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In Memorial: Ruby Taylor Fisher

They say that life does not play fair. Life never plays by the rules. Ever. It cheats. It steals. It moves the goalposts. And just when you think you’ve scored, or achieve some forward progress, life drops a “flag on the play” and you’re penalized another ten yards. A cancer diagnosis at a youthful age, burying the love of your life, or the victim of church hurt. And when that happens, you wonder where the strength comes to get back out onto that field just to take another hit.

The story of Joseph may shed some light in this dark room as a person who was the victim of life playing by its own set of rules. Joseph, in the face of constant disaster, is a story of enduring faith.

Joseph’s story begins with his father, Jacob, and four wives. Rachel was Jacob’s favored wife and Joseph was the son born to Rachel. Though Joseph had ten older brothers, he was his father’s favorite born to his favorite wife. One does not have to search too far for the seed of family conflict to sprout. Jacob showers Joseph with preferential treatment, giving him an extravagant gift by way of a multicolored coat. Joseph dreams his brothers will bow down to him and seems to believe that his dreams are indeed foreshadowing reality. And then Joseph rats out his brothers to his father. Yes, we have some good dysfunctional family conflict sewn and woven into the fabric of Joseph’s story.

Joseph’s brothers hate him. No kidding, right? Their unimaginable hate fuels such a disdain that they devise a plan to murder him. Throwing him into a cistern as a holding pen, another opportunity arises to keep their hands clean and their conscience guilt-free. They sell him to distant cousins, the Midianites, who traffic Joseph to Egypt, selling him on the slave auction market.

Joseph is purchased by an Egyptian official and is given access and authority to his entire house. Just when things might start looking up, the wife of the slave owner tries to seduce Joseph. And when Joseph, holding onto his integrity, rebuffs her advances, she cries out, falsely accusing him, and weaving a preposterous story involving a coat. Another coat. Joseph is arrested and thrown into prison where he will rot for the next twenty years wiping out any memory him of his existance.

Two things are worth noting at this point in the story. First, Joseph never abandons God. Joseph may not be the vocal person of faith like Paul in the Philippian jail singing hymns, but he certainly recognizes God’s steady hand in his life. His words to his brothers, over thirty years later, are profoundly insightful, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good . . .” (Gen. 50:20). Joseph was able to endure, wait, and still long to hope, especially when all around him said otherwise.

Secondly, and maybe more importantly, God never abandons Joseph. A recurring statement in this story is that God is with Joseph (e.g., Gen. 39:21,23). He is a fellow prisoner with Joseph, sitting with him in his loneliness. More so, God makes sure Joseph is seen with favor by those around him. Even if Joseph would have quoted Edmond Dantes, “I have given up on God,” Abbe Faria words would have trumped Joseph and reinforced his guardrails, “It doesn’t matter. God has not given up on you.”

God does not give up on the suffering.

Ms. Ruby’s faith endured and persevered through life fires, fires that were bent on consuming her, only purifying her faith in the end. At age twenty-four she was diagnosed with breast cancer. For 1954 medicine, just about all cancer diagnoses were terminal. Just about. I can only imagine the horror Ms. Ruby experienced knowing that as she stood on the threshold of her adult life, she saw it coming to an end. Thankfully, it didn’t. She underwent a radical mastectomy and began a seventy-year cancer survivor story. A handful of years later she met and married Robert Fisher, who owned a local lumber company, and they began their life together. Soon, a little boy named Bob was born, followed by a gorgeous little girl, Lucile, and then to round out their family, a second son, Jimmy, was born. They built a home on Fisher Avenue, and everything was right with the world, before Ms. Ruby was suddenly widowed, forced to run the family business and raise her ten-, nine-, and six-year-old children. As she was navigating single parenting at a time when single parenting was viewed suspiciously, if not a stigma, often unwelcomed, and might be labeled, “unfit,” usually lacking a support system, she ran full force into a betrayal of trust, facing unwarranted accusation from people who should have protected her.

For most people they would have buckled under the pressure of what life dealt her. She could have waved the white flag or forfeited the game. She didn’t. With every reason to walk away from God and his church, she stayed. She nurtured her faith, clung to God, and believed that God never gave up on her. Others might have. Others did. God didn’t. He never abandoned her. He never forsook her.

More so, Ms. Ruby refused to play the victim card by sitting in her own misery perpetuating how unfair life is. Partly, because she was a child of the Great Depression, she chose to be defined, neither by her cancer, nor by her widow-status, nor by her betrayal, but by faith. Instead, she embraced the story Jesus told of the widow who appeared every day before the unjust judge and advocated her own case until justice prevailed. In doing so, she earned the respect of her family, church, and community as they “. . .  rose up and called her ‘blessed’” (Prov. 31:28).

The story continues.

The writer of Ecclesiastes, the Greek word we get for “church,” opens his melancholy message with these words, “Vanity of vanities.” The meaning of the image is that life is like a mist or vapor where you reach out to grab, and just when you think you have a hold of it, whatever “it” is, it slips through your fingers, leaving you empty. It’s all in vain. Other translations do their best to capture that meaning, so that life is “Absolutely futile,” or “Smoke, nothing but smoke,” or “Meaningless! Everything is meaningless!” or “All is to no purpose,” or “Perfectly pointless,” or “It is useless.” No matter what we do, according to the writer of Ecclesiastes, life will not fulfill your dreams, and in fact having dreams might be your best outcome since so many dreams crash into nightmares.

The writer unfolds his life experiences as that the emptiness within him was never filled. Never. He pursued pleasures, laughter, building projects, wealth, upward mobility, wisdom and scholarship, business adventures, and even the writing of books. Yet in the end, he was just as empty now as he was then. In some ways, he felt worse because he witnessed the oppression, the futility of toiling in the hot sun, the betrayal of friends, the righteous perishing while the wicked prosper, and the ultimate destination that no matter who you are or what you accomplish – remember, he writes before Jesus – death has the final say.

Amid the writer’s unfolding down-cycle of futility, he encourages two things. One, remember the God of your youth (Ecc. 12:1ff). Remember, not just recall, but embrace the days when life was simpler, and faith fueled your fortunes. We might say, remember the days at church camp, or that mission trip, or gathered with the worshiping church, or sat in Bible class engaging the Word, or when you broke bread with believers, or the day of your baptism. Those were the days that defined you, shaped you, and offered the hope in which we live. Reclaim those days because they were not as empty, meaningless, futile, pointless, or in vain as you think they were.

Secondly, sprinkled throughout his message like good seasoning, the writer tells us that when life gives us that joy or laughter, to embrace that moment for it will not last forever. Those moments are from God. And though moments are as fleeting as mist is burned off by the sun, the memory endures forever. As he says, “I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink and find satisfaction in all their toll – this is the gift of God” (3: 12-13).

So, like you, I have my own memories of Ms. Ruby that occurred in a moment in time and were, like the sun burning off the morning fog, are dissipated forever. But like wildflowers that return each spring, those memories resurface, and they warm my heart because these memories are rooted in Ms. Ruby’s character.

Ms. Ruby read her Bible, and with prayer as her cornerstone to faith, she found the means to express her faith. She committed herself to gathering with the saints, and in later life learned to navigate Live Streaming. When holy dissatisfaction sat in, she started and taught a ladies Bible class, organizing baby showers, ensuring food was prepared for those who were shut in, and writing cards to encourage people, and giving a voice to women. Her legacy remains intact as that class still meets today and those ministries continues.

The holidays have always been a staple for her family, especially her Thanksgiving and Christmas meals. In the early days, she prepared most of the meal with a spread that could feed an army. She had a detailed list of all the food that needed prepared and marked them off her list when finished. Nothing was going to be left behind. She meticulously made bread rolls folding each role over in half, baptizing them in butter. She knew one of my favorite post-meal treats was a piece of honey ham wrapped in her bread roll. Regarding her table, she never limited who sat with her. Even when thirty family members showed up, she always had room for any non-family member.

In December of 1989 Cile and I were living with Ms. Ruby while we were transitioning between Cookeville and beginning graduate work in Memphis. After Thanksgiving and then Christmas leftovers, I had had my fill of leftover turkey and microwaved stuff. One night I was frustrated, telling Cile, “I don’t think I can take anymore leftovers.” Cile sympathized, but what do you do when we had no money for fast food? Ms. Ruby, on the other hand, must have read my mind as she came home from school with a large peperoni pizza from Pizza Hit, saying, “I thought we all needed a break from leftovers tonight.”

On the night I proposed to Cile, I drove up to Carthage as the ring had been securely placed in her lockbox. On the Friday of Spring Break, I came up to the house, changed clothes, and went on a run. When I got back, she was home and had the ring ready. I showered and dressed for the evening, expecting to have a conversation with her about marrying her daughter. To my surprise the topic never came up as she had a big bowl of popcorn ready for me, to which I interpreted as having her blessing. Popcorn, and back in the day Dr. Pepper, was always a staple she stocked for me in her home.

Ms. Ruby carried respect with her like most Christians carry a Bible. She never inserted herself into the decisions that took her daughter and grandchildren up to six hours drive away from her. She didn’t like it, but respected our decisions. On another note, she always welcomed my parents into her home. More so, after my father died, she frequently asked about my mother’s well being, asking, “How is Mom Partlow?” and “Is Mom Partlow coming in to see me when she flies into Nashville? I have a room for her if she needs one.” And finally, when I published my book, I had low expectations that Ms. Ruby might enjoy the book, much less read it, as she is not familiar with Tolkien’s Middle-earth. Out of respect for me, she read my book. Admittedly, she said, “I’m having trouble following the parts about Lord of the Rings.” Then she read it again. And during the third reading, she told Cile, “I’m really starting to understand what Jon is saying, and I like it.”

I probably could say more about mom, a lot more, but we are out of time. But if you want to honor Ms. Ruby Fisher in the coming weeks, here are a couple of ideas. You could probably cook a big meal for your family (like corn bread and beans), or attend your church, or watch the Vols play (full disclosure: she turned into a die-hard Titans fan, who’d have thunk?), or plant flowers in a garden, or feed birds which were all part of her pastime. Or try this, find a single mom and do something to encourage her. For one of Ms. Ruby’s favorite verses was James 1:27, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after widows in their distress.”

