Why do children have to die?

The past weekend Scott and I went to the upstate to visit with Scott's dad, my father-in-law. We call him Pop. Scott's sister was there too. Sunday was the 2-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's death and Pop wanted his family to be together on that day. Pop wanted Scott to sing in his church on Sunday the song Scott sang at her funeral.

My mother-in-law was on hospice care for nine months before her death, so there was a lot of time to think about her funeral service. Nobody actually did much talking about it, but everyone was thinking about it, and I think everyone must have been thinking something different. Pop was absolutely sure he wanted Scott to sing. Scott was absolutely sure that he would never make it through trying to sing at his mom's funeral without losing it. Scott spent all of those nine months telling me so.

When my mother in law did finally leave us for heaven, not only was Scott grieved, he was also a nervous wreck about the whole singing or not singing business. Pop has always been stubbornly persuasive with Scott. In the end Scott decided it was easier to say yes and struggle through it for Pop than to say no for his own personal relief.

During the funeral and with his agreement beforehand, I spent every minute up until it was time for Scott to sing trying to distract him from what was going on in the service. I guess a better way to say that is that I was trying to help him keep his focus on nothing but singing to help prevent him from losing it. When the time finally came and he got up to sing, a voice came out of him that I had never heard before. And it was beautiful. Scott made the sacrifice and let himself be used of God to bless others. I'm convinced that it was the voice of the Holy Spirit that I heard that day.

So, here we are two years later. Scott did sing that same song in his dad's church on Sunday. Lois was the reason we were all together that day and she was definitely missed, but it was a little easier to celebrate her life this time.

Later that afternoon as we got ready to leave Pop's house to head back home, another funeral procession was underway. Pop's house is right across the street from the cemetery so standing in the driveway, we had front row seats.

We had to wait for the procession to drive by before we could get out on the road. It was unlike anything I've ever seen before. It was Heather Brooke Center's funeral. She was a 8-year old little girl who was shot four times by the estranged husband of her father's girlfriend. It is a sad, sad story (you can read about it here). None of us know the family, but it didn't matter. We were still moved by what we saw.

There were hundreds and hundreds of motorcycles in the processional. One motorcycle even pulled the casket behind it in a carriage. I'm willing to bet that most of those riders didn't know the child either, but they wanted to pay tribute to this special situation.


Scott, who has sung for countless funerals for people ranging from those he didn't even know to his own mother, said, "but it's different when it's a child."

I stood there on the driveway in the sweltering heat. I had a napkin in my hand that I had been using to wipe perspiration off my face. As the cyclists drove by, a time or two I found myself waving my paper hankie at them before I realized what I was doing. Then, I was wiping the tears from my eyes with it. Again, I didn't know the child or anyone in her family.

But it's different when it's a child.

I have two good friends that are close to my age. They don't know each other because they live in different cities and are from different times in my life, but they have something in common besides having me as a friend. Both of these women lost sons to cancer before they ever reached double digits in age. I know that the death of those little boys changed their lives completely and forever.

I never knew Blake or Tyler either. (The anniversary of Tyler's death is this week too.) I didn't meet their moms until after they were gone.

I don't know how Ron & Cindy and Linda & Bobo have managed to beat the odds and stay married in spite of how difficult it must have been.

I don't know how they managed to continue to raise little girls after that, teaching them to love a brother they never really knew.

I just don't know. As I sit here and think about it I just can't imagine what it must be like.

Then I hear a voice in my heart and maybe I understand a little better.

"It's different when it's My child."

And I know it's the voice of God.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

What's in your house?

I had lunch with a friend today. She and I and a third friend try to get together for lunch once a week. Emphasis on the TRY part. We always plan on it, but it doesn’t always work out. Intersecting the schedules of three busy women is no easy task, but we do try. Today it was just two of us.

Our goal of getting together is to help and encourage each other in our own spiritual walk. We have a 3x5 notebook of index cards filled with scriptures we have attempted (again, emphasis on the ATTEMPTED part) to memorize. We share our prayer needs and pray together. We try to keep the conversation focused on how God is working and moving in and around our lives at that particular time.

Today, when my friend asked me what God was teaching me this week, I told her that God has had me looking around my house. I’m looking to see what’s in there. Really.

Elisha is the one who made me start thinking about it. There’s a story in 2 Kings (chapter 4) about a widow whose husband died leaving her and her two sons with a great deal of debt. The man that all the money was owed to was coming to take the sons as slaves as payment for the debt.

Elisha asked her, “Tell me, what do you have in your house?”

Turns out all she had was a little bit of oil.

After she followed a few instructions from Elisha, she filled not just a few, but many empty jars with oil. She ended up with more oil to sell which brought in enough money to pay back the debt with enough left over to live on.

