tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62848344660513681262024-03-06T22:34:05.220-05:00Wrestling with an AngelLessons in the life of a father learned through the struggles of his son.Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-83750205597672081512021-06-18T08:23:00.006-04:002021-06-18T11:57:37.484-04:00I Am My Father's Son (Hope for Failing Dads on Father's Day)<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4DIznNemPUbKXuOXlgBMtBUPXnSQK0OJSY2XVvTQ2c-APvGQy8Fe8rum5E8QNSYSDQB5_f2Lk2HUi1uorebb38ThEj2lrnRHkLyR-jY20QbFAVQ3AvN8Q_E2GwB3GMKGO36r7vJipno/s640/dad.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4DIznNemPUbKXuOXlgBMtBUPXnSQK0OJSY2XVvTQ2c-APvGQy8Fe8rum5E8QNSYSDQB5_f2Lk2HUi1uorebb38ThEj2lrnRHkLyR-jY20QbFAVQ3AvN8Q_E2GwB3GMKGO36r7vJipno/s320/dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i>"He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, </i></span><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i>and the hearts of the children to their fathers."</i> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i> </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">(Malachi 4:6)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 35.7pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I was sitting with my dad by his hospital bed watching him sleep, or at least he was trying to sleep. The Parkinson’s disease caused him to shake uncontrollably. Even after two implants in his brain to calm the tremors, he still had little use of his fine motor skills. It was difficult for me to look at him in this state, but still I watched, thinking about his life. Thinking about my life.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">His wife called me the day before crying and said she could no longer care for him. She is 86 and has health issues of her own. I arrived at their house and found him in his bed covered in his own urine and feces. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I cleaned him up the best I could and called an ambulance.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Where are we going?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> He struggled to protest in his weak, raspy voice. “Don’t take me to the hospital.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“It’s time dad”,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> I gently replied.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">This battle has been ongoing for the past several years. His wife calls and I come. I clean him, feed him, dress him, transport him to his doctor visits, and I do my best to take care of him. I try to talk him into getting more help and he always refuses. “I don’t need anyone to help me!” He says frustratingly through gritted teeth. This has been the mantra of his life. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Ok dad.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> I reply as I guide another spoon full of food to his mouth, trying to feed him breakfast before the ambulance arrives. My father has always been the most prideful, stubborn, headstrong man I have ever known.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But now he is </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">rapidly </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">declining. He has lost all ability to walk, feed himself, and clean himself. Even the part-time care workers we have hired cannot keep up with his physical and medical needs. His wife of 48 years sobbed in the background as the EMS workers put him on the gurney and pushed him out of the bedroom. She knows this is the beginning of the end.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">As I followed the gurney down the narrow hallway of their home, I was stopped by one of the photographs on the wall. It’s a picture of my dad and his wife. He is smiling, handsome, healthy, strong and robust. She is strikingly beautiful. He looks to be in his mid to late 40’s. Younger than I am now. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I wonder when it will be my turn.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My relationship with my dad has always been problematic at best; toxic and traumatic at its worst. My dad left my mom before I was born. I was two-years-old when my mother called my grandparents from St Louis, Missouri and said she could no longer care for my two sisters and me. We went to live with my paternal grandparents in West Virginia. I didn’t see my biological mother again for the next eight years.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My dad remarried and moved into a house just half a block away from my grandparents. The sad irony of our relationship was that I could literally see him sitting on his front porch from my grandparent’s back porch, but he always seemed to be two hundred miles away. I would see him in passing nearly every day. And every day I would wonder why I called a man “Dad” who was never a father to me. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He was a hard-working man, that’s all I really knew. He worked 12 to 16 hour days, often 6 days a week as an electrician at a large oil and gas refinery. He went to bed early and got up early. His job was his life. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But every day on his way home from work he would stop by for a brief moment and check on my grandparents. Most times he would never even sit down. He didn’t spend any time at all with his children. He didn’t go on vacations with us. He didn’t come to sporting events. He didn't attend school functions or graduations. He didn't support us financially. He didn’t express any love for us at all, like a father should. My dad was never intentionally mean, unkind, or cruel. He was just absent, distant, and apathetic. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He never had much to say to me especially, except for his life-long jest in passing when he would look me in the eye, shake his head, and say with a half-smile, <i>“Son, you’ll never make it.”</i> He didn't said it in a malicious way—it was a joke to him. I knew deep down that he didn’t mean it. At least I thought I knew.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">That’s the problem with a father’s words. They sink so deep into your soul that they often get lost in translation. Sometimes they dig like a shovel in the dirt. Other times they cut like a knife into the flesh. But they always go into the heart like a mysterious seed, deeply planted. And you never know what will grow there until years later.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It was a joke to him, but it was life-altering to me. I spent my childhood and most of my adult life trying to outrun those words and prove him wrong. I also spent a good portion of my life not knowing or understanding how to love or be loved.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">After high school I would marry a wonderful wife who loved me more than I had ever been loved. We would adopt three sons and a daughter who would shower me with love, respect, and affirmation. I vowed to be the husband and father my dad failed to be.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Still, love—unconditional, sacrificial, trustworthy love—remained a foreign concept to me. I didn’t know how to give it or receive it. I was always ready for abandonment. I expected it. That was my default setting. I kept everyone at a safe distance. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">After all, I thought, I am my father’s son.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">------------</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He was to be moved from the hospital to an extended care facility in a couple of days. As I sat by his bed I saw in his eyes a deep sense of regret for the past and a deep fear of the future. I do not want to have that look in my eyes when it is my turn to lay where he lays.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">So I gathered up my courage and spoke the words to him that should have been spoken from the beginning. Words of closure for me, and for him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“It’s time dad.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Time for what?” He whispered with his frail, fading voice.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“It’s time for us to talk.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“OK. I'm not going anywhere.” He responded with a nervous half-smile.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I know he is anxious about this conversation. I know he is fearful of his accountability of the past. He is well aware of his sins and his demons and his neglect of those he should have loved. He should have been a better father, husband, and friend. He should have spent more time with his family and less time at work. He should have been a better man. He should have said more. He could have said less.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But all the “should haves” and “could haves” mean nothing now. And he knows that he has wasted most, if not all of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I took a deep breath and prepared to speak. I was rather surprised at my nervousness. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">“Are you ready to meet the Lord?” I ask him. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He looked at me rather surprised with a certain fear in his eyes, as if I had just pushed him towards the judgment he expected to come. I had talked to my dad many times through the years about redemption, salvation, and the gospel of Jesus. He would always shut down and change the subject, or make some kind of excuse to leave the room. But now all his excuses were gone. He had nowhere else to go. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“I don’t know.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> He whispered as he looked away. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then something rather miraculous happened. My dad began to weep, softly at first, then uncontrollably. Like a switch had been flipped. He wept openly for what seemed like a very long time. And for a long time </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I just sat there and watched him cry. Partially </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">because</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> I didn't know what to say next, but mostly because it was something I had never seen before.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">After a while, I continue to speak the only words between my dad and me that really seemed to matter.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Dad, Jesus lived a perfect life—a life you could never live if you had a thousand lifetimes to live. And the bible says he will give that life to you, place it on your account, so that when you stand before God, he will see Jesus’ perfect life instead of your sinful life. Do you...want that?” I paused, hoping I got it simple enough for him to understand. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Yes, I want that..I want to believe that.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> He replied through tears.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span>“Do you know that Jesus died for your sins? He paid for them all, past, present and future, with his sacrificial death. All the punishment meant for you for all the sins you have ever committed or will ever commit, Jesus took on himself, on your behalf.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Yes. Yes.” His voice grew more resolute.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Do you believe Jesus died and rose again?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Yes! I do”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Dad, the bible says Jesus ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of the Father to forever make intercession for us...for you. He’s praying for you right now. Bank all your hope on him!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Yes!” His hoarse voice trailed through tears.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I leaned in close and took his hand. “Dad, Jesus says he will never leave you, he will never forsake you. He will be with you as you walk through the darkest valley. He will carry you across the finish line. And when you close your eyes in death, you will open them to life, to see his face. That is something to look forward to, even in the most difficult days to come.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We talked for a long time about repentance and faith. About forgiveness and grace. We wept together. We prayed. It was the deepest conversation I ever had with my father. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I baptized my dad in the Veteran’s Hospital, on the 5</span><sup style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> floor, in room 131, bed “B”. It was July 12, 2019. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Exactly one month after his 81<sup>st</sup> birthday, my dad was born again. He passed from death to life. He was adopted as a son. No more regrets, no more disappointment, no guilt in judgment, no fear in death. Just peace, acceptance, confidence and love. A wasted, ruined life—instantly transformed into a life well lived. That is the power of the gospel for failing fathers everywhere.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My dad spent the next 13 months in a nursing home. He suffered greatly, but touched lives immensely. The nurses and caretakers doted over him. “Your dad is so kind, and funny, he always has something sweet to say. He is one of our favorite patients to care for!” They would often tell me. “My dad? Are you sure you have the right man?” I would think to myself and smile.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">The Parkinson’s eventually ravaged his body even though his mind stayed sharp to the very end. I was by his bedside the day he took his last breath. It was peaceful and gentle and without struggle—like a long sigh of relief at the end of a very difficult battle. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I sat with him for a long while, looking at the weak and withered vessel he had left behind. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Before I left, I took his hand and told him he was loved. I told him he was a good dad and that he had made such a difference in my life. A difference I would pass on to my children, and they would pass on to theirs. I said it more for my benefit than his of course, but I said it sincerely. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And I could say it sincerely, because e</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">verything that was deficient in my dad’s love, affection, and affirmation was made whole in Jesus' life, death and resurrection. All of his insufficiency to be a good father to his son was made infinitely sufficient in my heavenly Father’s love for me.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Like my dad, and failing fathers everywhere, I rest in the promises of the gospel. The promise of redemption, forgiveness, and grace. And through these promises I can proclaim with confidence and joy,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I am my Father’s son.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-38002394536395992292021-05-17T10:22:00.005-04:002021-05-18T08:20:48.286-04:00Grace as Deep as the Sea<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8AzIH35_9Z1uAZityHRa3IAUxcjVpujHbLXMAjbVnRykMMjhhNCY6gLcXboojcYYyUhaFktDy20ih6ZiFS9bOqMLtO4KAKAKHETptqj7BVJqUYCFGzP_QVPUiXpW1bb7XvHMAVO_ZIjL/s626/father-son-standing-beach-holding-hands-looking-sea_146099-342.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="626" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8AzIH35_9Z1uAZityHRa3IAUxcjVpujHbLXMAjbVnRykMMjhhNCY6gLcXboojcYYyUhaFktDy20ih6ZiFS9bOqMLtO4KAKAKHETptqj7BVJqUYCFGzP_QVPUiXpW1bb7XvHMAVO_ZIjL/w355-h180/father-son-standing-beach-holding-hands-looking-sea_146099-342.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I love the
ocean. It’s my place of solitude and reflection. It’s where I go to decompress.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As I look
out over the sea I think of God’s supremacy and the enormity of his grace. I
contemplate the incredible truth that I am able to sit with my feet soaked in even a few small drops of His powerful presence.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Our family
has gone to the same beach for summer vacation every year for more than
30-years. My wife came here as a child with her family. Our children, now grown
and gone, built sand castles and surfed the waves and chased crabs at night
with flashlights. Sunburns, sand, and shells have always been a sign that we
are in our place of refuge.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Even my
son, Jake, with all his disabilities, loved the beach. He would sit in the
shallow pools of the ocean and feel the sand between his fingers for hours. It
is here where he learned to walk at age 3. We wondered if he would ever walk by
himself. I bought him a little toy lawn mower, stood him up, and placed his
hands on the handle. It was just sturdy enough to hold him up. After only a few
minutes of guiding him, I let him go. And off he went! He mowed miles and miles
of sand that summer, and many summers after, as he wobbled behind that little
mower, smiling and squealing and staggering with delight.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was
hectic and noisy and messy and fun.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I miss
those days.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There were
hard times here also. As Jake got older he became more sensitive to light, heat,
noise, and water. He spent most of the day in the condo, so Kim and I would
take alternating shifts going to the beach and playing with the other kids. We
took turns resting, but I’m not sure we ever really relaxed. For many years, we
rarely sat and enjoyed the ocean together. But we still made the most of every
family vacation. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Now I sit
on the beach quietly, unhurried, contemplating, watching other families with small
children. I sit in the shade of an umbrella and listen to opera music and sip
on cold drinks. My 24-hour-a-day parental responsibilities are over.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My walk
through the valley of disability is also different. Jake is now a grown man. Twenty-eight years old! The
little boy behind the sand mower now has a beard. He lives in his own apartment
with 24-hour care. Three shifts a day.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s a new
season for me. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But I
still have a strange, magnified sense for seeing disability. And if you look long and hard enough, you may see it too. Almost everywhere.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">On the
crowded beach this morning, there is a young teenage girl sitting in the surf
letting the sand run between her fingers. She’s been doing this same repetitive
motion all morning as her father stands guard just a few feet away. At first
glance she’s just a typical pre-teen girl enjoying the ocean. But my glance
is focused, and I perceive the repetitions. I recognize the tactile sensitivity and
the emotionless look in her eye. I know the father’s stance and his protective attention
to her every move. I understand the weariness in his posture and the accelerated age
in his face. Over and over, every day I am on the beach I see them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And I see
more.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I happen
to be listening to Andrea Bocelli singing “Nessum Dorma” this afternoon. The only time I listen to opera music is at the beach. There is a certain soothing in the emotional flow of the orchestra, the passionate singing, and the response of the audience--all in harmony with crashing waves and the sea birds in flight. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nessum Dorma might
be one opera piece you recognize, even if you don’t recognize opera. It’s from
the final act of Puccini’s opera Turandot. It is also one of the best known tenor
pieces in the world. Bocelli is singing it live in Central Park, and it might
be beneficial at this time in reading that you listen to
this piece of music. Even if the opera is not your thing, it might help you
with the story that follows. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://youtu.be/Gr_vTeg3suM" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Andrea Bocelli</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">To my
right, standing in the water, is a father scolding his son. I see the boy. His
face shows the obvious signs of a syndrome. Sometimes disability is invisible.