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According to God’s Grace

They called him “Skipper,” and I was his Gilligan. Ed Black was six feet two inches and weighed in at some three hundred and fifty pounds. He worked security down at the Port of Portland, and anyone who encountered him, at work or on the street, was intimidated by his presence. Especially me. With his cigarette in hand, he unbashfully used his words to increase his intimidation, words often reserved for the sailor. For years he frightened me. His wife, Sandy, on the other hand, was a gentle soul who couldn’t hurt a fly. Their daughter was a childhood friend of my sister and me. They called Ed, “Skipper,” not just because I was his little buddy, but because he dwarfed over me. As a child, I was all but fifty pounds of raw nothing. His shadow weighed more than me.

Ed took a likin’ to me. To this day, I don’t know why. Maybe I was the son he never had, or maybe I was cheap labor. Your guess is as good as mine. He hired me out to do odd jobs around his house. Sometimes it was mowing his lawn, in which his big power lawnmower outweighed me by a ton, and mowing his bank felt like I was mowing on a slope at ninety-degree angles. He was meticulous about his lawn, and in the end, he’d mow most of it himself. Sandy had me weed her garden, and I worked hard at pulling all the weeds. All of them. I was well into adulthood before I confessed to her that I had mistaken the bulbs for weeds, to which it now made sense, she realized, why those flowers never sprouted. Once I was positioned on top of his house with a sprinkler hoping to cool the temperature of his home. He was barking orders. I did the best I could, but it just sounded like a trombone and Shultz never offered subtitles to me. Rigging the sprinkler failed, no doubt in part because of my lack of ingenuity to carry out his vision for creativity.

Conventional wisdom said to cut me loose. I wasn’t worth the time or the effort. I made the jobs harder for him to complete, not easier. Yet he kept bringing me back, giving me a list of chores to complete. All the way through high school, he’d have me over at his house to work. And at the end of the day, he paid me. He paid me well. While the going rate for the minimum wage was $3.25 an hour, his generosity was at $5.00 an hour or better. Nothing I did told Ed to pay me so well. But whether Ed understood – and I don’t think he did – he paid me according to grace.

At the climax of the first National Treasure movie, Nicolas Cage’s character, Benjamin Franklin Gates, finds himself face to face with the law. The trail ended with the treasure located ten floors below Trinity Church in Manhattan. Sitting in the sanctuary with the fugitives – including his father Patrick Henry Gates, love interest Dr. Abigail Chase, and loyal friend Riley Pool – Gates began negotiations with FBI Agent, Peter Sadusky. Gates voluntarily returned the stolen Declaration of Independence, demanded Dr. Chase’s record expunged, and wanted the credit of the treasure-find to go to the entire Gates family with the assistance of Riley Pool. Finally, in confessional tones, he admitted, “I’d really love not to go to prison.” Agent Sadusky, shook his head, lamenting, “Someone has to go to jail, Ben.”

The harsh reality of living in this world is the conventional wisdom that someone must go to jail. Do the crime, pay the fine, and do the time. And when that motto spills over into our spiritual lives, it gets messy very quickly.

Some act like their lives is spot free of sin, though it’s likely a front for the evil they’re covering or hiding. They are haughty, proud, and arrogant. They have simple answers to difficult and complicated questions. They are quick to judge and have the stones ready to throw at those who fall. Like the man praying at the temple, they say, “Thank you, Lord, I am not that guy!” (Lk. 18:11). It’s not that they’re free of sin, they’re not. They are actually overcome with guilt and shame but are too arrogant for humility. Someone has to go to jail, and with a raised eyebrow, they know who.

Others live with false guilt. What they have done is bigger and “badder” than anyone in the history of the world, believing they live beyond the reach of God’s mercy. They walk through their day carrying the baggage of shame from the wrongs committed throughout their life. They are the ones who, if they do pray, open their words like the other guy at the temple, saying, “I beg you, God, have mercy on me” (Lk. 18:13). Someone has to go to jail, and with a defeated disposition, they know who.

As I sit here, I feel the tug at war within myself between the one who condemns others with the one who condemns himself. Does someone really have to go to jail? Isn’t there another option on the table? Isn’t there a way to flip the script so that we can operate according to grace?

Paul finds another way.

As he engages the church in Corinth, he could choose any path or write any script. Why not? The Corinthians had hardly taken the high ground with the apostle. They accused him of breaking his promise to visit (2 Cor. 1:15-17). They embarrassed and shamed him at his last visit (2:1). They claimed he was too fragile to be a good leader (4:7). They charged him with being two-faced, bold on paper but timid in their presence (10:1). All those bad events happening to Paul couldn’t really mean God is with him (11:23-29). They had their tape measure, and Paul wasn’t measuring up. What is Paul to do? They were burning bridges, and if it was up to me, I’d say, “Let them burn.”

Instead, Paul begins by letting them in on his secret. Knowing they are all about bragging rights, Paul reveals that he likes to boast as well. Except his boasting is not about himself, not in this case, it’s about them. Like a parent bragging about their child, or a coach boasting about her team, or about a teacher knowing her students finally got it, Paul is the pastor who loves his church and treats his church in holiness and sincerity (1:12).

Stepping back to see the larger picture, Paul points to the end. In Judgement Day-like language, his end goal is a mutual boasting, where they brag about their pastor, and he brags about them. I can image all of them gathered at the feet of the Lord, hugging and holding each other, telling the Lord how each has blessed and benefited from each other. He captures that statement when he writes, “. . . you will come to understand fully that you can boast of us just as we will boast of you in the day of the Lord Jesus” (v. 14b).

By pulling back the perspective to see the big picture or the end-product, then we can begin to view each other not through the lenses of the daily cycle, but through the lenses of the end-product. The ebb and flow of life is filled with ups and downs, good and bad, bonding and breaking, harmony and dissonance, clarity and vagueness, cohesion and friction, and attainment and disappointment which tend to distort life. One bad moment in time is all that is needed to destroy and wipe away a relationship years in the making. It happens, at least in part, because we act in accordance with the “go to jail” mindset instead of according to grace. One way to act according to grace is to look at the final day of the Lord where full reconciliation, restoration, and restitution are realized and start acting now like we will act then. Instead of looking to see who has to go to jail, start looking to pay people according to grace.

Jesus might say it like this: “Thy Kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (Mt. 6:10).

Imagine for just a minute if our mode of operandum was derived from “according to grace” instead of “someone has to go to jail.”

The Civil Rights movement has clear markers that can be traced in its history. Those markers bleed with a “someone has to go to jail” mindset. On a Montgomery, Alabama bus in 1955, Rosa Parks refused to vacate her seat to a white passenger. At the New Orleans William Frantz Elementary School in 1960 Federal Marshalls escorted six-year-old Ruby Bridges to the all-white school. Between those two markers was the Little Rock Nine who in 1957 tested the new desegregation laws at Little Rock’s Central High School. The students, escorted by the 101st Airborne, entered the school by the crowds calling for lynching and told to “go back to Africa.” Throughout the year, these students were punched, spat upon, and hit with eggs and vegetables. As I said, someone needs go to jail.

One of the victims was Elizabeth Eckford. A famous picture was taken on that first day of school with fifteen-year-old Hazel Bryan over the left shoulder of Echford.  Bryan’s face was blood curdling angry and appeared to be spewing all sorts of hateful and discriminatory comments. Bryan became the face of the racist deep south Jim Crow era. She was also a Christian, a member of a local church, active in her youth group. Somebody needed to go to jail, and it wasn’t Eckford.

At the end of the school year, Elizabeth Eckford moved to St. Louis but returned to Little Rock when she was 21. While visiting the city, she received a phone call from Bryan. Instead of the hateful speech, Bryan had a change of heart offering an apology to Echford for her behavior in 1957. The picture of her screaming such vile words was a constant reminder of her own guilt and shame. It was not the picture she wanted to be remembered by history.

 Either lady could have continued to play the “someone has to go to jail” card. Instead, at least in the moment, they reconciled and acted according to grace. And grace is a far better marker for your life than the condemnation of jail.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Focus On God

Attention span has been decreasing for at least fifty years. We struggle to stay focused and to keep our eyes fixed while sacrificing the long game for the immediate short yardage. We chase butterflies when they come within our peripheral or are distracted by the clouds. We stop listening. We cease paying attention. We’re easily distracted. We ignore what is around us – a flower blooming or a child laughing – as if nothing is new to what we’ve always seen. Sometimes it’s intentional, we’re just not interested. Other times, we’re being pulled away like the riptides on the Oregon coast, and no matter what we do to fight our shrinking attention span, we’re swept away like the beach’s soil erosion.

The battle rages within me on a constant basis since I am an undiagnosed victim of ADHD. Growing up, psychologists did not know what to do with or how to treat kids like me who could not keep their attention, or learn like other children, or comprehend what they read. They told us we had to work harder to overcome our struggles. Since then, my reading has improved, but it’s still comparatively slow and I don’t always retain what I’ve read. I love to write, but it’s a gift that takes forever to unwrap. Don’t get me started on my prayer life and the lack of focus while talking to God. Some of us overcame our ADHD, but for me, it always felt like the climb to the top was self-defeating.

In 1985 Neil Postman published his book, Amusing Ourselves to Death,* in which he raised a red flag that the public was self-medicating themselves through television entertainment. Take the news for instance. He believed that television was not the best medium for a serious forum of discussion as the staging took precedent over the substance. Soft lighting, appropriate music, perfect voice to accompany the face, and interjected with commercial breaks meant that for him, the news media could not be taken seriously. Cue the 1968 Presidential Debate between camera ready Kennedy overcoming camera inept Nixon.

The printed word, Postman argued, is a better venue for serious studies in part because you can spend time absorbing and reading the document. That said, one of the side effects of television’s influence, he noted, was the audience’s decreasing attention span. People were failing to stay focused. He documented the decline, which came before the rise of MTV and the digital age, where images changed every few seconds, creating a freefall in attention span.

Postman pointed to the Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858 as a test case in attention span. In those seven debates, the candidates spoke for hours on end to their audience arguing about slavery and tariffs while the spectators were captivated by the words. The crowds sat for the speeches, staying focused on the arguments of the speaker. Compared to today’s ninety-minute debates that often lack substance, which by now I’m sure I’ve lost your attention.

