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With each passing year I’m reminded how quickly my life is passing and how little I remember about the words, deeds and activities that seemed so important as they were happening. So this year I’m determined to do a better job of recording my journey, not only for my own benefit, but also for future generations who might learn from my mistakes and lessons learned. For in this life, our words, and the persons they represent, must be captured before time snatches the pen from our hands.
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“I am but an ordinary Man. The Times alone have destined me to Fame–and even these have not been able to give me, much…Yet some great Events, some cutting Expressions, some mean Hypocrisies, have at Times, thrown this Assemblage of Sloth, Sleep, and littleness into Rage a little like a Lion.”
John Adams, the inveterate diarist soon to become our second president, penned this two-sided description of himself in 1779.
Bland in comparison to Adams’ writing, the bulk of my 30 years of sporadic journal entries lack sufficient sparkle to even lift themselves from the mundane: “Went to church.” Others memorialize comic absurdity. “Brudderman is ripping at the rug as if he still had claws.”
And much more rarely, significant emotion springs to life. “In yesterday’s early morning hours, an unexpected guest took us by surprise by quickly and quietly snatching away the precious daughter entrusted to us, to have and to hold, to guard and to protect, for almost 23 years. And in that single moment of visitation, Death changed our lives forever.”
Sparse though it be, my journal is the pen and ink ledger of how I have spent the days allotted me. Life and death, joy and sorry, forgiveness and bitterness, hope and despair–all are buried among words often jotted in spasms of duty.
A journal is a melting pot where disjointed thoughts may simmer until extracted and hammered into a strong and useful shape on the anvil of retrospect. The eye of experience, blind to grammar, spelling and punctuation, discerns the potential in the words.
Though never approaching Adams’ color, flair or intensity, my journal notations often illustrate a point he made to his distinguished son, John Quincy, that a diary “helps you focus in your life. It is the act of writing that causes the brain to come into focus and have insights you wouldn’t have otherwise.” Writing crystallizes and precipitates fuzzy thinking.
My journal chronicles the birth of dreams, hopes and aspirations, more often to death than to fulfillment. Occasionally, however, wandering tracks across the years magically converge on a path going somewhere in particular. When our son left home, for example, I handed him 50 typed pages of my journalized aspirations–with prayers that he would live up to them.
Written words have the remarkable ability to reach beyond the grave.
In his article “Writing Down Our Thoughts,”our friend Jim Elliff states, “We leave our thoughts to future generations when normally the preponderance of them, if not every last one of them, would have vaporized upon our death or mental decline.”
In the halls of eternity, another journal resides, awaiting notations.
“Then those who feared the Lord spoke to one another, and the Lord gave attention and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before Him for those who fear the Lord and who esteem His name.”
But in this life, our words, and the persons they represent, must be captured before time snatches the pen from our hands.
Copyright 2004 James McAlister
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Bulletin Insert
I post this article in anticipation of the New Year that is upon us. There are links at the bottom for both an audio message and a neatly formatted bulletin insert.
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How should we confront the difficult times life invariably brings? One way is to learn from those who have succeeded in similar straits. Joseph the patriarch faced incredible trials, and his life holds many lessons to give us hope. Let’s look at four.
DELIVERANCE IS COMING
At age 17 Joseph (one of 12 sons of Jacob) was cast into a pit by his brothers, who plotted to kill him. Why? Because Joseph was their father’s favorite, and he singled Joseph out for special favors. Plus, Joseph had two unusual dreams indicating that his family would eventually bow before him in subservience. And they hated him even more for his dreams.
The eldest brother, Rueben, actually opposed the plot and intended to rescue Joseph. Perhaps he might even have furtively whispered, “Don’t worry, my brother. I’ll get you out of this pit and restore you to your father.” But in Rueben’s absence, the others pulled Joseph from the pit and sold him to slave traders bound for Egypt. (Gen. 37:2-22).
Joseph received deliverance alright, but it didn’t come in an agreeable, expected way. What only God knew, however, was that Joseph had an unbreakable appointment 13 years later to stand before Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to effect deliverance for those who hated him.
Has the hurtful sting of betrayal put you in a “pit”? Deliverance may not come when or how you envision it, but expect God to act on your behalf. (1 Cor. 10:13).
