Driving home from the USO-NC Jacksonville, NC Center last night, I heard something on the radio that had me thinking.  It seems that one of the actors (and singer, teen heart-throb) from The Partridge Family, was heard to say the following just before he died; “So much wasted time.”  Sad that a man whose career was devoted to supposedly bringing laughter into others lives would end his own with such a sad insight. 
 
It got me thinking into what others ‘last words’ were and how that reflected their lives before their deaths.  Many of the comments are humorous, some sublime and others, as the above quote, a sad goodbye to this life.  Some may believe that drawing any kind of conclusions from anyone’s ‘deathbed conversation’ is overblown.  They would claim that it is nothing more than the random thoughts flitting through a dying brain; others, myself included, feel that often such comments can reveal not only a glimpse of that persons’ life but perhaps a glimpse of what is next after death.  Many are recorded on various websites, but some that I’ve included here can point to how important these last testimonies are.
 
This is the last of earth! I am content.
~~ John Quincy Adams, US President, d. February 21, 1848

Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well--let 'em wait.
In response to an attending doctor who attempted to comfort him by saying, "General, I fear the angels are waiting for you."
~~ Ethan Allen, American Revolutionary general, d. 1789

All my possessions for a moment of time.
~~ Elizabeth I, Queen of England, d. 1603

Codeine . . . bourbon.
~~ Tallulah Bankhead, actress, d. December 12, 1968

How were the receipts today at Madison Square Garden?
~~ P. T. Barnum, entrepreneur, d. 1891

I am ready to die for my Lord, that in my blood the Church may obtain liberty and peace.
~~ Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, d.1170

I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.
~~ Humphrey Bogart, actor, d. January 14, 1957

That was the best ice-cream soda I ever tasted.
~~ Lou Costello, comedian, d. March 3, 1959

Damn it . . . Don't you dare ask God to help me.
To her housekeeper, who had begun to pray aloud.
~~ Joan Crawford, actress, d. May 10, 1977
 
This by no means is a complete list, just some I parsed from several different websites including “Brain Candy,” “Mental Floss” and “Phrasefinder.”  There are some notables I have left out, among them Jesus the Christ (in that case his last words on the cross were not his last words, for he is alive today having risen from the dead).   Some that I have heard from other nurses (relating what they’d heard from a patient just as they died) are horrifyingly stark, giving a glimpse of life after death that is not all lollipops, rainbows, and butterflies.  The saddest on the above list is that of Joan Crawford; apparently, someone in her hearing was praying and perhaps beseeching her to call out for God.  To go into that long not-so-good night with those words on ones’ lips…
 
There are ample examples of those disciples of Christ who went to their King with joy; Tomas a’ Becket is such an example when faced with his assassins, gave testimony of not only a life well spent but an expectation of far better in the next life.  As the two malefactors who were crucified at the same time as Jesus, the world is divided into two camps; those who continue to decry his claims and mock him even as they die, and those who had once been among the mockers, but embraced him as Lord and Savior.  There is no middle ground, no great good deed that anyone can do that will assuage the penalty of being born a son or daughter of Adam.  Anyone who doesn’t believe in the concept of original sin and the inherent depravity of mankind has never had children (or seen the wild tantrum of a child not getting what they wanted NOW).
 
The time of our death is not known; often there is no time for any ‘last words’ as death overtakes us.  Better to live a life that reflects our values, particularly those of a disciple of Christ and let that be our last testament to the world.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                                           

When folks tell me that the God of the TANAK (Old Testament) and New Testament are different; one being vengeful and angry, the other loving and full of grace, I have to shake my head.  They just don’t get it and my reading this morning shows clear proof that they are one and the same.  Man’s fall and resultant expulsion from the Garden some may claim are clear indications of how vengeful God was ‘back then.’  They may say that didn’t God put that tree of the knowledge of good and evil in the Garden after all; why should God be surprised when man disobeyed the command not to eat of its’ fruit? 