So shifting gears . . .

The teenager girl stepped onto the stage on a hot summer night at church camp. She was part of a skit performed by her cabin. She demonstrated spiritual focus by repeating the phrase, “Focus on God. Focus on God. Focus on God” with her hands to her temples like they were blinders. As she continued her reminder, a friend entices her to go to a party and she changes her phrase, “Focus on parties. Focus on parties. Focus on parties.” But she calls herself back to her true focus which was on God. As she continues to focus on God, another friend comes by, inviting her to go shopping. Her attention begins shifting from “Focus on God” to “Focus on shopping. Focus on shopping. Focus on shopping,” until she calls herself back to “Focus on God.” Finally, another friend comes holding a basketball, inviting her to join them in a “pickup game.” Her “focus on God” changed to “Focus on basketball. Focus on basketball. Focus on basketball.” As she is about to join her friends, she calls herself back to her speech. You can hear her as she exits the stage, “Focus on God. Focus on God. Focus on God.”

While there is nothing wrong with going to a party, going shopping, or playing basketball, the point of the story is to show just how easy it is to pull our focus off God and onto other things. It happens. We are all victims of this ploy. All of us suffer from spiritual ADHD trying to follow Jesus with a faith focused on God.

I doubt that the apostle Paul was burdened with ADHD, but I was drawn to 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 because it speaks to my struggle.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

The phrase, “fix our eyes” (v. 18), draws my attention. The very thing ADHD victims are struggling with is the thing Paul exhorts readers to do. We fix our eyes. We focus our attention. We fasten our thoughts. And therein lies the battle. We cannot hold our gaze that long. Paul is calling us to do the impossible, or else it feels like it’s impossible. And as my doctors told me in middle school, the advice is disheartening, “You just have to work harder.” And that just seems like the kind of “fairness” I’ve always experienced.

But maybe we are missing a piece of the puzzle. For if following Jesus was based on our ability to overcome ADHD, we have no hope. Instead, Paul’s refusal to “lose heart” is not about working harder, though clearly working with all our heart is hard work. Paul seems to have two different events in mind.

First, he says “we are outwardly wasting away.” The time clock of our bodies is winding down, and we know it. Just watch a child run circles around their parents as they try to keep up with that child’s energy. Now watch that same child run their grandparents into the ground. All that energy bursts forth from the child where the adult has to play tag-team to match energy for energy. As a grandparent, I know. No matter how much I miss my granddaughter, when she goes home from a visit, Cile and I need a week to recover. We are worn out. The strength of our youth fails. But Paul’s promise is that while physically we weaken, inwardly we gain strength. Faith is not dependent on age, time, or physical prowess. Faith continues to churn within us so that while we age, peak, and begin the decline, something else within gains strength. Faith, according to Paul, strengthens even when our physical bodies worsen.

Secondly, Paul says that the suffering we face now is no match for the glory we will experience then (e.g., Rom. 8:17). They say life is hard and things happen in our life to erode our trust, love, and faith in each other and in God. Paul references “momentary troubles,” which is a general statement that could include persecution, heartache, disappointment, sickness, death, etc. They are momentary as compared to the eternal, and the word “trouble” does not minimize suffering. But the promise given is that all the bad things we experience now are nothing compared to what the good will be like then. The suffering now leads to glory then. So, for example, the distance runner keeps running not because of how he feels during the race, but how he will feel at the finish line. The mother endures all sorts of childbearing pain, not because it’s enjoyable, but because when she holds her baby in her arms the pain will all be but forgotten. The Christian endures, not because we are sadists, but because the end goal will make all trials and tribulations worth it.

The “fixing of our eyes,” then, is not about compensating our being ADHD or by being forced to work harder than everyone else whose faith seems to come so easy. On the contrary, “fixing our eyes” is the focus to recognize the eternal in the midst of the temporary both in us and in the world around us, even when what is happening in and around us is filled with suffering. Our focus in the temporary endures the hardship, molds our character to be Christ-like, and prepares us for an eternal filled with celebration.

Paul says that what is seen is temporary while what is unseen is eternal. The temporary calls to our ADHD nature to divert our focus off God and onto other things. The eternal calls to the Spirit within us to free us from the burden of distracted living, so that we can distinguish between the temporary and the eternal.

What is seen is temporary; what is unseen is eternal. Suffering is temporary; jubilation is eternal. Harboring anger and resentment are temporary; offering forgiveness is eternal. Death is temporary; resurrection is eternal. “God has forsaken us” is temporary; “God is among us” is eternal. Wealth is temporary; generosity is eternal. Political unrest is temporary; Kingdom business is eternal. Chasing conspiracy theories is temporary; pursuing God’s Word is eternal. Notoriety is temporary; anonymity is eternal. Relationships that are transactional are temporary; relationships that are mutually reciprocal are eternal. Engaging your phone is temporary; engaging that person is eternal.

So in a world that feels so temporary allowing an ADHD to live, what do we do? We focus on God. Focus on God. Focus on God.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death: A Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business (New York: Viking Penguin Press, 1985).

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Buyer’s Remorse

That feeling you get in the wake of making a large or extravagant acquisition has a name. It’s called Buyer’s Remorse. A person purchases a house, or one that is more expensive than was budgeted, begins second guessing the investment. Buyer’s remorse. The memory of the best vacation ever begins washing away once the bills start piling up. Buyer’s remorse. Investing in a huge diamond ring to present to that special someone when your gut and your friends tell you it’s a mistake, and in a moment of doubt you think they might be right. Buyer’s remorse. Or buying a vehicle where the smell of the new car quickly evaporates when something goes wrong with it, and you have no extended warrantee. Buyer’s remorse.

My dad might have experienced some form of buyer’s remorse when he traded in our family Ford station wagon for the Buick version of the same car. The 1964 Ford Country Squire was a practical and steady car for a family of five kids. The best part of the car was the tailgate window. Dad placed a makeshift third row seat in the tailgate that faced the back window. The seat was wooden and covered with Naugahyde, and never included seat belts. Deanna and I, and sometimes David, sat in the back and watched the road behind us. For long trips, Dad packed the tailgate so that old couch cushions were positioned for Deanna and me to play, read, fight, or sleep. I have good memories of that car, but eventually a car needs a replacement.

Dad feared that the Ford, which was leaking oil, was not going to pass an inspection. Feeling the pressure, he traded it in for a Buick Estate Wagon. The upgrade included power windows and locks as well as a third row bench facing forward with seat belts. At the time, dad loved Buicks. But the car was a lemon, and my father regretted making the purchase. Confiding in me when I was learning to drive, he said, “Given what I know now, I should have held onto the Ford.” Clearly, what dad experienced was Buyer’s Remorse.  

Paul tells the Corinthians that we were “bought with a price” (1 Cor. 6:20). Such language finds its origin in the marketplace venue of the slave trade. When a slave is sold, either informally to another owner or formally on the auction block, he or she is sold for a certain price. The going rate. That slave now belongs to someone else, and their lives must conform to the new owner’s wishes. Paul’s point is that we Christians were on the market and were purchased by God. We are under new management and the price paid was his Son. More to the point, Paul says that our bodies must be used to honor God, our new owner, and not the selfish self-satisfaction of our own passions and desires.

God purchased us. He took a good long look at us. He kicked the tires and checked under the hood. He weighed his options. He read the warranty and ordered a copy of the Carfax. He even took us for a test drive. When he made his decision, he purchased us, and now we belong to him. That is such good news, except for one problem. He got stuck with a lemon, and when we look at the fine print of our lives, it’s clear that God has buyer’s remorse. At least from our perspective.  

One doesn’t have to go to far away from Corinth to conclude that God had second thoughts. And if he didn’t, he should have. Corinth is nothing but a mess of buyer’s remorse, and 1 Corinthians is replete with examples. The church seemed to find every reason to divide, especially since they quarreled and were filled with jealousy (3:3). Such strong disagreements may be the reason they were so divisive. Each loved their own favorite preacher (1:12; 3:4), believing their pastor was a better leader, communicator, and more spiritual than the others. They supposed that their specific Spiritual Gift was more valued than other member’s gifts, never realizing that the individual parts made up the whole (12:25-26). Besides, love is the gift to pursue (12:31b; 13:8-9). And while they were gathered around the Table for the Lord’s Supper, a table intended to unite the believers, the social economic disparity was clear: the wealthy kept the poor away (11:18-22). And beneath all this divisiveness, two families were airing their dirty laundry, tangled in a public legal court battle against each other (6:1-11).

From there the troubles worsen in Corinth. The members bought into a casual carnal mindset (6:12-20), and it’s possible to directly link it to idolatry (10:21-22). One man was having a sexual relationship with his stepmother, and the church is glossing over it as if it’s normal or acceptable behavior (5:1-2). The marriages were in trouble (7:1-40) while their assembly time was chaotic (14:26-33a). They denied the resurrection of the saints, philosophizing that it had already occurred (15:12-19).

By the time one opens the Second letter to the Corinthians things are certainly no better. The infighting, divisions, and idolatry are still present (12:20-21), while the church had broken its promise to collect monies as relief for the Judea famine (8:10-11). At its core is their rejection of Paul as their leader, believing he had not only broken his promise to them, but also deceived them about the money collected for the Judean famine relief. The very one who introduced them to Jesus and brought them the gospel is now discarded because he wasn’t the flashy celebrity they were seeking.

The church in Corinth was toxic, and clearly the source for church hurt. I would never place my membership there, and you wouldn’t either. And if God called me to minister to them, I just might find the belly of a big fish a safer environment than Corinth. With all the chaos and dysfunction running through the church, I can’t help but think God had his head in his palms, shaking his head, regretting while experiencing buyer’s remorse.

Thankfully, that is not God’s perspective, it’s mine. I can be judgmental. Pointing the finger is easy until I realize that three fingers are pointing back at me. And if someone were to peel back the layers of my life, I’m sure they might have buyer’s remorse. And like the Corinthians – and you – I stand in need of God’s grace and mercy, and not his judgment and justice.