DELAY IS NOT DENIAL
A wealthy Egyptian, Potipher, purchased Joseph and soon put him in charge of his whole household. But when falsely accused by Potipher’s wife, Joseph was cast into prison and laid in irons. Despite his unfair circumstances, however, Joseph’s diligence motivated the chief jailer to make him supervisor of all the prisoners. (Gen. 39:21-23)
Then unexpectedly, when Joseph was 28, two fellow prisoners, Pharaoh’s chief cupbearer and chief baker, each had a puzzling dream. Joseph interpreted and gave the cupbearer good news: in three days he would be restored to his former position. But the baker would be executed. Desiring relief, Joseph implored the cupbearer, “Please remember me to Pharaoh, and get me out of this house.”
But even though events unfolded exactly as Joseph had said, the cupbearer forgot him, leaving him to languish in prison two more years doing his duty. (Gen. 40:1-23).
Perhaps you’ve asked God to release you from a painful trial and believe He’s forgotten because nothing has happened. His delay is not necessarily a denial of your request; the timing may not yet be right. Duty is what we do until deliverance comes.
YOU CAN HAVE A FRUITFUL FUTURE
When Joseph was 30, Pharaoh himself had two terrifying dreams. When none of his wise men could interpret, the cupbearer suddenly remembered Joseph, whom Pharaoh immediately summoned!
Stunned by Joseph’s insight, Pharaoh instantly made him Prime Minister and gave him a wife, who would eventually bear him two sons. The first he named Manasseh because “God has made me forget all my trouble and all my father’s household.” The second he named Ephraim, “For, “he said, “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.” (Gen. 41:51-52).
Able to forget even the treachery of his own brothers, Joseph could look to the fruitful work God had planned for him.
Have bitter circumstances caused you to expect nothing better or different in the future? On the contrary, your future can bear much good fruit—but you must assuredly set aside the bitterness of the past.
GOD’S PLAN IS BETTER THAN YOURS
At age 56, Joseph took his two sons to his dying father to be blessed, but instead of following the customary, accepted procedure, Jacob placed his right hand on the head of the younger Ephraim. This deviation greatly displeased Joseph, who immediately attempted to “fix” his father’s “mistake” by grasping Jacob’s hand to move it to Manasseh’s head. But his father refused and said, “I know, my son, I know…. However….” (Gen. 48:14-19).
Though physically blind, Jacob’s spiritual eyes had seen what Joseph could not see and overrode Joseph’s plan and desire for his firstborn son.
Have your plans not worked out as you thought they should and left you facing outcomes you’d wished to avoid? Perhaps God has said “however” to your plan because He sees what you cannot, and His way will indeed be better than yours in the long run.
Joseph experienced hard times much like ours: jealous betrayals, unfairness, unfaithful friends, tedious delays, and undesirable turns of events. But despite all of these, he grew and succeeded because of an unswerving trust and confidence in God. That should give us hope for ourselves, no matter what we must face.
(Note: A detailed audio version of this message is available here)
Copyright 2008 James McAlister
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I repost this old article as a reminder to enjoy Christmas with family and loved ones as long as time and opportunity permit you to do so. Though death has taken the wife and daughter mentioned here from me, I hope to relive some of the magic that children bring to Christmas morning by watching my three-year-old grandson, Jackson, open his presents. I pray that each of you will have a blessed and memorable Christmas, and may God bless you all!
On Christmas Day 1994 I made the following list of our most memorable Christmases–and what made them so.
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1967. Our first Christmas as a married couple. We have a 50-cent tree, but no money for ornaments. So we make our own: a star, a cat, a duck, and an angel pieced together from a plastic spoon and a tattered dishrag.
1969. We are in Texas, out of college and really “own our own” for the first time.
1970. Our first Christmas in Helena (Ark.) after taking a new job and leaving Texas.
1972. Our most difficult Christmas so far. I bring Mary home on Christmas morning to a house all prepared for a new baby, but there is no baby. We leave our newborn daughter, Jenny, in the hospital, suffering from seizures caused by extensive brain damage.
1973. Our first Christmas to have Jenny with us. We take her to Bearhouse Creek for the Christmas program, traveling in the wee hours of the morning.
1976. We are two again. Jenny has moved to the Conway Human Development Center. But we do try to have Christmas with her to the extent possible. She is still our baby.
