Security (The Worst Thing Isn’t The Last Thing)

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”                 Helen Keller

It is Passover.

The day when our Jewish brothers and sisters celebrate God’s deliverance from bondage in Egypt; this year it is also Good Friday for Christian brothers and sisters, the day when we commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, a truly special and important day for all of us.

On the inside, I wasn’t feeling so special; I was having a hard time focusing on the meaning of the day.

Our last appointment was with a woman who had lost a child in a car crash.

“He was here one moment, and the next moment he was gone. That was it!”she said with tears streaming down her cheeks.

On the drive home, I was feeling an overwhelming sensitivity to the weight of her loss. I can’t imagine anything worse than a death of a child.

“That poor, poor soul”, I said out loud in the quiet of our station wagon.

The stoplight in front of me must have turned green, but I was in too much of a fog to notice. The car behind me started agitatedly honking, quickly pulling me back to my present situation. The traffic was heavy that Friday afternoon, two days before Easter.

Traffic came to a standstill. While I waited to move, I turned on my phone to see if any emails had come in. I hadn’t had an opportunity to do so for most of the day. The first email jumped out at me as if it was the only one in my inbox. It was the email we had been waiting for since the beginning of the week. The message came from the agent of a prominent speaker we invited to speak at our fourth annual fundraising banquet. We had extremely high hopes because our missions paralleled very nicely. The email read something like this:

“We are very sorry to inform you, blah, blah, blah but we won’t be able to serve your organization next year. We appreciate the work you do but due to time restraints in her schedule, blah, blah, blah.”

I started gasping for air. The row of cars started moving again, but I couldn’t move. I rolled down the window and took a deep breath. For a few brief moments I wondered if this is what it feels like when a high-end executive has a huge business deal fall through.

The slowness of traffic was a good thing because it gave me some time to “get it together” and “lick my wounds” before greeting my wife and four young children. I try really hard not to take my work home with me, but some days it’s really, really hard, especially days like this one.

I walked through the door and was welcomed by the one of our twins crashing into my leg in her motor scooter.

“Da Home, Da Home!” she cried out.

Thank God for moments like that one. Thank God for children.

Sarah, could sense my uneasiness, as she always does.

“Are you okay? What happened today?”

I started off with the surface level answer:

“We had a few tough conversations.”

She knew better, so she asked,

“Anything else?”

I can’t hide from her for too long, so I started sharing: “We heard back from the agent and she can’t come. I’m having a really hard time with it.”

The night before Michael and I had bought a copy of her book in preparation for next year’s event. Sarah jokingly asked,

“Are you guys still going to read her book?”

I chuckled, “I don’t know, I kinda want to boycott by not reading it.”

We both laughed. We finish eating dinner and the kids rushed off to the living room to build a fort with pillows. I put on a pot of coffee knowing it was going to be a late night of writing and emails after the kids go to bed. Sarah looked at me and said, “You just need trust. It’s going to be fine. Look at the speakers God has provided the last three years.”

I look at her and grin. She knows that is the last thing I want to hear. We laugh out loud again which was therapeutic, at least for a few moments.

Two weeks earlier, on a Friday afternoon, Michael and I ended the work week as we so often do together, walking and praying and expressing gratitude for all the ways God had shown up in our lives. That day we walked on a trail with a flowing stream on our left and a thick forest on our right. I said to Michael, “You know, we have about four or five important opportunities on the table right now that could really affect the future of our ministry. If all five of those opportunities come through, we could be at a very different place a year from now.”

“I know”, Michael responded. We continued walking and praying. We prayed about how grateful we were for the opportunities and how exciting they were, but we also asked God to keep us grounded—remembering that this whole journey is God’s deal and God does what God wants. “The good stuff happens when you are the One who initiates, not us,” we prayed.

We ended our walk by reminding each other, out loud, the mantra that we have vocalized since day one of our journey together: “This isn’t about working harder to make things happen, it’s about trusting more.”

It’s now Saturday morning, the day before Easter, and I’ve had some time to process all that has transpired the previous 24 hours, including, and especially, the email from the speaker’s agent.

What I am continuing to learn about myself is that I REALLY like to try and control things; I’m guessing most of us do. Sadly, anything I try to control doesn’t seem to ever go the way I would have expected it to—and this is one of those situations.

It was almost inevitable that at least a few of those opportunities would fall through, but for whatever reason I had “put all my eggs in one basket” with this banquet speaker, dreaming of what it would be like to have her speak about our mission, her mission, and how they align so perfectly.

Why do I do that? Why do I give my heart away so fully and place my identity on something or someone other than the One who gave me a new identity?!

I was reminded of that time during my senior year of college when I went out on a date once or twice with a girl down the hall. After just two dates, I started having these crazy, irrational thoughts that she would someday be my wife. We never made it to a third date; I was crushed emotionally.