That Eve was deceived by the Accuser is clearly laid out in Scripture (Gen. 3:1-6); what is often overlooked is how Adam was present during this temptation and let it happen.  True, Eve was not there when God commanded Adam not to eat of this particular tree (think of it, in a world full of ‘yes,’ the only one ‘no’ and they blew it!).  Surely Adam instructed his wife of this single ‘no,’ but the Accuser is crafty and deceived Eve, so she took of its’ fruit and ate it.  Then, Scripture tells us (Gen. 3:6), “…she took of the fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.”  The innocence and joy of the Garden were gone in an instant, and they hid from each other and tried to hide from God.  No longer unashamed (Gen. 2:25); with rebellion and sin, shame entered creation.

God enters the Garden looking for Adam, calling to him as a father to a wayward son.  What follows (Gen. 3:10-13) is the first example of the blame game; fingers pointing outward without any confession of their own sin.  This continues to this day and will do so until the end of this fallen world.  Their attempt at covering their own shame (sewing fig leaves together to cover their nakedness) was ludicrous, just as any attempt on our part to pay for our own failures falls far short.  God sacrifices creatures to provide for them proper covering (would an angry and vengeful God do this?), but then does something many don’t understand. He expels them from the Garden, never to return (Gen. 3:23,24)!

Just so, some would claim, this demonstrates his vengeful nature.  But really it truly demonstrates the grace God shows throughout His-story.  The triune God speaks a very real concern, “Behold, the man has become like one of us in knowing good and evil.  Now, lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever…” (Gen. 3:22)  Adam and Eve (and all their progeny) were cursed with eventual death rather than living forever in a Garden of bliss.  This is the peak of grace; imagine if they had remained in the Garden and had eaten of the fruit that would give them everlasting life.  Shame, fear, doubt; all the ‘fruit’ of the fall would remain forever.  Death for the human race is a gracious gift from a loving God that ends a life of suffering and temptation, allowing them to enter into an eternity of everlasting joy.

Again, this so-called ‘angry, vengeful God of the Old Testament demonstrates further grace by providing a path, a Way to that true life.  By the sacrifice of the animals that provided them with clothing, God showed them that blood was required.  This would lead to the sacrificial system laid down in Exodus and Leviticus, but all points to that Son whose heel would be bruised, but who would forever crush the power and threat of the Accuser.  About two thousand years ago, an itinerant preacher and miracle worker was arrested and endured several mock trials (in violation of the Torah).  He would then be handed over to a lily-livered Roman official who would condemn him to be crucified, even knowing he was innocent.  That was that they all thought. 
 
But God…

Jesus is risen; just as he said!  He has left this planet but will return.  The madness and evil that seem to run rampant over the Earth leave us with little hope.  By God’s grace, the story is not over.  When Jesus cried, “It is finished!” (John 19:30), it was not a piteous cry of defeat, but a shout of victory!  The debt had been paid; the Way was now open to all who believe to receive true life forever.

Really?
 
You expect me to believe that a man who had been brutally tortured, nailed to two pieces of wood, either suffocated or bled to death and then had a Roman spear jammed into his chest to ensure he was dead, that this same guy is alive?
 
Really?
 
You’re telling me that this same person when taken down from the cross was boneless without any sign of life, then laid in a borrowed tomb that was sealed and protected by Roman soldiers, that this same person is gone from the tomb?  You’re telling me that he is alive?
 
Really?
 
What kind of fool would believe that kind of nonsense?!?
 
Just because you have a bunch of his spineless followers (they did bail on him, right?), that they were suddenly bold proclaimers of this fella being alive and well; you want me to believe them as well?
 
Really?
 
Yeah, yeah; they were willing to suffer horrific deaths themselves just for believing in him, but that isn’t any kind of proof that he is alive, is it?  You really expect me to believe that?
 
Really?
 
Yeah, I heard how one of the most prolific persecutors of his disciples suddenly began telling others that this guy Jesus is alive, that he is a King?  That Saul turned from a successful career as one of the ruling council in Jerusalem to walk the then known world proclaiming this nonsense; is that proof of anything other than one man’s delusion?
 
Come on, really?  What kind of fool do you take me for anyway?
 
Who would be foolish enough to believe such nonsense!?!
 
