Larry and JoAnn were an ordinary couple. They lived in an ordinary house on an ordinary street. Like other ordinary couples they struggled to make ends meet and to do the right things for their children. They were ordinary in another way. They had their squabbles. Much of their conversation concerned what was wrong in their marriage and who was to blame. Until one day. A most extraordinary event took place.
“You know, JoAnn, I’ve got a magic chest of drawers. Every time I open them they are full of socks and underwear,” Larry said. “I want to thank you for filling them all these years.” JoAnn stared at her husband over the top of her spectacles. “What do you want, Larry?”
“Nothing. I just want you to know I appreciate those magic drawers.” This wasn’t the first time Larry had done something odd, so JoAnn pushed the incident out of her mind until a few days later. “JoAnn, thank you for recording so many correct check numbers in the ledger this month. You put down the right number 15 out of 16 times. That’s a record.”
Disbelieving what she had heard, JoAnn looked up from her mending. “Larry, you’re always complaining about my recording the wrong check numbers. Why stop now?”
“No reason. I just wanted you to know I appreciate the effort you’re making.” Nevertheless, the next day when JoAnn wrote a check at the grocery store, she glanced at her checkbook to confirm that she had recorded it right. “Why do I suddenly care about those dumb check numbers?”, she asked herself.
She tried to disregard the incident, but Larry’s strange behavior intensified. “JoAnn, that was a great dinner,” he said one evening. “I appreciate all your effort. Why, in the past 15 years I figure you’ve fixed over 14,000 meals for me and the kids.” Then, “Gee, JoAnn, the house looks spiffy. You’ve really worked hard to get it looking so good.” And even, ”Thanks, JoAnn, for just being you. I really enjoy your company. I’m so glad God me you.”
JoAnn was growing worried. “Where’s the sarcasm, the criticism?” she wondered. Her fears that something peculiar was happening to her husband were confirmed by 16-year-old Shelly, who complained, “Dad’s gone bonkers, Mom. He just told me I looked nice. With all this makeup and these sloppy clothes, he still said it. That’s not Dad, Mom. What’s wrong with him?”
Whatever was wrong, Larry didn’t get over it. Day in and day out he continued to affirm JoAnn and the kids. Over the weeks, JoAnn grew more used to his unusual behavior, and occasionally even gave him a grudging “thank you.” She prided herself in taking it all in stride, until one day something so peculiar happened she became completely overwhelmed.
“I want you to take a break,” Larry said. “I am going to do the dishes. So please take your hands off that frying pan and leave the kitchen.” After a long, long pause, “Thank you, Larry. Thank you very much!” JoAnn’s step was now a little lighter, her self-confidence higher, and once in a while she hummed. She didn’t seem to experience blue moods anymore. She rather liked Larry’s new behavior.
That would be the end of the story except one day another most extraordinary event took place. This time it was JoAnn who spoke. “Larry,” she said, “I want to thank you for going to work and providing for us all these years. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate it.”
Larry has never revealed the reason for his dramatic change of behavior no matter how hard JoAnn has pushed for an answer, and so it will likely remain one of life’s mysteries. But it’s one I am thankful to live with. You see, I am JoAnn.
(Condensed From Deseret News, February 10, 1985)
November 30, 2011
November 16, 2011
I'm So Glad Grandpa's Truck Broke Down
I took over the driver’s seat from my daughter. The headlights looked somewhat dim and I suspected possible problems. Down the interstate a bit further the gauges on the dash quit working, and the headlights got even dimmer. I figured that the alternator had quit working. So I pulled in behind Tyler’s car and turned my lights off, driving in pitch black, following their taillights. We got as far as Red Bluff and pulled off the highway. The truck died. It was 4:00 in the morning, Saturday morning, the weekend, in a little town in central California.
It was a vacation to Southern California. We had been planning it forever, it seemed. It was a big, big family vacation – Carol and me, four of our six kids, and five grandchildren. We were heading for Oceanside, with every day of the week planned. Beach, Sea World, San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Lego Land. And then some more beach. Oh, and the pool, in the sun.
We all piled into two vehicles, two SUV trucks, all twelve of us and all of our luggage. We had six drivers amongst us, so we decided to leave at 7:00 Friday evening, drive all night and arrive at our vacation condos on Saturday afternoon.
Everything was going well on the drive down, until Grandpa’s truck broke down. We were pretty disheartened, thinking of how much time we were going to lose. How much time? It was anyone’s guess. Where could we get an alternator, or get a mechanic on a Saturday morning. We called a tow truck. The driver towed the truck to a mechanic’s yard that he knew would be coming in to work sometime on Saturday morning.