This is what makes Paul’s words so powerful, when he says, “Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come” (2 Cor. 1:21-22).

When Paul talks of “standing firm,” he draws from a marketplace terminology that reflects the validity of a sale.* In this case, we are the product purchased by God. The sale is final and cannot be returned. By dropping three statements** capturing a moment in time, he strengthens the purchase invoice. First, he says, “He anointed us.” The Old Testament is filled with moments where God had prophets, priests, and kings anointed. They were anointed by oil, chosen intentionally and always with clear thought. God knew what he was buying when he anointed someone, and the same holds true when he bought us. Though we were not anointed with oil, but with the Spirit. And dare I add that the word “anointed” is the verb form of the title for “Christ.” Let that sink in, God’s not throwing that term around for nothing. Secondly, “God set his seal on us” to show we are his possession. In ancient times the seal was often a signet ring worn by a king. It was used to certify a document, ensuring that the paper came from the King. In our own western world, we might think of branding cattle to show ownership. Cue Toy Story’s Woody and look for Andy’s name written under his boot. God has placed his seal, the Holy Spirit, on us signifying we belong to him, and he’s not getting rid of his possession. And thirdly, God “put his Spirit in us as a deposit.” A deposit is a down payment that guarantees more to come. God has given us a piece of himself and promises to make good on completely giving us his Spirit. In the future, he will fill us to the full of himself.

The truth is God knows what he is getting with us. He knows our failures, our brokenness, and our sinful shortcomings. But he bought us with his Son and he has absolutely no buyer’s remorse. Next time you buy something, and you regret doing so, remember that you may experience buyers remorse, but God doesn’t.

Eventually, my dad ditched the Buick Estate Wagon. Swallowing his ego, and noting his family was shrinking, he bought a Volkswagen Rabbit. It was the car I learned how to drive. The Rabbit was the VW Bug replacement car, but never as cute or fun as driving the Beetle. It had four cylinders and could go from 0 to 60 in about six minutes on a good downhill grade. Dad loved big cars, and he wore a brave smile driving this little car around town and on trips. I’m sure, deep down, Dad had buyer’s remorse, especially since he could have had a V-8. I would have. But here’s the thing. For a variety of reasons, we experience buyer’s remorse, God doesn’t. God has invested too much time and effort into securing our salvation to worry about if we are a good, worthy purchase.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* William Baker, 2 Corinthians, College Press NIV Commentary (Joplin, MO: College Press, 1999), 90.

** These statements are aorist past tense participles, pointing to something that happened to us in the past that holds future ramifications. That “something” is our confession and baptism.

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Unregulated Joy

One of my favorite memories is Christmas morning at my Aunt Eunice’s house. Maybe it was because a child’s memory is bigger than the event itself, especially on Christmas. Or maybe it was because Aunt Eunice served us Danish sweet rolls and hot chocolate out of her Santa Claus mugs. And those sweet rolls were like a delicacy eaten only at her house on Christmas morning. And just thinking about them right now, my mouth is salivating, and I’ve gained five pounds.

You should know two things about Aunt Eunice. First, she never married, never having children of her own. Her nieces and nephews were her children, and I’m not sure she understood children. Secondly, Aunt Eunice was not my aunt but was my dad’s aunt. By the time I knew her, she was more like the stately and reserved grandmotherly kind, and was certainly not the “cool” aunt who wanted to take you on the wild trip against your parents’ wishes.

This leads to a pet peeve of Aunt Eunice. She meticulously wrapped each present, and before people thought about recycling, she was into saving wrapping paper to use again for another occasion. Thus, she wanted everyone to unwrap the present just as meticulously as she wrapped it. For an adult that’s easy. For an eight-year-old boy, impossible. And that’s what I mean by her not understanding children. As I was about to tear into the present, you can almost hear her yell, like Elsa Raven from Back to the Future, “Save the paper! Save the paper!”

There’s something about a child’s joyful enthusiasm for life that gets chaffed as we age with time. Such gusto cannot be regulated or shaped by rules but is a natural expression of a wholesome outlook on life.

If you have never seen a child,
               Tear wrapping paper to shreds,
               Or jumping up and down on their beds,
Then you have never seen one embrace the wild.

If you have never seen a girl,
               Splashing around in rain puddles,
               Or spend an afternoon chasing bubbles,
Then you have never seen one give it a whirl.

If you have never seen a boy,
               Play with a truck or a car,
               Or watched him as he ran really fast and really far,
Then you have never seen one in pure joy.

If you have never seen a kid,
               Ride the bus for the first time,
Or dress up for Halloween as a superhero to fight crime,
Then you have never seen really go off the grid

Children capture the enthusiasm and joy of life. They are all in all day, and either fight sleep with just the same effort used throughout the day or embrace sleep and are out all night.

Embracing the enthusiasm and joy of life as a child is one thing. Maintaining the enthusiasm and joy of life throughout adulthood is something else altogether. We get blunted. Or worse, we want to regulate and contain the gusto, only to realize too late that such regulation siphons whatever joy remains.  

As the apostle Paul was motivating the Corinthian church to fulfill their commitment to complete the collection for those suffering under drought conditions in Judea, he could have brought the hammer and forced them to give. He could have regulated an amount for them to give. He could have guilted the church and shamed them for failing. He could have sung all 147 verses of Just As I Am. Instead, he went for the enthusiasm of life where regulation has no place.

First, he drops some bumper sticker statements. He says, “Whoever sows sparingly, reaps sparingly” and the opposite is true too, “whoever sows generously will also reap generously” (2 Cor. 9:8). Drawing from the farming analogy, however much you are willing to plant, it will determine how much you will harvest. There is no guarantee of a bumper crop just because you plant generously. The fact is too many uncontrollable factors are in play like the amount of sunshine and heat versus rain and cold. That said, if you are not generous in sowing, the planted harvest cannot be generous.

The other bumper sticker statement is a classic, “God loves a cheerful giver” (v. 7c). The total times this verse has been quoted before praying over a church collection cannot be numbered. Despite its overuse, it does not negate the fact that God adores the childlike innocence of a person sharing what they have. Instead of Paul forcing the people to give, his desire is that they give without feeling reluctant or under compulsion (v. 7b).

Secondly, Paul enmeshes his exhortation to give with Scripture. In verse six, when Paul talks how sowing generously leads to reaping generously is likely a reference to two verses in Proverbs (11:24-25; 22:8-9). There the passages speak of generosity and a willingness to help others. While neither passage speaks directly to raising funds, both passages lay the groundwork for Paul exhorting generosity with others, especially for those lacking daily needs. In verse seven when Paul mentions giving what his heart has purposed, he likely has in mind Exodus 25:2. With Israel at the base of Mt. Sinai, construction on the tabernacle was in play. Instead of taxing the people and forcing them to give, Moses leaves the amount open based on what each person’s heart prompts him/her to give. This was a freewill offering from Moses, which Paul draws from to motivate the Corinthians to give. Then, Paul directly quotes Psalm 112:9. The Psalmist is extolling the virtues of the righteous man, who is generous and lends generously. While the Psalm lifts God up as this “righteous man,” Paul hopes the Corinthians will follow God’s lead and emulate his generosity.

Finally, Paul avoids mandating or regulating generosity by omitting passages from the Old Testament about giving God a percentage of the income to help others. This is a freewill offering, and regulating percentages prevents it from becoming one’s free will. Also, Paul not only may be trying to avoid limiting Corinth’s generosity but fueling a joyful enthusiasm for being generous. Thus, binding and regulating an amount may very well get the funds collected, but it will be devoid of the cheerfulness God is seeking.

One of the many lessons Dad taught me was to “lay by in store” (1 Cor. 16:2). Every week he gave me an allowance and told me to take ten percent of the allowance as a gift to God. I remember my starting pay level was ten pennies as I put nine of them in my little piggy bank. One penny was placed next to the bank as a visual reminder that that money belonged to God. Looking back now, I wonder what would have happened if Dad had said to me, “Here is your allowance. Decide in your heart how much to give to God and how much to keep.” I’m pretty sure the lesson of saving for the future and regulating gifting to God would have been lost on the five-year-old. I would have dropped all ten pennies into the collection plate, for no other reason, because it made a loud noise. More so to the point, the joy of a child’s generous heart would overshadow the need to regulate giving.

The story is told of a wife who for thirty years suffered abuse at the hands of her husband. Every morning, her husband wrote a “to do” list out on paper before going to work, expecting his wife to complete the list in his absence. Wash the dishes, do the laundry, make up the bed, do work in the yard, pay the bills, and have dinner on the table when he walks through the doors at night.

Out of fear she completed the list the best she could. Sometimes she was successful. Other times she failed. When she failed, he verbally attacked her, and at times physically attacked her too. When she completed the list, it was rarely completed to his satisfaction. Thus, he humiliated her for a lack of competence. Simply put, he was a mean person. And over time he drained the joy out of her.

After thirty years, the man suffered a heart attack and died. He wasn’t a good husband, but he was her husband. Mourning her husband, she packed everything away and put it in the attic.

Time passed. Scars heal. Memories soften the pain.

The woman met man who was anything but her husband. He was kind and gentle. He encouraged her independence and appreciated her as a person. They fell in love and married, and they were both very happy. She found a deep contented peace in her husband and all the hurt and pain were washed away. Joy began to return to the woman.

Years later, it was time to downsize. As they were going through their things, she grabbed a box forgetting it was her first husband’s things. Opening the lid, she saw a piece of paper sitting on top of his things. It was one of his lists. Why she kept it she had no clue. She read the list. Shocked at seeing the list, she read it again before a flood of emotions swept over her. The dams broke and the tears fell like a waterfall. When she finally gained composure, she realized that all the things she did for her first husband, she was doing for her second husband. Only this time, she was driven by joy, not anxiety. She had enthusiasm, not terror. She wanted to make the bed, do the laundry, cook the meals for him. She was no longer driven by fear but compelled by love. She now realized this truth that when she gave of herself first, everything else falls into place, including an enthusiastic joy.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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The Giving Me

In the backyard of my childhood home – the purple house for those who know – was a some forty-foot-tall cherry tree that in my memory stretched to the highest peaks of the sky. For a hundred years the tree produced the best Rainier Cherries, provided shade from the heat, and offered a home to the birds that nested in her branches. To everyone who saw her, she was a magnificent tree of great beauty and strength. To me, she might have been my closest friend.