1980. Our first Christmas with our new son, Barrett. He is so full of life and joy!
1982. Barrett loves everything about Christmas, especially climbing up into the loft (normally off limits) to help retrieve the tree and decorations.
1994. We don’t put up our tree as usual, but Barrett still climbs to the loft. He wants to use it as a shooting range for his BB gun! Plus, he likes to dive off the ladder onto the bed. Jenny attends the Christmas program at church with us. After the holidays, she should be able to start coming home every week.
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Were I to rewrite list today, I’d have to insert 1984.
Knowing that we exchanged small surprises in our Christmas stockings, Barrett found a secret time to slip something into each of ours.
Though barely able to write, he meticulously penned three little notes, each with a simple heart drawn in the center. To the left of each heart was the word “I,” and to the right was a name. He was saying, “I love Dad” and “I love Mom” in the most intimate way he could.
But the most touching note was for Jenny. He didn’t know how to spell her name–and didn’t dare ask–so he wrote it as a four-year-old would say it: “Iny.” Blind to all her extreme physical afflictions and limitations, he loved Jenny with unashamed devotion.
A few pencil scratches put “I love Iny” onto paper–and into our hearts. It was our most special Christmas ever.
Copyright 2001 James McAlister
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They sat side by side on the hillside, silently gazing into the starry sky. Finally, the boy spoke. “Would you tell me about that night, Jacob?” The old man said nothing.
The boy asked again. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I really want to hear the story.” The old man finally turned toward him. “No matter, Peter. The laughing doesn’t bother me anymore. My thoughts just don’t come as quickly as they did 70 years ago.”
“So it’s been that long? Seventy years?”
“More than 70. I was about your age. Just a lad. But I remember… as if it were last night.” He stared nowhere in particular, his mind lost in another time.
“And the others with you, Jacob? Were they older?”
“Yes. I was the youngest–and probably the most afraid.”
Peter paused a moment, then whispered. “Tell me. Please.”
Jacob began, “We were alone on the hillside, watching over our sheep. Just as you and I are tonight. Then instantly, like a lightning bolt from heaven, an angel stood among us. Like a blazing fire, he brightened the whole hillside….” The old man paused as the boy interrupted, each thought tumbling over the next. “Did the angel speak to you, Jacob? What did he say? Were you frightened?”
Jacob was sober in his recollection, as one who had told the story many times. “His message stunned us. After thousands of years, the Messiah had finally come, and we would find Him in a stable in Bethlehem. But He would not be a man, but a baby lying in manger. We were too frightened even to speak. Even Eli, who seemed as big as Goliath to me, could not stand up.”
Peter could hardly utter his question. “Then what happened, Jacob?”
“When the first angel had spoken, the heavens exploded with others–all singing and praising God. Soon they all disappeared as quickly as the light from a snuffed candle.”
“Then you went to Bethlehem?”
“Eli took off first, and I tried to keep up as best I could. We ran from stable to stable until we found the Child.”
“Jacob, the boys in the village say you dreamed all these things.”
“Yes, I’ve heard them. But they are mistaken. We all saw the Child… and touched Him. Flesh and blood are no dream.”
“They say you are just an old man who makes up tales about the Child to sound important. All of the other shepherds you claim were with you have been dead for many years, and there is no one left alive to prove your story. They call you ‘The Last Shepherd’ just to make fun of you.”
“It is true that I am very old and have outlived all the others who ran to Bethlehem that night. But I am not The Last Shepherd, Peter.”
“What do you mean, Jacob? You said that the others were dead.”
“They are indeed. But there was another shepherd in the stable that night who is still alive. He is The Last Shepherd.”
“But who is this shepherd, Jacob? I don’t understand.”
The Child, Peter. The Child. Do you know what He called himself when He grew up?”
“Yes! Now I remember. The Good Shepherd!”
“He is also the Last Shepherd, for no others will come after Him to guard and protect His flock.”
“But can He prove your stories about Him?”
“Tell me, Peter. How do you get your sheep to come to you?”
“I call them by name, and they come. First one, then another, until all are safely in the fold.”
“Exactly. And everyone who sees them respond to your call knows you are their shepherd. And so it is today with The Last Shepherd. He calls His sheep by name, and they gradually go to Him one by one. But a day is coming when He will call out to all that remain, and the rest of His flock will go to Him at once. Then those who disbelieve will begin to understand.”