Then we all headed to Denny’s. What a treat to sit and eat breakfast together in the middle of a sixteen hour drive. Then we hiked over to the city park to kill time. We played on the playground, walked down to the river, laughed, joked, teased, watched the sunrise, and had fun. Dominick, our oldest grandson, came and sat by Carol and said, “I’m so glad Grandpa’s truck broke down. We would have missed all this fun!”
The mechanic had the truck ready to roll by 9:30, and we were on our way again. Catastrophe was averted, and in its place an enjoyable few hours became one of the greatest memories of that vacation.
Lesson learned: God can break into my plans anytime He wants and I will welcome Him. It may seem like a huge inconvenience, it may be costly, or it may even be painful, but I will look for His grace and not become anxious or angry. I have learned to trust this truth, “all things work together for good to them who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city”…. Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow…. Instead you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)
It was a vacation to Southern California. We had been planning it forever, it seemed. It was a big, big family vacation – Carol and me, four of our six kids, and five grandchildren. We were heading for Oceanside, with every day of the week planned. Beach, Sea World, San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Lego Land. And then some more beach. Oh, and the pool, in the sun.
We all piled into two vehicles, two SUV trucks, all twelve of us and all of our luggage. We had six drivers amongst us, so we decided to leave at 7:00 Friday evening, drive all night and arrive at our vacation condos on Saturday afternoon.
Everything was going well on the drive down, until Grandpa’s truck broke down. We were pretty disheartened, thinking of how much time we were going to lose. How much time? It was anyone’s guess. Where could we get an alternator, or get a mechanic on a Saturday morning. We called a tow truck. The driver towed the truck to a mechanic’s yard that he knew would be coming in to work sometime on Saturday morning.
Then we all headed to Denny’s. What a treat to sit and eat breakfast together in the middle of a sixteen hour drive. Then we hiked over to the city park to kill time. We played on the playground, walked down to the river, laughed, joked, teased, watched the sunrise, and had fun. Dominick, our oldest grandson, came and sat by Carol and said, “I’m so glad Grandpa’s truck broke down. We would have missed all this fun!”
The mechanic had the truck ready to roll by 9:30, and we were on our way again. Catastrophe was averted, and in its place an enjoyable few hours became one of the greatest memories of that vacation.
Lesson learned: God can break into my plans anytime He wants and I will welcome Him. It may seem like a huge inconvenience, it may be costly, or it may even be painful, but I will look for His grace and not become anxious or angry. I have learned to trust this truth, “all things work together for good to them who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city”…. Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow…. Instead you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)
November 9, 2011
I Still Believe In Running
Larry’s Dad stood there in dismay. He thought he must have missed seeing his son finish the race. There I was, middle aged youth pastor, crossing the finish line of the 10K run. And the last time Larry’s Dad had checked on the progress of the race his son was well ahead of me. I told him that Larry would be coming in about a minute or two behind me. He couldn’t believe it.
I had fallen behind Larry, a high school cross country runner, to run with another friend. At the 8K marker I decided to pick up my pace and race to the finish. That’s the thrilling, exhilarating part of running. Pushing yourself even harder when you think you’re too tired, and finding out there is a whole new power waiting to be tapped. I caught up to Larry shortly and ran with him a bit. Then I gave him a slap on the back and asked if he wanted to race me to the finish. He gave me that look of disbelief, and I knew his answer. So I took off and ran hard to the finish, the last mile probably pushing a five minute pace. Larry’s Dad had no idea how much I liked to run.
It started in high school, growing up in Arizona. I ran on a cross country team that had the best runner in the state as our anchor. The rest of the team trained hard and was highly motivated. We took fourth in the state meet. After high school I kept running. That’s when it became fun. I ran a marathon, once, and I got some buddies to run with me in a 10K or 5-mile run whenever we had the opportunity. I looked forward to getting up at 6:00 in the morning and meeting down at the high school track with a group of guys, and going for a five mile run. It was great fellowship, intense camaraderie. One particular guy would always be on my shoulder at the four mile mark and we would finish the run in an all out race, pushing each other to our utmost, challenging ourselves to finish strong. It was exhilarating.
I gave up running twenty years ago. The last run I had was at a church picnic, four years ago. I played a few innings in the softball game. I came up to bat and actually got a hit. All the way out into left field. I thought maybe I could stretch it out to a double. I started running to first base and realized I was running in slow motion. Run as fast as I could but each pace was an eternity. Half way to first base I thought how embarrassed my wife must be over on the sidelines, watching me run in slow motion. I got to first base one step ahead of the relay throw from left field. I never made it to second base. And that was the last time I ran.
I still believe in running, I just don’t run anymore.
