A Vapor

¹⁴ Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.
                                                                                                                                          James 4:14

In the immediate aftermath of Jonathan's death, although he was absent from us physically his presence was all around us -- like a heavy mist.  It came in the form of expressions of love and disbelief from his friends, and from ours.  His presence was felt in the many cards and flowers that arrived at our door, and in the words and expressions of the many people who came to visit us.  He lived on the pages of Facebook, in the conversations of so many people who loved him and in the testimonials from his friends and family at the funeral service itself.

But, early on in this hellish journey it occurred to me that most people would soon forget about my son, and I grieved at the thought that Jonathan would never have a legacy.  Most of us will only be remembered for two generations -- by our children and our grandchildren.  But when someone so young passes away who will be there to remember?  For whatever reason, I found that thought to be particularly painful.

The hole that has been left by Jonathan's passing is not just a hole in our hearts, but in the physical reality of this world.  It is a physical hole left by the wedding that will never happen and the grandchildren who will never come.  It is the heartbreak that will inevitably be felt at every major event in the life of our family.  And even more it is, at least right now, his absence from the routine of life -- the moments that we shared as a family day to day, and that we must now continue to share without him.

We have a small shuffleboard table in a game room at the house, and Christian, Dani and I were playing several nights ago.  It was one of the first times we tried to be "normal" again.  There was nothing unusual about three of us playing, as on any given night one of the kids might be away doing their own thing.  But it was always better with four.  It was always better when Dani and I -- who were always the underdogs -- beat Jonathan and Christian, or at least gave them a good run for their money.

It was a good distraction from the burden of life, and for the moment the three of us even experienced a little joy again.  And then, somewhere along the way, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and for whatever reason the feeling of despair came rushing back.

I don't know why seeing myself triggered that response.  Perhaps it was seeing the sadness in my own eyes -- a sadness of which I had for a brief moment become unconscious.  Or maybe it was just because anything, anytime and anywhere can be a reminder of how radically, terribly and permanently our lives have changed.   Or maybe it was because I realized in that moment that a part of me had died with my son on that terrible Sunday -- that my legacy too had been altered forever. 

But, in the days since God has given me a better perspective about life and about legacy.  A major theme in the Book of James, and indeed a major theme of the entire Bible, is that few things we do in this life actually matter.  We are so often motivated by vain ambition, and we brag about what we have accomplished.  But in the end, the "accomplishments" that the world celebrates rarely have any real significance.  Instead, all that really matters is our acts of kindness -- our love for other people.

A little over a year ago Jonathan got the opportunity to interview for a job at a health care company called "Concentra."  He was excited beyond belief.  He had graduated from Baylor University several years earlier during an extremely bad point in the economy and in an extremely difficult job market.  Pam and I were so impressed at how hard Jonathan, in the face of that adversity, worked to make a living and to find a career.

Despite his Baylor degree, Jonathan started waiting tables after graduation, later went into retail and had worked his way into managing a shoe department in a major department store.  It was not what he hoped to be doing with his life, but he never complained, was rarely discouraged, and worked like crazy to earn his way into something better.  So, when the opportunity to work at Concentra came along -- the opportunity to do something he would be proud of and passionate about -- it was huge for him.

When Jonathan returned from his interview he had mixed feelings about how it went.  He told me that he thought most of the interview went extremely well.  But he confided that there was one part he thought he had blown, and was concerned that it might have been a deal breaker.

I don't recall exactly how it came up, but I believe someone asked Jonathan about the most difficult thing he had to deal with at his job at the department store.  Jonathan told the folks conducting the interview that there had been a little old man from Pakistan who worked under him selling men's shoes.  He told them what a hard worker this man had been, and how dependable and trustworthy he was.  The problem was that he was not a very effective salesman, and the department store had a very strict policy -- meet your quota or find another job.

Jonathan described his efforts to coach the man on sales, and explained how he himself had made numerous sales which he credited to the man's numbers in an effort to help him reach that quota.  But still, the man just could not manage to hit the necessary target. 

Knowing the inevitability of the man being fired, Jonathan appealed to upper management to save the man's job.  He pleaded with them to find the man a non-sales position -- maybe even working the loading dock.  But policy was policy, and it broke Jonathan's heart to see the man let go.

During the interview with Concentra, as Jonathan recounted the story, as he recalled the heartbreak of his friend losing his job, Jonathan's emotions got the best of him and a few tears escaped from his eyes.  He was embarrassed -- actually mortified.  He was interviewing for a management position, and he felt that his inability to contain his emotions in that moment might have cost him the job that he so desperately wanted.  He was concerned the interviewers would deem him too soft to make the hard decisions that managers of people must sometimes make.

I told my son that he shouldn't worry about it, and that if the folks at Concentra were good people, far from being a deal breaker, that expression of compassion for others would have been the highlight of his interview.  And, even now I like to think that moment helped him get his dream job.

The night of Jonathan's viewing a large group of people who worked for my son at Concentra were among the first to come and pretty much the last to leave.  Jonathan had an excellent year working there.  The numbers for the location he managed greatly exceeded those from the year before he arrived, and I am confident that was due largely to his hard work.

But his fellow employees were not there at the end to honor Jonathan because of numbers and operational results.  They were there because our son had made an impression on them that Pam and I continue to marvel at.

I have mentioned before that one of the young men who worked for Jonathan told me that he had planned to ask Jonathan to be the godfather to his son.  A woman who worked for Jonathan, and whose husband also worked for my son, told me that prior to hearing of Jonathan's passing she had never seen her husband cry.  But that night -- the night they heard the terrible news -- her husband wept uncontrollably.

