Words To Live By

I am posting this older article today both in memory and in honor of Allen Etheridge and Paul Harrison, two of my high school classmates (Crossett High School Class of 1963) who gave their lives in Vietnam. May God bless their families today.

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We stood side-by-side, my son and I, gazing at the small photograph on a tombstone. My son finally broke our silence: “Dad, he’s so young!” Yes, I thought, the very same age as you. And because of him — and so many of his companions — we had the privilege of even being there together.

He’s ever youthful in that picture, an 18-year-old soldier keeping a mute, timeless vigil over his own grave. Though we were alone that day, I’ve seen a woman there before, his mother perhaps. And the continual presence of flowers tells me that there is someone who can’t forget … and shouldn’t.

His life came and went so quickly. He was barely old enough to drive when he died for his country. For him it’s over, but not for his parents. They’re the ones who will visit his grave and pose the endless questions in their minds.

What would life have held had he lived? Would he have married and had children? How would he have handled joys and tears, success and failure? Would he have achieved prominence or obscurity, wealth or poverty?

And perhaps the most difficult question of all: Why my son?

Certainly he was spared the difficult trials that come so close on the heels of youth: struggling with jobs and families, making mistakes with mates and children, feeling the hurt of rejection from family and friends, seeing health ebb away.

In one sense, he’s forever held captive in the bloom of youth. Standing at attention in uniform, his picture reflects confidence, hope and courage. His is a warrior, strong and fit for battle. And that’s how he’ll be remembered.

The news that a child has been taken by death brings a numbing knot in the pit of the stomach. Can such a loss ever be soothed?

In November 1864, Abraham Lincoln faced that challenge. He wrote to console Mrs. Lydia Bixby, a widow who was believed to have lost five sons in the Civil War. “I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.”

The young man in the photograph is a hero. When duty compelled him to forsake all for the cause of freedom, he obeyed. In his death, someone else’s son has perhaps spared me of the awful burden of loss that his family still carries. I am indebted, both to him and to them for that immeasurable sacrifice. And I thank God for him in the same breath that I ask God for a successful future for my son.

How ironic that death and life would be entwined in such a way. How tragic that we could ever forget what a great debt we owe for the freedoms we often so lightly esteem.

MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS

Some think that war’s a faceless game
And never feel the awful cost
Of blood that’s spilled in freedom’s name
Which mounts as mothers’ sons are lost.

I’ve seen a grave one mother tends,
Her inner battles not yet won,
Still clinging to the might-have-beens
That were not buried with her son.

Copyright 1999 James McAlister

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This is a brief audio message (15 minutes) given at a graduation ceremony on May 17, 2009. There is currently no written version, but here are the “three rules that don’t seem right”:

1. The first one over the finish line does not win the prize.

2. Perfect conditons produce no fruit.

3. It’s never enough to be right.

Listen here

Following is the talk given by my son Barrett at his mother’s funeral. I post it again for Mother’s Day as a reminder of just how quickly our time with our mothers, wives and daughters can slip away from us. There are other Mother’s Day posts under the Holidays category on the right-hand side.

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As many of you know, my mother had a great love for literature, especially children’s literature. And there was one book that she got years ago that’s entitled Love You Forever. It’s a story about a mother who sang to her baby son, “I’ll love you forever; I’ll love you for always; As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” She continued this throughout his life.

Eventually, however, their roles reversed. The mother got sick, and her son took care of her. Then he went home to his son, held him in his arms and sang, “I’ll love you forever; I’ll love you for always; As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” Mom and I read that book countless times–and always cried.

This book was much on my mind as I wrote this letter to my mom after seeing her in the emergency room. I was badly shaken, and there were so many things I wanted to tell her. I read this letter to her the following evening in the hospital.
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Dear Mom,

I have so many things I’d like to say to you, but I’m not sure if I can get the words out of my head onto the paper. So this might ramble a little bit.

When Brandi and I walked into the ER, we were taken aback. You and Dad hadn’t exactly told us how sick you really were. Seeing you made me realize how short life is and how so many memories come to mind at such times. Memories like…..

“Mommy, rock me in the red rocker.” This is probably my first real memory.

Caffeine-free Diet Coke. I didn’t know there was anything else to drink.

Putting war paint on Wesley and me and sneaking in crosses so we would be Christian Indians.

Lunch at Pizza Inn. We played games, and you attempted to make me do some homework.

Shaving my head before BMA camp. What a haircut!

Scrapbooks for every year of my life. I still love to look at them, and I’m sure that your grandson Jackson will as well.

The detailed journals you kept. Do you remember that when we were having fights you would pull out the journals and read them to me? Hearing how much love you had for me always seemed to shape me up.