I’m afraid that’s how it is with grace, too. Far too many Christians still believe in grace, but they no longer live in grace. They started off with joy, with the thrill of discovering a new life. God’s amazing grace transformed their heart, and they knew the presence and power of God. But then the connection with Jesus began losing its joy and intimacy and pretty soon they quite running. They now try to please God by their own self-effort, keeping up the appearance and pretending to still be in the race. Shame and guilt bring their spiritual walk to a slow motion crawl. Broken and needy they forget what it was like to live in grace. They cannot trust God nor anyone else with who they really are. Oh, they still believe in grace, they just don’t live in it anymore.
“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Sprit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?” (Gal 3:3,5)
I had fallen behind Larry, a high school cross country runner, to run with another friend. At the 8K marker I decided to pick up my pace and race to the finish. That’s the thrilling, exhilarating part of running. Pushing yourself even harder when you think you’re too tired, and finding out there is a whole new power waiting to be tapped. I caught up to Larry shortly and ran with him a bit. Then I gave him a slap on the back and asked if he wanted to race me to the finish. He gave me that look of disbelief, and I knew his answer. So I took off and ran hard to the finish, the last mile probably pushing a five minute pace. Larry’s Dad had no idea how much I liked to run.
It started in high school, growing up in Arizona. I ran on a cross country team that had the best runner in the state as our anchor. The rest of the team trained hard and was highly motivated. We took fourth in the state meet. After high school I kept running. That’s when it became fun. I ran a marathon, once, and I got some buddies to run with me in a 10K or 5-mile run whenever we had the opportunity. I looked forward to getting up at 6:00 in the morning and meeting down at the high school track with a group of guys, and going for a five mile run. It was great fellowship, intense camaraderie. One particular guy would always be on my shoulder at the four mile mark and we would finish the run in an all out race, pushing each other to our utmost, challenging ourselves to finish strong. It was exhilarating.
I gave up running twenty years ago. The last run I had was at a church picnic, four years ago. I played a few innings in the softball game. I came up to bat and actually got a hit. All the way out into left field. I thought maybe I could stretch it out to a double. I started running to first base and realized I was running in slow motion. Run as fast as I could but each pace was an eternity. Half way to first base I thought how embarrassed my wife must be over on the sidelines, watching me run in slow motion. I got to first base one step ahead of the relay throw from left field. I never made it to second base. And that was the last time I ran.
I still believe in running, I just don’t run anymore.
I’m afraid that’s how it is with grace, too. Far too many Christians still believe in grace, but they no longer live in grace. They started off with joy, with the thrill of discovering a new life. God’s amazing grace transformed their heart, and they knew the presence and power of God. But then the connection with Jesus began losing its joy and intimacy and pretty soon they quite running. They now try to please God by their own self-effort, keeping up the appearance and pretending to still be in the race. Shame and guilt bring their spiritual walk to a slow motion crawl. Broken and needy they forget what it was like to live in grace. They cannot trust God nor anyone else with who they really are. Oh, they still believe in grace, they just don’t live in it anymore.
“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Sprit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?” (Gal 3:3,5)
November 5, 2011
Swept Away
As we descended down the muddy road, the rain water began to collect more and more. In little rivulets, then in the ruts, eventually forming little streams. There were three or four of us walking together, not minding the rain, being careful for the puddles and slick mud. We were talking and chatting and enjoying the time together, immensely.
Suddenly, Carol, my wife, slipped and landed face down in a large drainage ditch alongside the road. I expected her to bounce back up, shake off the water like a wet dog, borrow a jacket, and continue on. Maybe a little more hurried than before. But what happened was totally unexpected. Surreal. Horrifying. She did not get up. Instead she was swept along by the current. Somehow the water was not muddy, but rather crystal clear. There she went, swept away, deeper and deeper. Not swept along on top of the water, but under the water, like she was imbedded in the current. I just stood and watched, helplessly.
The swift current swept her through a canyon and carried her under a rock formation, where the stream went underground. I figured it must be a rock grouping that had plenty of crevasses and air pockets, like a lava formation of some sort. So as I ran and climbed over to the rocky mountain and began to search for some way to rescue her. I started looking in crags and crevasses. But I could not find her. I thought I could hear a faint voice crying for help, but I was not sure. So I told the others that I was going to hurry out to get some help. A rescue crew of some sort. It was already past noon, and I knew that daylight would run short if I did not get help real soon.
I came back without anyone to help. Why, I do not know. But when I returned Carol was standing on the rocky crags. I was excited, almost overwhelmed, to see that she was fine. But she was looking very bewildered. Then she told me that Kari, our daughter, was now caught in the watery maze down in the rocks. Kari had stayed behind while I went for help. She had found a way for Carol to escape, but in the process she herself had been swept under.