Sometimes it marks us cruelly and hard.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The father
is bent over inches from his son’s contorted face. He’s holding a small fishing
net, the kind you would buy at discount surf shop to catch minnows. The stick attached to the net has been severely bent, much like the boy’s face and neck and body. I take
one of my earbuds out to hear the conversation.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>“Why did
you break it!”</i> The father angrily barks at his son.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The child does not respond.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Answer
me! Why did you break it! I just bought it for you this morning. How could you
tear it up so fast? Why are you so destructive?! </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You break everything!"</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">His questions are met only with silence and blank stares.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The father angrily tosses the broken net to the shore and walks away from his son
to face the ocean. The boy stands alone. The dad stands alone too. His face is turned away as he stares out over the sea.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I put the
opera back in my ear. I don’t need to hear any more of the father’s words. I’ve
heard them all before.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ve said
them all before.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Andrea
Bocelli sings, the orchestra plays, the waves crash, and the wind blows
the father’s harsh words away. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">“Nessum
Dorma”</i>. It means, <i>“None shall sleep.”</i> A fitting piece for any parent walking
with a child through the valley of disability.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I want to
scold the dad with his back to the son, <i>“You can replace the net—you can replace a
thousand nets!”</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But I know, deep inside, this has nothing to do with a broken
net and everything to do with a broken life, a broken dream, a broken son, and
a broken heart. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I want to
walk out into the ocean and put my arm around the dad and whisper in his ear,
“Don’t give up. Your son is indispensable! He is so important! This season of your life is so significant. Take it in! Pay attention to the details! God is
at work! I see you! I've been you!"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Instead I sit in silence, listening to the opera, watching the waves, and pretending not to stare. Like we all do when we see disability up close. But God will not let me turn away. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>“My power is made perfect in weakness.”</i> He whispers over the waves.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Just then, as
Bocelli hits his famous high note, the broken little boy walks up behind his
exasperated father and softly takes him by his hand. They stand together
silently in the sea. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Only a God called "Father" could write this masterpiece. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The boy wraps his arm around the man's waste as if to say, "I'm sorry". </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The weary dad puts his hand on his son’s head and pulls him close
to his side as if to say, "I love you no matter what". No words are needed. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A prodigal comes home. T</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">hey turn together and walk back towards the shore.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The crowd
at Central Park roars with applause as </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Bocelli
bows to accept their praise. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But today the famous Tenor is upstaged by a broken little boy on a beach with his dad. They are eclipsed in the Shadow of the Almighty, whose </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">power is truly made perfect in weakness, and whose </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">grace is as deep as the sea.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-31334098978367355382016-01-29T09:22:00.000-05:002016-01-29T09:22:19.766-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The Story of Hope</div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/A3LpVCkN1ZY/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/A3LpVCkN1ZY?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
Nine years ago today we received our daughter, Hope. After three domestic adoptions, it was this China adoption that forever forged the picture of God's redemption in our hearts and minds. I cannot read the gospel without thinking of this moment and I cannot watch this video without thinking of the gospel. That is what adoption is all about--a picture that points us to the greatness of God in the gospel of Jesus.<br />
<br />
Happy "gotcha day" Hope. May you someday show this video to your children and tell them the "story of hope".Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-90390440719263950502015-04-09T09:54:00.001-04:002015-04-09T09:59:26.863-04:00Twenty-Two Years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JidZUreZaZyKNKkyZ8rgcZePtCB4oyTCfeOZLbGAk-ODmtSrQd0JiTCgnXcibwJi4Bnb4Yyr_oYK-IayYcPo1RMpsyrEZJsxLr45QK-lAz_qkKkkv-OZRiv9W0BUgxDLnnaSVzkhIh6W/s1600/IMG_5430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JidZUreZaZyKNKkyZ8rgcZePtCB4oyTCfeOZLbGAk-ODmtSrQd0JiTCgnXcibwJi4Bnb4Yyr_oYK-IayYcPo1RMpsyrEZJsxLr45QK-lAz_qkKkkv-OZRiv9W0BUgxDLnnaSVzkhIh6W/s1600/IMG_5430.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My son turns
twenty-two tomorrow</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For most parents raising typically developing children, the
passing years are anticipated to bring more and more joy. There are seasons to
look forward to—sporting events and spring prom and driver’s education and
graduation and college and career and marriage and children and grandchildren.
The natural progressions of life within the family unit are hopeful jewels in
the crown of parenthood. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My son turns
twenty-two tomorrow</i>, and there have been no championship games or prom
dances. He didn’t walk across a stage at his high school graduation. He will
not drive a car or go to college. He will never have a job, a wife, or
children. The natural progressions of my son’s life get less hopeful with each
passing year. The milestones are gut wrenching and the future is filled with painful
questions: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where will he live out his
life? Who will care for him when we’re gone? What if he is mistreated or
neglected? When will the side affects of a lifetime of harsh medications and
debilitating disabilities take their toll on his body, organs and mind? Will he
suffer? Will he know we loved him to the end?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My son turns
twenty-two tomorrow</i> and he is not getting better, he is getting worse. It’s
not getting easier; it’s getting harder. He is getting older. I am getting
older. His skin is covered with open sores from years of self-abuse and unknown
skin ailments. His hair is all but gone, his teeth are decaying and slowly
falling out, his legs are turning inward so badly that he practically walks on
his ankles. Physical disabilities, autism, PDD/NOS, and a plethora of
sensitivity issues have ravaged his once bubbly personality leaving him
frustrated and distressed. The anxiety is greater than it has ever been—for him
and for me. As I look over the hundreds of childhood pictures spanning two
decades, my heart swells and then gradually sinks. The change is dramatic and
heartbreaking. His remaining life will likely be short and full of sorrow.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Man who is born of a
woman is few of days and full of trouble.”</i> (Job 14:1)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My son turns
twenty-two tomorrow,</i> and his mom and I will grieve—deeply, silently, secretly, and personally.
But we will not grieve in the same way as those who have no hope. (I Thessalonians
4:13) For we consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth
comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to him. (Romans 8:18) We will
cry with an inward groan as we wait eagerly for the redemption of our son’s
body. (Romans 8:23) We cannot see how this will work out. Then again, hope that
is seen is not really hope. But if we hope for what we cannot see, we will
anticipate it with patience and confidence. And the Spirit will help in all our
weaknesses. (Romans 8:24-26)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My son turns
twenty-two tomorrow,</i> and tomorrow we will rejoice that he was fearfully and
wonderfully made, knit together in his mother’s womb, created in the Imago Dei.
(Psalm 139:14) We will sing “happy birthday” and blow out candles. We will
shower him with gifts and surround him with love. We will take photographs and
selfies and we will allow the world to see just a snippet of our life. We will
laugh and eat cake as if disability did not exist. And people will say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What a happy boy! What a delightful day! The
Lord is faithful! Jesus is enough! God is good!” </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>My son turns twenty-two tomorrow</i>, and as he preaches to us a silent message of tangible grace, we
will feel the warmth in our souls that this is not the end. We are not yet
home. Our citizenship is in heaven and we eagerly await a Savior
from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who by the power that enables him to bring
everything under his control, will transform Jacob's lowly body so that it
will be like his glorious body. (Philippians 3:20-21)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<i>My son turns twenty-two tomorrow</i>, and twenty-two years is like a day to the Lord. But even if that day is like a thousand years to us—we will spend each moment knowing God is faithful to the very end.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-73633901660493438522013-08-10T16:51:00.001-04:002013-08-12T08:21:57.953-04:00Indispensable <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God arranged the members in the body, each one of
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the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and on those parts of the
body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor.</i> (1 Corinthians 12:18-23)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sitting with my son through
an entire church service is no easy task. As a matter of statistical fact, most
parents of special needs children choose to not attend church (or they attend sparingly) because of the stress that accompanies potential, attention-grabbing disturbances caused by their child’s disability.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s easier to stay home and
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blinks and winks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Yet the eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need
of you.’ On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">indispensabl</b>e.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Indispensable</b>:
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My son is a 20-year-old
autistic man with the cognitive mentality of a 2-year-old child, yet he is
<i>indispensable </i>to the congregation of Redemption Church. He cannot speak (although
he can make plenty of noise) yet he is <i>indispensable</i> to the worship service. He constantly kicks the chair of the person in front of him, he claps during the quiet times
and cannot sit still for five minutes, much less the length of a sermon. Yet he
is <i>indispensable</i> to the church—<i>indispensable</i> to the Body of Christ.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can the least become <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">essential</i> and the weaker become <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">indispensable</i> in God’s seemingly
backwards, upside down and inside out church body? With Jesus as the head, let
me show you a picture of God’s great grace in the Body of Christ—His Church.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s Sunday morning and Jake
is sitting in the very back row of the sanctuary. We are not placed in the back
because we are unimportant; we choose the back mostly for strategic reasons. A hasty
exit is sometimes required. Four seats are reserved for our family. This is
just one of the ways our church ministers to us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My wife sits on one side of
Jake and I sit on the other. We take turns stroking his arms and his back to
keep him calm enough to sit through an entire worship service. His mother runs
her fingers through his thinning auburn hair. It has always been Jake’s
sedative.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this service is
different. The pastor has just preached one of his final messages from an
entire sermon series in the book of Romans and has come to a key verse that obviously
catches Jake’s attention. The verse is Romans 16:16 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the churches of Christ greet
you.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake perks up and listens as
the pastor begins to apply the text, asking the congregation, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Why don’t we do that anymore? Why don’t we
show affection in the church? Why don’t we greet each other with hugs and
kisses? Why are we afraid of touch?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake nods in approval of the
pastor’s plea and gives an affirming grunt—his unmistakable, “Amen!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I give my wife that silent
look. She knows what it means. We have learned to speak clearly without words
over the years—across rooms, through crowds, over noise, and in church. It’s a head
slightly tilted forward, wide-eyed, pursed lip look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A nervous mix of, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Isn’t that cute”</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Batten
down the hatches, something is about to happen!”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pastor continues as he
concludes his sermon. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“We’re going to try
something new today. </i>(Just what every good church member wants to hear) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After The Lord’s Supper, turn to the person next to you
and give him or her a hug. And show some affection!” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You could feel the
uncomfortable anticipation creep across the room as people began to think, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Is he serious? We have to touch each other,
beyond a casual handshake?”</i> I imagined what the visitors were thinking that
morning; some after sneaking quietly into the room, now were exposed to their
worst fear—being ousted from their anonymity and physically embraced by
complete strangers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People were looking around
the room, checking out their neighbors, their prospective huggers, and the
nearest exits.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I honestly remember thinking to myself, “If some guy tries to kiss me, I’m going to put him on the ground.” My
heart began to drift—like hearts do, when they are afraid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the man-child moved to
the edge of his seat and leaned in to the pastor’s words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the final prayer was
prayed, the “amen” was sounded and the congregation dismissed, people began to
mill uncomfortably towards each other. Some even tried to head for the door and avoid
the offending invasion of their personal comfort zones.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pastor gently prodded,
<i>“Come on now, find someone to hug before you leave!”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two or three married couples
at the front of the church, closest to the pastor, did a lean in shoulder bump
with a patronizing pat on the back. Then a few more followed suite, as most of
the congregation simply did not know how to respond to the awkward invitation
and were content to go through the motions to please the pastor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s when it happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s when the broken little toe
led the foot, and the foot led the leg, and the leg led the body, and the
weaker member became indispensable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake sprung from his seat and
bolted into the isle before we could catch him. He ran straight over to an
older gentleman (who was trying to exit the building unnoticed and presumably untouched)
and nearly knocked him off his feet with a bear hug. It wasn’t gentle and it
wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t short lived. Jake held onto the man until I could
get through the crowd of people to pull him off. The stern look on the man’s
face told me this was an uninvited intrusion into his wide, impermeable bubble.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But just as I began to unwrap