“When will that be, Jacob?”
“I don’t know, lad. I don’t know. But with each passing year, I long more and more to hear my name called. I hope it will be on a night much like tonight, here on the hillside, guarding the sheep.”
“Could it be tonight, Jacob?”
“Yes, lad. It could be tonight.” And they lay back on the grass… listening… as if trying to hear a distant voice.
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“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”
Copyright 2001 James McAlister
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In an era not so long ago, our country was being ripped asunder by internal turmoils and differences–much as it is today.
Yet even in the midst of the darkness of civil war, Abraham Lincoln cast a ray of hope that the nation might once again have “full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”
We would do well to review some key thoughts of Lincoln’s proclamation of October 3, 1863, which set the precedent for our national Thanksgiving holiday.
“The year that is drawing towards its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God….
“Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore … No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.
“It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens … to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience … fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”
As in Lincoln’s day, our nation’s deep wounds beg to be healed. Peace, harmony and tranquillity cry for restoration. Our moral compass pleads for calibration.
Perhaps it’s time to move our Thanksgiving holiday beyond feasting, fellowship and football. Perhaps it’s time to embrace Lincoln’s advice to observe a “day of thanksgiving and praise … with an attitude of humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience”?
The results might be surprising–and enduring.
If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.- 2 Chronicles 7:14
Copyright 2004 James McAlister
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From my own experience, the loss of a child is one of the most difficult experiences we ever face in life. The pain and darkness are indescribably intense, and there are no easy answers to comfort the hurting heart. Can there be any hope in such a situation?
Following is a summarization of the tribute delivered by Karen Gottsponer at the memorial service for her infant daughter, Rebekah Joy Gottsponer, who passed away on October 13, 2009. In it you will see great hope expressed even in the midst of overwhelming sorrow. I trust this will be a help to others who might find themselves in similar circumstances.
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Dale and I and our family want to thank you all for being here to support us during this time.
We are thankful for the time that God gave us with Rebekah Joy. I was so blessed to have had the privilege of carrying her for almost 37 weeks and blessed that the kids and Dale had an opportunity to place their hands over my belly and pray over her these past few months. Today is about honoring her and giving glory to God for her sweet little life.
As we have been ministered to this week by so many, we have come across numerous verses that have touched our hearts and have spoken life into our weary souls. Looking back, we realize that God in His tender mercy was drawing us toward Him and preparing us for what we would be facing.
As the reality of Rebekah’s passing began to seek in, I spent time in the hospital bathroom crying out to God to fill my hurting heart as only He could. I didn’t know if I could face another moment without my sweet baby girl. I felt that our hopes were lost, our dreams unfulfilled and our plans unfinished. But God whispered in my heart that this was not true. If this is what we believed we could not make it another day but would just crumble into a heap of despair.
Our hopes are not lost because we know we will see Rebekah’s sweet little face one day!
Because of Rebekah’s passing, our faith is being tested as never before. Do we believe everything we say we believe? It’s so easy to pray and praise God when our world is right. However, what will we do when things don’t go as planned? We now know we must cling to His word because He is really all we have. I was reminded of these verses: “These two things cannot change: God cannot lie when He makes a promise, and He cannot lie when He makes an oath. These things encourage us who came to God for safety. They give us strength to hold on to the hope we have been given. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, sure and strong.†(Hebrews 6:18-19 NCV).
As women came in our hospital room with stories of their own losses, Dale and I realized that we too could “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep†(Roman 12:15 NAS) because we had “been there†and felt that same grief.
And even though I have a baby book at home left uncompleted, God has reminded me that Rebekah’s sweet days were ordained in His book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:13-16).
We are scared of the “firsts†that are coming. The first time we are asked how many children we have. The first day Dale goes back to work. The first time we go back to church without Rebekah. The first time I am asked by someone who doesn’t know our loss, “How is your newborn?†Though these unknowns frighten us, God “will lead the blind by ways they have not known.†(Isaiah 42:16).
Dale and I had thought a lot about the tone we wanted this memorial service to take. Do we celebrate? Do we grieve? Do we mourn? We eventually decided that we wanted friends to see that we do indeed grieve for our little baby—so deeply from a place in our hearts we never knew existed.
