a new set of challenges for the church in the coming year, then, well, we’re going to need to know some things about God in the midst of the fallout.

  1. GOD IS NOT NERVOUS
  2. GOD IS NOT SILENT

  3. GOD IS NOT HANDICAPPED

Well, now I understand something about this. It’s right in my wheelhouse. In nearly nine years of blogging and thirty-three years of speaking out of my life of disability I’ve shared and shared ad nauseum on what my life’s been like as a paralyzed man. There’s not a lot more I can say, but, then again, there’s always a testimony waiting to happen. So…let me testify.

Disability has its privileges. Primo parking spaces, roomier hotel accommodations, cool equipment, wheelchairs that go vroom, and the enviable privilege of being ushered to the front of the line at Disney World. Persons with disability are also fairly patient people; indeed, we have to be. I can also testify that a handicap can strengthen a marriage as you tend to overemphasize communication to compensate for lack in other departments. Have I told you how much I love being married to Sandy?

Moving on.

There are also some drawbacks to this life. My particular infirmity can be a b-word an awful lot of the time. I’ll just invite you to read more about my situation here and here and let that suffice.

There’s another strike against persons with disability, an issue I’m loathe to mention but must. By and large we are pretty self-absorbed people. We are often known to make it about us.

I’m going to segue here by making a bold assessment. The church is entirely too self-absorbed. There’s a lot of good – yes – and I love being a part of her. She’s doing enviable work, has many strengths, and is making strong inroads with regard to gospel penetration.

"But I have somewhat against thee," Jesus says.

She’s self-absorbed because she’s handicapped. She needs to make it about her because she’s weak and needy and not fully living out of the joy and strength of her Lord. Mind you, I’m not bashing. I love her. I’m part of her. I’m also weak and needy and self-absorbed, and I think our only hope to overcome is severe testing and refining.

Isaiah was God’s man to a people paralyzed by current events. The Jews living in the 8th century B.C. seemed surprised when they were being raided and carted off by Assyria. God, where are You? Why aren’t You doing something? Have You forgotten about us? They couldn’t believe what hit them – and when it did, they set to blaming God. It was His fault. He let it happen.

Let me tell you about Assyria. It’s capital was Ninevah – yeah, that Ninevah. Never had a world power devised such forms of brutality and torture as the Assyrians. They loved putting out eyes, severing body parts and skinning their prisoners alive. Conquests were staked to the ground and died of starvation and dehydration while exposed to the Middle Eastern sun. Women and children were not immune. Suddenly, Israel finds itself being handed over to these savages and they cried bitterly against their God.

Let me pick up this part of the story straight out of Isaiah’s record:

Isaiah 40:26-28 (NLT)
Look up into the heavens.
Who created all the stars?
He brings them out like an army, one after another,
calling each by its name.
Because of his great power and incomparable strength,
not a single one is missing.
O Jacob, how can you say the Lord does not see your troubles?
O Israel, how can you say God ignores your rights?
Have you never heard?
Have you never understood?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of all the earth.
He never grows weak or weary.
No one can measure the depths of his understanding.

Did you see that? My predicament. My rights. Me, my, mine. When the focus is leveled at myself and my surroundings I begin to lose hope and look for someone to blame for my situation. Guess who gets the brunt?

God, don’t You love me?

Am I nothing to You?

Don’t You care?

On the heels of this despairing conversation is a promise: YOU WILL MOUNT UP ON EAGLE’S WINGS. But – wait – the promise is for those who “wait” on God. The word in the original gives the picture of twine being twisted into a sturdy rope; the more strings you add the greater the rope’s unbreakable strength. He’s showing us if we wrap our hearts – our hope, our faith – with His purposes, we will soar while the rest are earth-bound. We will have His limitless energy to overcome!

Is He handicapped by the enemy? Are His purposes thwarted?

Is His arm withered?

Behold, the Lord God comes with might,
AND HIS ARM RULES FOR HIM!
Isaiah 40:10

He’s not handicapped, we are. We need healing. But, praise God, He’s coming with wings, with legs and with zeal to overcome against our Assyria. Isaiah 40:31 isn’t ‘sweet bye and bye’ stuff. It’s for today, tomorrow and whatever’s coming.

Amen.

Next Up: “God Is Not…Finished”

• • • •

Photo Cred: Michelangelo’s anatomical study of the human arm.

A Son To Pierce Her Heart

I lovingly dedicate this entry to Graham’s ‘mama’ – my Sandy – and her epic love for our sweet boy who left earth one year ago this day; though he pierced her soul and died too soon, he always knew he had a home in her heart.

