Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Depends on Where You Stand

For the past day or so I have watched the events unfold in Moore, OK. This story has gripped the headlines, the newscasts, and the casual conversations. I watched my bride late yesterday afternoon make those worried, concern sounds as she watched the pictures of the elementary in ruin. She was saddened and afraid for those little ones that she did not know, but knew of their precious value. We watch now in morbid fascination the death toll tick ever upward and wish we could tear ourselves away from this unfolding event. Wherewill  the damage stop? How will the parents and grandparents, the uncles and aunts, the brothers and sisters, the neighbors, how will they adjust? The shape of their worlds and their hearts have changed forever. The rheostat has been dimmed  and the future is dark and terrifying. This storm will wreak havoc for years. People have lost all possessions, jobs, and hope. My prediction is that there will be divorces in the years to come that this storm played as a catalyst to bring about. Depression will become a constant companion. It is almost certain that lives and futures, hopes and dreams have been crushed in this moment.

And as believers, how do we respond? The platitudes that we utter to each other seem futile and banal. We hold to a worldview that God is loving and kind, compassionate and sacrificial. Just this morning I sent an email to one of my reps telling him he was in my prayers and thoughts, Yet, even as I wrote it, I knew the pain was his alone to bear. I will go through my day fully functional and unscarred by my rep's loss and the loss north of the Red River. What do we say?

You see, there are at least three different sets of folks in Oklahoma. Each suffered the same event, but with different results. Yet, we have a single God and a singular worldview. What do we say?

The first group is the one we want to deal with because they are the easiest to help. I am speaking of the folks who lost only stuff. We can go in and help them rebuild. We can dig around in our closets and garages and find more than enough surplus stuff to outfit them and dozens  of others. They will respond with a brave smile and heart of gratitude, both to us and God. They were spared, prayers were answered. Life will be a chore, but it will go on and the skies will turn blue again. God is indeed a kind and benevolent God.

And the second group is almost as gratifying to interact with. They lost stuff, but suffered some sort of permanent damage. This damage could be physical, or emotional, or financial. Their realty has changed and their world is now one of becoming used to the new normal. It will never be restored, but the damage was not eternal. They might walk with a limp, or not walk at all. They may need counseling for the remainder of their days. Or they may simply have to live life on a smaller scale than they had anticipated. But God spared them their lives and while they are grateful for that, they wonder why He chose to let this happen to them. What could they have possibly done to incur His wrath in this manner? God is good, but they now wonder about his benevolence.

Then there is the group that we can't find the words for. They are standing hunched across the street from the elementary school where they took their little boy or girl, hoping against hope that they first responders will proudly march out of the rubble with their little one clutched close, alive and well. But they are crouched down in their fear, well deserved when they look at the rubble that was once the school, fearing beyond all fears that the "finding" will bring certain devastation to their lives. Or they have already received the news that the bright little boy with the winning smile and the innocent face is gone forever, snatched from them before they could say good-bye or hug one last time or kiss good night. Perhaps it is a husband looking for his teacher-wife and finding that she did what he always knew she would do, sheltered the little ones with her own life. He wanted so badly to tell her, "Don't be  a hero" knowing full well she would ignore his request and save all she could. What a desolate and lonely feeling that must be. There are no words of comfort, there is no advice, there is only silence of the soul. What do we tell these people? Where was God when this happened? I suspect there is less a feeling about the goodness of God and more about the presence of God.

It depends on where you stand. The old book gives us a good model on how to deal with the tragedies of life. Jesus wept, then he acted. We should use this model. It has been a great comfort in my life when the storms were fierce that believers simply put their arms around me and wept with me. No words, no advice, no encouragement, just tears mingling with mine. They do not feel the same pain, but they feel some of my pain enough to share in it.

On another level, as to the absence of God, I see a man on a cross asking the same question. When I need you the most, where are you? But it is the essence of faith that the severest test is when the source of the faith is completely unseen. Our worldview needs to be revised. It is not a world of have and have-nots, ins or outs, good or bad. It is a world that says it will happen to you. God never promised us security and safety in this realm, he promised us simply a way to deal with it. But the "dealing" with it is painful. But not without hope.

So we weep, then we help. We embrace those we can. We keep our mouths shut and our hearts open.

Godspeed to those in Moore, OK. I pray that the journey is not too steep. I will cry a special prayer for those who lost ones who will never be replaced.
Don

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Do Not Be Afraid

Several years ago my brother, Randy Jolly, published a book of the same title. I contributed  a chapter as well as my oldest daughter, along with other friends and acquaintances. It is a book with each chapter telling a story of pain and fear and loss of innocence. But the point of the book was the constant exhortation by the creator in the old book to not be afraid. Life throws us into the storm daily and we must find a way to hang on and live and enjoy the journey, even while the storm rages around us.

This past weekend my bride and I made our way north to OK City for the Memorial Run. It is the run to remember those killed in the federal building bombing 18 years ago. This year it comes on the heals of the Boston Marathon bombing which added another emotional level to the event. We arrived to join my oldest daughter and her family. They were all participating in the 5K, as was my bride and myself.

The marathoners go out first, then the 1/2 marathoner, then the 20,000+ 5kers. We were smack in the middle of the mob getting ready to run. As we stood in the middle of the street, packed in like sardines, in  the chilled morning air, it was hard not to think of the devastation a similar bombing could have on a crowd packed this tightly. But the race announcer asked for 168 seconds of silence and remembrance for those lost just a few short years ago. I wrote about the impact of that memorial in my blog last year (May 1, 2012, Emotional Journeys)  and the impact is with me still. As I stood in silence in the early morning dark on that Oklahoma street, with only the thup-thup-thup of the police helicopters overhead making the only sound, it occurred to me that winning over fear has little to do with whether I won the race, or even finished the race. But it had a great deal to do with me standing there, bunched in tightly with my bride, my eldest daughter, grandson number 1, granddaughter number 1 and son-in-law number 1. I had a great deal to lose if someone with evil intent chose that moment to mete out that particular form of hatred. And this only a block or so from where it had occurred before. Personal loss for me is not my life, but the lives of those around me who  cherish so much. Fear for them was the greater emotion.

So how do we conquer fear? I'm not sure. I think it has to do with not allowing it to control what we do or what we avoid. I ran the race with this precious boy,

 
 
 

And he ran with me almost every step of the way, chattering a one-sided conversation to my huffing and puffing. I had not trained for this due to some minor surgery, but I would not trade the moment for all the pain that occurred during the run. But the real purpose of the moment for me was the old truth and the new realization that I can't let fear decide what eternal moments I will receive and what I will miss. On the last turn, when the big, green finish line sign showed up, I turned him loose to sprint to the end. There was no gas left in my tank, and I realized with deep emotional pride that the boy ran with me because he wanted to, not because our pace matched. It is these moments when I refuse to let the demon known as Fear decide what joy I will receive in this life.
 
The journey or race we run is decided by what we do, not what we don't do. The creator allowed me this moment and it was good.
 
Godspeed to those who choose to run, and choose to beat Fear at its own game.
Don