You always took me to soccer and baseball practices and to baseball and Tae Kwon Do as well.

Countless costumes for dress up.

Playing dodge ball in the hall. Playing Pente, Aggravation, Sorry, dominoes, and 42. Trying to teach me to play the piano.

Tricking me into believing that Grandpa was giving me a hoe for Christmas–and it was really a microscope.

Encouraging me to go and do without being afraid of the world.

Standing by the convictions God had given you and Dad without caring whether others agreed.

Producing amazing productions for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Presidents’ Day–and anything else than could be used for a learning opportunity.

Crazy birthday parades and banners that found their way into the newspaper.

Never showing different amounts of love to Jenny and me. You loved us both the same.

Giving up a career to stay home and teach me even though you had never even heard of such a thing.

Summer reading programs. Reading to Dad, Jenny and me. Instilling in me a love for literature.

Mom, I regret that I have wasted so many years in not loving and appreciating you and Dad in the way that the two of you deserve. But I want you to know that the things that you tried to instill in me were not wasted. I look forward to instilling them in Jackson. Your legacy will live on. I also want you to know that you and Dad are my heroes. I hope that Brandi and I can be the parents that you have been.

I love you, Mom, and I treasure the time that we have left together. And whether that be one more day or twenty years, I want you to remember one thing: I’ll love you forever; I’ll love you for always; As long as I’m living, my mommy you’ll be.
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Barrett was able to spend eight more days with his mom. You can listen to his talk at www.james-mc.com.

Copyright 2007 James McAlister

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On December 12, 1899, a 25-year-old British cavalry officer made a daring nighttime escape from an enemy prison, but the frightful prospect of imminent recapture soon overwhelmed him.

He later confessed, “I realized with awful force that no exercise of my own feeble wit and strength could save me from my enemies, and that without the assistance of that High Power which interferes in the eternal sequence of causes and effects more often than we are always prone to admit, I could never succeed. I prayed long and earnestly for help and guidance. My prayer, as it seems to me, was swiftly and wonderfully answered.”

After asking God’s help, he then determined to seek refuge in a nearby house. Without knowing whether deliverance or destruction would answer, he anxiously knocked at the door. Winston Churchill thus discovered the only haven within 20 miles and lived to become a world powerhouse.

This story provides a wonderful illustration of Jesus’ threefold admonition: “Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened to you.” (Mat. 7:7).

And therein are keys to help us decide what’s next in life, an issue I face daily.

ASK WITH THE EXPECTATION THAT GOD WILL ANSWER.

We should first ask God to meet our needs. And if answers aren’t immediately forthcoming, we are to keep on asking. Unfortunately, many of us ask of God but don’t really expect much to happen and soon give up. Nevertheless, we need to ask with the firm belief that Jesus meant what He said: those who ask will receive.

Realize, too, that we can ask wrongly. If needs are not met, we might consider that our asking could be amiss. (James 1:6, 4:3).

SEEK WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF FINDING WHAT YOU NEED.

Have you ever noticed that God sometimes answers prayers in ways we’re not expecting? So we need wisdom to understand what’s really going on. Wisdom must be sought: “If you seek her as silver, and search for her as hidden treasures, then you shall understand….” (Prov. 2:4-5). There’s urgency in this sort of seeking.

Here’s what I do. After asking God to meet my specific needs, I open my Bible and pray something like this: “Heavenly Father, I need for you to speak to me today in a way that I can understand. Is there anything you want to tell me?” Then I read. If I encounter a verse where I believe that He is speaking, I underline it, date it, and jot a short note about what I believe the message is to me. If doubts come later, I can look back and say, “On this day God said….” That brings confidence.

KNOCK WITH THE ASSURANCE THAT GOD IS GOING TO GIVE DIRECTION AT THE RIGHT TIME.

But there’s an additional step. After asking and seeking we will often encounter situations where a decision is required. Do I move forward, or wait? Do I do this or that? These decision points are “doors,” doors that must be tested with a “knock.” Churchill knocked at a physical door, but there are other kinds as well.

Believing they were led of God, the Apostle Paul and his companions endeavored to go into Bythenia, but that door closed to them. Shortly thereafter, however, an unexpected door of opportunity in Macedonia opened. (Acts 16:7-9). So whether a door opens or closes, direction is given in either case.

Deciding what’s next in life is a process whereby an amalgam of perplexities, obscurities and conflicts is gradually refined into clarity we can act upon.

EARLY, EARLY I WILL SEEK HIM

Early, early I will seek Him
Seek Him first, foremost of all.
Heaven’s dew is then the freshest,
That on me His grace may fall.

