Grief

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Sometimes the news comes quick. Sometimes the news comes slow. No matter how or when it comes, grief travels in the wake of the news. Grief is heavy, weighty, a burden, especially when it involves someone deeply loved. Grief is not meant to be carried alone. It’s too heavy and may last a while—and that’s ok. That’s what family and friends are for, to share the load. Jesus stood outside the tomb of his friend and wept but He did not weep alone. It was a deep, human moment. “ Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted ” (Matt 5:4). If anyone knows how we feel in grief, it’s Him. But His grief did not linger long, as at the mention of his name, Lazarus came forth. We are not meant to dwell in grief, but should leave room enough for it. Let it run its course. Like the song says, “ Every Storm Runs Out Of Rain .” Another song says, “ The storm We will dance as it breaks The storm It will give as it takes And all of our pain is washed away Don't cry or be afraid Some things...

Sweet and Sour

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I’m excited because as I rub shoulders with students who will be staying around for the summer, I soon discover they have ministry plans. At least they are not sitting back on their haunches, licking their wounds from a semester of study (just kidding—but at least they are busy in ministry). Conversing with one student, I referred to a calendar of evangelism opportunities I have posted outside my office. “Yeah,” he tells me, “our church has blocked out a number of dates to be doing evangelism outreach through the summer. We’ll see you there!” That’s sweet.

The other day I was driving through Columbia when something caught my eye. Standing in the parking lot of a local restaurant, three older gentlemen had their arms around each other’s shoulders, heads bowed, obviously praying. Right there in public! How encouraging! That was sweet.

About 10 minutes down the freeway, I was lost in thought and found myself staring at a pick-up truck as it passed me on the left (I try was in the far-right lane, nearing my exit). It took my mind a moment to realize what was so unusual about the truck—beat up, green, towing a trailer . . . swerving, speeding up, slowing down, swerving . . . . At 60 miles per hour, I realized the driver of the truck was lifting his right arm up to shield his head from the blows his female passenger was raining upon him. These were no “oh, gee, stop it you're embarrasing me,” kind of blows. She was screaming at him, nearly standing up in the seat of the truck. As soon as she stopped screaming, he let his arm down—then suddenly she started again: arm up, whack on the head a few times, speeding up, swerving . . . . This went on for miles, and then I had to get off at my exit. It’s one thing to have a woman scorned, but while driving on the freeway? I actually felt sorry for the guy—and I have no clue what he did. I just prayed nobody got killed . . .

I don’t listen to the radio much, but the last few miles before my destination, I turned the radio on and heard a news headline that rocked my boat: adults with children are less happy. The story went on to explain how research discovered that when families have children (?) the parents are no longer happy and should they regain happiness later in life, it is after the kids are “gone.” How selfish. How sad. My children are my arrows, and I have a quiver-full—but I could not imagine life without them. As a matter of fact, I don’t think my wife and I could be any happier!

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