It is already easy to see how quickly the vapor that was Jonathan's life is dissipating.  Those who knew him only in passing have returned to the routine of their lives, and even those who continue to support Pam, Christian, Dani and I, although they will still see our pain, they will likely give little thought to who Jonathan was.  Indeed, despite my best efforts to keep him alive through this blog, the number of people who read about him diminishes with each new writing -- barely a trickle compared to the interest people had when the tragedy was still fresh in their minds.

My son may not leave a legacy in the form of children or grandchildren.  It may be that fifty years from now only a few people will continue to keep him in their thoughts -- and then only occasionally and for a passing moment when they see a particular picture, or hear a particular song, or visit a particular place -- or when some other little thing reminds them of their brother or friend.

But Jonathan will always have a legacy.  It is a legacy that will endure for eternity.  It continues in the form of treasures in heaven built through acts of kindness toward the people he loved while he was with us.

I don't know whether any of Jonathan's friends from Concentra read or even know of this blog.  But if you are there, if you are reading this, I want to leave you with one last word:

"Donuts?!"


¹³ Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. ¹⁴ But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. ¹⁵ Such “wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. ¹⁶ For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.

¹⁷ But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. ¹⁸ Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.

                                                                                                        James 3:13-17




 
 

The Beginning

It is perhaps a rather obvious observation that each one of us lives a life that is uniquely our own.  Although those closest to us -- our family and maybe our closest friends -- may know a great deal about us, they can never see the world exactly as we do -- nor us as they do.  Even Pam, my closest companion, does not even perceive our common experiences exactly as I do.

In the first  couple of weeks after Jonathan passed away I could really only think of him in terms of the devastation of the immediate loss and the staggering change in the course of my future -- in the course of my family's future.  But Jonathan was not there at the beginning of my life, and now will not be there at the end.  He is and was, instead, part of the mosaic that is my life, and in large measure the fulfillment and manifestation of my hopes and dreams -- but even more so of Pam's dreams.

There are many places I could start, but the most obvious I think is January of 1981, when I set out on what I thought was merely another adventure.  After high school I attended college in San Luis Obispo, California for just over a year before moving with my friend Marty to San Francisco.  After the failure to jump start a music career up north, I returned to the town I had mostly grown up in -- Whittier.  The plan was to spend a semester at Whittier College before heading to Hawaii to take care of my sister while her husband was on the other side of the world serving as a Marine Corps pilot.

So, in January 1981 I headed to Hawaii to continue my education at the University there.  When the semester was over Marty again joined me in Hawaii.  Even though we were living with my sister, we needed to find work quickly to pay for ourselves, and we ended up getting jobs handing out "time share" brochures on Waikiki Beach.

The first night we were out three very attractive young ladies walked by the place on the street where I was handing out brochures.  I stopped them, handed them a brochure and told them not to be too disappointed, but that I would not be there if they decided to attend the free breakfast put on by the "time share" folks (it was a joke of course!).  They didn't seem at all interested in me, and I soon forgot all about them as I continued my work.

When Marty and I finished our shift we went to find a bar where we could spend our remaining dollars on a couple of beers (yes, I was 21 and, yes, I drank beer back then).  The first place we came to was called "The Crow's Nest."  We looked inside, saw it was virtually all men inside and decided to move on.  However, just as we were leaving on closer inspection we saw that there were actually three young ladies in the place -- the same three girls I had encountered on the street an hour or two earlier.

Marty and I sat down, and when the waitress came by she asked us if we would like to buy drinks for the three ladies sitting next to us.  Given that between us we could barely scratch up enough money to buy a beer each, we politely declined but offered that we would gladly accept if the three girls were inclined to buy drinks for us.  Not surprisingly, they were not so inclined.

One of the girls was rather forward with us, which Marty and I (believe it or not) did not really care for.  The other two girls also seemed somewhat put off by this, and never became part of the initial conversation.  But, at some point all three of the girls got up to go to the ladies room, and Marty and I decided to seize the opportunity.  When they were returned we were sitting at their table.  I am not sure of their initial reaction, but ultimately they accepted their fate and sat back down with us.

I was immediately taken by a tall, pretty blond.  She told me she was an artist, but would never be in it for the money.  She just wanted to create beautiful things.  She told me that more than anything in the world she wanted to be a momma.   She dreamed of having an art studio in her home and playing with her children.  That was her life's ambition -- the one dream she had held onto since she was a little girl.  Of course, the tall blond girl's name was Pam.

Throughout the time that we dated Pam remained open about the fact that motherhood was her goal in life.  In fact, if that first night were not enough, one of our first dates after I returned to California was visiting the maternity ward at a local hospital to look at babies.  No, not the baby of anyone Pam knew -- just random babies!

In the years that followed, Pam would frequently comment on how remarkable it was that I still wanted to date her after that first night.  I guess she just figured that talking about marriage and children on what was not even really a first date would have scared most 21 year old guys away.

But, one thing lead to another, and Pam and I were married in the middle of my second year of law school.  I still count when I first saw her standing in the back of the church in her wedding dress as one of the two most important and wonderful moments of my life.

Within a year and a half or so of getting married, Pam learned that her life-long dream had become a reality -- she was pregnant.  She was overjoyed -- I was incredibly nervous.  Honestly, I was not really ready to be a father.  We finally had a little money to our name, and I was hoping we could do some fun things together before we got too settled -- like go on vacations!  But then again, who could argue with such a blessing.

Then, one day not too far into the pregnancy we woke up and quickly determined that something had gone terribly wrong.  We immediately drove to the doctor's office, and had confirmed the unthinkable -- Pam had lost the baby.  To make matters worse, the doctor presented the facts in cold, matter-of-fact terms -- not a hint of compassion in his voice or words.

