Who can know a warrior's heart?
A heart that has been shattered by the sound of the gun, by the violence of mortal combat, by terror in the night, by fallen comrades.
Dreams that become nightmares, both waking and sleeping.
A heart full of great courage, a heart full of great fear.
A heart joyous in victory, a heart downtrodden in defeat.
Battles that should not be remembered, filled with moments that should not be forgotten.
Returned from the violent field, yet peace comes not, or ever so slowly.
We cannot know.
But God knows a warrior's heart, He is the Great Warrior.
Dear Father, bring Your Peace to our Warriors, returned from the battle.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
A Poem
I have always loved poems. The best thing about poems: as author, you can do anything you want with them - bad grammar, poor sentences, and they don't have to rhyme. You see, poems belong to the author, and whomever he wishes to give them to. They don't even need a title, if you wish it so.
I had always heard it would come to this.
That love between two minds and spirits would travel beyond the physical realm.
That two would in all ways become one.
That friendship and faithfulness would outlast all things.
That we would become comrades in the battle of life.
That spending time together would become our favorite thing to do.
That when apart we would long for each other's company like a thirsty one longs for quenching waters.
That small courtesies and short tender touches would delight the heart so.
That forgiveness would become eagerly given.
That time and age would change everything, forever, and for good.
It has come to this.
I am grateful.
I had always heard it would come to this.
That love between two minds and spirits would travel beyond the physical realm.
That two would in all ways become one.
That friendship and faithfulness would outlast all things.
That we would become comrades in the battle of life.
That spending time together would become our favorite thing to do.
That when apart we would long for each other's company like a thirsty one longs for quenching waters.
That small courtesies and short tender touches would delight the heart so.
That forgiveness would become eagerly given.
That time and age would change everything, forever, and for good.
It has come to this.
I am grateful.
Homecomings - A Post Script
P.S. We never know where homecomings will lead.
On that one particular homecoming from Wyoming, as a beautiful and remarkable summer drew to a close, my life was changed forever.
At the end of the dirt road that led me home, on that very same gravel driveway, as I opened the door to my truck, I saw and met for the first time the little bundle of energy and ray of sunshine who was to became my best friend, and eventually, my wife.
Homecomings can be that way, special and life-changing...may your next homecoming be a blessed one.
Homecomings
My first-born son is coming home for a visit - he should be here around midnight. My second-born son got "home" 10 days ago too. My lovely daughter will be coming home at Thanksgiving. This little essay belongs to them, and Mom and Dad.
I have always loved homecomings.
I remember vividly several of my own homecomings earlier in my life. More than a few times in my late teens and early twenties, I was away from my home for extended periods of time. Several of those times, getting home was quite a long trip, several days in fact. One memory in particular comes to mind - I was coming home from working out in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming after being gone for more than 3 months.
During those 13 weeks away, the only communication I had with my family or friends was an occasional letter and perhaps a 10 minute phone call at an old pay phone. Thirty years ago, not even long distance telephone cards existed, so we had to cash in for a roll of quarters and dimes to feed the telephone during the call - no cell phones, no internet, and not a lot of privacy either. Making a long distance phone call was a pretty big deal - expensive and a hassle - so when I made a call it was because I longed to hear a familiar voice, not because I was obligated to do so.
By the way, there is value and character building involved in the difficulties encountered to make those calls. You may not believe me when I tell you, dear reader, but I can remember some of those calls well enough that I remember what was being discussed - actual details of some of those conversations. And those remembrances have provided me with some pleasant memories over the years. I remembered them because they cost me something - time, effort, money, and even the heartache involved when hanging up that phone, because I realized how much I missed them. And then there was the endless background noise of knowing that they really did miss me too, and perhaps worse than I missed them. Emotions do not work well for me over the telephone wire, but it was all I had, and it was good enough, because we knew no better. So I learned, despite myself, years later, to cherish those brief moments of communication with the world from which I was parted. Do you remember 30 year old conversations in vivid detail? If so, you are blessed, as I am.
There were no awaiting crowds or marching bands at my homecomings, but there may as well have been. My homecomings were simply driving into my mom and dad's gravel driveway, opening the truck door, and walking in the garage door, which was never locked. A shout "I'm home" was my cry, and then hugs all around. The rest of the celebration consisted of long and exaggerated stories of my journey and updates of the goings-on with the rest of the family, friends, and hometown. This all occurred at the dinner table, always at the dinner table. We are, after all, a Louisiana family, and as with all real Louisiana families, life seems to revolve around food. I loved my homecomings, and those of the people I loved.
