two reunions.

I attended a reunion today...the kind of reunion that only happens when a tragedy has occurred. People who haven't seen each other in 7 or 8 years gathered today to grieve the loss of one extraordinary guy.

There was another reunion on Monday night - of a very different nature. An event that caused us to grieve here on earth led to a reunion of perfect joy somewhere else.

How can that possibly make sense to us - really? How do we reconcile that? I have no idea.

Here's what I do know. Justin Cope was extremely gifted (as a musician, as a teacher, as an actor, as an...everything), he was consistent (everyone had the same opinion of him - energetic, thoughtful, kind to everyone - a joy to be around), and he loved the Lord. Loved Him.

Here is what else I know. Justin can now see the bigger picture. We can only see through a tiny little window where we're at, but now he can see with Heaven's eyes, and it all makes true and perfect sense. He has looked fully into the face of One Who loves him, and he has new eyes. They're still perfectly brown, but new nonetheless.

I very much wish I had been there to see this reunion. Can you imagine? I'll bet, for a second, it was like looking into a mirror...Cope always had his Father's smile.

And there he sits, playing the king of all acoustic guitars (something in the Heavenly Taylor series, I'm sure), looking at the bigger picture and finally understanding things. Billy Jones and I laughed as we thought about how much Jesus must be enjoying Justin's antics right about now. He's writing new and wonderful songs, goofing off with Gabriel, and rooting for Tennessee...

The time of Justin's life will know no end, nor grief, nor sorrow. But it will know many, many joyful reunions.



See you soon.

silence.

in the aching
i speak to myself what i think you would say.
but my voice sounds flat.
thin.
weakened by words that i do not understand
and hardly believe.
i would rather be mute than false.
but if i go silent, will you speak up?
or will silence once again take
hostage our conversation?
i wonder if it will be the silence of doubt -
what needs to be said? -
or the silence of peace -
it goes without saying-.

healing...?

20 years of walking on egg shells gets you used to pain. The sense of dread becoming ordinary is at once both tragic and comforting. Though your nerves are constantly on edge, you aren't aware of what it used to feel like to be relaxed, calm, unafraid. This is your life now. Why wish for anything else? Why hope for what cannot be?

Suddenly, the light, fragile egg shells become glass. It tears, cuts, makes you bleed. Your feet become calloused and unfeeling as you get used to this new ground. You've forgotten the feel of grass, and even if you were walking on it, you wouldn't recognize it. Your nerves are dead. In an effort to save what little softness of your heart remains, you put up an impenetrable armor that keeps the bad - and the good - out. You have to take care of yourself, right?

As He leads you into the green pastures, you see but cannot feel...How long will this part of the journey last? He sits beside still waters and invites you to join Him, but you remain standing, hesitant. Can you really rest here? You see the sun, but its warmth cannot get through your armor.

There is only one thing to do to resurrect this life. You must lose it.

So you shed your skin - your entire outer being - like Eustace's dragon, and come forth soft, pink, raw. You blink in the light and shiver from the sudden warmth of the sun. The cool grass underneath soothes your feet. Tears fall as you realize the darkness of the valley behind you. You look down at your new hands that were once cut and bleeding, and see that He has not allowed the rocks of the valley to scar you. In your mind's eye, you can still see deepness of the wound...but He has surely healed it. Or has He?

Sometimes just the remembrance of a wound is enough to make it bleed again.

etcetera.

I walked into a mailing establishment today to purchase a stamp and mail my car payment. This establishment shall remain nameless (it was not a post office). I walked up to the counter after being greeted by the apparent owner with a "What can I do for you, darlin'?"

"I need to buy a stamp, please."

"Alright, that'll be 55 cents."

I blinked at him. I was expecting him to laugh at his obvious and insipid joke, but I found only silence. Is it possible that he was serious? I guessed I'd better check.

"Why?"

"Because that's what I charge."

Crickets chirped.

"For a 39-cent stamp?"

"Well, I can't charge you what I pay for them!" His tone was becoming more insolent with every syllable.

Oh, right, naturally. One has to make a profit, so it's quite right that one should charge almost 50% more for a POSTAGE STAMP. What kind of profit is 16 cents?
And of course, I couldn't say any of this. Mere words of wit are no match for premeditated insanity.

hearts.

As the music continued to create an atmosphere of peace and freedom, I looked out over our congregation. On the left side, I saw a young man who recently lost his father in a tragic accident – the kind that you want to think doesn’t really happen to anyone. He was bent over, sobbing into his hands, and two ladies I work with but don’t know very well were with him, comforting him as they may. The first had her arms around him, and the second was standing over him, crying as well, with one hand on his shoulder and the other raised to God for help.
On the right, I saw another young man, recently married, being prayed for by one of my close coworkers. I had not seen my friend in direct ministry before, and to witness this exchange was changing and precious.
Incase you had any doubt as to whether there are any people in the church who are truly genuine…there are. These are the hearts I serve with. I am blessed to know them, to support them, to learn from them. May they be blessed in return.

eternity.

