The Scoreboard Shows Girls 3 Boys 2

A few weeks ago when her older brother’s birthday fell on a Tuesday, the younger sister commented, “I guess my birthday just has to fall on a Tuesday for dad to write about me.” Women!

Well, younger sister did one better. She gave birth to a daughter late on a Monday night. Did she time the labor so her author-daddy would write about his new granddaughter and the beautiful mother on the following Tuesday? Inquiring minds want to know.

Go Make More Christians

There are so many joys of being a pastor, and the joys outdistance the sorrows. Officiating marriages is at the top of the list. I have the best view of the looks shared by the bride and groom. I hear the whispered words that fall silent before reaching the ears of the invited guests. I commend the couple to go live with God’s great blessing when I pronounce them “man and wife.” The cherry on the sundae is that I have been privileged to perform the marriages of my three older children.

Like the scores of marriages I’ve performed before theirs, I led my daughters and sons in their vows and listened to their declarations of intent. I delivered the wedding sermon with some traditional words I’ve used in most ceremonies prior to theirs. But for my children I added a new line, one I now incorporate in all weddings where I officiate, “Go make more Christians!”

One generation shall praise your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.
Psalm 145:4

God’s Gift to Them and Her Gift to Us

All life is created by God. Every plant in the soil, fish in the waters, bird in a nest, animal in the field, and child in the womb received its life from God. In each example, God uses the biological act he designed to bring new life into the world. The life is God’s blessing to the previous generation (Psalm 127:3). With every act of creation, we praise God for the display of his glory and power to bring new life to our fallen world. In a place where death dominates, God continues to bless with life. In the same place where spiritual death dominates, God brings life to all who are born again (John 3). God’s gift in the physical world and the spiritual world are the same – life! May all the earth praise him!

I’ve been in the birthing room. Many of you have been there too, either as a spectator or as an active pusher. I truly am amazed at what a woman does to give birth to a baby. After 9 months of pregnancy with all its ups and downs, the moment comes for the baby to arrive. When the attending medical people say, “One more push!” momma engages every muscle in her body, fights through the pain, and wills herself to bring her child into the world. What a mother does is awesome.

And then soon grandpa gets to hold her. She greets grandpa from her little car seat with the warmest of smiles. She sits near him on a Sunday night hymn sing and offers her praise to the Lord in her sweet, little voice, making up the words as she joins the congregation. His grandsons run to him, hug his legs, jump into his arms, and hug his neck. His daughters may not know it, but these grandchildren are her ultimate gift to him. He cannot convey sufficiently his gratitude for what she endured to give him these gifts. I love you, momma!

So now the girls outnumber the boys 3-2. It’s not a competition, but I’d be ok if they figure out how to even the score.
 

As always, thanks for reading, and I welcome your feedback and any suggestions you might have for an upcoming Lunchtime Musing.

Missing Her

8 years ago today, January 23, 2016, my mom died. She was 69 years old, had suffered a virus-induced heart attack about a decade earlier, developed congestive heart failure, endured not one but two LVAD (Left Ventricle Assist Device) surgeries which prolonged her life, and loved her Lord until he called her home. What follows is what I wrote on the one-year anniversary of her death. Thanks for reading, and if you knew my mom, I hope my brief words put a smile on your face. And if you are a Christian, I hope you will live faithful to our Lord like my mom and so many others did before us.

Originally published January 23, 2017

One year. 365 days. So many memories. So many curiosities. One year ago today my mom, Bonnie VerWay, finished her race having kept the faith.

The year without her has provided brief moments of thought and long periods of deep reflection. A song, a signpost, a cartoon, or a current event often brings her to mind, providing a nearly always happy moment. Yard work, shoveling snow, long drives, hours awake in the darkness, or alone on a boat allow for solitude to consider the fullness of her life and the expanse of God’s grace. I will need many more years to grasp his grace to her and, by extension, to me.

My own life seems so much shorter now. In a little more than seventeen years, I will be as old as she was when she left this earth and entered into the presence of her savior and mine. How long before my heart fails like hers did? How long before my eyes dim and my voice weakens? I am much more aware of my own mortality now that both my dad and mom have put on immortality (1 Corinthians 15:53) leaving me the oldest in the family.

Momma's Boy

As a child, some mocked me as a “momma’s boy.” They were right, of course, but they didn’t know why. They knew nothing of her unplanned pregnancy, nothing of her teenage motherhood, nothing of her impoverished and abusive shotgun marriage. They just saw her fight for a young boy to give me every opportunity both eternal and temporal.

