I have found, however, a few truly useful rules for successful living–but [...]]]> Throughout my school years I had to memorize numerous rules I never completely understood. For example, why must I lie down instead of lay down for a nap? But there is a grammatical rule that governs such statements even if I don’t know it.

I have found, however, a few truly useful rules for successful living–but they just don’t seem right. In fact, they appear at first glance to be flat out wrong because they conflict with our “common sense.”

THE FIRST ONE OVER THE FINISH LINE DOES NOT WIN THE PRIZE

In a race, the winner is the one who gets to the finish line first–unless he’s disqualified for an infraction of the rules. Rules are important, and we need to understand them.

Who was the strong man, David or Goliath? Goliath, of course, who stood taller than nine feet and had been a warrior since his youth. His opponent? A mere shepherd boy who couldn’t even wear a man’s armor. But Goliath’s bulk and formidable array of weaponry proved no match for David’s confidence, inspired and backed up by the name of the Lord God of Hosts. If bets had been taken that day, they would all have been on the strong man who lost. “The race is not to the swift, or the battle to the strong.” (Eccl 9:11).

So if the first one over the finish line doesn’t win the prize, then who does? “Blessed is a man who perseveres under trial, for once he has been approved (by God), he will receive the crown of life….” (James 1:12). Eternal prizes go to those who persevere despite obstacles and sidetracks. There are no shortcuts to maturity, and neither strength nor speed decide the winner.

PERFECT CONDITIONS DO NOT YIELD FRUIT

Perfect conditions seldom occur, and “he who watches the wind does not sow, and he who watches the clouds does not reap.” (Eccl 11:10). If we wait until conditions are “just right,” we won’t ever attempt anything.

When the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, they were led by God into the wilderness where they were three days without water. When the water they finally found at Marah was bitter, great complaints arose against Moses. Moses cried out to God, and following His instructions, tossed a certain tree into the water, causing the bitter water to become sweet. (Exodus 15:22-27).

Thus satisfied, sustained and nourished with sweet water, the people moved on. They camped next at Elim, an excellent spot with 12 wells of water and 70 palm trees. What could have been better? But the great work of God was done at the bitter waters; there is no miracle recorded at Elim, where conditions were perfect.

Out of the hard spots in life grow powerful testimonies, towering strength, clear insight. Perfect conditions don’t produce that kind of fruit.

BEING RIGHT IS NOT ENOUGH

Stated differently, the truth is never sufficient in itself. We do need to be right and have a firm grip on truth–but there’s more.

On occasion I assemble the ingredients for a chocolate pie on my counter. Tasted individually, however, they are disgusting. Bitter cocoa powder, chalky flour–and there’s no way I’d eat a raw egg! But in the proper proportions and cooked for the right amount of time, the result is really quite tasty.

I’ve been around numerous churches and individuals who were right in their teaching and doctrine, but they had neither significant influence nor power. Why not? An essential ingredient was missing from the mix.

Paul explains this way: “That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; but speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ.” (Ephesians 4:14-15, emphasis added). Truth does not prevail unless mixed with love.

In evaluating my various roles in life–husband, father, grandfather, teacher, leader–I draw one conclusion: I’ve been right a lot more times than I’ve been effective.

I’ve preached too much and prayed too little, loved too little, had too little compassion, overlooked too few wrongs done to me, forgiven too little. Indeed I was right–yet ineffective. Truth doesn’t stand alone.

The important rules that govern our lives are sometimes veiled in darkness.  But God waits to throw back the shutters and flood us with light–if we’ll ask Him. (James 1:5).

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—– This is the saddest day of my life. I wish it would be the only saddest day of [...]]]> This week's mail brings a letter from a distraught mother whose only child is painfully separating herself from her family–and a note of encouragement to that mother from an older friend. This poignant exchange holds two important lessons.

—–
This is the saddest day of my life. I wish it would be the only saddest day of my life, but alas, it is just the beginning of the saddest rest of my life.

My daughter is leaving home. If only she would stay a little longer. If only we could read one last book together. What was the last book we read together? When was that? Did we laugh?

If only we could spend one week… every night together… cuddled on the couch as in days of old when she would greet me at the door with "Where have you been? Let's read!!"