Whose fool do you take me for?
 
Really?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                                           

Have you ever had a day that seemed to drag on and on?  One that you wished would end, but were terrified of what would happen, what would change when it did?  Have you ever just wanted to curl up in a ball and, as the old country song put it, “Make the World Go Away?”
 
By now all of the apostles and the women who had followed Jesus would have gathered together in that same room where the Passover had been celebrated.  No celebration now, only a mind-numbing emptiness as they struggled to understand the inexplicable. 
 
How could he die?
 
Was this all there was after all those years of ministry and learning?  The promise of what seemed a heralding of a new kingdom was now ashes and dust.  How were they to go on?  When would the same religious zealots who had taken their beloved teacher come for them?
 
Fear, darkness, hopelessness…
 
We look back on these huddled, shivering men and women in the light of what we know from Scripture and just shake our heads.  Where is there faith?  How could they have missed the warnings Jesus gave them, but also the promise of his resurrection?
 
Are we then so very different?
 
Whenever tragedy strikes our family when things don’t go according to what we thought they should, do we keep our eyes focused on God’s promises that are all yes and Amen in Messiah?
 
Life, this life we live will be filled with days similar to that one Saturday.
 
Hopelessness, despair, grief will flood our souls and leave us bereft of any joy.  We far too often are ignorant of how God is working as he was on that Saturday; we close our eyes to his possible and cling to our impossible.  We embrace our misery as if a friend when our true friend stands waiting with arms open wide.
 
It’s Saturday, but Sunday is coming…

Good Friday?
 
Really?
 
What’s so good about it?
 
The religious leaders of Israel conspired together and then coerced a lily-livered Roman official to condemn and then torture and execute an itinerant teacher who was innocent of any blame!  We call that good!?!
 
The public humiliation and torture of this guy alone would have been the crime of the century, but they hung him naked to die for all those passing by to mock and pour out their invective upon.  Those men whom he had called and taught for over three years were, except for one youngster, notably absent.  Only some of the women who had followed him were there to watch as the one they love, the one they had believed in was tortured, nailed to two pieces of rough wood, and left to hang before the crowds.
 
They watched him bleed, they listened to his few words spoken only by the horror of lifting himself up so he could take a breath, dragging his savaged back against the rough wood.  They heard the crowds jeers and saw the afternoon grow dark as creation itself seemed to mourn over this travesty of so-called justice.
 
They watched him die…
 
Where was the promise of the early years of his ministry when so many flocked to hear words that seemed to flow from the throne of God?  Were they mistaken to call him Lord?  Wasn’t Messiah supposed to be a King over all kings? 
 
The darkness of their souls mirrors the darkness as the sun disappears…
 
It’s Friday, how can this be called good?
 
It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming!
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                                           

A dark day when evil ran amok, and the disciples’ perceptions of what Messiah ought to be ended in a horrific night of betrayal, violence, and terror
 
His plan was NOT their plan
 
All hope is gone after a seemingly never-ending night filled with the mockery of three trials which gave vent to the religious hatred against their friend
 
Now, as the light of day began filtering into the city, hearts and hopes remained dark as many huddled together in the upper room fearing that the religious leaders would come for them next
 
Some followed his agonizing path to Golgotha
 
Horror as the one they thought was the Messiah hung on a Roman cross, so disfigured as to be hardly recognizable as human, bleeding, dying
 
Darkness filled the land, covering the Earth
 
An end to hopes and dreams
 
But God                                                                               
 
 

Recently I agreed to an interview with Alex Guarino to tell ‘my story’ after she heard some of it at an event at Foxes Boxes in Wilmington.  I agreed in the hopes to ‘put a face’  on how so many with felony backgrounds do struggle to find work.  Additionally, I’d hoped to use this platform as a chance to share my testimony of how God’s grace had brought me from darkness to light.  While the portions of the interview left much out and reported that I'd been drafted and sent to Vietnam (something I remember telling her I'd been avoiding by enlisting in the Navy and volunteering for submarines), it was heartening to hear so many positive things from many that had not realized before that my background included a criminal record.