If you have never suffered a miscarriage, you cannot know the pain of that experience.  It is just something that is impossible to understand (although even that pales in comparison to where we are now).  And, in this case it shattered the dreams Pam had since she was a little girl.  (Over the years, we would endure 5 miscarriages -- including the loss of our little boy named Dylan).

As soon as we could, Pam and I set about having a child -- this time intentionally.  I think for Pam in particular there was a new sense of urgency.  Among the many complex feelings that a miscarriage produces is the question of whether having children is possible at all.  For both of us there was a need to fill the hole left by the first failed pregnancy.

So, when Jonathan came along, he was truly the answer to our prayers.  He was the product of Pam's life-long ambition to be a momma -- and what a great momma she was!  Although we love all of our kids equally, there is nothing to compare to the birth of your first child.  June 10, 1986 -- the day Jonathan was born -- was the second of the two greatest moments in my life.

In the days to come I may share more with you about our family -- if I am able.  And, I appreciate your indulgence if I do.  I know I am straying from the purpose of this blog.

But for now, I just want to say this.  We often talk about God having a plan for our lives -- and indeed He does.  But, at least for me, I have rarely found that my plan and God's plan correspond to one another.  Somewhere in the pages of this blog I think I have explained how I became an "accidental lawyer" and later an "accidental pastor" -- if not, someday I will.

Having Jonathan in our life was the same way.  He was an answer to prayer.  The timing of the answer to that prayer was in God's hands all along -- not ours.  And, the time when God would welcome him back home was in God's hands all along -- not ours.

For some reason, we as Christians are always looking for the great purpose for our lives.  And, sometimes I think that quest actually diverts us from God's plan, as we follow our own ambitions instead of His will for us.  I really think that at the end of the day God just wants us to focus on loving Him, loving one another, and sharing the gospel message.  And loving others starts at home -- with our husbands, with our wives and, of course, with our children.

Indeed, if there is anything that I have learned in my spiritual journey, it is that my plans really don't much matter.   Even Solomon eventually learned that all of his plans, all of his ambitions and of his accomplishments were ultimately meaningless.  Only one thing ultimately mattered.


⁹ Not only was the Teacher wise, but he also imparted knowledge to the people. He pondered and searched out and set in order many proverbs. ¹⁰ The Teacher searched to find just the right words, and what he wrote was upright and true.
¹¹ The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails—given by one shepherd. ¹² Be warned, my son, of anything in addition to them.
Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body.

¹³ Now all has been heard;
    here is the conclusion of the matter:
Fear God and keep his commandments,
    for this is the duty of all mankind.
¹⁴ For God will bring every deed into judgment,
    including every hidden thing,
    whether it is good or evil.

                                                                                   Ecclesiastes 12:9-14

Oh, and Pam asked that I add this link to a great song, which reminds us that love starts at home.

I want to be just like you ....

Heaven 3

I have in this blog twice before written about heaven.  But this time, of course, is different.

In the past few years both my father and his brother passed away, and in both cases the grief of the loss was tempered by the joy of knowing that they were in a better place -- both were in heaven.  And, while I have an equal confidence that Jonathan is with the Lord, that reality seems to do little to soften the blow of losing my son. 

It may seem odd, but from very early after the tragedy of that day I have had a very specific image of Jonathan's new life.  I see him about six years old, running in a meadow with grass up to his waist chasing butterflies.  And, I see myself one day taking him by the hand and running with him.

For a very long time now, although I fear dying, I have not feared death itself.  It is not that I do not enjoy my life -- I do.  Like most people I look forward to being here for the important milestones in the life of my family.  I cannot imagine not being there to see Dani in her wedding dress or for the birth of Christian's first son or daughter.  I have great dreams of Pam and I growing old together.  And, I believe firmly in the call that God has on our lives, and that the work He has set out for us to do is far from accomplished. 

But there is also this part of me that is torn between this world and the next.  It comes, I suppose, from a confidence that heaven is real, and that eternity with God will be so much better than even the greatest part of this life.  The Apostle Paul expressed this very conflict in his letter to the Philippians:

²¹ For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. ²² If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! ²³ I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; ²⁴ but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. ²⁵ Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, ²⁶ so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ Jesus will abound on account of me.
                                                                                                                                
                                                                                                                                                                Philippians 1:21-26

More so than before I find myself torn between this world and the next, knowing that only in the next will I be with Jonathan again.  It is only in the next that the pain of losing him can really be healed.

For the past several months my wife Pam has had on her heart a different kind of urgency that people know Jesus and know that heaven is real.  She has come to really grieve over the thought of anyone coming to the end of their life without the faith and hope that we have in Christ.

As a consequence, we had over the course of a couple of months focused much our prayer life on the salvation of the people we love.  And, a big part of that had been asking God to deepen the faith of our own children, so that there would be no doubt about their eternities.  As I have mentioned before, this was so deeply on Pam's heart that she insisted that I preach on "saving faith" on the very Sunday that Jonathan later went home to be with the Lord.  In retrospect, of course, we can see that this pull on Pam's heart in particular was no coincidence.

Since the events of that terrible Sunday, there have been numerous confirmations of Jonathan's salvation.  Among them, a pastor from Anchorage Alaska of all places sent Pam and I a note describing time he spent with Jonathan five years ago in which our son recommitted his life to Jesus.  We had no idea.

Others have described their own moments where God has reminded them of the reality of heaven.  At Jonathan's funeral my cousin Steve, with tears running down his face, described to me his own such encounter with God.  It brought me such comfort and peace that I asked Steve if I could share this very personal moment with you.  So, Steve sent me the following note recounting the experience.

Dear John:

I just hope this helps others as much as it has helped me. My father-in-law passed away several years ago, my father in August 2011 and my senior law partner Tom Murchison in January 2012. I teach Sunday School and one of my stronger members was going through a battle with cancer. It was a true roller coaster, in and out of remission. The cancer finally came back with a vengeance to the point she had a hole in her chest. It really weighed heavy on me as I hated to see her suffer. I was praying for some understanding and seeking reassurance in scripture.