But that little life is over. It did not have to end this way.

I would be willing to give her every cent I will make for the rest of my life if she would wait… wait until family struggles are resolved–and then go.

But an exciting future without parental oversight beckons… and she goes. And I am looking old age full in the face. Old age without the child who has been joy to my heart, the sunlight of my life. We truly love each other… but she goes.

Children break our hearts and don't even know it.

She will probably never understand that I will simply miss her presence. Oh, how I miss her even now, and she has not even packed one bag. But her heart is gone already.

Dear God, please let her miss me just a little. And have mercy on me, Father. How else can I bear this… this… this gaping void in front of me?

—–
I felt your heart this morning as I read your note. I have often sat and stared at a picture of my children and remembered the times of great joy–and the times of my great failures. We have been able to live close to both of them, and there has been great opportunity to be involved in their growth as adults. There has also come openness to the reality of the truths of God and a great desire to know what He has to say about life.

My son is now my best male friend and my daughter my best female friend. The last few years have provided occasion to give advice on finances, child rearing, marital problems and business opportunities.

And now God is allowing me to have a better ending than my beginning with my children.

—–
Those with the power to hurt us sometimes exercise their ability to blot the light from our lives. But by the grace of God, the dawn may be more dramatic than the sunset–if we can cling to hope through the seemingly interminable midnight hours.

Copyright 2003 James McAlister

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The birth of our first child initially launched us into the rough seas of change. Her profound retardation, blindness and a host of associated infirmities complicated the journey. But the remarkable [...]]]> Life has led us through deep waters of painful transition but a few times. The latest (and most difficult thus far) is at flood stage.

The birth of our first child initially launched us into the rough seas of change. Her profound retardation, blindness and a host of associated infirmities complicated the journey. But the remarkable shift from couple to threesome brings challenges and adjustments even with healthy children.

In just four short years, Jenny, always a baby in ability, exchanged our home for the Conway Human Development Center. Empty nesters so quickly, we struggled.

Four more years brought God’s blessing of another child, a son. From birth, Barrett was the sunshine of our physical lives. A trio again, we incorporated the lifestyle modifications a wild and woolly baby demands.

Seasons flowed from one to another, seamlessly it now seems, until Jenny died at age 22. We reeled–and fought to adapt.

Barrett grew on, gradually broadening the scope of independence through a series of mini-transitions over the next six-plus years. But this latest change, his move from our home to a rented house, has been the most painful of all. I can’t explain it here–and won’t try.

He spent his first night at the new place on Friday and moved more belongings the next day. Responding exactly as I did when Jenny died, I wandered about his room that night, touching remnants from the childhood he had left behind. Magazines, books, a set of darts… faint reminders of a relationship that was once so real but now permanently altered. Thus cast into a centrifuge of emotion, my mind spun with countless mistakes and errors, now irretrievable, made as a father.

Before falling into bed, I wrote:

“Tonight I will kneel beside the bed where he lay just two nights ago. I will stretch out my hands and feel the spot he always occupied with his cat sharing the foot of his cover. And I will grieve before God over my failures, over my harshness in my attempts to correct him and direct him. I will ask God to forgive the lack of love I often expressed toward the treasure He entrusted to me.

“I will stretch out my hands and feel for the body of the son beside whom I have often knelt and prayed, the son whose presence often drew me from a restful sleep in order to confirm his well being. But he will not be there–and I will weep over my loss. But I will nonetheless pray for his safety, his health and his security. And I will beseech God to do what I can no longer do–guard the purity and future of my son, my only son, the son who is more precious to me than anything else in the world.”

May God protect you and bless you and keep you, my son, as you make this first in a series of many painful transitions you must face in your own manhood.

Copyright 2002 James McAlister

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At age 30, Joseph was a Hebrew [...]]]> Because of the great wisdom he displayed to the king of a rich and powerful land, a young slave was once elevated to the position of Prime Minister. Wherever he went thereafter, runners preceded him and shouted, "Bow the knee." Thirty years later he would learn a hard lesson.

At age 30, Joseph was a Hebrew slave imprisoned in Egypt because of a false accusation against him. But a sudden turn of events brought not only his release, but also instant promotion to the Pharaoh's second in command.