Jake’s grip from the victim’s shoulders and apologize for the inconvenience, I noticed wetness in the older man’s
eyes. Jake held tight and the man resigned his objection; his body went
somewhat limp as sternness melted to a smile and unsure hands reciprocated the embrace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My son finally released the
man and I thought all was well and complete, but before I could redirect Jake
back to his seat or to an exit door, he broke loose again. This time instead of
restraining him, I let him go—because sometimes you have to set people free to
experience the greatest freedom yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He ran to hug another, and
another, and yet another. He was laughing and jumping and hugging and loving. It
was sloppy and loud and rough and painful. And the entire body was watching and
learning and discovering what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“indispensable”</i>
really meant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon others joined in and the
hugs spread like sparks jumping from a small, intense fire. As the wind of the
Spirit blew where it pleased, the sparks turned to flames and raged through the
church. But the only thing that burned up that day was the long-standing boundaries
around comfort zones of personal pride and inward self-esteem.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People were laughing and
talking and whooping and hugging—real hugs—feet off the ground, cheek to cheek,
steal your breath hugs. And unbeknownst to most of the congregation, Jake was
in the middle of it all, like an imprisoned apostle set free; like a preacher
without a voice, called by God to <i>“go and make disciples”</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That Sunday started something
new for Jake, and something new for the local body of Christ at Redemption Church—a sort of mini
revival set afire by the unsuspecting, silent ember of one indispensable
blazing heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now every Sunday he sits,
waiting for the end of the service. Waiting for the Lord’s Supper, the closing
benediction and the final “Amen”. Not so he can get home and watch Sunday afternoon football
or fix Sunday dinner or take a Sunday nap. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those things are the farthest from his simple
mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He lives to apply the meaning
of the message with complete lack of inhibition for his unbridled, bubble
busting, in your face, knock you to the ground, God honoring, Jesus exalting,
Spirit saturated —joy!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes it’s loud and
painful. Sometimes he pokes an eye, or lands a knee, or leaves a slobbered wet spot on someone’s
clean Sunday best. Sometimes we have to restrain his ambition just a bit for the
protection of the elderly and the petite. Sometimes we wince when a visitor gets picked for the embrace. It's usually awkward and it’s almost
always uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But every Sunday after
church, the real worship begins in the heart of obscurity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And an autistic, non-verbal, disabled, man-child
shines like a white hot spotlight of God’s grace for the motley, multifaceted church body
to see and understand— <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“God arranged the members in the body, each one of
them, as He chose. The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you.’ On
the contrary, the parts of the body that seem weaker are indispensable, and on
those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater
honor.”<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com71tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-23146153469170460672013-02-25T07:50:00.000-05:002013-02-25T07:50:35.353-05:00No More Tears<br />
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Last Sunday, as I was changing Jake’s clothes, (after a gallant but failed attempt to get him to the bathroom on time) I slid his leg braces off his crooked feet and stared for a while at the devices that are supposed to help him walk.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<a data-mce-href="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/afo_empty1.jpg" href="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/afo_empty1.jpg"><img alt="AFO_empty" class=" wp-image-1357 aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/afo_empty1.jpg?w=224" height="180" src="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/afo_empty1.jpg?w=224" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; cursor: default; display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="134" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
“AFO’s”: ankle-foot-orthotic. I hate them. He hates them. But like his thick glasses and his Springboard communication device, they have become so much a part of his life and body, he cannot do without them.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I glanced up in time to watch Jake wrestle his coat off and then his shirt. He grunted and fought with his sleeves in a noble battle, nearly toppling over from unbalanced determination. As he struggled to free himself from his outer garment, I sensed his irritation, which only amplified my own desperation to care for this broken boy.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
My face seems to be scarred these days with the dried and salty tear tracks of weary frustration. I cry more than people know—more than a man likes to admit. Still I fight to keep composure, <i>“No more tears. Someday, no more tears.” </i>I quietly remind myself.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
In the midst of the wreckage, like so many times before, my mind is carried to a sheltering place of wonderful assurance and future grace. I have it memorized:</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<b><i>“But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.” (Philippians 3:20-21)</i></b></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
What does this promise mean to a desperate dad and his disabled son? In my most vivid, imaginative and reoccurring dreams—it looks something like this:</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I’m walking with Jesus through a wheat field (I’m not sure why I always envision a wheat field, it just seems right…and biblical). The sun is shining brighter than I have ever seen it shine—at least it looks like the sun, only more brilliant, loving and personal. It penetrates everything with a powerful presence. The sky is electric blue decorated with sparse, white-cotton clouds. The temperature is mild and the wind is gently blowing a hint of honeysuckle into my nose, reminding me of childhood summers when life was new and worries few.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Jesus is silent as He walks, and He's smiling. He is setting the pace and occasionally turning his head to look at me. His hands are held out just below waist level as he lets them glide gently over the heads of wheat. It’s as if he has a certain purpose in mind, a surprise of some sort. His smile grows wider and warmer as we get closer to our destination.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I want to look around and take in the scenery—I’m certain it’s breathtaking, but His face is all I can focus on at the moment. I cannot take my eyes off Him. He is inviting, comforting, safe and filled with so much joy! I am completely satisfied and without fear in His presence.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I have a strong desire to take His hand like a little child and never let go, but all my faculties are so captivated by His presence that none of my voluntary senses will respond. I can only look on Him and enjoy—and yet that is enough.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The beauty of the azure-blue sky outlines His face and the brilliance of the Great Light behind Him nearly blinds my peripheral vision as it breaks through His thick, dark hair.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Suddenly He stops, closes His eyes and slightly nods His head as if answering a silent whisper. Turning towards me, He places one hand on my shoulder and with the other He touches His finger to my chin and physically, but gently, turns the gaze of my face forward to a lone figure walking from the edge of the wheat field.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The unfocused silhouette begins to move towards us. His shoulders are broad and his gate is smooth, like a warrior running into battle. For just a moment I wonder if we are in danger, but then I remember I am with Jesus.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
As the figure gets closer, the first facial feature I can make out is a smile, warm and inviting—beaming with joy. He slows to a gallop just short of reaching us; then walks, and then stops. There is a familiarity in his presence.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The wind blows through the wheat field as Jesus softly laughs and affectionately nudges my shoulder.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
“Go see!”</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I walk towards the lone figure, and the mysterious character places his hands on his hips, throws back his head, and laughs. The closer I get, the more I begin to understand.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“Dad, it’s me!”</i> The man proclaims with a strong baritone voice.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“Jake?”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I begin to move with urgency towards him, running hard and then falling like a child into his arms. A long embrace is mixed with rejoicing, then weeping, then astonishment and joy. Gripping him with a father’s love, I kiss his chiseled cheek and bury my face into his neck. He smells like the field—earthy, strong, clean and sweet.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“ Jacob! My son!”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Grasping his shoulders, I gaze on his face. <i>“Look at you son! Look at you!”</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
We stare at each other for a second and I step back, scanning him from head to toe and taking in his sharp demeanor. His hair is thick and glowing auburn like the peak foliage of a sugar maple in fall. His eyes are glistening hazel, clear and focused. With no thick, smudgy glasses to hinder his view, he returns a sharp and steady gaze.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“Look…at…you!”</i> I repeat in complete wonder.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
He smiles with uncontainable elation and raises his arms, turning 360 degrees for a full inspection. <i>“You should see how fast I can run! You want to race me?”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“I…I don’t think I can run right now, son</i>.” I respond, stunned with complete awe.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“Come on dad! Let’s go, on three!” </i>He playfully challenges as he runs in circles around Jesus and me, darting straight and cutting on a dime from side to side.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Jesus laughs.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“You always did like to run.”</i> I reply, my mind blinking back to crooked legs, plastic braces and clumsy feet. Oh how I hated those braces. <i>“Yeah, but now I don’t fall—ever!” </i>He smiles as he leaps through the air. <i>“I can run like the wind!”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
He finally comes to an abrupt stop and faces me, placing both hands on my shoulders, forcing my full attention. His smiling demeanor turns dead serious, <i>“And wait till you hear me sing!”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The volume of his voice decreases as he closes his eyes<i>, “I have all these songs in my head.”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
His elation returns as the volume increases with the speed of his excited tone,<i> “Remember that song you used to sing to me when you brushed my teeth? By the way, LOOK at my TEETH!” </i>He smiles his familiar, contagious smile and opens his mouth wide for inspection. <i>“And that song mom used to sing when she put me to bed. And that song you sang when you woke me up and every time you washed my hair? That really helped me get through my bath time, by the way. I always wanted to tell you that, but…well you know.” </i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“And all those songs we sang in church…I know them ALL!”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
He is talking so fast, so eager and so clear, like he has been waiting to talk all his life. I could barely keep up with all he was saying and found myself joyfully adrift with the simple tone of his voice and the beautiful inflection of his words.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Suddenly and spontaneously he stops talking, looks skyward, and begins to sing,</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“Before the throne of God above, I have a strong and perfect plea:<br /><i>A great High Priest, whose name is Love, who ever lives and pleads for me.”</i></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
His voice is smooth and beautiful, deep and articulate. It grows bolder with anticipation and excitement as his eyes move from the sky, back to me, and then to Jesus. He points to the Savior as his focus grows intent.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“My name is graven on His hands, my name is written on His heart;<br /><i>I know that while in heaven He stands, no tongue can bid me thence depart.</i></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>No tongue can bid me thence depart.”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Jesus smiles in reply to the satisfaction of his worship.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“Show him your hands Jesus! Show him your hands!” </i>Jake excitedly concludes his hymn of praise just as abruptly as it began.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“I learned a new song too! Wait till you hear it, dad.”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i>“I cannot wait to hear it, son.”</i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
We talk and sing throughout the day—a day that never ends—as we stroll and run without tiring under the brilliant blue sky. We talk about the years of his disability, the suffering, confusion and pain. We talk about the things he missed, and the things I missed—the hurt and the frustration, the laughter and the joy. There is forgiveness in his tone and grace in his words—so much grace. He is so excited to tell me everything, and I am so ready to listen.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Jesus is between us, in our midst. He puts His arm around Jake and reaches over and wipes my cheek with the sleeve of his garment. “No more tears", He gently commands. “Today, no more tears”.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><a data-mce-href="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/img_1450.jpg" href="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/img_1450.jpg"><img alt="IMG_1450" data-mce-src="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/img_1450.jpg?w=300" height="240" src="http://notaloneparents.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/img_1450.jpg?w=300" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; cursor: default;" width="240" /></a> </i></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen." (Hebrews 11:1)</span></i></div>
Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-67295103669918458412013-02-11T10:26:00.000-05:002013-02-11T10:34:29.344-05:00"I Will Not Let You Go"<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNQvXJKXUJyU0yLcAxwgCkRtm_e3dDwEQS-8M4Jia3xJd4Z1UYE2Uf3sVWt1H019bU03MD1-STP4sl4f9-0ebZNG30h_hey4PdQenbebYUc1-NVI9f2R8N7xOBgG-8TwvKSvgu9tUi29Gt/s1600/wrestlers-in-reindeer-pants_4566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNQvXJKXUJyU0yLcAxwgCkRtm_e3dDwEQS-8M4Jia3xJd4Z1UYE2Uf3sVWt1H019bU03MD1-STP4sl4f9-0ebZNG30h_hey4PdQenbebYUc1-NVI9f2R8N7xOBgG-8TwvKSvgu9tUi29Gt/s400/wrestlers-in-reindeer-pants_4566.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><b><br /></b></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><b><br /></b></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><b>And Jacob was left alone. And a man
wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did
not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put
out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has
broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” (Genesis
32:24-26)</b></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got into a fistfight last week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, I suppose you could call it a fistfight. I got hit
about 10-12 times without landing a single punch myself. It’s been a while
since I have been in a fight. As a police officer, I probably get into more
fights than the average middle-aged man. But at 46, my reflexes are not what
they used to be—so I got a little beat up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all started when I attempted to make a man do something I
thought he should do. I grabbed his shirtsleeve and directed him in the
direction I wanted him to go. I’m usually pretty good at directing people.