She was over protective. Many adventures my friends with older parents were allowed to pursue I could not. She meant well but didn’t understand her acts only contributed to my reputation. On the flip side, I was rarely in trouble with other young boys or teenage guys because I was rarely out of her sight.

When Brenda and I married before my mom was forty years old, she cried so much every time we left Chicago to return to our ministry home. I understand her tears now that Brenda and I say goodbye after only a few days with our all grown up kids.

There is much to tell of God’s grace in her life - from unwed, expectant mother to faithful wife to mature Christian woman to lonely widow. Moment by moment, day by day, pain after pain, God’s grace carried her, provided for her, protected her, filled her with joy, strengthened her for labor, and sustained her faith until the end.

Still, her most intimate moments revealed a penchant to fear what lay ahead. She hid her fright behind a hard shell and a wide smile. Later, she would lament her lack of confidence in God’s care for her, citing a psalm or a text from one of the prophets where God’s provision was on display. I miss the hand written letters exhibiting the careful and beautiful strokes of a seasoned teacher. Inside the envelope was a specific reference to one of God’s limitless characteristics she found so comforting on a given day. Grace.

Until Then

So, the year has passed as it has for all who have escorted someone loved beyond description to heaven’s gate. We look around and wonder how long until he opens paradise to us. How long, Lord? How long?

Until then we wait expectantly, serve joyfully, live faithfully resting peacefully in God’s grace.

*************

Bonus material for reading this far, here’s a little bit about the LVAD machine.

LVAD stands for Left Ventricular Assist Device. It is a mechanical pump that is surgically implanted in the chest to help the heart pump blood to the rest of the body. LVAD surgery is usually performed on patients with severe heart failure, either as a bridge to transplant or as a permanent solution. The surgery involves placing the LVAD in the upper part of the abdomen, just below the heart, and attaching it to the heart’s lower chambers. The procedure usually takes 4 to 6 hours and requires open-heart surgery. The LVAD is powered by a battery and controller, which are attached to the pump via a driveline that runs through the abdominal wall. The recovery period after LVAD surgery can be long and challenging, and it requires significant lifestyle changes. However, LVADs can be lifesaving for patients with severe heart failure.

As always, thanks for reading, and I welcome your feedback and any suggestions you might have for an upcoming Lunchtime Musing.

Happy Birthday to Me

No, not my birthday, his birthday. I think the birthdays of our sons and daughters should be celebrations for the parents and grandparents. It is a day to remember God’s gift to them. Today, January 16, 2024, we celebrate the birthday of our firstborn. Michael Anthony is 33 years old. So I say, “Happy birthday to me!”

The Summer of 1990

This was Brenda’s second pregnancy. We lost the first child a few months after conception. We were young, confused, and fearful that we would not have children. At that time in our marriage, we did not know if Brenda could carry a child to full term. When Brenda confirmed she was pregnant a second time, the fears magnified.

As I recall (and be sure to ask Brenda for the more accurate version), the pregnancy was challenging but not unbearable. The late summer months and early fall in southern Illinois were hot and uncomfortable, but Brenda marched on. The last weeks of pregnancy Brenda’s doctor restricted her activities and confined her to bedrest. By the early days of January, her doctor didn’t like some of the vital signs for both mom and baby and recommended we induce labor for the health of both mother and child. And that’s what we did.

I was ready to go. I attended the birthing classes, which at the time, were compulsory if I was going to be in the delivery room. The grainy black and white ultrasound images determined we were having a boy, but those pictures were from the early 1990s, nothing like today’s ultrasound renderings, so we anticipated a boy but would not know with certainty until birth.

Like many induced labors, Brenda’s labor with Michael was long and difficult. The weather in Alton, Illinois, that January evening was rough, not too different than what Midwest states have experienced in the last week. The hospital was short staffed because of travel conditions, and we waited longer than normal for members of her obstetrics office to arrive. 24 hours or so later, God gave us Michael. He was a couple weeks early and not quite six pounds. I remember holding him in the palm of my hand with his tiny body resting on my forearm. This was our son. I was a dad. My life changed forever and for the better.