But we also wanted them to see that we grieve with hope: hope of seeing sweet little Rebekah’s face again because we are in Christ. (1 Thes. 4:13-18). We can honestly say we can praise God through this storm. These past few days, His word seems sweeter, His grace ever present, His love surrounding.
We have been blessed in so many ways this past week: To know for sure the cause of little Rebekah’s death. To have a wonderful doctor who cared for me throughout my pregnancy and prayed and cried with us at the end. To have friends that immediately rallied around us and cried and prayed with us. To have a dear hospital staff member to take care of Rebekah when were not able and to minister to our weary hearts. To have friends that cared for our children, taxied them around, played Monopoly with them, took them out for shakes. To have children who helped run the household, cleaned bathrooms, greeted guests. To have family members who came with love and coworkers and neighbors who called, provided meals, shed tears, wrote words. And much more.
Thank you all from the bottom of our hearts. Thank you for walking down this path with us the first few days as we stumbled along. Though we know we have to walk alone now, we are reassured we aren’t really alone, for God is with us every step. And we know He will also bring people along our paths when we need them to help us in this journey.
May God show you how much each of you means to us. Thank you, and God bless you.
Copyright 2009 Karen Gottsponer — www. gottjoy.blogspot.com
THE HOPE
I weep for you my little one,
My heart is full of whys:
Why snatched from me so suddenly?
No answer satisfies.
I’ll never fully comprehend
The darkness in my soul,
But from my pain—and dawning bright—
A wonder now unfolds:
That God could take my deepest hurt
And from its depth extract
A hope in Him, a confidence,
A love that knows no lack.
Not even death with all its sting
Could ever steal from me
The wondrous hope we’ll meet again
And share eternity!
In Memory Of:
Rebekah Joy Gottsponer
October 13, 2009
Copyright 2009 James McAlister — www.james-mc.com
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I saw her for the last time on such a rare and wonderful autumn day as this. With fall crispness charging the air, our long, lingering stroll around the campus let her enjoy the unique texture of October breeze and sun upon her cheeks.
Our visit completed, I offered my goodbyes–without realizing she was hearing them for the last time. But it’s not ordained for us to know the times or epochs of our lives, to read with full comprehension the great plans indelibly etched upon the scroll of eternity.
I returned home that bright October afternoon to mundane duties far less significant than the one just completed. We retired as usual that evening, around 10:00, only to be jolted awake at 3:00 by the telephone call many parents silently fear deep within their souls.
“Jenny is in cardiac arrest,” the voice dutifully reported. “You can meet the ambulance at the emergency room.” We numbly scrambled to pull ourselves together.
We were there when the ambulance arrived, and a group of medical personnel hovered over Jenny, frantic in their attempts to revive her.
“How long has she been this way?” I asked, dreading the answer. The terse reply came: “Twenty-five minutes.”
“There’s no use continuing,” I acknowledged. “Let her go.” They questioned my decision. “Are you sure?” I was.
Then came a few moments alone with her, the formal documents to sign, the sober trip home, the decisions about what to do first, the long wait until daylight before making the requisite calls, the cleaning and the tentative plans.
Mary shopped for a suitable outfit, one of soft, respectful pink for the daughter who would, after all, need to look lovely for friends coming to see her for one last time. And she did. Mary called me from the funeral home. “I’ve just seen the most beautiful girl in the world.” And she had.
Along with Mary and me, her brother spoke at the funeral. Then we three offered our goodbyes–knowing they were for the last time.
On rare and wonderful autumn days such as this, I sometimes wonder: Is there really a heaven? What will it be like? Will we remember our times together? Will we know each other? Will we be able to take long, lingering strolls and feel the October breeze and sun upon our cheeks?
But in those moments of evaluation, Jesus’ assurances from the Bible spring up within me. “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”
Thus I seldom recall that particular rare and wonderful autumn day–October 2, 1995–with any residual sadness. For it was, and still remains, one of the few great watersheds of our lives, defining the terrain and landscape in which we will live out our remaining years. And the last times of that unique October confirm the beliefs we truly call our own.
Copyright 2004 James McAlister
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Autumn is my favorite season of the year, and the weather I have come to expect and enjoy in October has just arrived in the last few days. Thus I post an older article about the feelings Autumn brings with it.
