I Peter

I suppose this has been quite the season for suffering in our house. It started last spring with some issues with one of our kids. Then it went into summer with some wrestling about our church. Then work was...different. And my mom fell. And my daddy passed away. It's been a long haul.

Everyone goes through seasons of suffering. As much as I wanted to avoid the pain, I have learned in all this to ask the Lord, if there must be suffering, that I will suffer well.

Last summer, the Sunday school class we worked with studied I Peter, so I began to read I Peter in my quiet time. This fall, the women's Bible study I go to is studying I Peter. And in October, our pastor began preaching a sermon series on I Peter: "I Am An Alien." I'm beginning to think the Lord has something for me to learn in I Peter. And I think that I've found at least one of the bigger lessons.

The passage speaking the loudest to me right now is this one:

Since Jesus went through everything you're going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you'll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want. 
                                                                                                                I Peter 4:1-2 (The Message)


I am learning that what I go through is lovingly designed to make me more in the image of my Savior. Do I want to stay in the fire of suffering? Absolutely not. But am I resting in Him through the trial. Absolutely.


So, in case you have 45:00-ish minutes to spare and want to check out what we've been learning at church, below is the last sermon our lead pastor preached in the series. Skip on over to the 9:20 mark for the sermon. The first few minutes are "family business" announcements and prayer. If you do get to see it, I hope it blesses you big. 



The Mysterious Witness of Submission and Suffering from The Summit Church Sermons on Vimeo.

I'll talk to you later, Daddy. I love you...

On Wednesday morning, November 9th, I was walking through the halls, stalking my principal so that I could talk to her about an article one of our students had written for journalism. I had gone all over the school and was walking down the hall in front of the Fine Arts Center when my friend Karen came jogging towards me, waving her hand in the air. I could see a post-it note stuck to her finger.

"You have to call your uncle right now. It's urgent," she said. I looked at the paper and saw my Uncle Wayne's name. His cell number. And the word URGENT.

I didn't know what had happened, but if Uncle Wayne was calling me at school, I knew it wasn't good. He's one of those guys who is relaxed about everything.

I hurried to the elevator and pushed 2. I walked quickly to my room, unlocked the door, grabbed my cell phone, and walked to the outside landing at the end of my hall. Hands shaking, I dialed Uncle Wayne's number.

"Hello."
"Uncle Wayne! What's up? This is Norma."
"Hey. Uh. I'm here at the farm. Uh. Your dad had some problems this morning. Uh. And I'm sorry, Norma, but he didn't make it."

So many thoughts all at once. The top two were: 1) He was so stubborn. Why didn't he listen to the doctors? Why was he trying to treat his own heart failure? And 2) I never called him back.

I realized Karen was coming out the door behind me. My uncle said the paramedic needed to talk to me. I saw my principal come out the door behind Karen. A million thoughts clogged my brain. More than anything I wanted to be practical.

"Had anyone called Robbie?" I asked Uncle Wayne when he got back on the phone.
"No, I don't think so."
"I will call him."
"OK. Norma, the paramedics need to know where to take your dad."
"What do you mean?"
"They need to call someone at a funeral home. Where do you want to take him?"
"I don't know. I don't know what to do. I am so lost. Who did Grandma's funeral? Take him there."
"OK. I'll make some calls and find out. I'll call you back."

I looked at Karen and Mary and told them Daddy died. He was in congestive heart failure. He had been to the doctor several times, but he wasn't getting better. He didn't like the medicines they gave him. He'd decided to treat himself using information he learned on the internet. "He was SO stubborn!" I said.

It was an odd thing to say. But it was the only thing I could muster that summed up the health saga that began over five years ago and ended that morning.

And then I said, "He called Saturday, but I was late for a meeting, so I talked to him only 10 minutes or so. I told him I'd call him back, but he said, 'No need. I'm fine," and I meant to call him back, but between the stuff I was doing for my Mom and trying to catch up with our house and trying to get all my lesson plans done and papers graded and kids to events and other stuff done, I didn't call him back."

Karen and Mary both said I couldn't think about that. My dad knew I loved him. It was fine that I was taking care of the things I had to take care of. That's what Dad would have wanted me to do.

I could have wallowed in guilt, but at that moment, I decided not to. Both Karen and Mary have lost their dads since I've known them. I trusted their counsel.

In the days that followed, I remembered several conversations I'd had with my dad over the past month or so. My mom had fallen, and I was left having to make lots of decisions and handle lots of things that totally overwhelmed me. I called Dad, my go-to guy for when I had to make lots of tough practical decisions. He always helped me figure things out. He and I talked more in those weeks than we had in the past three or so months. I'm still peeling back the layers of all those conversations, but they are treasures now because we talked about many things that in hindsight are a huge comfort to me right now.

I still think about that last time I talked to him, though. He called to tell me that he had found information on the internet about CoQ10 being a treatment for heart failure. He said the doctors were treating the symptoms, but he'd found something to repair his heart. He heard a gunshot in the woods and said he knew Benie had just gotten him a deer and there'd be fresh venison coming. He asked about the kids and our week. I asked about how he was feeling. He insisted that he was just fine. Great, even. He was thrilled to have found the recommended dosage of CoQ10 to heal failing hearts. I told him I was late for a meeting, but I'd call him back. That's when he said there was no need. He just wanted to call to tell me his good news. He was positively giddy. Happier than I'd heard him in months.

He said, "I love you, and tell the everybody there I love them too."

And I said, "OK, Daddy. I'll talk to you later. I love you. Bye."

One thing...