As a father, homecomings are different for me now, but I love them no less, and perhaps even more. If only I had known how different and bittersweet homecomings are for a parent - if only I had known. There is no greater joy than a child coming home; there is no greater pain than watching them leave. God forgive me for not knowing, for not being less self focused, and for not understanding.
I love and appreciate homecomings more now. I pray that my heavenly Father loves them too - I know He does.
I have always loved homecomings.
I remember vividly several of my own homecomings earlier in my life. More than a few times in my late teens and early twenties, I was away from my home for extended periods of time. Several of those times, getting home was quite a long trip, several days in fact. One memory in particular comes to mind - I was coming home from working out in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming after being gone for more than 3 months.
During those 13 weeks away, the only communication I had with my family or friends was an occasional letter and perhaps a 10 minute phone call at an old pay phone. Thirty years ago, not even long distance telephone cards existed, so we had to cash in for a roll of quarters and dimes to feed the telephone during the call - no cell phones, no internet, and not a lot of privacy either. Making a long distance phone call was a pretty big deal - expensive and a hassle - so when I made a call it was because I longed to hear a familiar voice, not because I was obligated to do so.
By the way, there is value and character building involved in the difficulties encountered to make those calls. You may not believe me when I tell you, dear reader, but I can remember some of those calls well enough that I remember what was being discussed - actual details of some of those conversations. And those remembrances have provided me with some pleasant memories over the years. I remembered them because they cost me something - time, effort, money, and even the heartache involved when hanging up that phone, because I realized how much I missed them. And then there was the endless background noise of knowing that they really did miss me too, and perhaps worse than I missed them. Emotions do not work well for me over the telephone wire, but it was all I had, and it was good enough, because we knew no better. So I learned, despite myself, years later, to cherish those brief moments of communication with the world from which I was parted. Do you remember 30 year old conversations in vivid detail? If so, you are blessed, as I am.
There were no awaiting crowds or marching bands at my homecomings, but there may as well have been. My homecomings were simply driving into my mom and dad's gravel driveway, opening the truck door, and walking in the garage door, which was never locked. A shout "I'm home" was my cry, and then hugs all around. The rest of the celebration consisted of long and exaggerated stories of my journey and updates of the goings-on with the rest of the family, friends, and hometown. This all occurred at the dinner table, always at the dinner table. We are, after all, a Louisiana family, and as with all real Louisiana families, life seems to revolve around food. I loved my homecomings, and those of the people I loved.
As a father, homecomings are different for me now, but I love them no less, and perhaps even more. If only I had known how different and bittersweet homecomings are for a parent - if only I had known. There is no greater joy than a child coming home; there is no greater pain than watching them leave. God forgive me for not knowing, for not being less self focused, and for not understanding.
I love and appreciate homecomings more now. I pray that my heavenly Father loves them too - I know He does.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Knowing and Being Known - A Journey
In my time, I have traveled many thousands of mile across this vast land of what we call America. By no means do I intend to convey that I am a great traveler by today's definition of the word - many today, and some in the past, have traveled the world and seen places, things, and peoples far beyond my wanderings. Nevertheless, if compared to the traveling done by my fore bearers and the majority of humans over the past hundreds of years, I might be considered a "traveled" man. So are you.
Think on it for a minute - your great grandfather or his father probably rarely traveled beyond his own town or region - that was the way of life, when horses or feet were the only means of transportation. Why else do we fascinate ourselves with stories of the great explorers that crossed the seas or who traveled lands far away? They were often lauded simply because they traveled far from their homes where others did not or could not venture.
I love traveling on forgotten and lonely roads, away from our modern highway system - there is a peace and expansion of the mind that comes from it. Getting from one place to another should be more than just getting from one place to another - our finite time on this earth screams out for it to be so. Our travel should be a journey, not just a route, and so should our life.
Travel with me for a few miles, for just a little while...
During our travel through down the lonely road, as we pass by homes in rural places, turn your mind to the people who live in those homes beside the road. Why are they there? What are they doing as we pass? Who are they? What are they thinking? Where is their lifes' journey taking them? What dreams, or fears, or pains, or joys are they experiencing? Alas, how can we know? We can not know, we can only imagine.