When Joseph was about 60, his father, Jacob, was dying. As was the custom, Jacob called for Joseph's two sons so he could bestow the patriarchal blessing upon them. Since Jacob was blind, Joseph carefully arranged the boys in front of their grandfather in just the right positions. He naturally expected his father to simply extend his right hand to the head of the elder son to impart the blessing and prerogatives of the firstborn. But that's not what happened.

Jacob purposely crossed his hands to rest his right hand upon the younger boy. This unexpected change of plans greatly displeased Joseph, and grasping his father's hands, he urged, "Not so, my father, for this one is the firstborn. Place your right hand on his head."

But his father refused and said, "I know, my son, I know. He also shall become a people, and he also shall be great. However…."

Even after the great Apostle Paul entreated the Lord three times for removal of the "thorn in his flesh," God also said "however" in so many words and did not do it. But in the gracious acceptance of that painful "however," Paul learned to be content with the hard spots of his life, even seeing them as unexpected fountains of strength.

When our son Barrett was small, I would often take his hand when I sensed he was in danger of stepping into traffic. If he pulled away and continued his own course, I could do nothing to protect him. But if he let me lead him–let me say "however" to his plan–he would be safe even though the route might seem unnecessarily long.

Over the years, I have earnestly prayed for health and housing and relationships and finances. I have prayed for opportunities and wisdom and calm circumstances and relief from difficult trials. And many times God has said, "I know, my son. I know all these things are important to you, and you think you would be better off if you had them. However…."

In such times there's always a lesson I need to learn–and find contentment with it. The "howevers" we find thrust into our plans are an inextricable part of our learning process, and how we respond to them says a lot about our growth and maturity.

Copyright 2001 James McAlister

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And while I struggled to give an answer that satisfied a [...]]]> When our son was young, he asked a simple question about his sister. "Daddy," he said, "did God know before Jenny was born that she would be retarded?" "Yes, Son. God knew that." "Well, if He knew, then why did He let her be born?"

And while I struggled to give an answer that satisfied a four-year-old, the question still lingers. It's arisen recently with Olivia Grace Stanton, the baby daughter of friends Mike and Denise Stanton. If God knew beforehand that a genetic disorder would take Olivia's life after only 10 short days, why would she and her family have to go through such agony? The question is difficult–but important.

As we wrestle with the question of why tragedy strikes some and not others, one conclusion is inescapable: there are no pat answers. Olivia showed us that there is far more to achievement than what education, resources, and intelligence can effect. History indicates that suffering sometimes becomes the unwanted catalyst for success.

Through painful hardships and privations, the Lewis and Clark expedition (1804–1806) expanded our country's vision to the exciting possibilities of westward expansion. These pioneers blazed a trail to the Pacific Ocean, and others would rapidly follow.

In the midst of this arduous journey, Meriwether Lewis contemplated his life. "This day I completed my thirty-first year, and conceived that I had, in all human probability, now existed about half the period which I am to remain in this sublunary world. I reflected that I had as yet done but little, very little, indeed, to further the happiness of the human race, or to advance the information of the succeeding generation."

Hand-picked by Thomas Jefferson for this job, Lewis envisioned fulfillment not in the prestige of his position, but in being able to transfer something of enduring value to his fellow man. He wanted others to benefit from his mission in life.

In one sense, Olivia is no different. She just had a different mission. And though her expedition through life was ever so brief, it has expanded the vision and purpose of many who would ponder her ten-day journey. Truly, she helped impart vital information to those who will follow.

We will all eventually follow Olivia–into death. And whether we persist for 10 days or 10 decades, the trials of life–even those she and her family endured–are temporary. She showed us that.

To benefit our fellow man, it helps to rejoice with those who rejoice and to weep with those who weep. Rejoicing is easy. But to weep with those who weep, we must first weep ourselves. Olivia taught many how to weep.

What greater comfort can we receive, but that from the hand of one who has been where we are going? Olivia opened floodgates of compassion and comfort toward her family.

Olivia may be gone, but she has advanced succeeding generations just like Meriwether Lewis hoped for himself. That's real success.

Copyright 2001 James McAlister

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