If Onlys, Accidents, and Dying on Schedule

I just finished reading One Minute After You Die by Erwin Lutzer, pastor of the Moody church.  I didn't agree with everything in it, but I liked his confidence, the questions I came away with, and the things it reminded me of.  In case you're not a reader (it seems like fewer people are these days), but you want to wonder with me, here are the things that have got me thinking...

What we call an accident might be a well-planned event to God.  Just think of the contingencies, the events that had to converge for the accident (or death) to happen...

If only we had called the doctor sooner...
If only there would not have been ice on the highway...
If only we had noticed the lump sooner...
If only they had operated...
If only they had not operated...

Let me encourage you to take those "if onlys" and draw a circle around them.  Then label the circle, "The providence of God."  The Christian believes that God is greater than our "if onlys."  His providential hand encompasses the whole of our lives, not just the good days, but the "bad" days too.  We have the word accident in our vocabulary; He does not.

Accidents, ill health, or even dying at the hand of an enemy - God uses all of these means to bring His children home.  As long as we entrust ourselves to His care, we can be confident that we are dying according to his timetable...The fact is God can send any chariot He wishes to fetch us for Himself.

I eagerly and confidently agree to all of this in my spirit and with the small part of my faith that is perfect.  And fleeting. 

But, the problem of pain enters, which reminds me at this moment that C.S. Lewis wrote a book so entitled, and I should probably read that next.  I think I've attempted it before, but it seemed too heavy for the flimsy framework I had to hang it on. 

Until I can think and write more intelligibly about the subject of pain, it will suffice to say that pain changes everything, including what we believe can be circled up and labeled as God's providence.

So, there's that. 

But, separately (although intimately tied to previous thoughts and subsequent conclusions), I'm entertaining the idea of dying on time, on schedule, or according to a meticulous plan.  Is it impossible to die "before your time"?  Is it?

It was for Jesus.  "His hour had not yet come"...repeatedly.

I've thought about all of this many a time, but the question has been given new life this go round, particularly in light of Christ's words to Peter about his own death.

"'Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to gird yourself and walk wherever you wished; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will gird you, and bring you where you do not wish to go.'  Now this He said, signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God." (John 21:18-19)

To this, the author writes, "Can anyone deny that Christ chose the way in which Peter would die?" 

Umm.  Not so eager here. 

I'm tempted to rush past the question and the implications.  It leaves me with My Shepherd planning a death, even a terrible death, for me or someone I love.  I probably don't need to explain how this makes me feel, because I'm guessing you already know.  You feel it, too.   

As a grieving friend said earlier this week, "I wish I was one of those people who could go around believing and professing that everything is God's will."  I understand this.

I also understand that the desire to believe is a gift of its own.  That feeling the tension and believing anyway, is a gift of its own.  That living with belief in a good God who orchestrates death and allows unimaginable pain is a gift of its own.  A gift then.  From Who?

I'm reminded that I am never more at peace than when I believe that nothing happens outside of God's will.  This has re-centered me on as many days as I have been capable of conscious thought. 

Our life's work is not to never doubt, but to continue the work of believing, to live with unanswered questions, to attempt to live peacefully amidst ideas that are diametrically opposed, and to plead with the Lord to increase our faith, while remembering that so much more is happening than what we see and understand, and that whether we believe in chariots or not might not be the question.

Being Married on a Saturday Morning

I've been thinking about something and this Saturday morning has been the perfect crucible for my thoughts. 

I've had a lot of conversations lately with men and women who are grieving the loss of their spouse and with people who find it difficult to have their needs remotely met in the context of marriage.  In the case of the former, I hear the intensity of a husband's love for his wife, how he wished he would have appreciated her more, how a wife would give anything for five more minutes with her husband, and how many question the value of their own life without their spouse in it to give it meaning.

I find this incredibly poignant, beautiful, and heart-rending.  I can never hear too much about one person's love for another and I grieve with them. 

But, then I wake up in my own marriage on Saturday morning.

I don't see my husband in the mornings during the work week, because he's hitting the gym long before I care to be awake.  But, on Saturdays, we're both home, and I'm tricked into thinking that starting our day together in separate rooms means something.  That checking in with the outside world first thing, is an indication that everything else (including me) is the last thing. 

My mind swings back and forth between the reality of those who are grieving the loss of their person and sitting alone on my futon, feeling like we're getting it all wrong.  I start to feel resentful and pull away in this black-and-white-world-where-you-wish-you-had-five-more-minutes-with-the-one-you-love or you sleep walk through the next forty years. 

And I pray.  I pray that the Lord will illuminate the truths that I've forgotten and help me to see what I'm inclined to ignore.

And He answers. 

I remember that it would be impossible to live forward in time with the intensity of frustrated love, which belongs to the grieving.  That to buy more gifts, spend more time, appreciate every moment and opportunity to love sounds so wonderful, but is impossible to maintain. 

I remember that human beings have a certain capacity to love and give and invest in others.  This same capacity is largely influenced by hunger, sleep, intro and extroverted natures, schedules, time, emotional strain, and how long you have to keep it up.

The intensity of love in a marriage is often shrouded by the dailiness of it all.  Love looks like washing dishes and bringing the grill back in and going places you don't want to go and being awake when you'd rather be napping.  But, it's there.

We don't have to see something to know that it exists.  Ask any dog who lives in a yard with an invisible fence.   

Love is there and so often, it looks like beginning again.  Trusting again in that love which you cannot see and as often, cannot feel.  And it's worth everything you can throw at it, commit to it, or sacrifice on its altar. 

This time, in my case, it will look like an apology for being cold with no explanation and refusing kindness without gratitude, and maybe a blog post which encourages us to believe again in a love that we're tempted to doubt. 

The outstretched and enduring nature of our mission as married folks is daunting.  It is impossible to do it perfectly, but possible to do it well.  And part of doing it well is persevering...until death do us part.  And between now and then, taking advantage of what is, to feel fully that which you have to give, and giving it.