She was the home-base when the Partlow children were playing hide-n-seek. She was a secret hideout for our G.I. Joes to climb in their latest adventure. She was a refuge to get away from life. Sitting on her branches we could read, think, dream, and pick her sweet cherries to snack on through the summer months. She was trusted with our deepest secrets, like hiding our baseball cards and candy that David and I bought before sneaking them past mom into the house. And to be sure, she allowed Patches, our dog, to mark her as his territory.

I remember the day my sister, Deanna, and I were in the tree, and got stuck. We called for dad who grumbled under his breath as he got the ladder out of the shed and came up to retrieve us like some old lady’s cat needing rescued by a fireman. I remember when bees made a hive in the trunk of the tree, and dad had to evict them. I can still hear mom’s promise that if we kids would pick and pit the cherries, she’d bake the cobbler. Mom made the best cherry cobbler. Ever. Yes, I recall the day Lehman Hall, being forewarned of the possible pits in the pie because elementary kids pitted them, bit into his serving only to discover the pit. He laughed and spat the seed out and, without reservations, finished his pie.

Years after selling the home, we found out that the owner had the tree cut down and removed. It was a sad day. She was old and her limbs were frail and known to fall, so I understood the rationale. But never once did she think of her own needs as she selflessly produced fruit, welcomed children to play in her branches, and even allowed a dog, and some boys, to pee on her. But that is, by her own nature, who she is.   

If you crossed the bridge to Shel Silverstein and his beautiful story, The Giving Tree, then you’re probably not a bridge too far. In the story Silverstein walks the reader through a lifetime relationship between a boy and a fruit tree. The boy has wants and needs, and the tree’s only longing is to give the boy whatever he desires: shade in the hot sun, fruit to satisfy his hunger, branches to build a house, his trunk to build a ship, and finally a stump as a place to sit, to think, and to reflect on life. While some might criticize the book for the selfishness of the boy, the focus is on the selflessness of the tree. It is called The Giving Tree for a reason. The tree gives the boy everything, because the tree gave of herself first. It is, by nature, who she is.

For a tree to grow strong, it needs sunshine and rain. Trees also need pruning and for their fruit to be picked for consumption. Giving is an essential purpose, not only for life in general, but specifically trees. Jesus once condemned a tree for acting like it was willing to give its fruit, only to discover it was not bearing any fruit to begin with.

Paul very well could have used the analogy of a giving tree to underscore his message to the Corinthians. He didn’t, but he could have.

The Corinthians needed to make good on their promise to collect funds for the Christians in Judea suffering under a great famine. The church had promised but was now backing off from their commitment. Paul wove some beautiful words together to help motivate them to jumpstart the collecting process. In his first move, he linked grace and joy together as if they were best friends (2 Cor. 8:1-2). He says, “the grace that God has given has welled up into overflowing joy.” Grace and joy in the Greek language were homonyms as they sound alike. By linking joy and grace together with giving, the message is clear in that giving is not only a joyful expression of grace, but that it is rooted in God’s character.

As I reflect on God’s gracious giving, I cannot help but be drawn to Deuteronomy 8:3-4. Moses is preparing Israel to enter Canaan after their forty years of wandering. Those wandering years were driving by Israel’s defiant lack of faith. They constantly tested God’s mettle, even at one point revolting against Moses to elect new officials to return to Egypt. Nevertheless, for forty years they woke up every day to find bread, or Manna, on the ground to collect for their daily meal. Every single day. Then, at the end of their forty-year journey, Moses noted that their clothes never wore out. Sure, children would grow out of their sandals, but they never wore out. Both are signs of God’s gracious giving, for he offered to Israel not what they deserved but what they needed. One could say that because God gave of himself first to Israel, the gracious gifts followed with joy.

Back to Corinth, Paul propped up the churches in Macedonia, not only as an example of those who give, but also as an example of those who allowed God’s joyful grace of giving to work through them. Comparatively, the Macedonians were impoverished. Yet, they begged Paul to participate in this ministry (2 Cor. 8:4). Paul was not about to burden them with this gift, but they forced Paul’s hand. When they did give, they shattered the glass ceiling of expectation, giving far more than even Paul expected.

Paul attributes the key to their generosity in 2 Corinthians 8:5 by saying, “. . . they gave themselves first to the Lord and then to us in keeping with God’s will.” When one empties of him or herself, filling themselves with God’s Spirit, what follows is gracious generosity of giving which becomes second nature.

A couple of Scriptures highlight this principle. For instance, when Lydia opened her heart to the Lord, she opened her home to Paul and the others with him (Act. 16:15). When Paul outlines the Fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22-23, one of the qualities is “Goodness.” Suffering from the tradition of an early and weak translation, the word rightly means “Generosity.” We might say a good person is a generous person. Paul might say that someone filled with the Spirit is a generous person. When Jesus saw an impoverished widow giving her pennies, which was all she had, into the temple collection, he noted that she had put more in the collection than the wealthy who gave simple leftovers from their abundance (Lk. 21:4). The often-overlooked indictment from this story is that Jesus accuses the wealthy teachers of the law of devouring the homes of the widows (Lk. 20:47).

I remember my Kentucky church hosting a fish fry to raise funds from a flood that wiped out homes and devastated the community. We raised a lot of money because people arrived with open generosity. One elderly couple came to the fish fry. As he wheeled his cancer-ridden wife up to the table where we had a collection box, I watched him pull out a couple of twenty-dollar bills to drop in the box. We should have given him some money as he was in dire need. But his heart was too big, and his generosity had overcome his own needs. For when we open our hearts to the Lord first, then generosity has no limits.

My wife is known for her homemade sourdough bread. It tastes like bread from heaven, and the biggest complement we’ve been given is that it was coined “Jesus Bread” by some in the office when I began working at hospice. Some have asked why we haven’t marketed the bread and sold it. We could have, and that option is always on the table. But here’s the thing: we love giving away the bread. We love the joy of blessing others with our gift. We don’t want to take that away from us or from those we give the bread to.

Wes and Kelsey started dating in high school. On their one-year anniversary, Wes chose not to bring her flowers. Instead, he brought a tree sapling that he planted in Kelsey’s mother’s backyard. Every year, the tree grew and so did their relationship, posing before the tree for an anniversary photo opt. When Wes proposed, he did so at the tree. When they got married, they took wedding pictures with the tree. When they renewed their vows, they did so at the tree. When they were expecting their first child, a photo was taken at the tree. And now with the tree grown, dad Wes hung a swing to its branch to swing their daughter from the tree. With all the changes that are thrust upon us, and the world pulling us in all directions, Kelsey’s comment about the tree says it all, “It’s the roots that give us the wings.”

Did you catch that? The tree is all about giving because when you give of yourself first, then giving anything is easy. With the Spirit’s help, it is who we are by nature. No, we are not a giving tree, but we are a giving me.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Words Matter

Jesus was confronted by the Pharisees and teachers of the law. They tried cornering him. They pointed their judgmental finger at him and his disciples, accusing them of breaking their longtime standard of washing hands before eating a meal. They weren’t concerned with sanitation and germs, but holiness expressed in a traditional practice. Their created rule to wash hands before eating was an attempt to keep people holy before God.

Jesus wasn’t buying what they were selling. He pushed back. First, he accused the religious leaders of breaking God’s law commanding (adult) children to honor their parents. They were all in for their own rules but failed to keep the important rules. Secondly, he made a profound statement that it is not what goes into a person’s mouth that makes them unholy, but what comes out.

The pig and the pork entering the mouth do not make a person unclean before God. Instead, it’s the words and phrases that exit the mouth that do. The anger words. The sensual words. The lying words. The hypocritical words. The fraudulent words. The hateful words. The manipulative words. The racist words. The shaming words. The slanderous words. The dehumanizing words. The divisive words. The evil words that rise from the heart and pass over the lips spoken by the tongue are the words that reveal our true self. And let’s be honest, it’s not very attractive.

Words matter.

What we say matters.
Ask anyone who has been hurt by a spoken lie,|
Or has experienced a broken promise.
Words matter.

Words carry weight.
Ask anyone who has been bullied and verbally abused,
Or anyone who has been in a meeting when the person with the power stymies all
forward progress by words chosen to intimidate others;
Words matter.

Words are not without meaning.
Ask anyone who knows a second language,
Or anyone who had to defend themselves by saying, “That’s what I said, but not what I meant;”
Words Matter.

The pen is mightier than the sword.
Ask anyone who has been trashed on social media,
Or has a paper returned from the teacher highlighted in red;
Words Matter.

Words will never harm me.
Ask anyone whose husband has told her, “I don’t love you anymore,”
Or that child whose classmate insults him for the “umpteenth” time;
Words matter.

We live in a time when words are overused, filled with cliches, drowned out by the noise around us, and have often lost meaning. Like truth, it feels like words can convey anything we want them to say. Thus, words struggle to take root in the heart of people as they bounce off the heart like a superball ricocheting off the street. We find ourselves dismissive of the words spoken to us for if we heard it once, we’ve heard it all before. Didn’t Solomon once say himself, “Nothing is new under the sun.” Maybe so.

Words matter.

The Bible is filled with words. In a society that is shaped visually and where attention span is as long as goldfish’s memory, God’s Word contains over 700,000 words. That is a lot of words. In the middle of those words, we find Psalm 119:105, “Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light for my path.” The Psalmist believes that God’s word, Scripture, will help guide the reader through life clearly and safely.

Sprinkled throughout the Old Testament like seasoning, we find the phrase, “The word of the Lord.” One hundred times this phrase will surface to make the reader cause to pause. Sometimes the phrase signifies that God is communicating information or insight to a person. Other times, it is used to signify the validity of the prophet’s spoken word.

The Gospel of John opens his Jesus story by drawing the reader back to Genesis 1, “In the beginning.” This time, though, John tells us that it is the Word who was with God, and in fact was God from the beginning. The very Word of God who called the universe into existence is the Word that now dwells among us in the form of Jesus. John writes in wonder if his readers will heed such Word or turn a deaf ear.