My wife was doing all she could and even offering some of her Beth Moore Bible study material to read. I just could not find the peace I needed after weeks of consistent prayer. One night I had a vivid dream. Mr Tom Murchison (a Sunday School teacher and longtime Deacon) was in a corner of a bright room, one without walls. He was laughing as my Dad was pulling on his arm. There was someone behind them who I could not see.

They were SO happy. Dad and I hugged each other and he and I started walking down a bright hall with no walls. I asked him to tell me about heaven and he started to talk when I asked him to stop since I wanted it to be a surprise. He just smiled, nodded, hugged me and the dream faded away. I felt immediate peace but it was just the beginning. I woke up that morning and my wife was crying. I asked her why (I am crying as I type this) and she said she had a dream that night. Her Dad was in his garden in heaven and so happy. It totally overwhelmed me. We had not discussed this that night or even the day before. 

I know God was saying he knows we live in a crazy world where unexplainable things happen but there is a heaven and the Creator of the universe knows all and will ALWAYS be in control. Since this happened the things of this world have had a much smaller influence. May this help others find the Peace I was so desperately seeking. 

Love,

Steve

Let me leave you with this final note, which also appeared in my previous blogs about heaven.  Several years ago during a family trip to Montana Pam, the kids and I listened to a book called "Heaven is for Real" while driving out.  "Heaven is for Real" is a pretty amazing story about a boy who, just shy of his fourth birthday, had an encounter with heaven and lived to tell about it.  I know -- I have read a number of these stories about near-death experiences and encounters with God and I often approach them with the same skepticism as many of you do.  This particular story is a little different though.

First, the things the little boy saw in heaven seemed to have striking biblical support.  Although the boy is a pastor's son, many of the things he spoke about in simple terms were far too complex and specific for a child that age to have learned in Sunday School -- or even in a pastor's home.  Even more compelling -- without giving away all of the details -- the little boy came back from heaven with knowledge of things (particularly about his family) that he simply could not have known.  For example, he was able to describe in detail where his parents were and what they were doing while he was in the operating room.  Perhaps his most compelling revelation though was about the composition of his family.

One day long after his brush with heaven this boy apparently announced to his mother in a matter-of-fact way that he had two sisters.  When the mother corrected him that he only had one, he insisted there were two.  He said he met a little girl in heaven who looked a lot like his older sister, but with different colored hair.  He said the little girl introduced herself as his sister, and told him she had died in his mother's tummy.  The little girl said she did not have a name because his parents had not given her one.

The mother immediately began to cry.  You see, she had miscarried years earlier and she and her husband had never told the boy.  The parents apparently had picked out a name for a boy, but at the time of the miscarriage were down to two choices in the event it was a girl.  So, the little girl never had a name.

Following the deaths of my uncle and my father, thinking about what heaven is really like suddenly had a lot more practical value than I had previously realized.  It became clear to me that being able to speak about heaven with some specificity and being able to speak about it in clear terms can be a powerful source of comfort and encouragement for people.  Pam wants to give a copy of "Heaven is for Real" to everyone who has recently lost a loved one for that reason.  I highly suggest you read it ... with an open mind.

Oh, by the way, the little boy in the story met Jesus and described Him to his parents.  For some time after they showed him numerous paintings and drawings of Jesus.  But, he said none of them were quite right ... until he saw one painted by a little girl who is the subject of the link below.  You might want to check it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MdJovn1hP0&feature=share

Day 14

It is nearly 10:00 a.m.  Dani has gone off to school.  Pam and Christian are still sleeping, in no hurry I suspect to greet the fourteenth morning since that day.  The house is quiet and still.

It would be natural at this time to constantly run through the myriad of questions that I suspect I one day will have -- the hows, the whys and the what ifs.  But I cannot get there now.  My thoughts bounce back between denial -- my inability to accept that Jonathan is gone -- and the hole that can never possibly be filled because of his absence.

The pain of seeing my family of five become a family of four -- forever incomplete and forever broken -- is beyond description.  If you are a parent you know that there is no way to describe the birth of your children, and particularly your first.  It is an experience of overwhelming emotion and of overwhelming joy.  An so it is with the loss of a child.

It is an experience unto itself.  It is a place of special torment.  It is a deep and dark hole in which we awaken each morning.  

I really need to get back to work this morning, but the thought of doing so is agonizing.  Even worse is just being alone with my thoughts.  So, in an effort to move things forward and occupy a little time I called the financing company that Jonathan used to buy his car.  I needed to let them know he didn't need it anymore.    

When I dialed the number I thought I was fine.  But when the lady on the other end of the phone asked how she could help me I could barely get the words out.  I had not planned on which of the awful words to use to explain the situation with my son, but the word "deceased" is the one that came out.  The woman on the line said she was sorry for my loss, but unlike some of the other, similar conversations I have of necessity had in the last two weeks, I could hear in her voice that her heart also ached in that moment.

I briefly recovered and the woman began to ask the necessary questions to solve the problem of the car.  Several times as I struggled to get the words out she kindly told me to take my time, and that she was in no hurry.  At the end of our conversation, when the business was done, she said "goodbye, and God bless you."

I have many times over the years taught that Christian love must be "sincere."  Indeed, one true mark of authentic Christian love is that we "rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn."  And though it did not lessen my pain in that moment, authentic Christian love is exactly what I experienced on the fourteenth morning in the most unlikely place ... and it was a beautiful thing.


⁹ Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰ Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹ Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.