The oil was in her house all along.

That’s what has stuck in my mind. It was in her house all along.

When I told my lunch buddy about it, her eyes got big and she could hardly wait to tell me what she’d been thinking all week.

She’s been studying John 2. There was a wedding going on there and they ran out of wine. After a few instructions from Jesus, they filled all the empty jars with water. They ended up with not just wine, but the best wine.

They started with empty jars. And water. Those things were in their house all along.

Those things were already there.

God took the provisions that the widow and the wedding party already had and made more than enough to go around. And made it the best.

My friend asked me, “What is it that you don’t have enough of that you need?”

Oh, my. How do I answer that?

I have plenty. I have more than a lot of people in this world and I am grateful for it all.

Still, there are some empty jars in my life. Emptied of things that money can’t buy.

But I’m going home to look again. I know I don't have any wine, but I do have a little oil. Whatever else is there, I know that God can and will use it to fill my jars if I follow His instructions.

His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." John 2:5

I did and still do

OK. There. It's done, finally.

I've been trying to get that picture posted all week.

I was out of town last week, and couple of days the week before too. Getting back in the swing of things after being away for a while gives me a headache. I want to whine about it because I like the road trips better than I like going to the grocery store and answering the phone at work and sorting laundry and piling up dirty dishes in the sink. Plus, there's a holiday at the end of this week, so nobody really wants to do anything anyway. Including me.

Except that I really, really, really, wanted to show off these roses. It's just taken me a week.

My sweet little husband put these roses in the church last Sunday in honor of our 23rd wedding anniversary. Sunday was actually the date of our anniversary.

Someone asked him at church that day, "At what point did you know it was going to stick?"

His answer: "June 28, 1986."

Good answer, honey. Good answer.

Buying me flowers is not typically something he does. And that's really OK with me. He's the kind of person who doesn't like to see the same scenery twice, so when he does something for a special occassion, chances are he will do something different the next time.

I am so-o-o-o-o not like that. Which is why I love him. He really is everything I am not.

We always do things completely differently. It doesn't matter what it is. If I start something on the right, he starts on the left. If he thinks something needs to go up, I'm looking down for it. I survey my options before I decide and then go, he goes on ahead to see what all the other options are and then decides. He looks at absolutely everything all along the way, I hurry up and get where I'm going and then and only then do I take time to look around. He drives fast and walks slowly. I walk fast and drive slowly.

We do, however, often have the same goal. We just never seem to have the same idea on how to get there.

So, I have no idea exactly how we have managed to stay married and happy for all these years.

But we obviously have had the same goal all along: keeping it stuck.

And it has.

I love you, Scottie.

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh. This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband. Ephesians 5:31-33

Kentucky wild Catts

I didn't go to church yesterday, which is unusual. I'm always at church. Scott and I spent the day traveling instead. We traveled through four states and this is where I woke up this morning:

Scott said this picture was appropriate with me in it because of the slogan and/or web address. Is he saying I'm wild? I think he meant that as a compliment. ;-)

Anyhoo....

So, back to the church thing. Like I said. I'm always there. Except for yesterday. And even though it is one of the most consistent things I do always and forever, I did not miss it one single bit yesterday. I was even a little giddy as we drove past church after church with cars in the parking lot, thinking to myself "nanny nanny boo boo, y'all are at church and I'm not!"

I think that's a good sign that it was time to take a break from it.

But I made up for it today.

I heard several wonderful men of God speak today. One of them was Michael Catt. He's the pastor of Sherwood Baptist Church in Albany, Georgia. They are the ones that made the Fireproof movie (and Facing the Giants and Flywheel).

Oh, oh, oh, what a message.

Here are some highlights:

• Everybody either knows Christ or needs Christ

• Carnal people won't care about lost people. Only spirit filled people will care about lost people

• There is a difference between being just welcomed and truly wanted

• If you're slinging mud, you're losing ground

• A great problem in our churches today is the presence of an absence - the absence of the Holy Spirit.

• Whatever your choice is regarding living in the spirit or not, either way there are consequences.

Wow. He said more in that 30 minute message than I've heard in several months of Sundays. Made me glad I came all this way to hear it.

I'm not going to want to go home.

As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. Ephesians 4:1-6

Miss Daisy's cantaloupe

I bought a cantaloupe this week for 99 cents. Yay! I was so excited because usually they cost two or three times that. Mmmmm, yummy. It’s one of my favorite summertime foods. I bought it at the Piggy Wiggly. Every time I say Piggy Wiggly out loud I always think of Driving Miss Daisy.

Scott and I saw the play at the Alliance Theatre in Atlanta a couple of years before it ever became a movie. When it eventually came out on DVD we just had to buy it. It has become one of those movies that we find ourselves pulling quotes from that seem to aptly apply to the clunky state of affairs we often we find ourselves in around here. Like…

“Highway robbry.” (that’s not misspelled, that’s just how Miss Daisy pronounces it.)