Apparently he was not having the best day and this was not the direction he
wanted to go, so he responded by taking a swing at me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I managed to duck the first blow and easily redirect his
momentum; moving him through the open door of my pickup truck where he landed square
on his back in the front seat. With his back to the seat, he reached for
anything he could throw in my direction to keep me away from him, which
happened to be a set of car keys, a water bottle and an ESV Bible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The keys missed my head by a couple of inches and I managed
to dodge the water bottle, but the bible hit me right in the chest—resulting in
an out of context (yet unforgettable) illustration of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hebrews 4:12</b>.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he searched the cab of my truck for something else to
launch at me, I took advantage of the distraction and rushed forward through the
doorway. He caught me with an up-kick to my midsection but I managed to grab
both his legs and pin them to the dash. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My tunnel-vision-focus on his legs left his hands unsecure
and I was met with five or six quick strikes to the back of my head with his
fist, followed by several scratches to my scalp and face from his fingernails. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Believe it or not, my mind instinctively went back to a
basic rule from my initial police training, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Watch
the hands! Hands kill. If you control the hands, you control the fight.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I abandoned his legs and latched on to his wrists, pushing
his fists into his chest while simultaneously wrapping my leg around his ankles
to control his feet. His explosive strength and speed humbled my aging muscles
and slower reflexes, but at least I was now in control of the situation—or so I
thought. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About the time I was catching my breath and making a new
game plan, I felt a sharp, vice-like lock on my forearm and looked up to see
the man clenching his teeth down on my jacket sleeve. My jacket was thick
enough to keep the bite from penetrating skin, but the initial shock of the
pain made me instinctively react. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still holding his wrists, I broke away from the bite and
lodged my elbow and forearm under his chin forcing his head back, his mouth
closed, and averting any possible head butting or biting retaliation. The only
offense he had left was to spit in my direction, which he did several times
between primal screams of violent anger. I took the spit. It was better than
the alternative.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turning my face to avoid most of the projectile spray, I just
happened to glance to the back seat of the truck where I saw my wife, daughter and
teenage son. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The look on their faces
made me realize how serious this incident had become. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to end this fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With one last burst of adrenalin-fueled energy, I lifted the
man to his feet and out of the seat. Still holding his wrists I swept his legs with
my left foot and took him to the ground in the soft snow beside the door of the
truck. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The powder absorbed most of the
impact allowing me to move to a superior position.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I pinned his arms to the ground with my hands, I knew by
the look on his face the fight was almost over. He continued to struggle and
spit, but he was quickly running out of gas. I held him there in the snow till
the ice absorbed his energy and cooled his rage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Are you finished?”</i>
I muttered, nearly out of breath. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m
not letting you go.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He struggled one last time and then nodded his head in
surrender. I slowly, but cautiously, helped him to his feet and dusted the snow
from his back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This fight was over. I
loaded him into the truck and continued on to our destination.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man I was fighting is not some deranged criminal; he is my
son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Autistic and non-verbal, he is a
two-year-old in a twenty-year-old body. Like most two-year-olds, he throws fits
from time to time. Unlike most two-year-olds, he can do a lot of damage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can hurt my wife and seriously hurt my
daughter, and he can almost whip me. Almost. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all began as we were headed out the door going to a Super Bowl party. He wanted to take his IPad. I said, “No” and he transformed into
the Incredible Hulk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sitting in the truck with a protective arm around my son, I
began to think how the Lord could possibly be in this. I thought of big words
like “sanctification” and “sovereignty”, even “Imago Dei” and “Fearfully and wonderfully
made”. These are bold and profound words I admittedly preach louder when the
times are less painful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, as the adrenaline dump sapped all of my remaining
strength, a glaring image flashed through my head of a man struggling to get
away. He cursed his family and His Lord. He fought against love and kicked
against the goads. He spit in the face of the One who loved him most. But
despite the rebellion and violence, even through the worst of sin and
insurrection, his Father would not let him go—holding Him tightly till all the
defiant energy was spent.<br />
<br />
I am that man.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://allthingsgrace.blogspot.com/2011/10/love-never-gives-up.html">“I will not let you go.”</a></i> I remember those words of tough love and bloody redemption very well,
spoken by the Father of my salvation and echoed by the wife of my youth. I am
eternally grateful for their tenacious gospel grip. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake finally settled down and apologized with tears, hugs
and kisses. I wonder how he can vacillate so quickly between innocent bliss and
animalistic violence. I wonder how much longer my strength will hold out. But
no matter how he acts, he will always be my son. I will fight his<a href="http://sheepdogger.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-love-youno-matter-what.html"> rebellion</a>
with all my strength and all my love, and I will never let go—because I was
never let go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Child bitter with rage, blind and broken under this weight. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Seek Me first and you will
find, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">righteousness for your heart and
peace for your mind. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I came to find you; in Me you
will be found. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">No matter what, no matter what
may come. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">No matter what may come, I
will not let you go.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #292929; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Joel
Pakan (Tangled Blue)</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-35894377840083858072013-01-29T23:54:00.000-05:002013-01-29T20:24:32.053-05:007 Lessons From The Community of Disability<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafRm4WTRyKNfRbQ9vXmoUgs8tZG8tafZYPx6n9DbErXWIl-irKD1DQHfbMYwrgcuOP60DFM1JJJl_n95iJ0QYEoRF3auWVhbTMA_04b6YqR3AQfZXvn7Ws1aqjbDB3vY-fG8JIlfgKcoA/s1600/253.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709735539367031234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafRm4WTRyKNfRbQ9vXmoUgs8tZG8tafZYPx6n9DbErXWIl-irKD1DQHfbMYwrgcuOP60DFM1JJJl_n95iJ0QYEoRF3auWVhbTMA_04b6YqR3AQfZXvn7Ws1aqjbDB3vY-fG8JIlfgKcoA/s400/253.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 330px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 400px;" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black; font-family: 'times new roman'; font-size: 100%;">The tragedy of disability is not disability itself, but the isolation it often creates. This was one of the most important lessons our family had to learn. Sadly, we learned it the hard way. But hard lessons often lead to great insights and over the past few years we have had the wonderful opportunity to gain great wisdom from several families in many different communities.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;"> </span></span><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">While there are still many discoveries to be made along this journey, here are at least <b><i>7 helpful insights</i></b> gleaned from the community of disability that have made a powerful difference in our family.</span></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>1. God is both sovereign and good.</b></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">When you are given a child with a severe disability, it is essential that you see God’s sovereign hand at work in your family. Scripture declares that your child was not an accident or a tragedy, but wonderfully and purposefully knit together from a blueprint of God’s plan that was designed before the foundation of the earth. <b><i>(Psalm 139:13-17; Ephesians 1:3-12)</i></b>. Disability is not a curse; it is the goodness and grace of God magnified in ways that many typical families never get to experience.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>2. You have been brought into this community for a purpose.</b></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">I was very slow to realized the purpose and potential of our family’s suffering and hardship until I began sharing our experiences. <b><i>2 Corinthians 1:3-7</i></b> came alive during that time. Suffering brings us into the intimate presence of God where the sweetest comfort occurs. But we are not comforted to become comfortable; we are comforted to become comforters. Every single episode in our family’s experience with disability was an equipping of God’s grace to be shared with those in desperate need of His comfort.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>3. Disability magnifies our vision for joy in the smallest things.</b></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">Most families living with disability will testify that some of their greatest victories have been those moments typical families often take for granted. I remember the first time our son used the bathroom in a public restroom (at the age of 17). We had just walked into Walmart and Jake took me by the hand and led me to the men’s room. He pulled his pants down and tried to pee in the toilet. He missed the toilet completely, peeing all over the seat, the floor, the wall and the stall. But he didn’t pee in his pants! We were laughing, clapping, cheering and praising God in a urine covered stall of a Walmart restroom. Most people cannot comprehend the enormous victory of that day, but disability often gives us 20/20 vision to see the things that others seem to miss. This is a wonderful gift.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>4. Community brings much needed perspective</b></span></div>
<div style="font-size: large; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">As said before, the danger of disability is isolation. The danger of isolation is idolatry (yes, our disabled children can become idols). The blessing of community is perspective. We all need perspective to wake us from the potential of self-pity and self-centeredness.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">Just when you think no one on earth could possibly have it more difficult than your family, you meet a single mother with severely autistic twin boys. And just when the single mother thinks she can’t go on, she meets a grandmother trying to raise a 10 year old girl with fetal alcohol syndrome. The grandmother watches as a young couple attempt to nourish their unresponsive child through a feeding tube between seizure episodes. These families are learning something extremely valuable from each other--perspective turns our inward focus to outward community. And within community, disability become ministry.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>5. Outspoken men are often minorities.</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">While this is not always the case, oftentimes when it comes to family leadership, women seem to be the most outspoken advocates for their disabled children. A mother’s tenacity may seem like the most natural response to a child’s disability ("Mama Bear" is not one to be messed with), but when this tenacity stems from a father’s detachment or disillusionment, it can create a lopsided weakness in the family structure. A family living with disability needs a father of certain dependability. This dependability is often best cultivated and strengthened through other masculine men in the community of disability.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>6. When marriage takes second place to disability, it ends up in last place.</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">It has often been said, <i>“The best way to love your children is to love your spouse.”</i> While very few couples would admit to neglecting this truth in principle, many neglect it in practice. Good intention, without deliberate application, leads to marital deterioration. The relentless care of a disabled child, added to the care of other typically developing children in the home, added to working overtime to pay medical and therapy bills, added to stress and depression and weariness, leaves little time for marriage maintenance. A marriage that is not properly maintained is like a car leaking motor oil. Sooner or later the cylinders will seize, the engine will blow, and the damage will be beyond repair.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">Do <b><i>whatever it takes</i></b> to <b>make</b> space in your busy schedule for <b><i>quality</i></b> time alone with your spouse. Men, don’t wait for your wife to seek this; lead the way. It could be as detailed as planning respite care and adding a date night every other week, or as simple as ending every evening sitting on the couch laughing (or crying) about the day's events. Aside from daily intimate time with the Lord and His word, this will be the single most important thing you can do to protect your family from becoming the alternative sad statistic.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>7. A child with a disabled sibling is anything but typical.</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">I have borrowed (and adopted) the term “typically developing child” from my good friend <a href="http://theworksofgod.com/"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px color:#0e23a3; text-decoration: underline;">John Knight</span></a>. It is clear and accurate language in the proper context. But the more time I spend with siblings in families touched by disability, the more I realize these kids are anything but typical (per se). </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">I have watched in awe as siblings have stepped into difficult situations rivaling the heroic status of soldiers, firefighters and police officers. I have seen awkward, backward teenagers discover their extraordinary gift and calling as compassionate caregivers. And many times when I began to feel pity towards one of these typical siblings I have felt the faint nudge of the Lord scold me with, <i>“Pay attention, I’m doing something incredible in the life of this child as I conform them into the image of my Son.”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">No school, public or private, can teach the deep lessons of life like the school of disability. I can say without hesitation that my sons will be better men because of their relationship with their disabled brother. Living with Jake has not only prepared them for the worst of trials, it has equipped them with a profound sensitivity to recognize the intentional hand of God in the smallest, most unsuspecting, details of life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">What an extraordinary gift their brother has been!</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">These lessons are not even close to being exhaustive. They are ongoing and ever developing all around us. The desperate search and refreshing discovery of each nugget of wisdom brings strength to our family and equips us to be poured out into the lives of others. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%;">If you are reading this and happen to be new to the community of disability, <b>welcome to the family!</b> It is a wonderful, glorious, breathtaking journey that will open your eyes to the most precious things in life as it draws you closer and closer to the most precious <a href="http://www.desiringgod.org/resource-library/articles/the-gospel-in-6-minutes">truth</a> for eternity.</span></span></div>
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Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-7536265217249470222013-01-13T17:14:00.000-05:002013-01-13T17:15:17.419-05:00Cleaning Urine and Praising God<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was Christmas—and there I was
on my hands and knees in the bathroom, cleaning up urine…again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m getting too old for
this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The scrubbing becomes more
fervent as a wallowing sigh of “Why me?” escapes from my heart and a few self-pitying
tears fall to the floor mixing with the mess from my teenage son’s latest
“accomplishment.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, I’m caught off
guard by the unexpected, comforting presence of the Almighty. My mood changes,
my heart warms, and the hard tile floor become soft under my knees. I close my
eyes, smile and whisper a verbal surrender, “Thank You.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The smell of urine is
miraculously transformed into the sweet aroma of God’s mercy and grace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weeping and talking to God while
soaking up a urine-puddled floor with fragments of disintegrating toilet paper
could be mistaken for mild hysteria, unless I took you back about nineteen
years into the life of my disabled son.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s when I changed my
first diaper as a new dad. I can still remember the smell of baby powder and Desitin
as I gingerly picked Jake’s two little feet off the changing table with one
hand, nervously lifting them into the air and wiping while my wife coached me
through the entire event, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Your doing
fine.” </i>She encouraged.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> “You’re not
going to break him. Get every crease and crevice, you don’t want him to get a
rash.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was like a medical intern nervously
fidgeting over my first patient as the doctor observed and instructed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a while I got used to
it. I even became good at it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I would play a game
with Jake where I set a timer and acted like a calf-roper at a rodeo, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“GO! And the diaper is OFF! And the butt is
CLEANED! And the new diaper is ON!”</i> I would throw my hands into the air
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Jake would always grin at my diaper wrangling antics.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the months went by I
considered myself a professional diaper changer—if there were such a thing. I
could literally change my son’s diaper with one hand while talking on the phone
and flipping through the channels with the remote between cartoons and kid’s
shows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the months turned into
years and we eventually began the tedious process of toilet training. But Jake
didn’t get it. His cerebral palsy left him with little control and autism stole
away any personal concern for soiling his pants. To make matters worse Jake
suffered from a terrible sensory integration issue that made him fearful of
bathrooms, running water or being naked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the years passed, Jake’s
disabilities became more and more profound and the daily, hourly fight to
toilet train was eventually abandoned for bigger diapers and boxes upon boxes
of baby wipes. The house took on the smell of an unkempt care facility and
accidents became more and more graphic from urine stained pants, socks and
shoes to fecal matter smeared on walls and in hair. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake became less cooperative
and more violent with every birthday—he hated being cleaned. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Diaper changing became a time
of prayer and pleading with God, “You don’t have to heal every disability of my
son, but could you just let him be able to use the bathroom in the toilet? I
can take the non-verbal autism, PDD, OCD and cerebral palsy, but I don’t think
I can change another diaper!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I was wrong. I could
change many more—thousands more. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, through a rather
miraculous turn of events, after years and years of changing thousands and
thousands of diapers, God answered our prayers. Jake was seventeen years old
when he first used the toilet, and by the time he turned 18 he could go on his
own. Accidents were still common, but he got it. He finally got it!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember well the first
time he signed “potty” in public. We were in a Wal-Mart Superstore. I rushed
him to the men’s room and he pulled down his pants on his own and began peeing.