I can think of several instances over the past four years when I have done the exact same thing. There was one time about a year ago when I was completely crushed after learning that we didn’t get a $25,000 grant to support our ministry. It took me several days to recover from that wound.

Easter Sunday arrives. It is the day Christians believe Jesus rose from the dead, reminding us that God is in the business of rebuilding and restoring that which has been broken. One of my spiritual mentors sends me a message on Facebook a few minutes before we leave for church.

It said, “What am amazingly full week Jesus experienced! Praised, death and resurrection. My week is calm by comparison!”

His words really speak to me. My week had been hard; in fact, it was a roller coaster ride emotionally. But my week wasn’t anything like the week Jesus experienced 2,000 years ago: the betrayal from his best friends, the fear of his impending fate, the physical pain and abuse he experienced, and even the silent response from His Father during the most vulnerable moment of his earthly existence. It all left him questioning.

Later, in the middle of his sermon, the pastor of our church shared a quote from theologian Frederick Beuchner: “Resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing.”

I got into bed later that night and gave “thanks” for the pain and suffering I experienced during the week, and most importantly, that my pain and suffering and disappointment isn’t the last thing.

I wish I could say that the discomfort and the spiritual hangover in my soul went away, but it didn’t. I so badly wanted resurrection in my heart and so that somehow, some way, joy and peace would return.

Easter, with all its fun and festivities came and went.

Early Monday morning, Michael and I met at a park to start our work week.

We’re not sure how many times we walked around the park’s perimeter path that day, but we know it was a lot because our feet started aching. We love to walk together and often times our walks have brought about some of the most meaningful and significant conversations and moments of our lives.

Round and round and round we went, the very same park we had referenced in our first book, Someone To Tell It To: Sharing Life’s Journey, the very place where, in the words of one of our board members, “this beautiful notion of Someone To Tell It To” first began. The first several laps, we didn’t say much, which is atypical for us. The only sounds we heard were the pitter patter of our steps on the pavement, the geese and airplanes flying overhead, the flowing stream next to the path on which we were treading, and the occasional joyful exclamation from a young child playing on the jungle gym nearby.

On most of our walks and most of our journeys together we share very openly with one another, all of it: the joys; the pain; the difficulties of having four young children and a 27-year old son living at home with severe developmental disabilities and autism; the intense physical pain one of us lives with; the hopes and dreams we have for the future; the God-given blessings all around us; and so much more.

This walk would become another significant moment on our “journey” together. It was a conversation we were dreading and one we had been praying wouldn’t bear fruit.

“I’m not sure if this is going to work.” I said to Michael.

A long silence occurred. This time the only sound we heard were the sounds of our hearts beating, rapidly.

“I know. I’m not sure either,” Michael responded.

Then our feelings and fears poured out like water.

“This is just so incredibly hard. I never thought it was going to be this hard. We have worked and worked and worked and so much good has happened.”

“The article about our mission that was in Sunday’s (Harrisburg, PA) newspaper about ‘miracles happening every day when people have someone to tell it to’ was such a beautiful article! But none of that means anything if we can’t make it financially, if we can’t support our families.”

“We’ve had so many amazing things happen, even in the last few months. Connections with people like (best-selling author) Ken Blanchard, an inspirational banquet with Wm. Paul Young, larger financial commitments, and the list goes on and on, but for whatever reason, our situation doesn’t seem to be changing.”

“I’m really scared. I’m really discouraged. I’m really depressed. I don’t know what to do.”

There was another long silence. But not an awkward one. A moment of true empathy where both of us were feeling and thinking and experiencing the same things.

 “We’ve come so far. And now this? I just don’t understand why God would lead us this far only to stop us, right here and right now. Damn it. This mission is so important. It has changed lives. It is changing lives. It has changed us and is changing us.”

 Neither of us had answers that day. We didn’t try offering any because there weren’t any.

We did what we always do, with each other, and Lord willing, most everyone we speak with each day:

We remained calm. We shed a tear or two (or three). We listened.

We shared it. Together. 

I wish I could say that the pain and frustration went away after our conversation. It didn’t, at least not for several days. But it did go away—for now. Because we shared it, together. But, it will inevitably come back; it always does, in other ways and in other situations. That is why we believe, as author Miles Franklin so eloquently puts it:

Someone to tell it to is one of the fundamental needs of human beings.

Can you imagine a world in which all of us had this kind of comfort and support? A world where we didn’t rush in and offer platitudes, clichés, or short-term solutions.

We offer one another what we believe all of us need, simply someone to tell it to.

We all need a safe place where we can get out the worst about ourselves and they don’t run us off, a safe place where we can get out all of our fears, our doubts, and brokenness and pain, and not be loved less because of it, but more.  We believe that the way we can alleviate so much of the sadness, discomfort, and sorrow we feel, is by sharing it, all of it, together.

Unashamedly. Completely. Vulnerably.

Photo by Lê Hoàng on Unsplash