One of my favorite authors, Charles Dickens, in one of my favorite books, A Tale of Two Cities, beautifully describes our dilemma this way:
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
A secret to the heart nearest it...a profound secret and mystery to every other. Truer words have rarely been expressed.
Who knows you best and most deeply? Your wife of many years? Your Father, or perhaps your Mother who bore you and reared you? Your best friend? Your pastor or counselor? Your son, your daughter? Regardless of whom, you and I both know that they know you much less than you know yourself, and how often do even you question who you really are? Dickens was correct - we are a secret to all those around us - but he could have gone further and pointed out a greater truth: we are often a secret even unto ourselves. The deepest longings of our hearts are sometimes mysterious to even ourselves, are they not? We do not know from whence they come, and all too often we do not understand why, or foresee where, they lead us.
If we cannot be truly known by those around us, and if we do not truly understand ourselves, how can we be genuinely comforted during our pain, how can we be joined in celebration of our victories, or in the sadness and disappointment of our defeats? Without being known, can we be anything but deeply alone in our heart? The cry of our heart becomes loud and then desperate, because it is heard by none - like a tree that falls in a deserted wood, or a shout that is unheard by the deaf.
Yet there is Hope, there is One who knows us completely, there is One who hears the desperate cry of our heart. And there is One who in knowing us, loves us completely in our incompleteness.
He wishes us to make ourselves known. Known to those around us, known to ourselves. He teaches us that being known, yes, being vulnerable, opens ears and hearts around us and opens our hearts to those He has touched - to His Eternal One that can enter our heart and heal its deepest longings. He knows, He cares, He satisfies...beyond all human imagination.
One of my favorite American authors, Norman Maclean, who favored us with only a few short stories, once quoted his Presbyterian pastor father's last sermon in A River Runs Through It:
Each one of us here today will, at one time in our lives, look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us- either we do not know what part of ourselves to give, or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us, but we can still love them. We can love completely, without complete understanding.
Show love to those around you - understanding is not required.
Know that He loves you completely, with complete understanding.
Think on it for a minute - your great grandfather or his father probably rarely traveled beyond his own town or region - that was the way of life, when horses or feet were the only means of transportation. Why else do we fascinate ourselves with stories of the great explorers that crossed the seas or who traveled lands far away? They were often lauded simply because they traveled far from their homes where others did not or could not venture.
I love traveling on forgotten and lonely roads, away from our modern highway system - there is a peace and expansion of the mind that comes from it. Getting from one place to another should be more than just getting from one place to another - our finite time on this earth screams out for it to be so. Our travel should be a journey, not just a route, and so should our life.
Travel with me for a few miles, for just a little while...
During our travel through down the lonely road, as we pass by homes in rural places, turn your mind to the people who live in those homes beside the road. Why are they there? What are they doing as we pass? Who are they? What are they thinking? Where is their lifes' journey taking them? What dreams, or fears, or pains, or joys are they experiencing? Alas, how can we know? We can not know, we can only imagine.
One of my favorite authors, Charles Dickens, in one of my favorite books, A Tale of Two Cities, beautifully describes our dilemma this way:
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
A secret to the heart nearest it...a profound secret and mystery to every other. Truer words have rarely been expressed.
Who knows you best and most deeply? Your wife of many years? Your Father, or perhaps your Mother who bore you and reared you? Your best friend? Your pastor or counselor? Your son, your daughter? Regardless of whom, you and I both know that they know you much less than you know yourself, and how often do even you question who you really are? Dickens was correct - we are a secret to all those around us - but he could have gone further and pointed out a greater truth: we are often a secret even unto ourselves. The deepest longings of our hearts are sometimes mysterious to even ourselves, are they not? We do not know from whence they come, and all too often we do not understand why, or foresee where, they lead us.
If we cannot be truly known by those around us, and if we do not truly understand ourselves, how can we be genuinely comforted during our pain, how can we be joined in celebration of our victories, or in the sadness and disappointment of our defeats? Without being known, can we be anything but deeply alone in our heart? The cry of our heart becomes loud and then desperate, because it is heard by none - like a tree that falls in a deserted wood, or a shout that is unheard by the deaf.