James, who was Jesus’s brother and an important leader in the Jerusalem Church, speaks to the words we use. Unlike animals, our words have never been tamed. We speak sweet praises to God while poisonous words ooze from our mouths against those made in the image of God. James shakes his head because mixing streams of fresh and salt waters are incompatible and may even be combustible.

In Exodus 20 Moses comes down from Mt. Sinai with two tablets, tablets known as The Ten Commandments. That title was coined late from the Bishop’s Bible (C.E. 1568) which the King James Bible picked up on to popularize. The Hebrews called them the 10 Words. 10 Words. And the nineth word in that list addresses words directly: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor.” At the core of the Hebrew moral and ethical law is the use of our words. You do not lie and make up stories or accusations against someone or a people for any reason. For any reason. The Hebrews bearing a false witness is criminal. Our American word, perjury, hardly does this justice.

Words matter.  

Let me tell you a story about a local enterprise,
There’s one in every town, no matter what its size;
It doesn’t bring a profit or bring any revenue,
It’s good for one thing and that’s the damage it will do,
It’s called, The Rumor Mill.

The people who work there are all volunteers,
Their only qualification is a mouth and two big ears;
If the story’s not clear enough, that OK,
They’ll just doctor it up and then send it on its way;
It doesn’t matter who’s involved or who is gonna hurt,
As long as folks are listening, they’ll keep shoveling dirt
At the The Rumor Mill.

The Rumor Mill (And you’re manufacturing lies)
The Rumor Mill (The truth is disguised)
The Rumor Mill (Where reputations are crushed)
The Rumor Mill (Where nothing is untouched)
If it can be twisted, you can be sure that it will,
‘cause there ain’t nothin sacred,
At the Rumor Mill.

Now listen, my children, to this warning I make,
We’ve got a lot to lose, there’s a lot here at stake.
The Bible plainly states you’re gonna reap what you sow,
And you’ll be shown mercy by the mercy you show.
So shut your mouth and ask your friends to kindly do the same,
For you’ll end up as a victim with no one else to blame
At the Rumor Mill.

Words matter.

While I was at home caring for my mother, the hospice chaplain came to visit. Since he and I were in the same profession, we got off to the side to talk shop. He told me that his whole approach to his hospice chaplaincy changed when a patient said something to him. She looked at him and said, “Why haven’t you given me any words of hope?”

I questioned what I have been doing for the past three years. Have I used words to bring hope to my patients? Preachers tend to use a lot of words. We say something, but do we say anything worthwhile? Do we use our words to offer hope, or are they empty phrases filled with filler notes or cliches, or worse, negative words that lead to despair? Moving forward, how will I engage with my patients so that I will be more intentional with words of hope?

Words matter.

Billy Graham was a no-nonsense preacher. Stadiums overflowed as he proclaimed words of warning and salvation to the audience. His credibility and crafting of words led thousands to the alter in dedication or rededication, and prime-time television showcased his crusades. When Billy Graham spoke, people listened.

Martin Luther King, Jr. painted pictures with the words he uttered. Where Bob Ross used paint, paint brush, and a canvas to bring something to life, King used his poetic phraseology. The finished product of his words ignited a flame that swept through America known as the Civil Rights Movement. Mind you, how beautiful his words were, they were often hard to swallow. Even today, some sixty years later, his words are still hard to hear and just as hard to swallow.

Words from the mouth of Hitler is another verse. Fueling the hatred for the Jews, they were called unmentionable names in order to blame and scapegoat them for their nation’s problems. Hitler’s words dehumanized the Jewish people, making it easier to view them as less than human. If they weren’t real humans and part of society’s problems, then it would be that much easier to remove them like an exterminator removes mice and roaches. Hitler’s words tapped into Germany’s fear and ignited a hatred that led to the extermination of six million people. The only thing worse than Hitler’s words are the words spoken by the Holocaust deniers.

Words matter.

One day a woman was caught in the very act of adultery. The intimacy was exposed for all to see. As her accusers were dragging her through the streets leaving her dignity behind, Hank Williams was playing loud and clear in the background. If you listen carefully, you can hear, “Your Cheatin’ Heart” echo throughout time. The scene was ugly, like someone capturing the moment on TikTok for the whole world to see. And the whole town was witnessing the humiliation of the moment.

They brought her before Jesus and the gathered crowd, displayed like it was a reality tv show for ratings. The Pharisees forced Jesus to embrace the law of Moses which called for the execution of the those caught in adultery. In their hands were the rocks ready to be thrown. But Jesus spoke no words, and the silence was deafening. It doesn’t take a New Testament scholar with a PH.D. to ask the simple question, “Where’s the man?” If they caught her “in the very act of adultery,” then the missing guilty man means she’s been framed and is a pawn for their show. Suddenly, this story is getting creepily dark.

Jesus knelt on the ground and began to write. Did he doodle something? Did he write words? My curiosity is captured because I want to see what he was writing. And isn’t that the point? All eyes are now squarely focused on Jesus, and not on the woman. For a moment, her guilt and shame dissipate, as the crowd is more interested in what Jesus is doing than in what she has done.

But the instigators persist and press Jesus for a ruling. So, he rules, stating that anyone without sin casts the first stone. He then bends back down on the ground to write, while all eyes are now fixated on the provocateurs. And in an unexpected plot twist, the rocks begin dropping from their hands as they walk away from the scene, the oldest to the youngest.

And with the crowd still watching, Jesus looked up and questioned the woman. “Where are your accusers? Is no one here to condemn you?” Looking at the one sinless man with the right to condemn, she said, “No one.” And with words, he removed the guilt and shame as he kindly dismissed her. As she walked away you could almost hear Hank Williams singing, “I saw the light.”

 Words matter.

“May these words of my mouth, and this meditation of my heart, be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer” (Ps. 19:14).

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* The Rumor Mill words by Jon Mohr.

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Reflections on 9/11

My guess is that you know exactly where you were when the news broke on that dark day in 2001. I know I do. 

I was starting my day in my office of the church building in Kentucky when one of my members, a parent whose child was in our church’s preschool, burst into my office declaring, “I just heard on the news that a plane has flown into one of the Twin Towers.” Bewildered, denial set in as I knew those buildings were too tall for such a foolish mistake. That someone might intentionally fly a plane into the buildings was beyond the scope of believability. My guess is that it was for you, too. I checked numerous online news websites and discovered headlines confirming the report, but since the articles were being written in real time, I was unable to access any of the details.

My memory of the following days is a blur. Stories of heroism were overshadowed by stories of despair. Since Cile and I did not own a television set at the time, it would be two weeks before I saw actual footage of the planes flying into the buildings. We were visiting her mother when I saw the video; my heart sank, and my gut felt sucker-punched. I was two weeks behind the emotional trauma everyone else experienced.

On the immediate Wednesday night following 9/11, our church held a prayer service. The three elders and I reflected on both the events and Scripture, trying to shed some light on this dark event. On Sunday morning our church prayed for those directly and indirectly impacted by this terroristic act of war. Drawing from a shared empathy, I relayed to the church that somewhere in the surrounding New York City area lies a church with a vacant pew. The previous week someone(s) was part of the visible community of believers, while this week they are forever part of the unseen worshiping community. That church has an open wound that will not heal easily or quickly.

I also thanked a Canadian family who moved to the States years earlier and were members of our church. While I had no official authority to speak on behalf of our nation – and they had no official authority to offer any response – I did speak. I thanked them for the Canadian government clearing air space and opening their airports so that American planes, who could divert their course, could find a safe harbor. Canada, like the rest of us, did not know what dangers lurked by such a gracious move. They authorized the move anyway. Our congregation of 200 applauded our Canadian family.

Twenty-three years have passed since that dreadful day changed our lives. In some ways the hole has not been filled. We’ve had plenty of time to process the events while much water has rushed under the bridge or over the dam.

As I reflect on the nightmare of that day, I find at least three things worth sharing, all of which is rooted in Scripture. First, “Let your light shine” (Mt. 5:16). A year after 9/11, I took my first doctoral course. One of my fellow students had been in the grocery store getting food and snack supplies for the nine days we’d be on campus. He happened to have picked up a magazine from the checkout line. As he stood before the class holding the magazine he started sharing with us his 9/11 experience. He was in the Denver airport when the planes hit the towers. The terminal shut down cancelling all flights. He spent the next few days waiting for air space to open, flights to be rebooked, and opportunities to return home. The magazine in his hand was a one-year commemorative magazine of 9/11. As he was in the check-out line, he said, he picked up the magazine and started flipping through the pages to find that a photographer had shot a candid picture of himself with a group of people sitting against the wall. He showed us the magazine and said, “This is me.”

People are watching. People are always watching. They notice the deeds we do and the words we say. They witness the acts of kindness or our darker deeds. They observe how our talk harmonizes with our walk or creates dissonance. Jesus wants us to capitalize on that dynamic. Since people are watching, then, he encourages us to let our lights shine in those dark places to brighten the way home, and where God gets the glory due him.

Secondly, “As far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” (Rom. 12:18). Following 9/11 voices emerged expressing concerned that fear and distrust might create an unrepairable “us against them“ mentality. Until 9/11 Americans perceived itself as secure, invincible, and that war carnage happened elsewhere. After 9/11 America’s perception began to shift. Suddenly, our nation’s security was breached, we felt vulnerable, and war’s carnage was not hidden in our backyard but hanging on our clothesline for all the world to see.

With the internet unleashed, the world immediately shrunk. As a mobile society, we found connecting to each other a great blessing. Facebook and Twitter meant we could communicate with friends all over the world. But social media came with a dark side. A very dark side. Instead of unity and community, people began spouting hard core beliefs without any concern for the hurtful words attached to them. No one had to look into the eyes of the people as they hid behind a computer screen. Those without a voice or venue found a place to express themselves, almost priding themselves on promoting hateful or divisive ideologies and themes. Adding to the mess has been the bad faith people and “bots” whose singular purpose is to stir up conflict, turning people against each other. The chasm continued to widen.

How COVID played in the division of society will be studied for years on end. Suffice to say, social distancing came with a relational price tag.  