Then on Monday, March 26th, I was advised that my services as a volunteer on the Battleship North Carolina were no longer required, especially if it was in any aspect of my work involving interaction with the public.  Kim Sincox, who’d been the person that I interacted with most as a volunteer, was the person who delivered the message, telling me that it wasn’t anything personal…

Even before I was released from prison, I had begun to realize that my hopes for meaningful work would be an adventure.  As I filled out one application after another for work release, I quickly discovered that my naivete' about finding work of any kind had not prepared me for the rigors of this search.  I assumed that as I had nearly completed the court-ordered sentence placed upon me (thereby fulfilling my ‘debt’ to society) and had even earned an Associates of Science degree in computers while in prison, that I would find work in IT or related field fairly quickly. 
 
After my release, this search continued; by the time I’d all but given up I had applied for over 800 different positions in varying companies (including both the ones applied for while seeking work in prison and after).  Finally, in desperation for income, when I reached the age of 62 I  filed for my Social Security even though with my time in prison I would only receive just over $600.00 per month.  I had begun volunteering with different agencies in the Triangle (where we lived at the time) but continued to seek employment to no avail.

We relocated to the Wilmington area in hopes that an agency here would hire me (one of their supervisors had expressed an interest in me when I met her for a position assisting those coming out of prison in finding work).  Once we were in Wilmington, I followed their website daily waiting for the position to be posted.  When it did appear, I submitted my application with resume and appropriate documents and waited while checking the site at least twice a day.  After a month the position was no longer listed, having been filled without even a phone call from them.  It seemed the combination of my age and my felony would prove insurmountable barriers to meaningful employment, but was thankful to find other avenues in which to volunteer in the community.  Such activity took much of the sting of rejection at not finding work, giving me a sense of fulfillment and purpose; at least until Monday.

I’ve been reminded that many feel that having a felony is an embarrassment to their organization and would distance themselves from involvement with me (at least where it comes to being in the public eye).  Thankfully I’ve also been shown how others continue to value my efforts on their organization’s part and welcome my continued volunteering with them.  What is most important is knowing that nothing of what has happened can cause my King to reject me.  His grace is beyond my understanding, but the one thing that is immutable in my life.  That rock is a foundation that I can build upon and will continue to do so for whatever remains of my life.  Whether as a volunteer or in some paid position, my desire to serve the community remains unchanged. 

In Mark 9, we see Jesus and some of his disciples coming down from the transfiguration, returning to the valley of every day as it were.  Immediately they are confronted with his disciples arguing with some scribes, a distraught father, and a possessed son.  Despite the other disciples best efforts (THEIR BEST EFFORTS), the son still had not been delivered.  Jesus’ reaction to his disciple's unbelief and lack of faith is rather harsh, but understandable;
“O unbelieving generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring him to Me!”                                                                                                                                                                       Mark 9:19 ESV
Think of it; here, nearing the end of three years walking, talking and living with Jesus, they still did not get it!  How obtuse or lacking in faith they must have been! 
How often have any of us used such language (even if only in our minds) directed toward another disciple of Jesus?  We, as a group (the church) far too often do ‘shoot our wounded’ instead of coming alongside them to support and encourage. 

In recent weeks, Kathy and I have been through some challenges that tore at our hearts and even our faith at times.  I remember crying out to God over and over for C.J., only to receive such dire news from the veterinarian that there was only one option left.  Yes, she was ‘just’ a cat, but these little creatures do put their paw prints on your heart, and after almost 13 years, she had become my precious little girl.  As I recorded earlier in my blog, it was with many tears that we bid C.J. goodbye. 

When the hand tremors ceased for a time, the rejoicing at what God had done (especially when Pastor Ethan’s lesson the next Sunday was an exclamation point on what had happened), but then they began to return.  Over a few days they would increase and decrease; my prayers, my crying out to God did reduce the recalcitrant tremors, but they did continue to increase until it was at the point where I had to revert to using a spoon to eat with once again.  After discussing this with Kathy, I began taking the Primidone again.  More and more I had started to identify with those apostles as they received the tongue lashing from Jesus.  After all, have I not walked with him these 30 years?  Haven’t I learned ANYTHING?