He peed all over the seat, the wall and the stall. He was laughing and jumping
up and down while urine streamed like water from a lawn sprinkler. I was
laughing and crying and praising God. Not one drop went into the toilet, but Jake
wore underwear that day and his pants stayed dry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here I am. It’s Christmas.
Jake is Nineteen years old. The entire extended family is gathered around the
table eating a Christmas feast and talking about their kid’s amazing
accomplishments and events, from scholarships to dean’s lists to upcoming
weddings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I’m on my hands and knees
on the bathroom floor—cleaning up urine again…and praising God.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOI2f-bNlzLMH1YqgQyfISHcRGiLWIwir_i_I5lvWYf68mHelF_Q27b0kOkDfXpAXB5iXBsCmz753mwlGiMPqiWJF4ed5ZSJkpWzUyAP5hcDeBhdCx_scah31hibNEfczpzfq8S09N1rl/s1600/IMG_0254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOI2f-bNlzLMH1YqgQyfISHcRGiLWIwir_i_I5lvWYf68mHelF_Q27b0kOkDfXpAXB5iXBsCmz753mwlGiMPqiWJF4ed5ZSJkpWzUyAP5hcDeBhdCx_scah31hibNEfczpzfq8S09N1rl/s320/IMG_0254.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-29088923677351908922012-11-17T10:11:00.001-05:002012-11-17T10:11:34.569-05:00God's Good Design in DisabilityLast week I had the opportunity to speak at the Desiring God Disability Conference: "God's Good Design in Disability".<br />
<br />
I was accompanied by some pretty powerful proclaimers of God's word (John Piper, Dr. Mark Talbot and Nancy Guthrie). But the most powerful and encouraging part of the conference took place as Krista Horning walked onto the stage and delivered this ten-minute God-glorifying, Jesus magnifying, Bible saturated, message.<br />
<br />
Thank you Krista for displaying "God's Good Design in Disability" for the whole world to see.<br />
<br />
And thank you Jesus for the faithfulness of your Word, powerfully proclaimed in our broken vessels!<br />
<br />
<br />
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It has been nearly <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">three years</i></b> since Jake left for the
Potomac center in Romney, WV. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Three years</i></b> of driving the 10-hour
round trip to visit. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Three years</i></b> of bathroom training,
behavior modification, building independent living skills and learning to live
in a community.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Potomac Center has been Jake’s University of Disability.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the past year we have been diligently, almost
desperately, searching for a permanent residency for our son as he entered
adulthood and began to approach “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">graduation</i>”,
also known as the age cut -off from the adolescent Potomac Center. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were prepared move our family wherever we needed to move in order for
Jake to have a suitable, permanent, care facility to call home. We considered
our neighboring states of Kentucky and Ohio as well as western states like
Colorado and Oregon. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No more long
distance traveling. No more separation,</i>” we agreed. We needed to have our son close enough to be
active in his daily life. He needs us. More importantly, we need him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once again we were faced with the dilemma of change and the
danger of upsetting the one thing that Jake thrived on—routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And once again, God exceeded our expectations
in a lavish display of love and mercy for our family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake comes home tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need to say that again just for personal clarification as
well as a resounding testimony to God’s goodness and greatness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jake comes home
tomorrow!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Lord did not see fit to provide a home for our son in
Oregon or Colorado, as beautiful as those states are and as willing as we were
to move there. Neither did he provide a place for Jake in Kentucky or Ohio. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, Jake will be moving into a house with seven other
young men, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seven miles from our home</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> With one breath of grace, God turned t</span>en hours into ten
minutes. Can I say it again? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“God is good.”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This means we can see Jake when we want, as long as we want,
and as often as we want. Our entire extended family can be involved in his life. He can be with us on holidays and birthdays and every day days. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet he will still be learning essential life skills as
he lives in a community of young men with disabilities similar to his own in a
home where he can live and receive care for the rest of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could dream of a final chapter to
“<i>Wrestling with an Angel</i>” (with the exception of the future resurrection of my son's disabled body and mind) I couldn’t dream it as perfect as this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We know there are still great challenges ahead, namely tomorrow
as Jake travels the five-hour trip and adjusts to a new environment, new faces
and new routines—a nightmare experience for those suffering from Autism and
PDD. He will regress. He will withdraw. He will experience anxiety. But he will
be with us, and we will walk through this transition with our son.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I write today to give credit, honor and glory to our heavenly
Father, the Father of mercy and the God of all comfort—the God of Jacob. Our
God is in the heavens and He does whatever He pleases. This week He was pleased
to bring our son home. We are forever thankful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also write today to give encouragement to parents of these
special children. I know your anxiety for the future. Let me reassure you, God
loves you and your disabled child more than you could ever fathom. He has a
plan, the plan is perfect and the plan will come to pass. It may not be what we
expect, but it will always be better than what we could ever imagine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large;">“Now to him who is able to
do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power…”<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Amen!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-39387165752931472732012-08-27T14:36:00.001-04:002012-08-28T17:01:37.406-04:00A Soldier And A Son<br />
We let go of another son last week. Noah left for Fort Benning, Georgia for 16 weeks of training and several years of military service with the possibility of a new career in the U.S. Army. We are proud of him--as much as any parent could be proud of their child.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgTmuYrYtuKoRzgCqukvbnKuO4LQbA7RYeTR6O7s5sS3Axp2FDWPb_UVNRCFda19TrKRKp75JrysiF7g-4VR8Tiaz2NTPnCWABgTJTkg7peRiJ5tDxkWAxI0triCH8JdyKW3hITsp5Wsm/s1600/IMG_6545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgTmuYrYtuKoRzgCqukvbnKuO4LQbA7RYeTR6O7s5sS3Axp2FDWPb_UVNRCFda19TrKRKp75JrysiF7g-4VR8Tiaz2NTPnCWABgTJTkg7peRiJ5tDxkWAxI0triCH8JdyKW3hITsp5Wsm/s320/IMG_6545.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It seems like only yesterday that I was his age, sharpening my unfinished steel on the grinding stone of military training. When a son steps into his father's shoes, there is a certain excitement that seems to be shared only within the fraternity of men.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpA91QIEKk_77opSATLiTnZN2KmqkFeH7bGLaCL191p_60M9-wHd3smC4hoMa873kZMRhNkl1j9qCL6JP7xRfmAbaZcma1ba6KlETtG8nwDWvOJ9F6iRZEEO4vAaAxJb_iy9RU02Oqf6lw/s1600/IMG_0809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpA91QIEKk_77opSATLiTnZN2KmqkFeH7bGLaCL191p_60M9-wHd3smC4hoMa873kZMRhNkl1j9qCL6JP7xRfmAbaZcma1ba6KlETtG8nwDWvOJ9F6iRZEEO4vAaAxJb_iy9RU02Oqf6lw/s320/IMG_0809.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Noah has always been a warrior with a tender warrior spirit--which is the best kind of soldier as far as I am concerned. He cares deeply, serves obediently, loves Jesus and is very familiar with adversity. These are the traits of most true heros.<br />
<br />
The little boy from the coalfields came to live with us when he was four years old. Beaten, broken, timid and silent, for the first two years of his life he had lived a nightmare of physical abuse and neglect at the hands of a cruel and violent stepfather. By the time Social Services took him into custody and the stepfather was sent to prison, Noah had suffered multiple broken bones, concussions, black eyes, contusions and unthinkable emotional scars. "It was the worst case of child abuse I have ever seen." Wrote the state prosecutor in the newspaper.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SxTvTNYtZty8v22gth3Bgt4SL8r9PscYDZbW43QchXdxn4n7lb1Rnc9EO_egeLj3CZ7_zgveNBEWIerh4J2dvIrSjiPWcnWXAhD4HV3-zReaGkZVK1UQtsIdr5vHfpL4tSFHLs4JpSvO/s1600/IMG_4040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SxTvTNYtZty8v22gth3Bgt4SL8r9PscYDZbW43QchXdxn4n7lb1Rnc9EO_egeLj3CZ7_zgveNBEWIerh4J2dvIrSjiPWcnWXAhD4HV3-zReaGkZVK1UQtsIdr5vHfpL4tSFHLs4JpSvO/s320/IMG_4040.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
Noah and his little brother Aaron joined our growing family not long after Jake had gone through the worst of his seizure disorder. They were instant friends and inseparable brothers; three great blessings brought together through the darkest of times.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VSEKmu1ddoO7a_UDAT9S0ZswigAaKduQv4OFfu9k_P2Av4ilOvDd3Tg0cyVFa_jmuRSRVY6wz8yY3w2KFtS4Lvx9OdhUxtMMglwjheObpV_OdWH9oHrTgcX9SlKcxbhzIN2Zh_TiOSGm/s1600/IMG_5307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VSEKmu1ddoO7a_UDAT9S0ZswigAaKduQv4OFfu9k_P2Av4ilOvDd3Tg0cyVFa_jmuRSRVY6wz8yY3w2KFtS4Lvx9OdhUxtMMglwjheObpV_OdWH9oHrTgcX9SlKcxbhzIN2Zh_TiOSGm/s320/IMG_5307.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Noah grew to be more than a brother to Jake. He became Jake's fearless bodyguard and silent advocate. </div>
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When Hope joined our family, we were not too surprised to discover who she would be most drawn to as her confidant and protector.<br />
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Noah not only stood as the advocate for his brothers and sister, he stood in the gap for his father. There was once a dark period in our home when I was not the man my family needed. I was self-centered, depressed, ungrateful, unfaithful and uneasy to be around. I walked away from all that God had given me. Noah was thirteen years old at the time. He grew up, stepped up and stood up for his family. I will never forget his mettle and natural leadership during that difficult time. Neither will I forget his unconditional display of love and respect for me during this dark, disgraceful period of my life.</div>
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Now he is gone. Our lives have changed once again. And once again there is a huge void in our family. Once again, my wife weeps often for a missing son.</div>
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But God is good to give us gifts that we cannot hold onto. Only the gifts we let go will continue to feed our faith in an ever providing Father, as they bring back glory to Him on an eternal horizon. </div>
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God is also good to give us unsuspecting gifts, special surprises dripping with grace that point our hearts heavenward. </div>
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As Noah raised his hand to swear in to the United States Army, there by his side was one other single soldier to be shipped out with our son. He was tall with a ruddy complexion. He had rusty red hair and wore glasses. He bore the striking image of Noah's older brother. (without the hindrance of disability). And, as if that were not enough to make us smile with heavenly expectation, on his chest above his heart, was written a very familiar name. </div>
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"Jacob"<br />
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Welcome to the order of the Sheepdog, son. "Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked." (Psalm 82:3-4) "Drive on Airborne, drive on!"</div>
Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-76361860838419226532012-07-10T12:25:00.001-04:002012-07-10T22:03:45.113-04:00"Family" is Intentional; Not Always Conventional<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Her name was Marcella Carolyn; her friends called
her “Luke”. I knew her as “Aunt Sue”. She was twenty-seven years old when I was
born. She died last week at the age of seventy-two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">In those forty-five years, she stood in the gap as
my mother and later when my children were born—as their grandmother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">She was a high school physical education teacher
and a (very famous) girl’s basketball coach. She spent her life investing in the
lives of others, but I knew her best for the deep investment she made in my
life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">My grandparents raised my two sisters and me after
our family was shattered by the common tragedies of life. They were wonderful,
godly people, but they were rather aged when we were small children. My aunt
and uncle stepped up during that time and became like parents to us. They never
had children of their own—because they intentionally invested their time into us. I never realized how costly this commitment must have been until
I had a family of my own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Aunt Sue lit the fire of wild, untamed adventure in
my heart and fed my love for the outdoors with bountiful servings of God’s most
secret places in creation. One of those secret places was the Big Rideau Canal
in Ontario, Canada. It was there where she (and my uncle John) taught me the
essentials of developing boyhood masculinity, like how to tie a fishing knot,
how to shift gears on a motorcycle and how to keep the rod tip down so the big
bass wouldn’t get away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">I slept in a canvas tent overlooking the Rideau
Lake for nearly three months at a time, throughout two consecutive summers, put to bed every night by
the symphony of the Katydid and the lullaby of the loons. I bathed in the lake and
played in the woods. I developed skills that every boy should have, like
splitting firewood, building a campfire, skipping rocks, cleaning fish,
catching frogs and telling stories. This was the proving ground of my
adolescence—the stepping-stone into adulthood, manhood and eventually
fatherhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Away from the Big Rideau, my Aunt’s home was always one of my favorite places
to visit. There was always the hope of a wood burning fire in her living room insert or a campfire in her back yard. Some of my earliest childhood memories are lying by a glowing fire, falling asleep to the sound of her voice singing an
old country music tune (I believe it was a Willie Nelson song) in the tone of a lullaby. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">She told tales that I knew
were more fiction than fact, but they were real to my imagination and fueled my
future passions for storytelling and writing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">I think I will miss her more than anyone I have
ever lost in my life. I will miss her laugh and her singing; her jokes, pranks
and antics. I will miss her encouraging words and her genuine interest in my
life and the lives of everyone around her. I will miss her tenacity for living
and her passion for adventure. I will miss her faithful presence in my family
and her love for my children, especially her care and compassion for my son
Jake, who she most affectionately referred to as "Jacob G.G."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">I will miss her greatly, but her legacy will live
on in so many ways. It will come alive in the sounds of the summer nights and
the crackling of the campfire. It will bring laughter as her stories are passed
down and retold many years and even generations from now. It will breathe with new life each
time I tie a hook on a fishing line, feel the tug of the rod or the rumble of my motorcycle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Even greater, her legacy will live the fullest through the presence of
my own motley tribe as I look with wonder at the children God has sovereignly
gathered to my side and realize that love, more than anything, is an investment
in the brokenness of life and “family” is not always conventional—but always
intentional. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Thank you Aunt Sue.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-1324039475813833312012-05-18T14:49:00.000-04:002012-05-18T14:49:21.176-04:00The Elisha Foundation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My family attended our first TEF retreat three years ago and it changed our lives forever. Since then, TEF has become a very important part of our lives.</div>
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The Reimer's are changing the face of disability, by the grace of God, one family--one child--one orphan at a time. </div>