Or,

“Now that’s between me and Mr. Werthan.”

And,

“You’re a doodle, mama.”

In the story, Hoke (the old black man) and Miss Daisy (the old Jewish woman) were put into a situation by Boolie (Miss Daisy’s son) where they had to build a relationship that on their own, neither one of them would have chosen. It took Hoke and Miss Daisy a lifetime to learn to get along and really understand each other. I think they tried to accommodate each other without acknowledging that they were being accommodating (I think that’s a Southern thing!). In the end you recognize the great value in their strange and wonderful relationship.

So what does that have to do with my cantaloupe? Well, I didn’t get to eat much of it right away because I had to go to see my own mama. Actually, I went to take my dad to a doctor’s appointment, and my mom is part of that package.

They live in Georgia, about three hours south of here.

Miss Daisy lived in Georgia.

I went to chauffer mom and dad to the doctor.

Hoke was Miss Daisy’s chauffer.

Therefore, I am Hoke.

OK, not really.

I love my parents but I don’t always know what it is that I’m supposed to do for them. I don’t always understand what is it they want or need me to do. Like Miss Daisy, they rarely ever actually come out and say it.

I think it will take a lifetime to learn to get along and really understand each other.

So, I just keep sitting here in the car waiting for the directions. I’ll hear them eventually. And I when I do, I will go. It is, after all, their ride.

In the meantime, my dad still likes to take a spin behind the wheel. Every time I go to their house he always takes me on a golf cart tour around the property to show off all his flowers and trees and fruit and vegetable plants.

You know what I saw on the tour this time?

A cantaloupe vine.

All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away. For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me. John 6:37-38

Oh, my ottoman

Today my friend Linda and I were talking about how when something goes wrong, it is usually not just one something. It often ends up being a whole season of things going wrong. The past month and a half have been that way for me. On top of all the bad news about the economy and all the global distress, my own little world has been spinning way out of my control lately. More than once in the last couple of weeks I have ended up in a snotty bucket of tears just because I couldn't handle one more thing going wrong.

I was so tired of the "What else can go wrong" phase, so tired of the gloom. I needed some relief. Scott has sensed it too and has done a good job at trying to make me laugh.

I think I've mentioned before that Scott has an accelerated propensity for wordsmithing. I mean, he makes up his own words. He has recently come up with a new word for an old piece of furniture. Here's a picture of it.


It currently sits at the foot of our bed. There is a matching chair in the living room, but our bedroom is larger and has more space so that's where it's ended up. It also gets used more in the bedroom. Scott sits on it to put on his shoes and socks. And to take them off. You can see from the picture that it is lower than the bed. The foam cushion on the top is also a little, well, worn. When you sit on it you sink down into it and your knees end up higher than your rear end.

OK, I'll give you a minute to get that picture in your head.

Got it?

Now. That picture is the basis for Scott's new moniker for it.

The Squattoman.

Let me say that again. Squattoman.

Which had me laughing until I was crying. Again.

Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. Luke 6:21-23

What would they say?

I just got back from a funeral. We seem to be surrounded by a lot of that lately. Death, that is. I'm not usually the sad or weepy type at funerals, especially if the one who has passed was a believer in Jesus Christ. I just get homesick for my real home, not this temporary one. It just reminds me that there is eternal hope beyond this life and this crazy world I'm living in right now.

The same thought has plagued me after the two most recent deaths. Selfish as it may be, this was my thought: What did they say about me when they got to heaven and saw Jesus face to face?

Not that I would be their first topic of conversation upon arrival in heaven, mind you. But somewhere after the initial homecoming party when they needed a break from all the singing and dancing and they sat down to chat about all the old home folks. Not that that's even theologically sound, but if it were...what would they say about me to Jesus? What could they say?

Would they tell Jesus that they felt loved by me?

Would they tell Jesus that they knew I loved Him?

Would they tell Jesus that they saw His work in my life?

Would they tell Jesus that they never understood me?

Would they tell Jesus that they wished they had known me better?

Scott sang at the funeral today. The song he sang today, he has sung at countless funerals throughout his ministry. Whenever he sings it, he always gets a few more future requests from others to sing it at their funerals when they go too. If you're preplanning your service, I'm sure he will be happy to add you to the list if you wish.

The lyrics of the song are what I want them to say about me if they see Jesus before I do:

She sings because she's happy, she sings because she's free; she knows Your eye is on the sparrow, and she knows You watch her.

This video is not from the funeral today (actually not a funeral at all); but it's Scott singing the song. I know most of you have probably seen this before, but it's worth watching again.




Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Luke 12:7