Then, reading further, I saw how Jesus spoke with the father;                                           
21 And He asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. 22 It has often thrown him both into the fire and into the water to destroy him. But if You can do anything, take pity on us and help us!” 23 And Jesus said to him, “‘If You can?’ All things are possible to him who believes.”                                                                                                                  Mark 9:21-23 ESV

The father, seeing how the disciples had been unable to deliver his son, plead with Jesus the most poignant prayer in Scripture, “But if you can do anything…” What is important to see, is not the lack of bold faith on the part of the father, but that Jesus dealt with him very gently.  The father’s response mirrors my own in many an occasion;
24 Immediately the boy’s father cried out and said, “I do believe; help my unbelief.”  Mark 9:24 ESV
 
I do feel that I have failed a test, but how Jesus spoke to the father with his mixed message prayer is very reassuring to me.  Whenever any of us pray, it is often with a measure of unbelief.  Jesus can take that small bit of faith (mustard seed anyone?) and work with that.  For that, I am grateful to my King whose beneficence is beyond our understanding.

Grace is a wonderful thing.
 
The journey continues.

In our ongoing study through the Gospel of Mark, the last two Sundays have dealt with what Ethan has termed, “Bold Faith.”  This past Sunday, the 28th of January, his theme for Mark 11:12-14, 20-25 was “Speak to the Mountain” that dovetailed with what I have been experiencing in the last two weeks or so. 

As many of you know who follow my blog, I have been on a journey since coming out of prison that has been rather ‘interesting’ at times.  Part of that has been my struggle with PTS (Post Traumatic Stress) from my adventures in the Navy and since.  Thankfully treatment with Harbor Reins in Cary (equine-assisted psychotherapy) did much to bring healing; really the only overt sign has been my ongoing hand tremors.  I began treatment while still living in the Triangle part of North Carolina, starting several different medications and finally having a neurologist there settle on Primidone.  After moving to Asheville with beaches (Wilmington), I continued this treatment, gradually increasing the dosage to the maximum allowed.  There were times when with each increase the tremors did seem to subside somewhat, but never for very long.  While the tremors persisted despite increasing dosages, I did begin to experience some, at times, dramatic side effects in the way of easily losing my balance.  It is to the point where I am unable to ride my bicycle, and it would not be a  good thing to have some officer administer a road-side sobriety test to me as I would flunk it stone cold sober.

So, what to do?  The tremors were interfering with handwriting as well as typing (word-processing?) with the result that I all but stopped blogging.  Additionally, much of my morning devotions and Bible study diminished greatly because I was mostly unable to work the computer based study software.  I knew that God wanted me to study (big duh) and meditate on his Word, even continue to blog, but the tremors continued to make it all but impossible.  As the days became weeks and months, I noticed that I was always tired and would take frequent naps each day despite having slept for 8 to 12 hours at night!  It puzzled me why this was happening until one night while driving home from the USO-NC Jacksonville Center where I volunteer, I ‘happened’ to listen to the Good News Network station on Harker’s Island, specifically to a ministry called Know The Truth led by Pastor Phillip De Courcy.  The lesson this particular night came from Jonah 1 and something Pastor De Courcy said was like a Gibb’s slap to the back of my head (if you don’t watch NCIS you won’t understand the reference).  He said that this snoring prophet was exhausted enough to sleep through a storm because he was running from God’s will for him.  I remember ‘speaking’ to God along the lines of, “Okay, that’s why I’m tired because I’ve stopped blogging and studying, but I held up my shaking hands to the ceiling as if to show God why I’d stopped. 