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Watch this three minute introduction to their ministry and consider investing financially or as a volunteer. And, if you know a family struggling with disability, be sure to share this valuable resource with them. </div>
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Also, consider investing in their latest fundraiser...</div>
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<br />Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-31317489049983174002012-05-08T14:22:00.000-04:002012-05-08T14:22:10.746-04:00<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This Momentary Marriage: The story of Ian and Larissa</span></b><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/38033654?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&color=ffffff" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-2587904267280381962012-05-03T13:17:00.000-04:002012-05-04T12:22:50.185-04:00When The Enemy Asks Questions About DisabilityIt is not uncommon for parents dealing with the difficulties of disability to stop and wonder, "What went wrong?" And as the enemy would have it, with the wondering of the mind comes the questioning of the soul.<br />
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Satan has been turning our answers into questions from the very beginning. (See Genesis 3:1-3)<br />
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It seems as if his tactics are the same when disability enters our lives: <i>Was this my fault? Am I being punished for a sin I committed? Did I not pray enough, give enough, go to church enough? Is God angry at me? </i><br />
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These are questions that almost all parents ask, or at least think of asking, at one time or another as the difficult journey through the valley of disability wears away our reasoning and tests our faith.<br />
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<b>Only the gospel can give accurate answers: </b><br />
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1. <b><i><u>Is this my fault?</u></i></b> Be sure of this: disability came into the world through sin. <i>"Therefore just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, so death spread to all men because all sinned."</i> <b>(Romans 5:12).</b> Be sure of this also: All are affected by the sin of Adam, but all are responsible for their own sin. <i>"The soul who sins shall die. The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father; nor the father suffer for the iniquity of the son."</i> <b>(Ezekiel 18:20).</b> While it is accurate to say that your child's disability is the result of the fall of mankind, it is more accurate to <i>think</i> that everything under that fall is an intricate part of God's plan of redemption for your ultimate good and His ultimate glory!<br />
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2. <b><i><u>Am I being punished?</u></i></b> If you have placed your faith in the work of Christ on the cross, the punishment for all of your sin--past, present and future--has fallen on His shoulders. <i>"But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace; and by His wounds, we are healed."</i> <b>(Isaiah 53:5)</b> <i>"For our sake, God made Him (Jesus) to be sin, who knew no sin, so that in Him (Jesus) we might become the righteousness of God."</i> <b>(2 Corinthians 5:21)</b> <i>"On the cross, God treated Jesus as if He had lived your life, so that for all eternity He could treat you as if you had lived His."</i> (John MacArthur)<br />
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*A better question for believers to ask would be: <b><i>Am I being disciplined?</i></b> I have no doubt that our disabled children are given to us as a form of discipline. But remember, discipline is not punishment. Our punishment was taken by Jesus so that we could receive discipline as sons. <i>"For the Lord disciplines the one He loves; and chastises every son whom He receives."</i> <b>(Hebrews 12:6). </b><i>Discipline</i> is meant to make us into <i>disciples</i> (that is the literal meaning of the word) by God's loving hand of instruction. Our children are agents of this discipleship.<br />
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The relentless care of a disabled child can produce some of the greatest emotional, spiritual and physical suffering this world knows. This is a beautiful picture of our sanctification, because while sanctification through suffering is temporarily unpleasant, it is always eternally profitable. God is always doing something when you are caring for your disabled child! <i>"For the moment, all discipline seems painful, rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it."</i> <b>(Hebrews 12:11).</b><br />
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3. <b><i><u>Did I not do enough to please God?</u></i></b> No, you have not done enough. You will never be able to do enough. This is the heart of the gospel. <i>"Without faith it is impossible to please Him."</i> <b>(Hebrews 11:6).</b> You cannot please God in and of yourself because...<i>"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God..." </i>Therefore you are made right before God--not by doing--but only by trusting. "...<i>and are justified by His grace as a gift through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by His blood to be received by faith."</i> <b>(Romans 3:23-25).</b> Jesus did enough to please God. God is pleased with you as you place your faith in Him. NOTHING else will be sufficient!<br />
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4. <b><i><u>Is God angry at me?</u></i></b> He was, until you repented of your sin and placed your faith in Jesus. But God's anger has nothing to do with the disability of your child; it has everything to do with your own disability of sin. And <i>that</i> disability was dealt with when all of God's anger and all of God's wrath for all of your sin was cast on the shoulders of Jesus--the perfect and spotless sacrifice. That is what the cross is all about. (Remember Isaiah 53:5 and 2 Corinthians 5:21?) <i>"Since, therefore, we have been justified by His blood, much more shall we be saved by Him (Jesus) from the wrath of God."</i> <b>(Romans 5:9).</b> So now, if you are "in Christ", God is not angry with you. Your sin has been dealt with. He loves you as He loves Jesus. He accepts you as He accepts Jesus. He is happy with you as He is happy with Jesus.<br />
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<i>"Till on that cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied. For every sin on Him was laid; here in the death of Christ, I live!"</i><br />
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So the next time the enemy comes to you asking questions about disability, turn those questions back into answers from the solid, healing, hopeful truth of the gospel.<br />
<br />Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-64096929807057484732012-04-06T21:17:00.006-04:002012-04-07T02:12:14.485-04:00Sunday Means Someday Disability Will Be No More<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>“He charged them to tell no one what they had seen, until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. So they kept the matter to themselves, wondering what this rising from the dead might mean.”</i> (Mark 9:9)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">...<i>and the boy was like a corpse, so that most of them said, ‘He is dead.’ But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.”</i> (Mark 9:26-27)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>“For He was teaching his disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill Him. And when his is killed, after three days He will rise.’”</i> (Mark 9:30) </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">Jesus tells his disciples that he will rise from the dead. They are perplexed. They don’t understand <i>“what this rising from the dead might mean.”</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">So Jesus gives his disciples a real world illustration in the life of a father with a severely disabled son. Using disability as a picture, He teaches them about the resurrection.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">A weary, desperate father brings his disabled, dying son to the disciples to be healed. When the disciples cannot heal the boy, the father runs to Jesus. Jesus heals the boy by casting out the spiritual forces of wickedness. The demonic departure leaves the boy <i>“like a corpse, so that most of them said, ‘He is dead.’”</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>“He is dead.”</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">It could have ended there—he was dead—just like it could have ended after the cross. Jesus was dead. It could have ended there for all of us, if it weren’t for the next sentence.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>“But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.”</i> (Mark 9:27)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>Did you see that disciples? That is what it will be like at the resurrection. He was disabled, now he is whole. He was mute, now he can speak. He was enslaved by the spiritual forces of wickedness, now he has been given back to his father. He was dead, but I took him by the hand and now he is alive. That is what it will be like at the resurrection! And I will lead the way. Because I rise, you will rise too!</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">Jesus was using a disabled child to teach His disciples about the resurrection! </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>“For He was teaching his disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill Him. And when his is killed, after three days He will rise.’”</i> (Mark 9:30) </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">For believers everywhere, resurrection Sunday is Jesus’ victory over death, hell, sin and Satan. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">But for those of us who live in the valley of disability, resurrection Sunday also means Jesus is victorious over seizures, syndromes, blindness, deafness, muteness, disease and suffering.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">Sunday means someday, my son will talk without a computer. He will see without glasses. He will understand without hinderance. He will rest without medication. He will walk without braces. And he will run without falling. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Sunday means someday a resurrected Jesus will take my son by the hand...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;">and he will rise! He will rise with a new mind, a new body, a new heart and a new life.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;"><i>“But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself.”</i> (Philippians 3:20-21)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">Sunday is someday.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:100%;">Come quickly Lord Jesus!</span></p><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></div><p></p>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-74939923744998320332012-03-09T13:11:00.008-05:002012-03-09T14:28:28.369-05:00There is Hope!<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b><i>"We wish we had known she was feeling this desperate, because we would have done what we could to help her.”</i></b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">Those were the words of the Morgan Autism Center executive director, Jennifer Sullivan, in San Jose, CA after hearing about the tragic death of one of their clients, George Hodgins.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">George was a 22 year old autistic man who lived at home with his parents and had attended the autism center since he was 6 years old. <i>"He was a good kid, a very good kid. He loved to be outdoors, he loved hiking and walking and doing things like that." </i>Sullivan said.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">This was probably a great description of the man-child everyone at the center knew as “George”, but there is a darkness in the world of disability that few people realize. Even the professional caregivers that work so close with these special lives often seem to miss the extreme physical and emotional difficulties of parenting children with severe disabilities. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">There is a shadow of hopelessness that often looms over the families struggling through the valley of disability. George’s mother, Elizabeth Hodgins found herself deep in that dark valley last Tuesday as she shot her autistic son to death in his bedroom before turning the gun on herself.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">I cannot even begin to imagine the desperation and depression that leads to this kind of atrocity as a viable solution. (Or perhaps I just don’t want to allow myself to imagine things like this.)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">Either way, there are many feelings that went through my mind when I first heard <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/03/07/BAVR1NH8B4.DTL">this story</a>. I have to admit that anger was the first. How could a mother murder her disabled adult child? My anger quickly turned to frustration as I read the statement from the director of the autism center, <i>"We wish we had known she was feeling this desperate, because we would have done what we could to help her.”</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">Really? You knew this family since George was 6 years old, and you had no idea that they were struggling so deeply?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">And then my anger and frustration dissolved into personal conviction and self realization. I have been in this valley. I have stood in this darkness where no hope can be seen. I have looked into the future and seen nothing but pain and sadness. Jacob’s father is no better than George’s mother. (This is the real reason I do not want to imagine things like this.)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">After the shooting, the autism center sent out a note to the parents making them aware of the situation. <i>"I got back lots and lots of comments saying, 'We have all been there,' and, 'We've seen the black hole.' There's no question these children are difficult, and these families need help." </i>Sullivan said.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><i>"But let me tell you," she said, "parents of kids with autism are under a terrific amount of stress. Many of these children don't sleep at night. They wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning, and one of the parents has to get up, because they need constant supervision. It's an exhausting experience." </i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">Exhausting, relentless, desperate...often hopeless. Those are all words that enter the thoughts of these weary parents. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">“<i>Parents of autistic children can focus so much on day-to-day tasks that they rarely look ahead at their future.”, Sullivan said. "Then it hits them...my child is going to always be with me.' They ask, 'When is it going to end?' But it doesn't."</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">As I read and reread this tragic article, the urgency of <i>ministry</i> ignited my resolve. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">This is why I write, teach and preach. This is why faithful men like <a href="http://theworksofgod.com/">John Knight</a> blog and proclaim the glory of God in disability in the midst of great suffering. This is why Justin Reimer labors relentlessly (often in poverty) keeping <a href="http://www.theelishafoundation.org/">The Elisha Foundation</a> afloat like a rescue boat for these hurting families. This is why ladies like Julie Brown and Carrie Fellows and <a href="http://lakeviewatthewell.com/">The Lakeview Ladies</a> sacrificed to bring these families together. This is why Joni Eareckson Tada procalims God's glory from a wheelchair and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hope-Best-Things-Joni-Eareckson/dp/1433502194">writes of hope</a> in the midst of the darkest suffering. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">We’ve all been there. We are fathers and mothers and men and women and children who have walked through this valley. We know this darkness well.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">We also know the only light that can shatter this darkness is the light of the gospel. And so for us, the <i>“If we had known...”</i> has turned into <i>“We now know...”. </i>And because we know, we will proclaim the hope of the gospel to these desperate, hurting, and often hope-less families.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">If you are reading this today, I want you to know that there is hope. No matter how dark it may seem--there is hope. No matter what you have done--there is hope. No matter how unknown your future may be, there is a gracious God that has gone before you to prepare the way. He stands with outstretched arms proclaiming through the cross of His Son, "there is abundant hope waiting for you!"</span></p> <ul> <ul> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal Times; letter-spacing: 0px; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Psalm 39:7</span></b> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "><i>“And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? </i><b><i>My hope is in you</i></b><i>. </i></span></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font: 13.0px Times; letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b>Psalm 42:5</b> <i>Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? </i><b><i>Hope in God</i></b><i>.