I Can Ask God for Nothing More

The last 33 years have been a wonderful dream for me lived in reality. Michael and I have the best relationship in the present, built over decades of interactions and founded on the character of our Creator. We have not done everything a dad and son could do together. To be certain, there are moments Jeffery and I have enjoyed that Michael and I did not and will not. But we have enjoyed each other’s companionship in venues far too numerous to list. We’ve shared conversations in his bedroom or mine, on basketball courts, in a fishing boat, and probably the most in car rides to practices, concerts, youth activities, hospital visits, auto parts stores, and on and on. Those car ride chats constructed layer upon layer of deep connection.

I talk to Michael almost daily. Cell phones make possible what was impossible when I was a young adult living hundreds of miles away from my dad. We both are pastors, so we talk shop a lot. I have found him to be a trusted advisor and a challenging intellect. And we talk Chicago sports and parenting and exercise routines and whatever silly things his brothers are up to that make us laugh. I’ve been talking to him for 33 years, not entirely joyful talks but mostly joyful talks, and I thank the Lord for that.

This is a Musing and not a tribute, so I must conclude. I often quote Proverbs 18:22, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.” A key part of the Lord’s favor is the offspring he gives to the man and his wife. The Lord has been very good to me in the gift of each of our children. I cannot offer sufficient thanks to the Lord for my children, and for my first born.

A Note to Parents of Young Children

Young parents and married couples, raising children is hard, harder than you ever could have imagined before you had children. Every sleepless night is soon in the past. Every bewildering occasion pales in comparison to what awaits you. Each trip to the doctor, every moment of parental failure, all painful experiences are worth the payout at the end. Children are God’s gift to you! May you delight in his gifts.

As always, thanks for reading, and I welcome your feedback and any suggestions you might have for an upcoming Lunchtime Musing.

Five Ways Christians Suppress the Influence of the Holy Spirit

You know those Planet Earth high-definition videos on the Discovery Channel that show us the intricacies of creation in all its colors, sounds, and movements? We need one for middle school boys. There may not be a more wildly amazing organism in all of God’s wide world than 11–14-year-old males. I’d watch that episode over and again.

Middle school boys will take a burning stick or candle, wet their fingers, and see if they can stifle the flame without getting their fingers scorched. When one of their buddies holds on too long, the rest of the gang breaks out in laughter at their hand shaking friend. Within seconds, another underdeveloped brain will yell, “Lemme try!” I love middle school boys.

Paul cautions Christians about putting out a flame when he writes, “Do not quench the spirit” (1 Thessalonians 5:19). Like squeezing the life out of a burning candle, Christians should not extinguish the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives and in our church. Warren Wiersbe comments, “When the Holy Spirit is at work in our lives and churches, we have a warmth of love in our hearts, light for our minds, and energy for our wills. He melts us together so that there is harmony and cooperation; and He purifies us so that we put away sin.”

There are many ways we might quench the Holy Spirit. Here are a few:

1. An Angry Temper. Our Lord promised all his followers of the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit’s presence promotes peace not rage. Believers given to angry outbursts repress the Holy Spirit’s efforts to calm us in aggravating scenarios.

2. Stubbornness. Our Lord said the Holy Spirit will guide his followers in truth. A refusal to consider the morality of a behavior or the benefit of a different behavior on a relationship or the necessity to think biblically about a scenario may be a rejection of the Holy Spirit’s work to change us from what we are to what he desires we become. Most of us a far more stubborn than we might admit.

3. Indifference. From the moment of conversion, the Holy Spirit works to conform us to the image of our Lord Jesus Christ. When we excuse our offensive conduct and words, we push back against the Spirit’s work to rid us of the old way before Christ.

4. Insensitivity. The presence of the Holy Spirit should make Christians the most sensitive of people to the needs, feelings, and condition of others, especially our fellow Christians. Responding to scenarios with primary consideration of self denies the presence of the Spirit who makes us sensitive to the world around us.

5. Laziness. The Holy Spirit delivers to us the capacity to work good things, whatever those good things are in the individual life, but it is work. By definition, work requires effort and can be hard to accomplish. Some Christians fill their hours with activity but with little of the work for which the Spirit has equipped them.

Have you ever considered the question, “Do I quench the Spirit?”
 

As always, thanks for reading, and I welcome your feedback and any suggestions you might have for an upcoming Lunchtime Musing.