                                                                                                  Romans 12:9-15

The New Normal

Almost every Saturday morning I meet with an awesome group of men who share in common the desire to get closer to God, to understand Him better and to become more like Him in character.  As much as I enjoy our Saturday mornings together, though, this morning I found myself completely unmotivated to go.  Mornings and evenings have become particularly painful for me.

But, a number of the guys I spend Saturday mornings with had agreed to help me move Jonathan's things from his apartment into storage today, and I didn't really think it right not to show up for our Bible study.  And, I am so glad I did.

This year the group seemed to start off in a deeper place than we have been before.  The guys generally seemed more passionate than ever about drawing closer to God and closer to one another.  They also seemed to have a greater zeal than ever before about doing good works of all kinds outside of the church.  In fact, through all of January it really felt like God was taking us somewhere new -- building toward something significant.

This morning my friend Mark led the study.  Mark has led many times in the past, and he always does a great job.  But today was different. Several times Mark's emotions got the better of him as he talked about the sacrifice that God made for us and the kind of love that God calls us to have for one another.  He took us to that place where the teaching of Jesus is stripped down to its essence.  He spoke passionately about how this revelation about love was changing dramatically his marriage and his family -- indeed how it was changing him.

Honestly, I really believe that today may have been a game changer for this group of men.  Although Mark was speaking, it felt like he was speaking for the entire group.  And, for perhaps the first time, I felt like collectively we got it.  For the first time I felt that collectively we finally understood at a heart level that the Christian walk really does largely boil down to putting God first and putting others ahead of ourselves.

Perhaps that seems simple.  But I really believe that it is a revelation that few Christians ever really understand.

When we finished for the morning I was both excited about what I had just witnessed, and uneasy about the next few hours.  My friend Brad and I headed over to pack up Jonathan's remaining belongings from his apartment, before other friends would arrive to help load the truck.  It was the scene of the terrible events of just over a week ago -- the very place where my son drew his last breath.

At first I was surprised by the business-like way I was able to go about sorting through his things -- deciding which things would come home and which would go into storage.  But ultimately and inevitably I found myself overwhelmed by the emotion the moment.

I know that my thoughts were far from rational, but perhaps they never are in times like these.  As we began to move furniture and bags of clothes outside to the truck the reality of the situation began to sink in.  Jonathan was gone and he was not coming back to us.  It is, of course, a reality I had already accepted.  But, somehow with every new milestone it is a reality that I am forced to accept all over again, and this time was more painful than any of the milestones that had preceded it.

When the apartment was empty I went to lock the door for the last time, and somehow was caught off guard by the flood of emotion in that moment.  As I turned the key and the deadbolt moved into place, it felt as though I was locking Jonathan himself into that terrible place.  It was as if all of the hopes and dreams that Pam and I had for our son, and all the hopes and dreams that he had for himself, were being sealed inside of that apartment.  Our family's future without Jonathan never seemed so real to me.

Pam and I continue to gain comfort from the knowledge that Jonathan is in a better place, and cannot imagine how anyone could survive this kind of loss without faith and without the love and support of a church family.  We know that one day joy will return to us.  But we also know that this hole will never be filled.  We know that in the future even in the times of our greatest joy, indeed particularly during our times of greatest joy, we will also experience our greatest pain -- the pain that will come from knowing that our son is not there to celebrate with us.  Like it or not, that is our new normal.

The "D" Word

Forgive me if this is a little disjointed today.  But, that is just a reflection of where I have been the last two days.

Two nights ago several of Jonathan's good friends, Tommy, Emily, Jacob, Andrew and Katelyn, showed us an incredible kindness by coming to the house for dinner.  It was great to hear them all speak fondly of their memories of time spent with our son.  Most of the stories we had heard before, but a few were new to us -- at least to me and Pam.  At one time or another each of these young people has been a regular part of our lives, and having them all in the house felt familiar -- comfortable.

That day had been oddly peaceful -- or at least I felt more numb than in other recent days.  In fact, at one point I even felt a little guilty that my pain was not greater.  That is not a mistake I will make again, as the time since that night has been mostly agonizing.

The lone exception was last night when I returned to the church to teach for the first time since the horror of that Sunday.  It is amazing, but every time I have been to the church since then has been a time of unbelievable peace.  I am so grateful for my Wednesday night friends, and appreciate the grace they extended for what must have been a somewhat disorganized teaching.

Wednesday nights are about stripping the gospel bare -- bringing the message of Jesus back to its essence. It is about heart change that leads to following Jesus blindly.  It is about learning to live a life that is focused on bringing glory to God, loving others and advancing the gospel.  It is about learning to be selfless and loving even in the face of adversity and our own struggles in life.  It is about being the salt and light that God calls us to be regardless of our circumstances.

Over this last week I have marveled at how my wife exemplifies the qualities of a true disciple of Christ.  Not once has she been angry at God for allowing this to happen.  Indeed, she is convinced that God's plan for Jonathan was better than ours, and she has repeatedly expressed her gratitude that God allowed us to be the parents of such a wonderful young man for twenty-seven years, seven months, and twenty-two days.

In the midst of the worst horror I can imagine, she has reminded me time and time again that through our trial and agony other people can come to see the value of an authentic relationship with Christ, the hope and peace that can only come from God, and the incredible blessing of being part of a loving and supportive church community.  It is her great hope that God will yet use Jonathan's life to draw many people to an eternity with Jesus.  She really is pretty amazing.



