Father's Day 2011

Carl was out of town last Sunday so we decided to celebrate Father's Day a week late after he returned. Last night the kids came over (coming and going throughout the evening between their various activities.) Later on, everyone ended up back here at home and we sat around our firepit on the back deck. We talked late into the night. It was quite amazing--humbling, really-- to look at my children's faces in the firelight, grown-up faces now, in the prime of life, as they verbally grappled with the philosophical stuff of life. We bounced from subject to subject, mostly just asking questions of each other, finding that there are relatively few simple answers that can be put in a box with a neat little ribbon tied around it.

*The infinite vastness of this universe we are a part of and how it was all created.

*Theological questions about God and His character. If we choose to follow this God by faith, is there ever a line we can cross where He turns us away, just gives up on us? If so, where is that line?

*Why bad things happen where God seems to be distant and purposely uninvolved, and why in some other cases there are blatant in-your-face miracles where His presence is completely real and so KNOWN.

*If a tiny baby comes into the world and dies at birth, most everyone, even those who propose no faith at all, believe that child is in Heaven, protected and safe. But what if an 20 year old somewhere in the heart of Africa dies before He has heard the message of Jesus, what do we believe happens to that person in eternity?


Just before Doug and Mandi left and we all turned in for the night, Tessa read the following quote. It summarizes my faith in a God who is vastly (and comfortingly) so much bigger than I am. He is God and I am not. And I am OK with that.

"We try to be reasonable about what we believe. What I believe is not reasonable at all. In fact, it’s hilariously impossible. Possible things aren’t worth much. These crazy impossible things keep us going.” Madeleine L’Engle

Whatever hurts us makes us stronger

My nephew Shawn Smucker has a way with words. He is an author and keeps an interesting daily blog.His reflections on life are unique, thought-provoking, often inspiring. I like how he thinks "outside the box" and spends more time asking questions than answering them.

Below is an excerpt that he wrote about his Grandma Smucker, who is also my 91 year-old mother-in-law. 8:15 Friday morning Mom Smucker called my husband's cell phone and her slurred speech on the other side of the line put us into immediate emergency mode.

Shawn writes:

"I’m sitting in the hospital room with grandma right now. Her wiry, gray hair reaches to her shoulders – having grown up Amish, she usually wears a covering, and I’ve never seen her with her hair down before. Someone came in to talk to us about her swallowing, now that one side of her throat might not cooperate. Some of her kids, my aunts and uncles, are in and out. She’s excited because she finally gets to eat.

She tries to lift food with her right hand, but the stroke has limited her mobility on that side, so her hand trembles and stops about three inches short of her mouth. She leans forward and uses her lower jaw to lift the food the rest of the way into her mouth. We want to help her eat. We tell her to use her left hand.

My cousin Tessa gets ready to leave the room. She’s recently had her own surgery and can barely walk. She leans in and hugs grandma. Grandma kisses her cheek a thousand times, holds on to her face with her still-strong left hand (as if letting go would be the end of her) and says over and over again in her slurred voice:

“Whatever hurts us makes us stronger. Whatever hurts us makes us stronger.”

I was in the hospital that day with Shawn. I knew Grandma was saying something over and over to Tessa: I sort of assumed she was praying. But I didn't hear the words.

How simple. How wise. "Whatever hurts us makes us stronger."

The athlete can never become a strong runner without the pain of working those muscles needed to perform. The mind will never develop well if it is not stimulated and "worked" to keep us alert and quick-thinking. And from an emotional perspective, nothing develops deep personal compassion and empathy for others like going through difficult times ourselves.

It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes by Oswald Chambers:
"When you are in the dark, listen, and you will hear a very precious message for someone else when you are in the light."

I guess after 91 years, Grandma Smucker has a lot to teach us.