A Christmas to Remember

I am not a Grinch nor an Ebeneezer Scrooge, but over the years, Christmas has not been my favorite season. Don’t get me wrong. I rejoice at the celebration of the Incarnation. I marvel at the wonder of worldwide cheerfulness that “the Lord is come.” And I love Christmas music. With the exceptions of Last Christmas and Christmas Shoes, I enjoy everything from Silver Bells to Lo, How a Rose ‘Er Blooming. While Christmas decorations in my house may be more than I appreciate, I smile at all the lights around town and eagerly anticipate storefront windows framed for the season. Still, I am usually happy when all things Christmas come to an end, but not this year.

I don’t know why you read my weekly writings. I appreciate that you do. And today, I hope you’ll suffer a most personal muse.

At Grandma's House

Over the last week, I had the privilege to share Christmas with the whole of the family God has given to Brenda and me. That’s a first for us, not likely to be repeated anytime in the near future. The time had to come to an end because seasons change, and our children have formed their own families as God has designed. Those new families create their own traditions as the former ones fade. New joys replace the old. Fresh giggles rise where previous ones were heard. New memories take shape as past ones disappear.

So, I shared with my bride turned mother and now grandmother, the joys of the season with our children and grandchildren. Every night of the last week, Brenda and I kissed and hugged them all as they loaded into their minivans and car seats. Back inside, we put ourselves to the work to ready for the next day. We washed the mound of dishes and pans stacked on the counters and in the sink. We emptied overflowing garbage cans, swept and vacuumed crumb laden floors, and stored so many of grandma’s toys so when the grands made their next day’s entrance, they could pour them out again for another day of play. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The dining room table can’t hold us all, so we add another table that drapes into the kitchen. Of course, there is a kids’ table in the kitchen too. The space fills quickly. We linger long over gourmet dinners Brenda has been planning for months. We moan after the last bite, "I ate too much," and then eat more at the next feast. The littles leave their miniature chairs now covered with most of their food to head to parts unknown to discover something new in grandma’s toy chest. The parents and spouses stay near each other, laughing, reminiscing, and making new memories, multiple conversations happening simultaneously. I don’t say much. Hearing all their voices and watching their happy faces is far better than anything I might contribute.

In the Lord's House

We gathered on the Lord’s Day, all of us in one place singing enthusiastically of the Savior each of us loves, praying confidently to our Father who hears us, and receiving with gladness the Word preached to us. Early on in our marriage, Brenda and I pledged to each other to raise a Christian family as God gave us grace. As we age, we long for generational Christianity. Though the third generation is young, and its future not yet written, the second generation is positioned for a life of faithfulness to our Lord. When John writes, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth,” I know exactly what he means (3 John 2). I say none of this to boast of the skills Brenda and I exercised in our parenting but only to boast in Christ, who in His life and death and in the sovereignty of His resurrection, has brought us all together.

Sage Words

As we anticipate another grandchild in the next few weeks and the prospect of more to come, I’ve meditated on Proverbs 17:6, “Grandchildren are the crown of old men, and the beauty of sons is their fathers.” Matthew Henry offers wonderful thoughts on the maxim.

They are so, that is, they should be so, and, if they conduct themselves worthily, they are so. (1). It is an honour to parents when they are old to leave children, and children's children, growing up, that tread in the steps of their virtues, and are likely to maintain and advance the reputation of their families. It is an honour to a man to live so long as to see his children's children (Ps 128:6; Gen 50:23), to see his house built up in them, and to see them likely to serve their generation according to the will of God. This crowns and completes their comfort in this world. (2). It is an honour to children to have wise and godly parents, and to have them continued to them even after they have themselves grown up and settled in the world. Those are unnatural children who reckon their aged parents a burden to them, and think they live too long; whereas, if the children be wise and good, it is as much their honour as can be that thereby they are comforts to their parents in the unpleasant days of their old age.

Whether or not I experience again a Christmas like the most recent, I do not know. What I do know is the Lord gave to me a wonderful gift as we celebrated His indescribable gift (2 Corinthians 9:15).

God Be with You Till We Meet Again - Jeremiah Eames Rankin (1828-1904)

God be with you till we meet again;
loving counsels guide, uphold you,
may the Shepherd’s care enfold you;
God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
unseen wings, protecting, hide you,
daily manna still provide you;
God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
when life’s perils thick confound you,
put unfailing arms around you;
God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
keep love’s banner floating o’er you,
smite death’s threat’ning wave before you;
God be with you till we meet again.

As always, thanks for reading, and I welcome your feedback and any suggestions you might have for an upcoming Lunchtime Musing.