"The path of discipleship is narrow, and it is fatally easy to miss one's way and stray from the path, even after years of discipleship.  And it is hard to find.  On either side of the path deep chasms yawn.  To be called to a life of extraordinary quality, to live up to it, and yet be unconscious of it is indeed a narrow way.  To confess and testify to the truth of Jesus, and at the same time to love the enemies of that truth, his enemies and ours, and to love them with the infinite love of Jesus Christ, is indeed a narrow way.  To believe the promise of Jesus that his followers shall possess the earth, and at the same time to face our enemies unarmed and defenseless, preferring to incur injustice rather than do wrong ourselves, is indeed a narrow way.  To see the weakness and wrong in others, and at the same time refrain from judging them; to deliver the gospel message without casting pearls before swine, is indeed the narrow way.  The way is unutterably hard, and at every moment we are in danger of straying from it.  If we regard this way as one we follow in obedience to an external command, if we are afraid of ourselves all the time, it is indeed an impossible way.  But if we behold Jesus Christ going on before step by step, we shall not go astray.  But if we worry about the dangers that beset us, if we gaze at the road instead of at him who goes before, we are already straying from the path.  For he himself is the way, the narrow way and the straight gate.  He, and he alone, is our journey's end."

                                                                                              Dietrich Bonhoeffer
                                                                                          "The Cost of Discipleship"





  

The Journey Begins

It has now been over a week since we first heard the terrible news of Jonathan's passing.  Most of the family has gone.  The frenzy to prepare for his funeral and the noise of a house crowded with people are behind us.  The "ceremony" of his passing is over.  What remains is stillness and quiet.

I cannot yet accept that my son is no longer here, though admittedly it seems less and less like a dream.  The beautiful flowers that crowd the kitchen, the copies of the program from the service resting on the kitchen table and the few pictures that have not yet been returned to their proper place all stand in sharp conflict with my unwillingness to accept this new reality.  Even as I type this note, the weight of his watch fastened to my wrist serves as a constant reminder that he is in fact no longer with us.

Today has been particularly difficult, although every day brings a new and unique flavor of heartache and despair.  I think that is so because each day so far has been its own milestone, and as each milestone passes the finality of our loss becomes more and more real.

For a week Jonathan has remained alive, if only in the hearts and thoughts of hundreds if not thousands of people -- his presence has surrounded us like a heavy mist.  But today most have gone back to their ordinary lives -- focused again on their own families, careers and daily tasks, and Jonathan's memory has, I fear, already begun to dissipate.  Even this blog, I am afraid, may be just part of a futile effort to keep him with us just a little bit longer.  Yet, in the midst of all of this there have been moments of incredible peace.

Last Wednesday night I went to church to drop in on the class that I normally facilitate each week.  I walked into the sanctuary to find this wonderful group of people, whom I have grown to love so much, praying and worshiping the Lord.  As I stood in the doorway just watching them that "peace of God that transcends all understanding" fell over me -- even if only for a brief time.  Philippians 4:7.  I could have stood in that doorway for hours, as the burden of that week was lifted completely off of my shoulders.

Then on Sunday, Pam made the decision to attend the 11:00 a.m. service.  We, I think naturally, had reservations about returning to church just a day after the funeral service.  Our plan was to get in and out as quickly as possible, as we were exhausted from a late Friday night and a very long Saturday.

At the end of the service Pastor Dan unexpectedly called us up for prayer.  Although I greatly appreciated the sentiment, I also feared my wife's reaction.  Pam neither needs nor wants to be the center of attention, and for the previous two days she had been just that.  She also loves to give, but to be honest has trouble receiving sometimes -- as I suppose many of us do.

But as our church family surrounded us, unencumbered by the formality of the previous two days, we felt both the peaceful presence of the Holy Spirit and the limitless love of our incredible Heartland family.  Just as the pain of losing a child is indescribable, so is the comfort that comes from the love of a body of believers who have taken to heart the calling of scripture to "rejoice with those who rejoice" and "mourn with those who mourn."  Romans 12:15.  These are hallmarks of those who have the true love of Christ in them.

Then, as people were coming by in the front of the sanctuary and just loving us, a beautiful young lady
came forward with the courage to tell me of a dream she had.  And this is what she said:

"I would like to share with you about a dream that I had on Thursday night. You and some other people from Heartland were in a little room, including my family. You were standing on a small stage and you were talking and preaching to us about your son and how you will get through this. Every one was crying and hugging and praying. Then I saw a spirit and I couldn't see the face but I knew it was your son -- he was standing behind you praising God. I could feel God's amazing presence too and he told me that every thing will be alright and that you guys will get through this."

Today, as I said, has been an incredibly difficult day. But tomorrow will be a new one. So, Pam, Christian, Dani and I will cling to the hope that is in Christ, we will draw on the power of the Holy Spirit, we will stand together, and we will gratefully accept the love of our friends and family. We will rejoice that our son is full of joy in the presence of God, and we ourselves, I am convinced, will not only survive this, but one day we will see "that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

Romans 8:18.

Thank you again my friends for your prayers and your love.

John

⁹ Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰ Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹ Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.
¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.
                                                                          Romans 12:9-15  

    

My Son's Other Life

Like it or not, every one of our children, and particularly our adult children, has two lives.  There is the life we know, and there is the life they have without us.  It is the life that happens when they are at school, at work, with their friends, and even in the quiet moments when they are alone with their thoughts and dreams.  It is actually the life we take pride in.  But, it is also the life that has the potential to crush us.

Friday night was a more healing time than I could have imagined.  That night we learned so much about Jonathan's other life that we really never knew.

We knew what Jonathan's closest friends thought of him.  We also knew that he was well liked in the various places he worked since college.  We knew he was a hard worker who went above and beyond to get the job done.  But, for whatever reason, we only had a glimpse of his compassion and love for people.

Jonathan expressed his love to us frequently.  But I suppose it would have been strange for him to talk about how much he loved the people who worked with and for him, or how much they loved him.