And then I awakened.
Depression is like that, just like that. It sweeps away its victim in a swift current and carries them away into a cave where they can barely breath. Others stand by and watch in dismay, helpless to avert the descent or to rescue them from the cave. Help is hard to find, oh so very hard. The constant fear is that the clutches of despair might trigger the most dreadful of travesties. And just when you see someone through it, just when they are rescued, it happens again, with the next generation -- from great-grandmother, to grandfather , to mother, to daughter.
If only there was a magic cure. A counselor or psychiatrist who could bring it to an end. A drug that would make it go away, not just lessen the darkness. A prayer for deliverance from bondage.
The poor caregiver, the husband or wife, can not understand why the victim doesn’t just cheer up, get a life, get out and help others instead of being so absorbed with their own little world. They don’t understand how to help, nor how desperately there help is needed. So they run away, find their own solace elsewhere. How do you instill courage, hope, perseverance into a sick person? It seems it should work. Any other sickness and the person usually gets well. But not depression. It just keeps going. And it seems to be the victim’s choice to stay depressed. Oh, but banish that thought, though, if you would help. Love must take on the very character of the Heavenly Father if you will see your loved one through depression.
Lend Me Your Hope
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily,
Pain and confusion are my companions.
I know not where to turn;
Looking ahead to future times does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see troubled times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me;
Listen to all my ramblings, recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing seems like a long and lonely one.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Stand by me, offer me your presence, your heart and your love.
Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.
Lend my your hope for awhile;
A time will come when I will heal,
And I will share my renewal, hope and love with others
(Author unknown, copied from Victory over the Darkness, by Neil T. Anderson)
Suddenly, Carol, my wife, slipped and landed face down in a large drainage ditch alongside the road. I expected her to bounce back up, shake off the water like a wet dog, borrow a jacket, and continue on. Maybe a little more hurried than before. But what happened was totally unexpected. Surreal. Horrifying. She did not get up. Instead she was swept along by the current. Somehow the water was not muddy, but rather crystal clear. There she went, swept away, deeper and deeper. Not swept along on top of the water, but under the water, like she was imbedded in the current. I just stood and watched, helplessly.
The swift current swept her through a canyon and carried her under a rock formation, where the stream went underground. I figured it must be a rock grouping that had plenty of crevasses and air pockets, like a lava formation of some sort. So as I ran and climbed over to the rocky mountain and began to search for some way to rescue her. I started looking in crags and crevasses. But I could not find her. I thought I could hear a faint voice crying for help, but I was not sure. So I told the others that I was going to hurry out to get some help. A rescue crew of some sort. It was already past noon, and I knew that daylight would run short if I did not get help real soon.
I came back without anyone to help. Why, I do not know. But when I returned Carol was standing on the rocky crags. I was excited, almost overwhelmed, to see that she was fine. But she was looking very bewildered. Then she told me that Kari, our daughter, was now caught in the watery maze down in the rocks. Kari had stayed behind while I went for help. She had found a way for Carol to escape, but in the process she herself had been swept under.
And then I awakened.
Depression is like that, just like that. It sweeps away its victim in a swift current and carries them away into a cave where they can barely breath. Others stand by and watch in dismay, helpless to avert the descent or to rescue them from the cave. Help is hard to find, oh so very hard. The constant fear is that the clutches of despair might trigger the most dreadful of travesties. And just when you see someone through it, just when they are rescued, it happens again, with the next generation -- from great-grandmother, to grandfather , to mother, to daughter.
If only there was a magic cure. A counselor or psychiatrist who could bring it to an end. A drug that would make it go away, not just lessen the darkness. A prayer for deliverance from bondage.
The poor caregiver, the husband or wife, can not understand why the victim doesn’t just cheer up, get a life, get out and help others instead of being so absorbed with their own little world. They don’t understand how to help, nor how desperately there help is needed. So they run away, find their own solace elsewhere. How do you instill courage, hope, perseverance into a sick person? It seems it should work. Any other sickness and the person usually gets well. But not depression. It just keeps going. And it seems to be the victim’s choice to stay depressed. Oh, but banish that thought, though, if you would help. Love must take on the very character of the Heavenly Father if you will see your loved one through depression.
Lend Me Your Hope
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily,
Pain and confusion are my companions.
I know not where to turn;
Looking ahead to future times does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see troubled times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me;
Listen to all my ramblings, recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing seems like a long and lonely one.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Stand by me, offer me your presence, your heart and your love.
Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.
Lend my your hope for awhile;
A time will come when I will heal,
And I will share my renewal, hope and love with others
(Author unknown, copied from Victory over the Darkness, by Neil T. Anderson)
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