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And the Child will pierce your heart also, Mary.
- Simeon, Luke 1:35

• • • •

The keen-eyed prophet looked up from his petitions when the young couple gingerly entered the temple grounds. Their eyes darted to and fro, nervously surveying the lay of the property. His own expression, however, told the full story of his mirth as a smile stretched and lit up his face like the gleam of a midday sun.

Their bundle which cooed and giggled and scuffled against its tight wrappings was the hope of his people but the pair appeared not to be aware. But the prophet was! He had lived to see this Day of Visitation after all! And here he was, within feet of Messiah in the guise of an eight-day old baby.

Not wanting to startle the couple, he could barely contain his adulation, but still carefully approached the young parents and when they simultaneously spied his approach, he smiled kindly.

The husband was more on edge but offered a respectful nod as the elderly man drew near. The new mother, quite young, looked shyly down upon her newborn and fiddled playfully with the child’s stubby fingers. The prophet paused, in awe of the scene before him: God Himself, accessible and interactive, gazing up at His mother, eyes alert and sparkling like the stars He had laid out in the night skies eons hence…

It was all too much – but joyfully so!

As Simeon drew up to the cautious pair, he kept bobbing his head in quick, successive and reverential bows and mimicked the quiet clapping and rubbing together of his bony hands. He had no idea, when he awakened this morning, that this day would provide the coda for his entire lifetime. He could fairly burst into song!

The new mother stole another quick glance at their visitor and smiled in return, ever so sweetly. He was struck by how young and innocent she was, little more than a child herself. Her attachment to this newborn was clearly evident, as if her baby boy was her universe.

Dare he ask to hold the Child?

Did she know Whom she was cradling against her breast?

Did he himself know for certain?

Indeed. So much so, in very fact, his hands, veined with thin ropes, began shaking and his breaths became shallow in this high and holy moment. This time his bow came from the waist and he lingered in abeyance for a beat or two. The couple seemed uncomfortable with the gesture and eyed him warily.

“You needn’t fear me, children,” Simeon offered in whispered tones.

He looked at the bundle in Mary’s arms with a look of reverential awe. “I know Whom you bring today.”

They were suddenly alarmed. Mary pressed into her husband’s side for assurance of his handling the matter.

“Your Child,” he indicated by tilting his head ever so slightly at the Baby, and continued, ” is our long-awaited One.”

Simeon’s smile broadened and glee spread out across his face, but Joseph quickly looked around, unsure, to see if anyone was listening. Mary looked instinctively at her fidgeting bundle.

The Child, only eight days, was now fixated on the old man who was now at Mary’s side. His round-as-marbles eyes seemed fascinated, taking in the moment, watching the kind man with interest. What could have been a smile – but surely wasn’t! – began to play at the corner of his tiny mouth.

Simeon held out his hands. Mary somehow felt the necessity that called instead of cautioned in the moment and gently released her Baby into the waiting arms of this righteous man. A startled gasp erupted from Simeon as he took Messiah into his palms. He looked down into the face of Deity and appeared to be listening, then looked up and then straight into the wide-eyed wonderment of the young girl before him.

“This Child is given for the salvation of many. But many will also reject Him and perish. He is God’s appointed One and will expose all that is in men’s hearts,” he declared aloud.

But then his eyes dampened as pity softened the edges of his prophecy. Simeon’s voice broke a bit as he added one more word for the sweet young mother of Messiah:

“And you, too, will have your heart pierced by Him…”

And the strangest thing…

Mary already seemed to know…

• • • •

In the fairy-est of tales, fraught with wonder and legend, my wife’s prayers for a child were answered in the fullest of ways. Our Graham came to us like a dream you never want to wake up from.

A year ago today we were looking at air fares for Graham, happily anticipating our son’s visit for Christmas. In mere hours, however, we were scrambling for a flight for Sandy – to be where he was. Well, his body. He wouldn’t make it after all. Death had intervened.

Rather than a festival we made plans for a funeral, and my wife, the mother of our only child, now deceased, was a sight to behold. Through it all – and since – her handling of it has been the stuff of fantasy. I’ve never known someone so deeply and consistently wounded and pierced through, and yet so marvelously forgiving and accepting … and so mythically and stunningly … content.

Mary – grander scale, we know; cosmic, to be sure – kept having more and more drama added to her narrative and yet kept quietly processing, finding sense in, and looking for God’s riches in it all (Luke 2:19,51). I’m watching my bride do this also and I’m fascinated to see Christ being formed in her in these tender days (Galatians 4:19).

Graham?

He’s missed –oh! – you’ve no idea!