It was amazing to hear time and time again the people who worked for Jonathan tell us not only that he was admired and respected, but more importantly that he was not just a boss, but a friend.  Each one told us how much Jonathan cared about them as people -- how he would spend time with them, encourage them and listen to their problems.  One young man told me that his entire family was in Mexico -- he had no one here in Texas -- and how Jonathan had reached out to him.  He told me that he had planned on asking Jonathan to be the godfather for his son.  These people came, and wept, for my son.

"Jon was a ray of light when he entered the room. He always had a huge smile on his face and something to say that would make you laugh within minutes of his arrival. His sense of humor was in a category all on its own. He was my debating partner at work & we would have so much fun debating anything & everything. We always ended up laughing & then moving onto talks about his love of his family, the new wine he liked, & of course, girls. He was a romantic at heart & made sure he always treated people with the utmost respect. He was a compassionate, giving person who was always thinking about buying new shoes for his sister & his mom. What made Jon so unique is that he would try to come across as a somewhat tough guy, but inside you saw a complete softie with an amazingly huge heart. If you needed something, he was the first person you would ask because you knew he would come through for you. He will be dearly missed by so many. We worked together for a short while, but he left an impression on my life for a lifetime. My prayers go out to all those who had the distinct pleasure of knowing this amazing man."

Trisha Sparks
@ The Buckle

As I heard story after story of Jonathan always being there for people, and sometimes being the only one there for someone in a difficult or dark time, I was not just proud of him, but I knew that he "got it."  I hoped that maybe it said that Pam and I really did do a thing or two right.  Just maybe he was listening and watching all along.  It gave me a confidence that he really did know Jesus.

Saturday was everything I had hoped and feared it would be and more.  Pam, Christian, Dani and I were overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and the shear number of people who came out to honor our son and brother.  I really do not know how we would have a chance of surviving this without our church family and friends.

But the pain of saying goodbye was more than I can take.  As the tribute video began to play I could not bear the thought of the day being over.  I agonized as they drove his body out of sight.  And later, as his friends left the house to spend some time together I could not help but think of our future without him -- the people who would see pictures of the kids at our house and ask or wonder who the third one was, the Christmases and weddings without him, the grandchildren who would never be.

This is the third time I have written since the terrible events of a week ago.  While several people have encouraged me to continue writing, at this point I am honestly not sure I can, and even less sure that I should.

I know we will all make it through this.  There is even a part of me now that can see a new strength that will come on the other side.

I want to close by saying that last week I had the rare opportunity to speak on a Sunday morning and Pam desperately wanted me to talk about the importance of having faith in Jesus.  She had recently read a book I believe called "23 Minutes in Hell," and has become more concerned than ever about anyone passing away without knowing Him.  I am grateful beyond measure for the confidence we have that Jonathan is in a better place.  But, if you do not have that same confidence -- if you don't know Jesus or or not sure you know him, I encourage you to click on the link below and listen to week 5 of the series called "New Beginnings."

God bless.

Faith and Discipleship

Pam's Letter to Jonathan

A letter from a very special mother to a very special son.

To My Son, Jonathan

Jonnie, 

For a very long time now I have intended to write a letter to leave behind for each of my beautiful children so that in case anything ever was left unsaid after I was gone, you would each know how very much I loved you and why you each are so special to me in your own way. I hate so much you are hearing yours like this. 

From as far back as I have memories, I knew that what I wanted more than anything was to be a mama. I waited my whole life for you to come along. And when you finally arrived I was beyond ecstatic...but then when they first put you in my arms I was suddenly overwhelmed and terrified. There were a lot of people in my life that I loved very much, and I really thought I knew what love was...but in that very first moment with you I was overwhelmed with a depth of love that I never knew was possible...and it was a depth of love that I wasn’t sure I wanted. I can still remember my exact thoughts, “Oh no. What did I do? I love him too much. I don’t want to love anything this much because if anything ever happens to him for the rest of my life, I’ll never be able to go on living.” I wanted to protect you from every kind of hurt, pain and sadness. At that very moment they were playing on the intercom a song called “The Greatest Love of All.” I remember hearing the lyric, “The greatest love of all is happening to me,” and I looked into your tiny face and thought to myself, “Yes, it really, really is.” I know it won’t surprise you at all to know that by the time the doctor came to check on us, I was in full tears at the thought that when you went to kindergarten someday maybe some other child would tease you and make you sad....maybe even make you cry...and I couldn’t stand the thought of you being sad... ever. (I prudently opted not to tell the doctor why I was crying, lest he deem me insane and remove you instantly from my custody.) 

There are so many memories I have always cherished from our very first two or three days together...mainly, I suppose, because I was trying so hard to savor every moment of being your mommy. I didn’t want to forget anything. I tried to commit every inch of you to memory. Your forearm was exactly the length of my index finger and one and a half times it’s width. I LOVED being able to dial the hospital nursery and say, “Can you please bring me my baby,” and knowing that there was a “my baby” to bring. And I will never forget the way daddy gasped when the doctor said, “You have a son.” 

I couldn’t get enough of being with you and never wanted to put you down. A nurse came in to deliver my lunch one day. She said, “Give me the baby.” I said, “I want to hold him.” She said, “You can’t have the baby in the bed when you have food. You might spill on him.” I assured her that, no, I would NOT be spilling food on my newborn baby. (I mean, good grief. Who spills food on their brand new infant?!) “It’s a rule,” she said. I told her in that case she could take the food away.  She left both you and the food with me...and guess what? I didn’t spill on you at all. 

Very soon after your birth I noticed that your head would sometimes shake uncontrollably. It began to happen with greater and greater frequency. Naturally, being that I am me, I decided that you almost certainly were suffering from epilepsy. I couldn’t bear to hear you diagnosed with anything, so I just kept it to myself, growing more and more terrified every time it happened. Finally, just before we were released to go home, I decided that for your sake I was going to have to confess my fears so that you could receive treatment. I got up my nerve and told the nurse that I was very concerned because your head kept shaking...and then I held my breath, bracing myself for the awful confirmation. She asked a few questions, checked you out and then informed me that  what you were doing was a natural newborn behavior called “rooting,” and that it simply meant that you were hungry. Oops. 