</i></span></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font: 13.0px Times; letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b>Psalm 62:5</b><i> For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for </i><b><i>my hope is from him</i></b><i>.</i></span></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Psalm 71:5</b> <i>For </i><b><i>you, O Lord, are my hope</i></b><i>, my trust, O LORD, from my youth.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Psalm 119:114</b> <i>You are my hiding place and my shield; </i><b><i>I hope in your word.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Psalm 119:147</b><i> I rise before dawn and cry for help; </i><b><i>I hope in your words.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Psalm 130:5</b> <i>I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and </i><b><i>in his word I hope.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Proverbs 23:18</b> <i>Surely there is a future, and </i><b><i>your hope will not be cut off.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Jeremiah 29:11</b><i> For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, </i><b><i>to give you a future and a hope.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Lamentations 3:20-22</b><i> But this I call to mind and therefore </i><b><i>I have hope</i></b><i>: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Acts 2:25-26</b><i> For David says concerning [Jesus], ‘I saw the Lord always before me, for he is at my right hand that I may not be shaken; therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; </i><b><i>my flesh also will dwell in hope.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Romans 5:2</b><i> Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and </i><b><i>we rejoice in hope of the glory of God.</i></b></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Romans 5:3-5</b><i> Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that </i><b><i>suffering </i></b><i>produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character </i><b><i>produces hope</i></b><i>, and </i><b><i>hope does not put us to shame</i></b><i>, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Romans 8:24-25</b><i> For </i><b><i>in this hope we were saved</i></b><i>. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Romans 12:12</b><i> </i><b><i>Rejoice in hope</i></b><i>, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Romans 15:4</b><i> For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures </i><b><i>we might have hope</i></b><i>.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>1 Corinthians 13:7</b><i> </i><b><i>Love</i></b><i> bears all things, believes all things, </i><b><i>hopes all things</i></b><i>, endures all things.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>2 Corinthians 1:10</b><i> He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. </i><b><i>On him we have set our hope</i></b><i> that he will deliver us again.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>1 Timothy 4:10</b><i> For to this end we toil and strive, because </i><b><i>we have our hope set on the living God</i></b><i>, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Titus 1:1-2</b><i>...for the sake of the faith of God's elect and their knowledge of the truth, which accords with godliness, </i><b><i>in hope of eternal life</i></b><i>, which </i><b><i>God</i></b><i>, who </i><b><i>never lies</i></b><i>, promised before the ages began.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Hebrews 16:18-19</b><i> so that by two unchangeable things, in which </i><b><i>it is impossible for God to lie</i></b><i>, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. </i><b><i>We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope </i></b><i>that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>Hebrews 10:23</b><i> Let us </i><b><i>hold fast the confession of our hope</i></b><i> without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>1 Peter 1:3 </b><i>Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again </i><b><i>to a living hope</i></b><i> through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>1 Peter 1:13</b><i> </i><b><i>Set your hope fully on</i></b><i> the </i><b><i>grace</i></b><i> that will be brought to you at the revelation of </i><b><i>Jesus Christ</i></b><i>.</i></span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><b>1 Peter 1:20</b><i> [Jesus] was foreknown before the foundation of the world but was made manifest in the last times for the sake of you who through him are believers in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, </i><b><i>so that your faith and hope are in God.</i></b></span></li></ul></ul> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><i>May the </i><b><i>God of hope</i></b><i> fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit </i><b><i>you may abound in hope</i></b><i>. (Romans 15:13)</i></span></p>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-35018455728685330562012-03-02T10:34:00.002-05:002012-03-02T11:04:16.306-05:00"This is My Son"<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">By his bed I watched him breathe as each breath seemed his last,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And in the darkness time stood still, yet moved so very fast.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Where is my faith, my trust, my hope? Where is this God of love?</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my son!” I cried aloud into the brass above.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Strong yet helpless there I sat and held his tiny hand,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And wondered if the God of Jacob were soon to make a stand.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">As dreams once visioned disappeared and shattered in my eyes,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my son!” rose from my lips and shouted to the skies.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">That night was long, and dark, and numb, I will forget it not.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">It emptied me of everything...of word, and deed, and thought.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Deals were made and desperate plans created in the strife,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my son! And for his life, I will give my life!”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The darkness thickened like a fog and hid all trace of light.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">It brought me low and there below ensued an awful fight.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I wrestled till the break of dawn and gave no certain ground,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my son!” I won’t let go, till mercy will be found.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">He wrapped me in His painful grip and held me there till dawn.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I fought and kicked against the goad, till all my strength was gone.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Bruised and beat He held me there, against my shattered will,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And gently whispered in my ear, “I love you, and will love you still.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">In the morning when I woke, the room was filled with light</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And there I saw, and held in awe, the meaning of this fight.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my Son”, He said to me, pointing to the cross.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“I know your hurt; I know your pain; I know your suffering loss.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“I am not one who stands aloft, and watches without care.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I know when every sparrow falls. I number every hair.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">This son of yours is also mine, before all time began.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Within His life and suffering, resides my perfect plan.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my Son! And He has died so all the sons may live.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Greater love has no man shown, than of his life he gives.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">A sacrifice for death and sin and grace forever true.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">This is my Son, and on this tree I show my love for you.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I left the darkness bathed in light, and love, and hope, and grace,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Limping from the dreadful fight that brought me face to face.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">“This is my son!” I smiled with joy, no health or wealth could bring,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">And we will stand upon this Rock, and of His Son we’ll sing.</span></span></p><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-39237069694174997432012-02-11T12:46:00.000-05:002012-02-11T16:56:38.148-05:00The Window Seat<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I am forty-five years old and I still jockey for the window seat on the airplane. My wife sometimes laughs at me as I press my nose to the window of the aircraft like a kid visiting the Orca tank at Sea World.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The very fact that a 300 ton piece of metal (that's about the weight of 30 African elephants) can fly through the air at 500 mile per hour will never cease to amaze me. </span>I am astounded at people who actually choose not to sit by the window, or those who can sit in their seats with their nose in a magazine during take off. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">I want to commandeer the flight attendant's microphone and announce,<i> “People, we are leaving the earth in a giant metal bird! We are going to fly six miles in the sky at over 500 miles per hour! Look out the window for crying out loud!”</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">Sometimes I think I must be strange.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">As amazing as sitting in a chair 35,000 feet in the sky with a peripheral view of the planet seems to be, there is something else that stuns me as I gaze out the window: God has used the story of a severely disabled, non-verbal, autistic boy to reach so many different people with the good news of His hope, that I have to fly on an airplane to go see all of them.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">Last week, Jake’s story lead me to Lakeview Baptist Church in Auburn Alabama, where a group of <a href="http://lakeviewatthewell.com/">gospel determined ladies</a> came up with the idea of bringing together as many families touched by disability as they could possibly find in their immediate community. But they didn’t stop there. They also sought out teachers, educators, administrators and pivotal leaders, inviting them all to an elegant candlelight dinner in an extremely welcoming environment.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">When all was said and done, the count was over 200 parents, educators, leaders and children. I have never personally observed so many people from one community, in one place, at one time, with the commonality of disability. It was emotionally overwhelming for me to look out into that room and watch families--so often secluded by disability--talking, laughing and connecting within a community of special needs. It was also moving to see so many volunteers giving, serving and sacrificing for these special families.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">As dinner was winding down, they set up a podium and wired me to a microphone. After introducing me, my family and my book, they asked me to say something inspiring to this large, eager, motley crew. What a daunting task!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">I began with these words:</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;"><i>“I’m here to tell you a story about a father and his disabled son. It’s probably not the story you are expecting me to tell. It’s not from the book I wrote. It’s from another book--the most important book you will ever read. My hope and prayer as you leave here tonight is that this story, which is God’s story, will become your story too.”</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">I then proceeded to tell the story from Mark Chapter 9 of a father who brings his disabled son to Jesus. I was a little shocked at the fact that I spoke for nearly an hour. I was even more shocked that no one even flinched at the time. No one left early, and no one fell asleep (even after eating a huge dinner late in the evening)! As I spoke I had a powerful sense that these people were hungry, not for the food they just ate, but for the hope that God’s word was providing.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">The more opportunities I get to tell my story, the more it becomes clear that it is not my story that people need to hear. Although it is good to have a personal illustration of hope within the presentation of the gospel, it is the gospel alone that gives true and lasting hope.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">On the flight back home, thousands of feet in the air, I gazed out at the beautiful night sky. The lights of many cities were shining like stars on a giant crystal lake. I held the hand of my wife and thought of all the dark, difficult and impossible trials we had faced in the past and how God had strategically used every one of them to prepare us for the present and point us towards future grace.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;font-size:130%;">I have heard parents say that living with disability is often like living with a huge weight around your neck. Sometimes that weight is unbearable. But even if that weight were as heavy as a Boeing 747 (or a flock of African elephants), the gospel of grace takes impossible weight and lifts it heavenward, speeding us towards the destination God has sovereignly ordained. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Many of us are on this flight together. My story is just one window on this massive aircraft. Perhaps you have a window seat too. Our calling then is to rouse the passengers, rescue them from their magazines, Iphones and Kendles, and encourage them to look out and see the magnificent miracle of the gospel of hope.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ZaylEK68g_A" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-14730290857667706332012-01-12T13:15:00.000-05:002012-01-12T14:13:45.710-05:00The Elisha Foundation Winter Retreat 2012<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">There is something serene and satisfying about the Oregon Coast in the winter. The sheer beauty of the state of Oregon added to the craggy beach where waves cover giant boulders with foam and Haystack Rock juts from the ocean like a surfacing whale making a guest appearance on the beach--paints a breathtaking backdrop.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Nestled on the end of this ocean front town is the Cannon Beach Christian Conference Center; an oasis last week for twelve families struggling with disability. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Justin Reimer, his busy family, and an army of volunteers have also descended on this conference center. It is a beautiful array of the body of Christ lifting up the indispensability of the <i>seemingly</i> weaker members. (1 Corinthians 12:22). </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">We have gathered and we are on guard; because </span>no matter how much serenity is before us, the enemy is always prowling around us seeking someone or something good to devour.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px">Such was the case before and throughout the retreat as health problems nearly sidelined me from ministering to these special families with the hope of the gospel. Four weeks prior to the retreat I developed a mysterious and nearly debilitating stomach illness that almost prompted me to call Justin and cancel my trip. Once in Oregon I was desperately dependent on the encouragement of friends, the prayers of the saints and the grace of God.<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">At the end of day one of the retreat I was so discouraged that I wondered if I could go on. A good friend, and the pastor who taught at the very first TEF retreat our family attended, sent me an email containing a excerpt from <i>John</i> <i>Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress</i> where <i>Christian</i> meets <i>Apollyon</i> on <i>God’s Highway</i>.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Accusations are flung by the enemy and an attack ensues in order to prevent Christian from moving forward. In a dramatic battle, Christian overcomes with the armor of God and the Sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I finished the email comforted by the prayers of the saints and then poured over the scripture for promises and hope. It came the next morning as I awoke strengthened and ready for the fight. God put three very significant passages and three very strong truths in my head and on my heart.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">1. <b>1 Peter 5:8</b> <i>Satan is like a lion</i>.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">2. <b>Revelation 5:5</b> <i>Jesus is the Lion of Judah</i>.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">3.<b> 2 Timothy 4:17</b> <i>When the real Lion roars, the fake lion flees.</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>"But the Lord stood by me and strengthened me, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion's mouth."