Seek Him earnestly and often,
Seek Him while He may be found.
Once the hardened heart has softened,
Then we are on praying ground.

Seek Him when your visions perish,
Plans derailed by Satan’s darts.
He’s the One who said He’d cherish
Prayers that spring from humble hearts.

Seek Him when there’s joy abounding,
Blessings showered all around.
Grateful praise too often missing,
Thankful hearts too seldom found.

Seek Him and He’ll not forsake you.
Seek Him on behalf of friends.
Adverse gales that may assail you
He can turn to pleasant winds.

Seek Him first in youthful vigor,
Seek Him ’til life’s at its end.
For our faith cannot grow bigger
Lest we seek Him friend to friend.

Copyright 2009 James McAlister

Listen to related audio message

A stone presented a formidable problem that first resurrection morning. Massive and threatening, it blocked the entrance to Jesus’ tomb for the women needing to anoint His body. “Who will move it for us?” they puzzled–but found no answer.

When they arrived at the garden, however, astonishment gripped their hearts. The stone had already been set aside, allowing them to enter the tomb. But the dead Jesus they expected to find was not there! Risen, an angel told them, just as He had said.

That great stone of worry, the deepest of concerns in the early morning hours, had been rolled away for their benefit, not His. And on the inside of the empty tomb they discovered not the worst of their expectations, but the best. Though Jesus had promised to rise from the dead, they hadn’t believed… until the stone was moved. Then gripped by both fear and joy, they raced to tell others.

This was not the first stone to conceal a great work of God from those who desperately needed deliverance and relief. It had happened before at the tomb of Lazarus. Because of that stone, the family couldn’t see in, nor did they want to. After four days of death, putrefaction and stench on the other side of the stone surely awaited them. Or so they thought.

But Jesus had promised, “Your brother will live again.” Still, they hadn’t believed… until He moved the stone. Then Lazarus, dead just moments before, walked out of his dark tomb into a bright new life.

The glimpse of resurrection and life eternal foreshadowed with Lazarus was secured when Jesus Himself passed from death into life; not even an immovable stone could hold Him there.

Stones persist today and gain their power in the same way as they did in the time of Jesus: our reluctance and refusal to believe what He has said. For me, ominous stones of fear, confusion, doubt, bitterness and a host of their companions have repeatedly entombed my future and outlook in darkness and blinding hopelessness.

But He still moves stones, and for every one that has gained ascendency there’s a life-giving promise begging me for belief and obedience. Am I anxious? He promises peace that passes understanding. (Phil. 4:6-7). Am I confused? He promises wisdom. (James 1:5).

The empty tomb of Jesus on that first resurrection morning paints this picture of truth: a stone is powerless in the face of promise. And on the other side of the stone we will discover not the worst of expectations, but the best. He lives, and so shall we–for time and eternity.

HE STILL MOVES STONES

Both Death and Darkness ruled the day
Around the tomb where Laz’rus lay.
Cried Jesus in authority,
“Remove the stone and set him free!”

Have stony trials progressively
Extinguished hopes of victory?
Embrace His word triumphantly:
He’ll move those stones and set you free.

Have stones of fear, confusion, doubt
Destroyed your faith and burned you out?
Then look to Him expectantly:
He’ll move those stones and set you free.

Are your dreams blocked or gone astray
By stones of hindrance in the way?
His Spirit will bring clarity:
He’ll move those stones and set you free.

(Refrain)
He still moves stones, so give Him glory!
He still moves stones to change your story!
What e’er your trial or loss or need
If there’s a stone, He wants you freed.

Copyright 2009 James McAlister

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Bulletin Insert

This article was originally published in the October 1982 issue of Moody Monthly magazine. Jenny lived for 13 more years after the article was written. You will see just the first page of the article below, but there’s also link where you can read it all.

Read the entire article here

Childhood is incredibly fragile and fleeting. And though its passage can be gauged in finite increments of months and years, parents easily identify with the “first times” which punctuate their memories. Some, such as first words and first steps, are rarely forgotten.

Still, a subtle exchange is underway as “first times” are seamlessly displaced by “last times.” The last ride on the merry-go-round and the last story book and the last tuck into bed all seem to make their escapes without any of the fanfare of the “first times.” We don’t even notice their absence until someone says, “When was the last time….”

But all the while, childhood–with its wonder and hope–has been slipping through our fingers. It once seemed to have substance, even an intense presence, but like the morning mist, it dispersed before our eyes. In its place we found something else: obstacles and challenges that we couldn’t see before because of the mist. It was then that a new set of perhaps-not-so-thrilling “first times” emerged, and some of them weren’t much fun.