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Golden Autumn by name, she heralds inevitable liberation from the restricting bonds of summer heat. And brushed by the train of her garment, summer’s prickly greens and blues soon transform to longer, softer wavelengths of red and orange and yellow.
At about this time each year, I watchfully await signs of her coming–not on a specific calendar day, but in a particular season of pleasantly distinctive and remarkable quality. This week, Golden Autumn, crouching just outside my door, unexpectedly sprang upon me. And as with her previous annual visitations, she caught me not disappointed.
Surely because our house faces directly west–and no trees shield afternoon’s sun–summer has lain upon us like a blanket, hot and heavy. Stifling, staley air, tempered infinitesimally only by a layer of insulation just added to the door, saturates and permeates our garage.
So when I slightly cracked the front door early Friday morning and felt lightness in the air, I silently rejoiced. “Autumn,” says Gregg Easterbrook, “truly is what summer pretends to be: the best of all seasons. It is as glorious as summer is tedious; as subtle as summer is obvious; as refreshing as summer is wearying. Autumn seems like paradise.”
But for the unforgettable pungent odors of burning leaves wafting through our neighborhood, few autumn memories of my own childhood linger. But decades later, our son would often indulge himself with flying leaps into the copious windrows of fallen leaves snaking about our yard. At least, that is, until he had more intimately associated himself with the work which had created those fluffy brown dunes.
For several years, autumn announced my pilgrimage back to college, a ritual I never warmly embraced. But on the other hand, Golden Autumn still brings balance by also staying tedious and tiring lawn care.
Today, varied enemies have entrenched themselves on several fronts to launch guerrilla warfare at their discretion against my contentment. But enter Golden Autumn–bearing the hopefulness of plunging once again into coolness and color for both respite and renewal. For Golden Autumn speaks of new beginnings.
But why the acute interest in autumn–especially this autumn? Perhaps because my own season of life impels me to carefully count remaining autumns as a miser his gold, to treasure them as a definable and finite resource. And perhaps because physical infirmities have recently barred me from activities I’ve sorely needed–to be out and moving, experiencing the solitude and majesty of God’s creation as man pits himself against mountain….
Summer inflicts pain only autumn can salve, puts wrinkles in life only autumn can smooth. And like a mother with her hurting child, Golden Autumn heals the soul by touch and words alone.
Copyright 2003 James McAlister
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Despite my best intentions, I’ve often been disappointed in the lack of results from my praying. Since the death of my wife, however, I can honestly report more effectiveness than in any previous recollection.
But why? Perhaps because the trauma of death forced a shift in focus. Presenting God with only a list of needs no longer satisfied because I usually didn’t even know what to ask for in my extremity. Prayer has now become more of a closer relationship with the One who has invited me to come boldly before His throne and find mercy and grace to help in time of need. (Heb. 4:16).
What I describe here won’t necessarily be a pattern for others to follow exactly but simply an observation about how God seems to be working in this season of my life through three intertwining processes:
COMMUNICATING WITH GOD
When my son was small, he’d often ask me for things. And while I’d certainly grant some of his requests outright, what I really wanted to do was communicate with him so that we could understand each other and mutually arrive at the best decision. So we’d talk about the request and all its ramifications.
Thus my approach to God–my communication with Him– has largely taken the form of ongoing verbal conversations throughout the day. I literally speak aloud to God and explain puzzlements, issues, needs, anxieties, disappointments, sorrows, frustrations, loneliness, etc., as if confiding in a close personal friend from whom I withhold no secrets. I also ask questions and make requests. He understands, and verbalization (coupled with my Bible reading, of course) helps me gain clarification and insight.
This is reminiscent of conversations I used to have with my wife. We often rambled far afield from the original issue until we came to a resolution. There was seldom any quick fix.
CRYING OUT TO GOD
More so than ever before, I find my prayers punctuated by tears–real, hot and salty. They come without being beckoned and add urgency to my supplications. Does this make any difference? Perhaps. What parent won’t immediately attend to the needs and hurts of a weeping child? When Hezekiah cried out to God in deep distress of soul, God replied, “I have heard your prayers; I have seen your tears.” (Isa. 38:5). The combination found favor in heaven.
And though He was sinless and perfect, even Jesus Himself offered up prayers and supplications with loud cryings and tears–and was heard. (Heb. 5:7).