</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">That morning was the <i>Parent Talk</i>, where we gathered the dads and moms in a room around a fireplace and let them talk about the personal difficulties that come with raising disabled children. It soon became obvious why I had been fighting this spiritual battle.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I listened as fathers wept over their broken children and mothers clung to the hope of certain promises from God’s word. I heard some couples openly admit to struggling marriages while others gave testimony of rescued relationships. I listened to strong confessions of very raw fear and saw evidence of grace from very real sin.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">That night I spoke to the families from <b>Mark 9</b> where Jesus heals a disabled boy with a seizure disorder, possessed by an evil spirit. We talked in depth about spiritual warfare and its role in our families. I told them to run to Jesus with their most desperate scenario and to be aware of spiritual warfare, but focus on the sovereignty of God in all things.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">We ended as couples joined together to pray for their children, their families and their marriages.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was a long, wonderful, and emotionally draining evening. I was weary from battle, but I found peace and strength in the fact</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px ;color:#001320;"><i> that it had been granted to me on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him,</i> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">(Philippians 1:29). This suffering was the school where I learned to depend more and more on the God who raises the dead. (2 Corinthians 1:9)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The retreat ended on several high notes as more than one family gave testimony of renewed strength from the gospel and a stronger view of God's sovereignty and purpose in their lives.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The Reimer’s have a very special ministry at TEF. It is a beautiful foundation, set in beautiful locations, building beautiful relationships. But the most beautiful aspect of TEF is the focus on the delivery of the gospel to often hopeless and hurting families. And lest we think that all of this beauty means certain safety and comfort, the evil one stands in direct opposition on God’s Highway to keep that gospel from reaching those who need it most. But we have a strong weapon against the enemy.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Martin Luther got it right,</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>“And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,<br />We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:<br />The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;<br />His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,<br />One little word shall fell him.”</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And so did John Bunyan,</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">“Now, being refreshed, we resume our journey, keeping a tight grip on our sword.”</span></p><br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/34962413?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="360" height="203" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div>(Special thanks to Cassi Jacobs LeTourneau for the photography)</div>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-81455046186072597832011-10-28T12:17:00.000-04:002011-10-28T15:29:56.676-04:00How Will He Not Give Us All Things?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp-8u5rz7BLG8DTxGHwUIbDeMGQ0Q73F6-MaOC8HCa2uWIiwjCpznQZkkAHcjN54-_bpdL22kw-Fot37BZqU0kNvo1JSK_VMJzgxGiFg6tc4Fk-BoqZRDsHBGwZ24InHFbUreXw3fwKnF/s1600/IMG_3404.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp-8u5rz7BLG8DTxGHwUIbDeMGQ0Q73F6-MaOC8HCa2uWIiwjCpznQZkkAHcjN54-_bpdL22kw-Fot37BZqU0kNvo1JSK_VMJzgxGiFg6tc4Fk-BoqZRDsHBGwZ24InHFbUreXw3fwKnF/s400/IMG_3404.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668627491711201074" /></a><div><b><i>"He who did not spare His own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?"</i></b> (Romans 8:32)</div><div><br /></div>Thursday we made the 10 hour round trip visit to Romney to see our son, Jake. This time we surprised him at his school, <i>Hampshire High School</i>. He jumped up and down with his arms in the air and then hugged each of us for the longest time. His teacher, Mrs Sczabo, was so excited to show us everything they had been working on and Jake was so proud to display EVERYTHING he had learned.<div><div><br /></div><div>We are truly thankful to God for this amazing teacher, the people of Romney, and the Potomac Center where Jake lives. He is so happy and progressing so far beyond all of our expectations.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>As we walked the hallways of the high school with Jake, we were overwhelmed by the display of love and kindness towards our son. He is a very popular kid at this very typical high school. Every teacher we met, to include the vice principal, took the time to personally thank us for sharing Jake. "He is such a joy to be around," they told us.</div><div><br /></div><div>We left the school with our excited son, who was just a little disheartened that he didn't get to ride the big yellow school bus that day (one of his top 10 favorite things to do in life), and carried out our usual strict routine of dinner at McDonalds and shopping at Walmart. </div><div><br /></div><div>At McDonands, Jake walked up to almost every table in the dining room and greeted the patrons, shaking hands and giving high fives. His non-verbal display of happiness was met with warm smiles and surprisingly appropriate responses. </div><div><br /></div><div>"He's never met a stranger." I tell them as I follow my son around the tables, keeping a safety grip on the back of his shoulder.</div><div><br /></div><div>The people of Romney are so kind and patient with our son. Very few people stare in this small town where the two largest buildings are The Potomac Center for Disabled Children and The Romney School for the Deaf and Blind. Most openly embrace Jake as one of their "different" but friendly fellow townspeople.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jake's true personality shines in this town. There are no outbursts of anger or emotional meltdowns. There is little frustration and no anxiety. The time we now spend with our son is a wonderful experience that bonds our family closer together each time we visit.</div><div><br /></div><div>On our drive back to Jake's residence we passed by several old houses for sale in the surrounding area of Romney. "Maybe we should just move up here," I said quietly to my wife. "Maybe we should," she replied. "I could work at Walmart or McDonanlds," I half-joked. "Jake would love that."</div><div><br /></div><div>The drive back to the Potomac Center residential home is usually very quiet and somber. Conversation is replaced with deep thoughts of mixed emotions. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our strongest desire is to be close to our son, to care for him and to be an intricate part of his life, but he lives 250 miles away and because he is non-verbal, he can't even "talk" to us on the phone. Our involvement in his life is a trip to McDonalds and Walmart every couple months. It breaks our heart to live like this.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, we are most blessed that our totally dependent, disabled son lives in a small town full of traditional people where he is well educated, well cared for, thriving socially, and loved by all. We could not ask more for Jake than what he has been given over these past three years.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there will come a time (in about two years) when we will be forced to find a new place for Jake, possibly in some other far off town.</div><div><br /></div><div>When he turns 21, his eligibility for the Potomac Center and the Hampshire County school system expires. He will never ride the big yellow school bus again. Our hearts absolutely break when we think about how difficult this time will be.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are no facilities in the immediate area where we now live that are suitable for Jake's care. Even if there was, a move that far would mean a drastic shift in his structured routine. A new place, new facility, with new people, new rules means chaos and anxiety for our son. </div><div><br /></div><div>All of this separation, heartbreak and uncertainty continually reminds us of of one thing--our desperate and absolute dependence on the One who cares for our son better than we could ever care for him ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>God has proven one thing to us over and over again throughout Jake's life: He loves our son more than we could <i>ever</i> love our son. And what encourages us most is that God's amazing and continual love for this vulnerable boy is not only seen in the difficult life of our son, it is ultimately seen in gospel--the sacrificial death of God's Son. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Romans 8:32</i> is our promise that God's love and care for Jake will never fail.</div><div><br /></div><div>As wonderful as Jake's current setting is, our hope is not in the Potomac Center, the Hampshire County school system, or the city of Romney. Neither is our hope in the circumstances of the future.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our hope is in the gospel of the Father who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us. With this continually on our minds and in our hearts, we ask the comforting, rhetorical question, <i>"...how will He not also, with him, graciously give us <b>all things?</b>"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-61094478373418880862011-10-15T09:33:00.000-04:002011-10-15T10:28:02.894-04:00All Things Grace<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunvFz6h-c21eA1zUWtCZhO0fKTM-9I-KGtoFySP-snNOMOQYPjOaSoXo1QiYRjrjqhyUpM0bf7Uq6pIBCiTmdVF6thjc9v3fz8lK7C5hDuYgwSDCSsgpYBw3MaGtLt7oFQuTdiczeX8d-/s1600/Grace-r.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunvFz6h-c21eA1zUWtCZhO0fKTM-9I-KGtoFySP-snNOMOQYPjOaSoXo1QiYRjrjqhyUpM0bf7Uq6pIBCiTmdVF6thjc9v3fz8lK7C5hDuYgwSDCSsgpYBw3MaGtLt7oFQuTdiczeX8d-/s400/Grace-r.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663724575486930274" /></a>I'm trying out a new blog called <div><br /></div><div>"<a href="http://allthingsgrace.blogspot.com/">All Things Grace</a>".<div><div><div><br /></div><div>It will be a compilation of true stories that illustrate the all encompassing truth of Romans 8:28 and other great bible promises. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is my prayer that this blog will be a tool of encouragement and hope for all of <i>us</i> who deal with (or have dealt with) failure, hurt, discouragement or disgrace. </div><div><br /></div><div>These stories will be real life experiences. Some will be extremely transparent and raw. Others will be uplifting and humorous. All will be used to illustrate God's fascinating grace and perfect providence in our everyday lives.</div><div><br /></div><div>God is not finished with your story. He is working in your life in so many surprising and amazing ways. Your failures and frustrations are temporal, His plan is eternal. I pray this blog and these stories will serve as a small window of hope, revealing a bigger picture of your circumstances, illuminated by the brilliant light of His promises.</div><div><br /></div><div>Come on over and let me know what you think.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-73881640635257645862011-09-17T14:28:00.000-04:002011-09-17T14:58:04.178-04:00"In hope he believed against hope"<p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; ">I began reading through “The Bible in a Year” only two years ago. I use the ESV reading plan.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Last year (at the age of 44) I read through the entire bible in 12 months, for the first time in my life. Thus beginning a new way of daily bible reading and devotions that through the grace of God will continue for the rest of my life.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I write this post to emphasize the importance of daily, prayerful, structured, meditation over God’s word. By following a "read through the bible" plan, you will be absolutely amazed how God will reveal Himself each morning as you systematically drink in the scriptures.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">You will also be amazed at your daily dependance on this routine. After a few months it will become a habit. The habit will then transform into a priority, and the priority will develop into a passion for God’s word. You will soon awaken to the anticipation of what God will reveal or say to you this new day.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This was the case for me only a few days ago as I came across a very helpful passage from Romans 4. I say “helpful” because only the night before I lay in my bed tossing and turning in unbelief with a thousand impossible scenarios running through my head.</span></p> <ul> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="vertical-align: -1.0px; letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Our son, Jake, is still living five hours away from home. We feel so distant from his life. He must be moved to another facility in two years. Most places have at least a two year waiting list. There are no acceptable facilities available in our area. The outlook for a closer proximity without lowering his care standards seem dim to impossible.</span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="vertical-align: -1.0px; letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Our house has been for sale for a year now. The housing market has bottomed out in our area. We are currently carrying three mortgages (two on our current house and one rental home) The lurking shadow of foreclosure creeps towards our door each month, and each month it is chased away by God’s amazing grace. Still, we have almost given up on selling our house. And even on a shoestring budget the outlook for getting ahead seems impossible.</span></li> <li style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="vertical-align: -1.0px; letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I work evening shift, 4PM to midnight. Many weeks I have to work 7 days. All of my kids are in school. That means when they get home, I leave for work. When I get home, they are in bed. I have two teenage boys who really need their dad right now (not to mention a little girl who needs my fatherly attention). I am gone most of the week and I am beginning to see some waywardness in their lives. A sense of parenting and leadership failure is lurking and I cannot find a way to make the situation any better. My work schedule appears impossible.</span></li> </ul> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And so I lay awake, wondering what I will do, what God will do with these “impossible” scenarios. The next morning, during my daily, systematic, structured, meditation of God’s word, I came across Romans 4:17-21.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Speaking to God’s declaration of Abraham’s faith, Paul writes:</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><i>...in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. In hope he believed against hope.</i></b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><i>...No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.</i></b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">As I finished reading the passage, I found a treasure of God's gold. I read it forwards and backwards; over and over again as I came to this hope-filled conclusion:</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Abraham was fully convinced of God’s promises. He had hope in “impossible” circumstances because he knew God’s glory burned brightest in the realm of the inconceivable. Perhaps he had times of distrust, but <b><i>“no distrust made him waiver concerning the promises of God.”</i></b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">If death seemed like the end of hope, then he could hope in the God who could give life to the dead. If the solution to the problem did not exist, then he could have faith in the God who could call into existence the things that did not exist. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Abraham’s faith rested in the promises of God who created the possible from the impossible.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I closed my bible that morning with a prayer of praise, amazement, and thanksgiving, writing this entry in my journal:</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>I can have hope in the midst of hopelessness because I have a promise in the midst of the impossible. And if death itself should kill my hope, then I can have faith in a God who raises the dead. And if by some human reasoning, the solution to my circumstances is “impossible”, I can have faith in the God who can call into existence things that do not even exist. (Romans 4:17-2)</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>For His glory and my good. </i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>Amen.</i></span></p>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6284834466051368126.post-33023764941404759342011-08-16T10:09:00.000-04:002011-08-16T10:11:38.594-04:00God didn't make a mistake.<object width="640" height="390"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jf7cr74nbW8&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jf7cr74nbW8&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="390"></embed></object>Greg Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450685964958516936noreply@blogger.com2