They sent us home with a variety of baby paraphernalia...some of which was very much a mystery to us. God forbid we should have simply asked them what it all was. Among the items was a blue rubber bulb syringe. It seemed perfectly obvious to me that we were supposed to use it to suction out every drop of mucous between your nose and your brain each night before bed to keep you from suffocating during the night. Daddy questioned whether I was certain that this was absolutely necessary, as it upset you every time and left us dealing with a very wide awake and screaming baby.  But he went along with it, if only slightly reluctantly, once I informed him that it was almost certainly a matter of life and death. And just for good measure we turned the baby monitor on loud enough to hear your every breath. The only thing we never really came to a meeting of the minds on was the necessity of my beating on the wall between our bedroom and yours to startle you back into breathing loud enough for us to hear over the monitor. 

Apparently you were not amused with our marginal early parenting skills and paid us back in full by demanding to eat every two hours, day and night, for what seems like the first several months of your life...and shooting the remains out the other end with even greater frequency...and typically all over us. 

As you grew, it became quickly evident that you were very intelligent and very, curious. Which in a toddler translates to very, very busy. You were then, and remained throughout your entire life, a person who did everything with great exuberance. We had to baby proof our house to a degree that left it just short of a padded cell. We couldn’t have indoor plants because you ate them. We couldn’t have curtains because, well, those just make for the most excellent climbing and swinging opportunities ever. We couldn’t have knickknacks of any sort, and any furniture that could possibly be climbed was bolted to the wall. The electrical outlets, cabinets, refrigerator and toilets were all secured, and leaving toilet paper on a roll anywhere within your reach was just a confetti party waiting to happen. And even then we had to watch you constantly. Even with all of these precautions in place, we got up one morning  when you were about two years old to find that you had gotten up early, foiled the refrigerator lock, managed to open a childproof bottle of Amoxicillin and drank the entire thing. There you stood, with the empty bottle in hand and a very a pink mustache. You very proudly announced, “I drink the pink!” Dad said the pharmacist looked at him like he was a criminal when he went to by the ipecac syrup. 

When I shopped preschools for you, I was unable to use any criteria that might matter to most parents, such as curriculum or child rearing philosophies. No, I had to do perimeter searches of the premises to seek out potential escape routes and try to determine which school was most escape proof.

When you were small, you enjoyed playing every kind of team sport. Not necessarily so much because you passionately loved each of the individual sports, but because you liked the uniforms. When you were in kindergarten and played both soccer and tee ball, daddy asked you whether you liked tee ball better or soccer. You immediately proclaimed “Tee ball, of course!” When he asked why you said, “Better snacks!” 

At age seven you discovered martial arts, and while you did enjoy wearing the uniform and earning the different belts, it was the sport itself that eventually won your heart. In usual Jonathan fashion, you gave it your all, right from the very first. I remember watching you try to do your front kicks so high and so hard at first that you would knock yourself right on your back. What a pleasure it has been to watch you grow and improve over these many years into a skilled martial artist and a formidable opponent. This February, in fact, marks your 20th year as a martial artist. As I conceded last time we sparred, you could have owned me in a heartbeat. Even though it was obvious to us both, I’m pretty sure you got a good bit of pleasure out of hearing me admit it out loud. You’re welcome. I will always treasure the memory of our last sparring match, just last Friday evening...most especially because when it was over you opened your arms really wide and gave me that big, sweet hug that I will never forget.

I have always been proud of you for so many, many things. Your work ethic has amazed me since you were a child. Not that your room or the messes you left in my kitchen were ever of much apparent concern to you, but when you had a job of any kind, you always gave it your all....even as a young boy.  You graduated from college at a time when jobs befitting your level of education were almost impossible to come by. You never complained about working in restaurants or selling shoes. You just did your jobs, no matter what they were, and gave your all. In fact, from what I have been hearing over the past several years, you didn’t just do your jobs, but went far and above what was asked or required of you. And you were always respectful and appreciative of the employees in your charge. It is no wonder to me at all that you finally ended up with your wonderful job at Concentra, which both challenged you and brought you such joy. 

You were such an honest person, a loyal friend, a wonderful son and an amazingly loving big brother to both Christian and Dani. 

I am so thankful for the relationship that we had. I am thankful that we always just said what we felt, good or bad, and worked from there. I am thankful that there is nothing left unsaid and no regrets between us. I have no doubt that you know how  much I love you and how incredibly proud I always have been of you. And I know that you loved me too. I am thankful that we told each other that almost every day. I am thankful that I had the privilege of being your mother every single day of your life and that I was blessed with the most incredible opportunity to be a stay at home mom. I thank daddy for that. He worked so hard to make that possible for us. 

And although I once feared that I couldn’t go on having any sort of life if you weren’t with  me, I’m really going to try to keep living a life that would make you proud.  I don’t think you would want your legacy to be leaving those of us that loved you best hurting forever. Dad, Christian, Dani and I will take care of each other until we see you again. We’ll miss you terribly, but we’ll also be happy for you, knowing that you’re surrounded by the one true Greatest Love of All.

I have only one favor to ask, and if you can’t do it, I’ll understand. But If there’s any way you can visit me in a dream or somehow just let me know you’re near sometime it would  be incredibly awesome. I know that you’re with God. But you know me, I always appreciate that call just letting me know you arrived safely. 

I love you, 

Mama

PS We’re loving Ulysses for you. Please watch over Dylan and the others for us until we’re all together again.