Tears often spring from a broken heart, and it’s comforting to know that “the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” He sees and hears me right where I am. (Psa. 34:17-18).
COUNTING ON GOD
Pray without expecting an answer and you won’t likely be disappointed. We must actively, expectantly, persistently count on God to do all He has promised: to meet our needs (Php. 4:19), to give us wisdom (Jas. 1:5), to never leave us nor forsake us (Heb. 13:5) and so much more. But far too often the seeming impossibility of a situation causes me to doubt. God cannot lie (Tit. 1:2), and I must learn to count on Him to be true to His word.
If I pray according to His will, He will both hear and answer. (1 Jn. 5:14-15). When I’m unsure of His will, I consider some questions. For example, is my prayer in alignment with the clear principles of scripture? Is it consistent with how God has acted before? Is it a good thing that would bring glory to Him and advance His kingdom?
While not perfect, such thinking helps persuade me that if I don’t know of any reason why He shouldn’t answer my request, I pray with confidence that He will. But what if I’m wrong? Then I count on the Holy Spirit to intercede for me according to the will of God. (Rom. 8:26). Thus I don’t have to pray without expecting results and can count on God to do what’s best.
You may get the idea that praying this way might be tedious and drawn out. It can be. Or that it might be emotional and intense. Certainly. Or perhaps even bold and aggressive. Yes.
Prayer indeed changes things, and the greatest changes I’ve seen have been in me. Pray, and you can expect the same.
Copyright 2009 James McAlister
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Bulletin Insert
After 30 months of agonizing preparation, countless prayers and the support of many who stood by me and helped me, I am now in a new house. I am thrilled for the fresh start in a place untainted by difficult memories, many brought on by the death of my mate and companion of 40 years.
Unlike the last move we made together in 2002, this one has brought me joy and thanks to God despite the fact that I’m now alone. The contrast between the two situations is so stark that I repost the following article written at that time as a reminder that hard times don’t last forever.
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“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
Washington Irving’s timeless thoughts bestow significance on a year succinctly characterized by a single word: tears.
Grueling and punishing, these past 12 months have slowly ground down both my enthusiasm and confidence. And like bogeymen lurking in the shadows, tears have flung themselves upon me at inopportune times.
Tears when our son moved out, a dramatic severing of the bonds of childhood with our last living offspring.
Tears upon leaving my employer–and the acquaintances–of 32 years. Another long-term kinship terminated to follow a shorter path.
Tears over relocating from our home of 20 years. Apart from physical complications, tearing ourselves out of intimate, familiar surroundings repeatedly inflicted emotional trauma. For there childhoods grew up and away, there the messenger of death called for our daughter, there gentle animal companions loved us and suffered and died.
Tears when gremlins of health conspired to plague us. Tears when the winds of favorable circumstances and relationships blew contrary. Tears when wrong prevailed–without rectification. Tears when dreams died but bitter disappointment flourished.
I don’t deny the power of tears. They have oft driven me to that secret place where one goes when there seems nowhere else to turn: to prayer. “When a man is at his wits’ end,” confides Oswald Chambers, “it is not a cowardly thing to pray….”
But though cowardly moments wilt my resolve, a Bible verse (Luke 18:1) blossoms with healing insight. “Now He [Jesus] was telling them a parable to show that at all times they ought to pray and not to lose heart.” When tears have bid heart to flee, prayer has shut the door.
For a brief interlude, tears have quitted. But knowing neither calendar nor clock, they will knock again in the night. And when they do, may their silent but compelling sincerity gain the ear of God alone who hears and answers prayer. For by our tears, He somehow waters the tiny seeds of hope growing deep within our hearts.
May that be sufficient and satisfy.
TO HIM ALONE WHO ANSWERS PRAYER
‘Tis God’s desire that we should pray and not lose heart
But cry to Him continually and have a part
In giving wings unto His plans from day to day
For bringing comfort to His own without delay.
For who can move the heart of Him who has the pow’r
To intervene and stay the loss of darkest hour?
‘Tis not the soul that’s never sunk into despair–
But ’tis the one whose only hope is answered prayer.
He prays the best who has the most to gain or lose
Through circumstances that he might not ever choose.
And by his tears to God alone who answers prayer,
The seeds of hope within his heart are watered there.
(Based on Luke 18:1-8)
Copyright 2002 James McAlister
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