Christmas is quiet. Joyeaux Noel is downplayed, though not in Minor key. We cry, but we don’t mourn (as much). We still talk about the could have beens, but without regrets tinged with bitterness. The motion of the world carries forward, but we still want to stay a few steps behind. Our choice. We’ll catch up, but not today. Today, my wife holds her hand over her pierced heart, hurting. And remembering. And treasuring.

And I? I hold my hand over hers.

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One of the last mother-son pics – it says everything

How (Not) To Comfort A Grieving Mom

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One year ago this month, nine days before Christmas, our only child, Graham Scott, was taken from this world. He was twenty-four years young. If anyone can tell you about the sustaining grace of the Comforter God, we certainly can. He’s good. He grieves with us. His love and glory is worth anything we must endure.

The real hero of the story is my wife and soulmate, Sandy. I’ve sat and watched in awe, witnessing the strength and grace of God move through her these months, like a symphony of quiet confidence, peace and contentment. Most do not have a full appreciation for what she’s gone through, not just through her only child’s passing, but in a long-running melodrama that surrounded his life – before and since.

And yet, recently, in the span of one week, two people who barely know her made suggestions that she wasn’t handling the process of grieving very well.

The first, her hairdresser who only knows her in a salon chair context every few months, mis-took Sandy’s sharing about Graham in the flow of ‘just making conversation’ and informed my wife she just “needed to move on” so she could get on with the business of living. It sounds meaner than it was.
As they say, she meant well.

But still.

The second, just a few days later, was her doctor who, because of changes in our healthcare, was newly assigned as Sandy’s general practitioner of medicine.

SIDENOTE:
The thing about my bride is, when those in highly influential or respected positions begin to probe her to open up about private matters, she becomes weepy. Say, when our spiritual father focuses on her with loving counsel, she’s apt to cry. Or, when my surgeons have met with her, she’s moved by their handling of me and becomes a puddle in the floor.

During her first meeting with her new doctor, whose name is pronounced “cruel” (but she is not), Sandy buckled when questions about her life probed into the soft tissue of her grief over Graham. And she wept.

Do you think you might need grief counsel?” the doctor asked kindly, but still wary and watchful.

Anything’s possible, of course. Lord knows, we’re open to whatever we must do to shed anything that holds us back from moving forward in our faith. But this…this…process has been so supernaturally kissed by grace. Grief counseling? Nope, not thinking that way, but, then again, one should never say never…

Listen, however you slice it, it’s been less than a year.

Yes, we still get sad. We weep at his grave. We miss him. Christmas Day might be a bummer.

And it might not.

We even laugh at his grave. We smile a lot as we remember ‘Graham stories’.

Isn’t this kinda, well, normal?

Move on?

That’s pretty much what we’re doing. Grieving is moving on. It’s when grief is drained of hope that you start regressing, and that’s not us. No sir, not by a long shot.

To tell you how good God is in His expert handling of my Lovely, a few days after this mystifying week for her, she treated her mother to her long-time dream of visiting the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte. During their visit, they were blown away by having the tour, complete with intimate stories of the Graham family, given by none other than the caregiver to Billy’s mother in the final years of her long life!

The stories of “Mother Graham’s” devoted life – her many sorrows and greater triumphs and exuberant faith throughout – stirred Sandy and she knew this was a hug from the God who saw these very things in her. And, of course, she wept!

One valuable resource Sandy reached for during the tour was a card-stock flier embossed with the title:

“What To Say To A Bereaved Parent”

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I’m sure you can write to the library and request this free resource – it’s wonderful! – but let me share some of its main bullet points with you, in closing:

  • What NOT To Say:

I know how you feel.”

  • Say Instead:

I cannot imagine how difficult this is for you.”

  • What NOT To Say:

Are you doing OK?” or “How are you doing?”

  • Say Instead:

How are you holding up?”

  • Other Things NOT To Say:

You’ll feel better before you know it.”

Don’t cry.” (or, “Be strong for your family.”)

God must have needed him/her in heaven.”

At least you have other children.”

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.”

Don’t let this rob you of your joy.”

[Don’t tell the person how they should feel; only respond to how they feel]

[Don’t share personal stories of how your grief compares to yours]

It goes on to suggest offering to pray for the bereaved; to talk openly about the one who has passed; share personal stories, use their name throughout (we can testify when people use Graham’s name repeatedly, it ministers to us); listen…and be comfortable with silence.

Finally, of the MANY meaningful cards and sentiments we received, Sandy was especially moved by our friend Ken’s words. He said while everyone was talking about and remembering Graham,

I don’t want to be remembering him, I want to (still) be knowing him.”

That’s how she truly felt.

And she cried.

Over To You:

What ideas can you add, as either what TO say or what NOT to say to someone who’s going through a difficult time?