Parents have told me some painful stories about their children in recent weeks. They simply don’t understand how such magical, enjoyable childhoods could have turned into horrifying nightmares.

The stories vary, or course, but there is a common thread: adult children are making some terrible choices. One has moved out because he doesn’t like being told what to do; he’s joining the Marines. Another has fallen into gross immorality inconsistent with her upbringing. A thirty-year-old can’t keep steady work. Another’s drug use has caused her to abandon her children. And these aren’t the only ones.

Why have such horrendous difficulties crept in when childhood seemed so pleasant? I don’t have any pat answers, but I will share one thing that surfaces far too frequently. Deal with it, and you solve a lot of the problems.

One father told me that his son was doing fine… until he fell in with bad friends. They partied so much that the boy had to drop out of college. Another young man was indignant when his father tried to control the company he was keeping; it was too late for intervention. Friends are so influential that parents and children need to learn how to spot and avoid the bad apples early on.

Though one’s physical companions are extremely important, the issue of “friends” is far broader. It extends to the music we listen to, the movies we watch, and the books we read. In such activities, relationships and bonds develop, and bonds are hard to break.

“My best friend,” said tycoon Henry Ford, “is the one who brings out the best in me.” And that’s a good test. If a friendship–physical or otherwise–does not inspire one’s best, perhaps it should be avoided. Otherwise, the morning mist of childhood may suddenly swell into an angry storm from which there is no relief.

THE MORNING MIST

When morning mist is heavy and
It thickly blankets all,
It mutes the harshness of the world,
And problems seem so small.

It’s then that dreams can reach the sky
With future looming bright,
For nothing is impossible
When morning mist is right.

But as the day begins to dawn,
And vapors dissipate,
The challenges we see unveiled
Can cause our hearts to faint.

And though we cannot ever hold
The mist with tightened grip,
`Twill be so sad if when it’s gone
We’ve let its wonder slip.

For childhood is just such a mist
So quickly come to naught
And often taking with it all
The magic that it brought.

Copyright 1999 James McAlister

It’s been a year since I sent out one of my regular newsletters, so I thought I might give you a brief update as several have inquired about how I’m doing.

My ability to concentrate on “creative” sorts of things is slowly returning back to more of a “normal” state. I do understand that the loss of such ability is common among people who have suffered a great loss in their lives.

Otherwise, I’m doing well. I still try to visit the fitness center five or six times a week, and on many evenings when the weather permits, I also walk out by the river. This activity has helped both physical and mental well being. And I’m continuing with the Spanish lessons and try to work on them some every day.

One of the most important things I do is to drive to Benton two mornings a week to stay with Jackson, who is surely the world’s most intelligent, funny, helpful, winsome, etc., etc., 27-month-old grandson. We sit in the floor and build with his blocks, play with his cars–and read the books that his Gramma Mary read to his daddy when he was a little boy. I enjoy this time immensely. Jackson’s mom, Brandi, has a morning job at First Assembly of God, and his dad, Barrett, now works at Landers Chrysler Jeep Dodge. He loves the work (which would terrify me), but car sales are at a 27-year low. I pray a lot that business would increase. They moved into their own house last year and have worked so hard to make it into a pleasant home.

For those who may be interested, I have moved all the content from my old web site to this new format because it gives me more flexibility in categorizing and classifying the material so that it can be located and searched. I do hope to occasionally post articles in the coming months. I’ll let regular subscribers to the old newsletter know when there’s new content–and you can also subscribe by email at the top of the page.  The categories I’ve assigned to the articles here need a lot of work. There are too many of them, too many  unclassified–and they need a lot of refinement. But at least the content is here, including poems and songs that weren’t on the old site. And the audio messages are better organized and descriptive.

My health is good. In addition to healthy eating (usually), I am taking a new nutritional supplement that has given me more energy than at any time in my recollection. Unfortunately, however, I have started making chocolate pies for special occasions, and those conspire against all of my noble efforts to eat right.

I do, of course, continue to miss Mary. The empty house is exceedingly lonely at times but without the darkness that I once felt. I do need to move to a smaller place but don’t yet have any clarification about “what’s next.” So I’ll stay put until I can see more clearly when and where to move. Until then, I have at least half of this house closed off and hardly ever enter those areas. I have spent what seems like countless hours in trying to deal with the aftermath of death and get rid of things I won’t need in the future. The process of adjustment has seemed exceedingly slow and painful, but today, the second anniversary of her death, I can see how far I have really come.

May God bless you all for your prayers and concerns.

What to do when the old ways don’t work (based on Mark 6:45-52)
Copyright 2008 James McAlister   Listen here

Steps for finding direction in life (based on Matthew 7:7-10).
Copyright 2008 James McAlister    Listen here