Yet there is Hope, there is One who knows us completely, there is One who hears the desperate cry of our heart. And there is One who in knowing us, loves us completely in our incompleteness.
He wishes us to make ourselves known. Known to those around us, known to ourselves. He teaches us that being known, yes, being vulnerable, opens ears and hearts around us and opens our hearts to those He has touched - to His Eternal One that can enter our heart and heal its deepest longings. He knows, He cares, He satisfies...beyond all human imagination.
One of my favorite American authors, Norman Maclean, who favored us with only a few short stories, once quoted his Presbyterian pastor father's last sermon in A River Runs Through It:
Each one of us here today will, at one time in our lives, look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us- either we do not know what part of ourselves to give, or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us, but we can still love them. We can love completely, without complete understanding.
Show love to those around you - understanding is not required.
Know that He loves you completely, with complete understanding.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Haunted by Hymns
Often I feel that my life can be written through the great hymns of our fathers and forefathers - through times of joy, celebration, grief, sadness, trials, weakness, they have offered me great comfort since the days of my youth.
Not long ago, at a men's retreat, the leader called for a hymn very special to me - it was the one that was sung the day of my calling when I was 8 years old, and I do not recall hearing or singing it since. When the chorus began my mind was flooded with memories of that day and the commitment so real in my heart, like as unto that very moment when I first surrendered all. Tears flowed and I wept for a time, hardly able to sing the mighty words. What blessing is more tender and comforting than the hymns of our childhood?
I am haunted by hymns. They speak to me now more than they ever have, and I am grateful that so many are lodged in my mind and in my heart.
In 1847, three weeks prior to his death, sick and dying of tuberculosis, Henry F. Lyte penned the words of a prayer that are still today as meaningful as they were those many years ago. It became arguably one of the greatest hymns of the church. May his prayer bring peace and comfort to you as the evening tides:
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
I need thy presence every passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
ills have no weight, and tears not bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.
Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
Not long ago, at a men's retreat, the leader called for a hymn very special to me - it was the one that was sung the day of my calling when I was 8 years old, and I do not recall hearing or singing it since. When the chorus began my mind was flooded with memories of that day and the commitment so real in my heart, like as unto that very moment when I first surrendered all. Tears flowed and I wept for a time, hardly able to sing the mighty words. What blessing is more tender and comforting than the hymns of our childhood?
I am haunted by hymns. They speak to me now more than they ever have, and I am grateful that so many are lodged in my mind and in my heart.
In 1847, three weeks prior to his death, sick and dying of tuberculosis, Henry F. Lyte penned the words of a prayer that are still today as meaningful as they were those many years ago. It became arguably one of the greatest hymns of the church. May his prayer bring peace and comfort to you as the evening tides:
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
I need thy presence every passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
ills have no weight, and tears not bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.
Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
Empty Nests - Full Hearts
This one is for all of you who have raised children who have left your home, but especially for my best friend - the Mother of my children. And for those with small children and those beginning their family journey:
They do not belong to us you know, they never did. Oh, yes, we thought they were ours and we protected them as our own, and rightly so. But we were caretakers for just a little while...a wisp, a breath that we held briefly and then released because we could no longer hold it. Do you remember when it seemed like they would be children forever - looking up at us, watching us, depending on us for their every need? We rarely appreciated it then, at least not as we should have, but their dependence worked miracles on us, me and you. It added sinew where none existed before - the muscles of our responsibility were exercised, became strong, and were tested. By God's grace, we held. Thank God, we held.
There were those moments - when we laughed at their blunt honesty and childish antics, when we experienced terror and fear for their safety, when we cried for their pain, and when we resented their disobedience. Those happy moments, those sad moments, but oh, those glorious moments. Our memories are filled with moments, those glimpses of eternity. Thank God for those moments. Thank God for His gift of memories.
All to often, we lived like change would never come - though it happened every day before our eyes through them, yet we did not see it clearly..."as through a glass, dimly". Yet His grace abides, and we move on without regret.
Even a caretaker has his reward, it is in seeing the fullness of his labors, and if not in seeing then in knowing that his Master will fulfill them with promise. We move forward toward that fulfillment, toward His promise.
There are tasks still before us, and rewards yet to come - God give us strength to do the work and patience to await Your reward.