Hear this warning: from politicians to preachers to practitioners, too much messaging has been divisive and has fueled the “us against them” perception. Words matter, and shrouding the words beneath ideology or religion never justifies divisive rhetoric. Instead of hiding behind a computer screen, we need to look into the eyes of our neighbors and recognize that we are all Imago Dei, made in the image of God. Instead of hanging onto our pet peeve issues or political rhetoric or ideological individuality, we need to hold onto each other. Instead of looking for a reason to divide, we need to passionately pursue the reason to unite. Or as Paul might say, if there is going to be unrest and conflict between people, make sure you are not the cause.

Finally, if “the end is near,” then make it a glorious end (1 Pet. 4:7-11). Peter entertains the possibility that the world’s story is about to close, though I suspect he probably has Jerusalem’s fall in mind (C.E. 70). Any catastrophic event feels like the world coming to its end, from the Stock Market crashing in 1929, to the bombing of Pearl Habor in 1941, to 9/11. With such a terrorizing end in sight, Peter refuses to prey on people’s fears. He doesn’t go into how bad it will get, nor does he exploit people’s anxieties by dangling hell over them. Instead, he tells his church to keep doing what they have always done, and what they have always done best.

Peter highlights some of the core tenants of the Christian faith.* He tells them to be clear-minded and to keep praying (v. 7). Someone, like Chicken Little running around stirring up the pot because he fears the sky is falling, is not clear-minded, and I doubt that person is praying. In the next chapter Peter will exhort his readers in prayer to “Cast all your anxiety on (God) because he cares for you” (5:7). God really does care for you. Secondly, he tells his readers to love deeply (v. 8), a love that stretches a person to the limits. Some people are easier to love than others, and everyone is hard to love at some point. When we throw ourselves into love, the multitude of sins gets covered because love leads to forgiveness. Thirdly, he says to continue practicing hospitality (v. 9). Opening one’s home in the first century not only provided a place where the church could meet, but ongoing lodging for those passing through the area. Opening one’s home, though, is hard work so Peter takes the grumbling part off the table. Finally, he says to use your gifts to serve others (v. 10). The center of the universe is not you, but you can use your gifts to minister to others, and through that action serve the true Center of the Universe.

Not a lot of excitement in this list and I doubt that it will be very marketable. But in a world where fear drives conversations, the everyday mundane Christian service keeps us well-grounded. The result is that fear is kept at bay.

As we bring closure to this reflection on 9/11, I am reminded that in the spring of 1870, the Connecticut Legislation was in session. During the meetings, dark ominous clouds formed and closed in over the Capital in Hartford. With many legislators still rooted in a pre-modern era world-view, they believed the end was upon them. A call for adjournment was made and it looked as if everyone was going home. However, one man, Abraham Davenport, opposed the motion to adjourn. Addressing the legislators he said,

“I am against adjournment. The Day of Judgment is either approaching or it is not. If it is not, then there is no cause for an adjournment. If it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish therefore candles be brought.”*

Davenport wanted “to be found doing his duty.” Whether we are in a time of peace or in a time of war; whether we live in a context of fear or a context of faith; whether we are living in an abundance of freedom or the freedoms have been stripped away; whether we are flourishing in a time of unity or in the splinter of division; whether we are reaping another Great Awakening or sowing in spiritual apathy; or whether we are basting in the brightness of light or the ones bringing light to the darkened world, we chose to be found doing our duty. Therefore, let’s call for the candles, and then go light this world by being found doing our duty.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* See my book, The Lord of All Things (published through Amazon.com, 2024), 182-185.

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Beyond the Senses of Sight, Smell, and Sound

Thomas Anderson had stumbled onto a new reality, the Matrix, but he could not get his head wrapped around its ramifications quickly enough. Federal Agents were hunting him down. A simple computer programmer, Anderson was also a cybercriminal going by the alias name, Neo. Thus, Federal Agents leaving their calling cards is not what someone like Neo wants to encounter. Federal Agents, though, weren’t the only ones interested in Neo.

In the movie by the same name, the Matrix is a computer-generated simulation, like a virtual reality, created by intelligent machines to trap and control humans in a dystopian future. In essence what we see every day is the Matrix. Unbeknownst to us, the reality is that our bodies are trapped in a cocoon and its energy is used to feed our captures, the Machines. Neo’s discovery brought unwanted attention to him. Those hunting him were not from the Government, they were facsimiles of the Machines.

Morpheus, a leader of an underground freedom movement, was looking for Neo as well. Since Neo had inadvertently broken the code to the Matrix, Morpheus wanted to recruit Neo’s help. In meeting him and explaining the backstory of the Matrix, Morpheus offered Neo two pills. The blue pill returns Neo to the Matrix forgetting his encounter with Morpheus. The red pill takes Neo down the rabbit hole to experience a new truth. A darker dystopian truth.

The premise of the movies entertains the possibility that our senses betray the greater hidden reality revealing itself around us.  

The Bible often speaks of a dual reality. The physical existence around us appeals to our senses, while the spiritual realm experienced through faith is beyond sight, smell, and sound.

Elisha was in Dothan when the king of Aram sent his troops to capture him. Rumor had it, God revealed to Elisha Aram’s secret military plans, and in turn disclosed those plans to Israel. Like the 2019 Houston Astros or Bill Belichick’s New England Patriots, the prophet was stealing signs. In retaliation the King of Aram sent his entire army to capture Elisha at Dothan. When Elisha’s servant saw the massive army, he was in fact rightly nervous. Reassuring him, Elisha said, “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them” (2 King. 6:16). I can see the servant doing a head count. “Well, there are two of us and a gazillion of them. How can you say we outnumber them?” Elisha prayed for God to open his eyes to reveal the truth. Reveal, God did. Suddenly, the servant saw that the hills swarmed with the army of God. What we see before us with our eyes is not always reality.

The first three chapters of Revelation reveal dark times for the churches in Asia Minor. Roman Imperial propaganda was either attacking the church for being unpatriotic or seducing the church to accept Roman cultural. With the pressure on the church to conform or to face retribution, Christians were facing a dark reality: churches were buckling under the weight of persecution or selling-out under the pressure to compromise. Chapter four opens with John being invited to look into heaven, and for the rest of the book he discovers the reality behind this world. What goes on down here has an impact on what goes on up there, and vice-versa. In short, God will fight for his church against any force that either seduces or persecutes his people.

Both stories highlight an important message. Something beyond our senses of sight, smell, and sound is happening around us.

A preacher was shaking hands with his members following a worship service. Whatever the topic of the sermon was, it challenged the way people perceived the world around them. One fellow told the preacher, “That sounds really good in a church building, but in the real world, it doesn’t work that way.”

He has a point, doesn’t he? Themes like forgiveness, kindness, gentleness, and grace don’t work well in a “dog-eat-dog” world where we are, in the words of Norm, “wearing milk bone underwear.”

The preacher addressed the member with his own gentle-kindness and grace by reminding him, “What we do here on Sunday morning is the real world, and what we do the rest of the week is a shadow of this reality.”

It’s likely that in 2 Corinthians 4:3 Paul is being accused of a veiled gospel, keeping people from knowing the truth. His opponents believed that Paul was purposely holding out on the Corinthians the complete gospel message. Paul flipped the narrative telling his church that it was not him who is veiling their sights, but the veil is on those who are perishing. Those who refuse to give the gospel serious attention are the ones who are veiled. In essence those who tune-out Paul’s preaching and tune-into his antagonists’ preaching are operating under a veil. They cannot see or perceive the truth around them. Thus, their reality is distorted.

Ultimately, a third party is at work, and he’s very crafty at what he does. Paul says, “the god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelievers” (4:4). The phrase, “the god of this age” is clearly a reference to Satan, the Adversary, who works against Christ to stop the gospel from penetrating the darkness. Satan has always been at work, and while Paul calls him the “god of this age,” he works in any age to veil the people around him. The “unbelievers,” as Paul notes, are those perishing because they turn a blind eye to the gospel. That said, those who are unbelievers and perishing could also be aligned with Paul’s opponents, who stand in opposition of the gospel message he preaches. They believe a gospel message, but they do not believe the message Paul preaches, a message where the power of the gospel is displayed in the weakness and frailty of humanity. Such a message is the alternative reality to their way of thinking.

In a world of darkness, the answer is not to embrace more darkness but to allow the light of God’s gospel to shine through us (4:6). In our brokenness we bring healing. In our humility we bring confidence. And in our pain, we bring a balm. As Paul will conclude, “For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake” (4:6). It is not about us, but about Jesus. And when our role is noted, it is the servant’s role who seeks no glory nor attention, but who simply point toward Jesus.

Such an approach to ministry is counter intuitive. Those who rely on their sight, smell, and sound will believe that successful ministry has a charismatic preacher (or dynamic worship), who is eloquent with words, and shames those who are a challenge to their position of power. Serving one another in humility is like Neo grappling with the Matrix. In the real world, it can’t work. But who said we are to measure success by the world’s standard?

Years ago, at a small university in the Midwest, a student was getting frustrated by the lack of attention the community bathrooms were given by the university janitorial service. The toilets were unclean. No, they were disgusting. He reported his displeasure to the R.A., but no action was ever taken. The R.A., frustrated himself by the situation, assured the student that he had filed the proper paperwork and completed the correct requisition forms. After a month of dealing with the unsanitary environment, the student went over everyone’s head to the President of the University. He made the appointment.

On the day of the meeting the President greeted the young man and listened intently to the complaint of the student. He asked for clarification, like “how long this problem has been going on” and “who has he talked to about the situation.” The student knew he had the listening ear of the President, and at the end of the meeting, when the President assured the student that the bathrooms would be clean, the student believed him.

Sure enough, the next morning as the student got up to go to class, the bathrooms were clean. Not just one toilet either, but all of them, and the sink, and the floor. The student was thrilled and thought that he should send a thank-you card to the President. He never did, but he thought about it. In the meantime, the bathroom was never dirty again.

On the last day of the semester, the student set his alarm early so that he could get a good night’s sleep and get up to review for his hardest final. As he ventured into the bathroom, he could not believe his eyes. Bending over the toilet with a scrub brush in his hand was none other than the University president.