They put me in a chair that resembled a shabby desk a middle-schooler would be forced to sit in every day, and put a tourniquet on my arm. After sticking me and finding that my vein had magically disappeared, they spoke together of having to do it again. I found that I could not move my head and began to lose feeling in my body. And then...

It was brief, but I remember the clean, bright light illuminating the room in which I now stood. I was calm, serene, because I saw Him. Saw Him. He was there. Near me, in white, saying something to me. I think my heart could distinguish the words, because I felt peace and pleasure. I wanted to stay there, close and reconciled. Then, suddenly, I could hear myself speak, and my voice sounded frightened - an emotion that contradicted the way I felt in that room. Then the image of Him vanished and I began to see two very different figures, flashing in and out of darkness. My ears were immediately deafened by a ringing coming from somewhere within my head, and I was aware that I was crying out for help but could not move. "Oh Jesus, help me," I repeated, trying not to yell. Broken sobs escaped from my lungs as I realized the vision had been just that, and the reality was that I was stuck in a place I didn't want to be.

Did I die? Is that what death will be? A white room of peace, joy, and nearness to the One I love? The closeness to Him was enough for me to stay for eternity.

legacy.

I've been thinking about this a bit lately...about how important our actions and words are, how they affect the next generation, how they affect eternity. It's heavy stuff to think that I might be completely wasting the time I've been given on this earth by doing frivolous things, like centering an entire day on what TV show I'm currently addicted to, or spending hours at a time on MySpace, etc. When I take a minute to think of what I'm actually here for, I am ashamed of how much time I've wasted toward things that have absolutely no eternal value. I don't take enough of those moments.

I was encouraged this week, however, in being reminded that a lot of times, God takes the little things we do - passing moments of kindness, a word of encouragement, being faithful to just show up...you know, things we don't necessarily plan out - and turns them into powerful moments that can enact life change.

I am blessed to be a friend of a truly wonderful family. The Mitchums are some of the kindest, loving, and most compassionate people I've ever known. Plus, they're some of the funniest folk to be around, and that's always a bonus. If you're ever looking for some entertainment, get one of them to tell you a story. You couldn't write this stuff in a sitcom.

Anyway, recently they suffered the loss of Mr. Mitchum's father, Walter. I met Walter for the first time about two weeks before he passed away, and even those few moments make for a good story that I will always remember. I stopped by the hospital room, hoping to see one of the Mitchums, but instead found Walter alone, semi-conscious. I couldn't just leave, as I was sure he had heard me ask the nurse for his room. So I went in, introduced myself, and took his hand. I think my instinct was to try and shake it, but he grasped my hand, held it for a few minutes and said, "Well, you're a number one sweetheart!"

In the celebration of his life a few weeks later, I learned that Walter was a man of very few words. And I do mean a very few. I realized that I needed to cherish the moments I shared with this man, even though what he said may have been prompted by the amount of morphine coursing through his system.

The stories shared during the ceremony painted a picture of a very colorful man that I now regret I had not gotten to know earlier. When Fulton, Walter's only son and namesake, got up to speak, the first thing he said was, "I'd like to talk about one of Dad's finer qualities: his flexibility." I judged that this was not entirely true, as the crowd immediately erupted into laughter.

It was clear that Walter loved his wife. I saw a picture that Travis took about 4 years ago, and Walter looked so happy laughing with his wife that, for a second, I thought I was looking at a pair of 20-year-old newlyweds rather than people about to celebrate their 61st anniversary.

Even though Walter never said very much, it was clear from the stories of friends, children, and grandchildren that this man had made an eternal impact on many lives. As far as I could tell, each of the 3 kids and 6 grandkids were all children of God, and I think Walter had a lot to do with that. He taught them about hard work, honor, faithfulness, and loving God, and they all loved him in return...hey, even the cows loved Walter.

I see a man like that and the eternal effect of the way he chose to live his life, and I am blown away. I'll bet he had no clue how much he would change the lives of those around him...how much the little moments he shared with his grandkids and the words he spoke to his family would mean later, and how they would shape the character of so many.

Many, many people are reaping the benefits of the way Walter lived his life. He instilled a tradition of kindness and compassion in his family, and even now, just by being in relationship with the Mitchums, my life is being affected by Walter's influence.

It's incredible to think what all God can do with a heart that is truly after His own...

So, the moral of this story is, don't watch 24. It will ruin your life.