They do not belong to us you know, they never did. Oh, yes, we thought they were ours and we protected them as our own, and rightly so. But we were caretakers for just a little while...a wisp, a breath that we held briefly and then released because we could no longer hold it. Do you remember when it seemed like they would be children forever - looking up at us, watching us, depending on us for their every need? We rarely appreciated it then, at least not as we should have, but their dependence worked miracles on us, me and you. It added sinew where none existed before - the muscles of our responsibility were exercised, became strong, and were tested. By God's grace, we held. Thank God, we held.
There were those moments - when we laughed at their blunt honesty and childish antics, when we experienced terror and fear for their safety, when we cried for their pain, and when we resented their disobedience. Those happy moments, those sad moments, but oh, those glorious moments. Our memories are filled with moments, those glimpses of eternity. Thank God for those moments. Thank God for His gift of memories.
All to often, we lived like change would never come - though it happened every day before our eyes through them, yet we did not see it clearly..."as through a glass, dimly". Yet His grace abides, and we move on without regret.
Even a caretaker has his reward, it is in seeing the fullness of his labors, and if not in seeing then in knowing that his Master will fulfill them with promise. We move forward toward that fulfillment, toward His promise.
There are tasks still before us, and rewards yet to come - God give us strength to do the work and patience to await Your reward.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Letter to a Friend
Dear Friend,
You are not alone.
The pain you feel is real, but as with physical pain, it will come to its end...it may end quickly, providing great joy. If it does, rejoice in the relief. However, It may tarry long; it may ebb and flow over a lifetime - if so, you must learn to live with it's savageness and its respite. But always remember - all pain is passing, whether in this life or the next - strength and character are learned in the journey - fire refines our hearts.
Other things are passing too: worldly possessions (whether they be monetary or nature), our physical bodies, time. Take hold of the the Eternal, the Ancient of Days, who does not waver in justice nor withhold His Perfect Love. Your grasping heart will not come back to you empty, but full - full of Hope and Peace.
He who gives Hope to the hopeless, and Strength to the weak, awaits you with true comfort and perfect peace - it is His gift to you - grasp it.
First Thoughts
As with all things, except God, there is a beginning...so this is the beginning of an adventure for me, and for those who wish to join me, I pray that this will be an adventure for you also.
My brother and one of my sisters said something that put a little idea in my head a while back, but I didn't really know what to do with it until now. They told me that I had a gift for encouragement and specifically for written encouragement. Strangely enough, in my heart I know that they may be on to something, so this is my journey to find out if that small voice that will not go away is true.
We live in a world that is eons old, and nothing is really new...especially not people and the trials that we all struggle with daily. Yet our history is abundant with people who found ways, often innovative ways, to help each other along the way - without judgment and with selflessness. My prayer is that God will find a way for me to help others with both of those attributes.
Therefore, the purpose of this blog is to find ways to offer encouragement to your heart or to someone that you love or who you know may be hurt or struggling. The hurts of our heart can be many and varied, so please feel free to post them here, for yourselves or for others. My challenge will be to perhaps offer some words of encouragement that may speak, God willing, to you whatever burden you are carrying. My promise is to keep all in confidence, and seek His Light prior to and during my writing - as the physician's creed goes, so goes mine: "Do no Harm".
Thanks for being here.
Steve
My brother and one of my sisters said something that put a little idea in my head a while back, but I didn't really know what to do with it until now. They told me that I had a gift for encouragement and specifically for written encouragement. Strangely enough, in my heart I know that they may be on to something, so this is my journey to find out if that small voice that will not go away is true.
We live in a world that is eons old, and nothing is really new...especially not people and the trials that we all struggle with daily. Yet our history is abundant with people who found ways, often innovative ways, to help each other along the way - without judgment and with selflessness. My prayer is that God will find a way for me to help others with both of those attributes.
Therefore, the purpose of this blog is to find ways to offer encouragement to your heart or to someone that you love or who you know may be hurt or struggling. The hurts of our heart can be many and varied, so please feel free to post them here, for yourselves or for others. My challenge will be to perhaps offer some words of encouragement that may speak, God willing, to you whatever burden you are carrying. My promise is to keep all in confidence, and seek His Light prior to and during my writing - as the physician's creed goes, so goes mine: "Do no Harm".
Thanks for being here.
Steve
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