The world we live in limits our vision and feeds us misinformation about who we are and what we do. Our selfish egos are stroked and fed. The world that calls to us is beyond our senses of sight, sound, and smell. It is in that reality we are unveiled and step into the light to embrace Paul’s words, “For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake” (4:6).

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Ida Partlow Eulogy

First a story: The Mines of Moria were dark, dreary, and dismal. The stench was almost nauseating. Moria ran under and through the Misty Mountains and the heart of the kingdom lay beneath three great peaks of the that mountain range: Cloudyhead, Redhorn, and Silvertine. A long history exists in Moria where the Longbeard Dwarfs lived and mined its treasures, including the valuable gem mithril. But dangers covered the lands of Moria, for deep withing its depths was Durin’s bane, the Balrog, who destroyed Balin and those serving him.

Frodo was unaware of Moria’s long and treacherous history. He was only concerned with his future. The Fellowship was forced to enter Moria, and after the long journey of winding through the stench-filled halls, they came to an impasse. Three archways stood before them, and the Fellowship sat waiting for a revelation as to the direction they should go. With Gollum tracking their movements, and a distraught Hobbit already feeling the burden of carrying the evil Ring, Frodo lamented to his mentor, “I wish the Ring had not come to me.”

Frodo’s lament is our lament as we try to define or change the context of our life’s situation. Seeking a means to alter or understand a deeper meaning to our current reality is always tempting. We cry out, “I wish the Ring had not come to me.” What we are offered is Gandalf’s wisdom, in one of Tolkien’s best lines ever written, “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

What do you do with the time given, especially if the time is cloaked in darkness. Tolkien was very aware of such time coming to him. He was orphaned as a child, abandoned by his family because his mother converted to Catholicism, and just when he reached the height of human optimism – both in era and in age – the most dehumanizing, demoralizing, and devastating war broke out. Other than Tolkien, only one of his Oxford schoolmates came home from World War I. Instead of pouring himself into self-pity, he poured himself into creating an entire legendarium which captured the imagination of so many readers, including our mother, to remind us that hope prevails, evil can be defeated, good still exists, and it’s worth fighting for.

Ida Pearl Mathews Partlow knew something of the struggle to decide what to do with the time, when so much of her “time” in her formulative years was shrouded in darkness – a darkness not unlike the kind covered by Middle-earth. We will never know her whole story, but the highlights include divorced dysfunctional parents, raised by her father not her mother, abducted by her mother and boyfriend passed off as an uncle, and forced to testify against her mother. Traumatized, neglected, abused do not begin to uncover the darkness mother experienced. Like an iceberg on the waters, what I’ve described is only its tip, and its bad enough. What is darkly disturbing and dangerously depraved lies beneath the waters, and we will never know that story. But it’s there. Similar to Frodo carrying the One Ring, mom never could shake what those years had done to her and were still doing to her. Maybe her greatest fear, just maybe, was devolving into Gollum, or something worse. Something a lot worse.

She fought the magnetic pull into darkness with all her strength, and everything she did seemed to be a fearful move to keep her from the darkness instead of embracing the freedom of the Light. So, as a teen she wrote Psalm 1 on paper and mounted it to the ceiling of her bedroom to read first thing in the morning and last thing at night in an effort to help form and shape her character.

As a founding member of the Ontario, Oregon Church of Christ, mom was not about to face the world or church alone. Her best friend was Pat, whom she invited to church and eventually led to Christ. She may have been the first person mom studied with, but she certainly wasn’t the last. After high school Mom and Pat packed their bags to seek their fortunes in Portland, though mom’s plans were really to enroll at Abiline Christian College. Having secured room and board at the home of Clayton and Alma Towell, the two single women were barely unpacked when a knock at the door came. Before them were two young troubadours holding guitars ready to woo the girls. One of those wide-eyed young men was our father, Dean Partlow. He was almost everything mom could hope for in a man. Almost. But the one thing he really lacked became more than mom ever imagined. She wanted, or better yet, needed a man who loved God and loved her. By their forty-seventh year together no one could have loved both our mom and God more than our dad. Part of that is attributed to dad. Part of that is attributed to mom. All of it can be attributed to God’s reckless pursuit of both.

Whatever motivation kept mom away from the darkness, she chose to serve people and found great pleasure in fulfilling the role of a servant. She used her sewing to make hospital gowns sent to Chimala Mission Hospital in Tanzania, Africa specifically for mothers and their newborns. By taking used men’s dress shirts, she cut off the collar, sleeves, and buttons before sewing the bodice together for the gown. Taking the sleeves, she made a smaller version of the gown so that the mother and child would have matching outfits when they go home.

For ten years she served the students of Columbia Christian Schools as their librarian, where a segment of the students found a solace from the world in the library with Mrs. Partlow, and likely many more appreciated her presence after graduation than before.

And mom may have been in her element when she opened her home for guests. Dad might as well have installed a revolving door; he might have been served well to charge admission. From mom’s Mystery Dinners to neighborhood children like the Van Horns to the dozen or more individuals who found a second home because they needed temporary shelter. Mind you, the purple house on Oak Street had one bathroom, so opening our home was no easy task. But that didn’t stop mom. Not a lot stopped our mother’s forward progress.

And finally, the work dad and mom invested in the Asian congregation may be unmeasurable. Friendships were established, relationships built, and people were led to Christ because of mom and dad’s hospitable presence, love for Jesus, and daring to live by faith.

If I could share with you one TikTok moment of mom – a Snapchat that highlights the very best of mom, it was on a Sunday summer afternoon in 1974. Deanna and I were playing under the dining room table. It wasn’t a normal place we found ourselves playing, but here we were doing something in our imaginary world, while conversing under the big wooden table, and of all the topics to discuss, we were talking of our church experience only hours earlier.

As it turned out, our third/fourth grade Bible teacher was a no-show, and if truth be known, so was everyone else in our class. So, Beverly Van Horn told us to go to the next class, which had no teacher either. By-passing the fifth and sixth grade class, we ventured to the junior high class in the far reaches of the old Central Church of Christ building on Stark Street. Climbing those stairs to an attic room, like Quasimodo climbing the cathedral steps of Notre Dame, we reached the room. As we opened the door, mom was sitting on a chair with the children around her in a semicircle. She was teaching class.

I cannot remember the lesson for the day. Maybe it was the little boy David down by the brook gathering five smooth stones as he prepared to face Goliath. Maybe it was Gideon, her favorite story, leading his men down to the river, not to pray, but to drink or lap like a dog, only for ten thousand soldiers to be discharged and sent home. Or maybe it was the scene in the garden, Gethsemane. And if you listen closely without falling asleep you can hear the words Jesus prayed, and if you looked intently, you could almost see his sweat dropping from his face as he was experiencing the spiritual version of the olive press. Such was the experience when mom taught Bible class.

I wish I could recall the Bible lesson, but I can’t. I do remember that as Deanna and I sat under the dining table, we were talking about Bible class from that morning. And one of us turned to the other – and who turned to whom, I can’t remember that either – but said, “You know what the best part about mom teaching Bible class is? She makes you want to be a better person.”

Allow that statement to wash over yourself for a moment. For if the gospel message we proclaim does not stir within us the passion to allow the Spirit of God to form our lives (Gal. 4:19), to conform our actions (Rom. 8:29), and to transform our behavior (2 Cor. 3:18) so that we are shaped by Christ instead of the world, then we have failed the gospel. Failed. Instead, we are to be formed, conformed, and transformed into Christ, and anything less than that is a shadow of the reality. As the prophet said, “If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change.” If not, we might as well lust for the One Ring of Power and use its evil purpose for our corrupted good.

Mom felt this tension, especially in her relationships with those closest to her. She struggled to maintain clear, healthy, and proper boundaries which led to hurt and harmful moments. At times she found that friendships were informal, fun, and felt like their finality might last forever. At other times, as Galadriel warns the Fellowship, “(It) stands on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all.” We felt that. We were witnesses of her failed attempts to maintain her relationships. And if all of us are honest, we all have felt that. Possibly driven by fear instead faith, she – or we – fail to fully keep functionally the friendships God has graced us with. I know this was mom’s struggle, to the very end.

On Friday afternoon, July 6, Steve, Tim, David, Deanna, and myself gathered around mom one final time. We invited Dick Ady to lead us in prayer. Dick asked Ida if she had any questions. Not sure what Dick was seeking or what mom might say, I moved closer. The Partlow family friendship with our minister reached back sixty years, and curiosity caught me wondering what she might say. From her own insecurity, broken woundedness, and fear of failure, she into Dick’s eyes and asked, “Wwhy do you like me?”

If we’re really honest, her cry is our cry. Her insecurity is our insecurity. Her fear is our fear. On this side of Eternity we struggle to love each other, much less like each other. But on that side of Eternity, it’s a different story, or we might say, a different song. For God heals all wounds so that the scars no longer define us or hurt anymore – and we are never the cause of hurt, again. So if you listen closely, you can almost hear her sing – because in heaven, everyone sings like an angel, even mom. From the woman who now experiences full healing, her verse to us might reverberate in humble, confessional tones:

I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to be some kind of friend,
I only wanted to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you dancing
In the Purple Rain!

It was Dick Ady’s reassurance, an assurance promised by God, coupled with her five children gathered around her, to hold her hand, to laugh and to sing, to affirm our love, and to say goodbye. It was that reassurance she so desperately needed to drift off into a restful sleep as she ventured into the forever Undying Lands.

So to mom, we say . . .

Lay down your sweet and weary head • The night is falling • You have come to journey’s end • Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before • They are calling from the across the distant shore • Why do you weep? • What are those tears upon your face? • Soon you will see (that) all of your fears will pass away • Safe in (His) arms • You’re only sleeping

What can you see on the horizon? • Why do the white gulls call? • Across the sea a pale moon rises • The ships have come to carry you home • And all will turn to Silver glass • A light on the water • All Souls pass

Hope fades into the world of night • Through shadows falling out of memory and time • Don’t say, “We have come now to the end” • White shores are calling • You and I will meet again and you’ll be here in my arms, Just sleeping

What can you see • On the horizon? • Why do the white gulls call? • Across the sea • A pale moon rises • The ships have come to carry you home • And all will turn • To silver glass • A light on the water • Grey ships pass into the West