So, what to do?  I spent some time praying and speaking with God about this, and it was as though he was waiting for something from me.  As with Jonah when he wound up in a rather unconventional berth (first ever sub sailor?) as a result of his disobedience, I cried out to God in anguish.  While I don’t think it was bargaining (much), I did ask God to take the tremors away.  At that moment, my hands did stop trembling!  My surprise (yeah, real faith prayer that) lasted for a bit, then I began dancing around and praising God for his delivering me.  Another decision I came to was to discontinue the medication I’d been taking to try and get my equilibrium back (something that is not usually a good idea, going from max dose to nada).  No one knew of my decision for over a week (including Kathy); there were times when the tremors would reappear, each time I would pray and ask God to once again deliver me from this barrier to what I believed he wanted of me.  Then Pastor Ethan spoke his lesson, “Speak to the Mountain!”  I’ve no idea how I managed to remain in my seat; perhaps I was so dumbfounded at this lesson being almost exact reiteration of my previous two weeks. 

So, is the struggle with tremors now over?  No, not really.  They are much less noticeable now than before, and I continue sans medication.  Interestingly enough, once I made this decision, my energy level returned to normal enabling me to awaken early each morning to spend time alone with my King and his Word even if I’d stayed up late the previous night.  As with other areas of my life, the tremors are a reminder of my weakness and dependence on God.  It is not the meds or anything other than God’s sovereignty over every aspect of my life that will enable me to honor him each day in all I say and do. 


The journey continues…

Furbabies. 

A term I’ve heard fairly often referring to the animals that come into our lives; seemingly inconsequential when compared with children, but then again perhaps not.  One of the three cats that Kathy adopted while I was in prison, C.J., became more than a pet or even a fur baby, at least to me.  Through her brokenness and at times violent objection to being caged in a pet carrier (it was definitely a two-person job with much trickery involved) she taught me much of how my journey Home was far too often a real mess. 

When Kathy adopted her, she was worm-filled and the treatment (that was repeated over several months) being neuro-toxic, left her with a rather scrambled view of the world (cross-eyed notwithstanding).   If it were necessary to take her anywhere (such as when we moved), we would have one person sit with a beach towel on their lap.  The other conspirator would pick up C.J. and approach the beach towel, petting and speak softly to her.  Once she was placed on the towel, the idea was to wrap her QUICKLY up, then lower the towel into the cat carrier.  Once Kathy attempted to do this without help; the scars on her arms and hands, while not permanent, were a reminder not to do that again!

Yes, C.J. had her violent side, but she wormed her way into my heart with the gentler side of her persona.  Many a morning, while the coffee was brewing, she would walk over and hop up onto my lap so I could pick her up and hold her on my shoulder.  This routine would continue for a few years and was something I looked forward to each day.  I remember writing about her seeking me out (not only in the morning but throughout the day as well) and often thought that God would have me seek him with the same persistence and intensity.  My ‘professor’ of Cat Theology was a patient instructor; spending many an hour perched on my shoulder purring into my ear as I held her.

That changed a bit over the past few weeks; she also began being VERY vocal as she walked around the house.  We put it off to her Siamese side coming out, but I missed the frequent shoulder times.  Even when she did assent to climb onto my lap so I could hold her, it was rare for her to purr as she once had.  Again, I shrugged it off…

This afternoon, when I came home, Kathy told me that C.J. wasn’t able to climb into the litter box and had urinated on the rug we have underneath it instead.  We decided to take her to a local veterinarian whose warm manner and gentle treatment of C.J. seemed to help her (and me) relax a bit.  I knew something was very wrong when I picked her up (sans towel) and gently placed her in the cat carrier, but we were hopeful that whatever it was, the vet could fix it.  As it turned out, C.J. was in the last throes of diabetic ketoacidosis, and there was only one thing to do.  I crouched beside the treatment table and wrapped one arm around her as I continually stroked her with my other hand, telling her how much I loved her.  Soon, it was over and our C.J., my dear professor of theology, was gone.

Between tears and regret for not being more observant, I have been pondering what this last lesson the professor wanted me to learn.  Don’t wait to tell those around you how much you love them because you may not have a tomorrow with that person.  Be ‘in the moment’every day, or, as Jim Elliot put it, “Wherever you are, be all there.”  Don’t take for granted the love of others (even your fur babies); be sure they know that you care for them.

Thank you, C.J.; for all the wisdom you have given me; thank you, God, for sharing this creature with me for these far too few years.