The word “hitherto” seems like a hand pointing in the direction of the past. Twenty years or seventy, and yet “hitherto hath the Lord helped us!” Through poverty, through wealth, through sickness, through health; at home, abroad, on the land, on the sea; in honor, in dishonor, [...]]]> “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us” (I Sam. 7:12).

The word “hitherto” seems like a hand pointing in the direction of the past. Twenty years or seventy, and yet “hitherto hath the Lord helped us!” Through poverty, through wealth, through sickness, through health; at home, abroad, on the land, on the sea; in honor, in dishonor, in perplexity, in joy, in trial, in triumph, in prayer, in temptation–”hitherto hath the Lord helped!”

We delight to look down a long avenue of trees. It is delightful to gaze from one end of the long vista, a sort of verdant temple, with its branching pillars and its arches of leaves. Even so look down the long aisles of your years, at the green boughs of mercy overhead, and the strong pillars of lovingkindness and faithfulness which bear up your joys.

Are there no birds in yonder branches singing? Surely, there must be many, and they all sing of mercy received “hitherto.”

But the word also points forward. For when a man gets up to a certain mark, and writes “hitherto,” he is not yet at the end; there are still distances to be traversed. More trials, more joys; more temptations, more triumphs; more prayers, more answers; more toils, more strength; more fights, more victories; and then come sickness, old age, disease, death.

Is it over now? No! there is more yet–awakening in Jesus’ likeness, thrones, harps, songs, psalms, white raiment the face of Jesus, the society of saints, the glory of God, the fullness of eternity, the infinity of bliss. Oh, be of good courage, believer, and with grateful confidence raise thy “Ebenezer,” for,

“He who hath helped thee hitherto
Will help thee all thy journey through.”

When read in Heaven’s light, how glorious and marvelous a prospect will thy “hitherto” unfold to thy grateful eye. –  C. H. Spurgeon (From Streams in the Desert, December 31)

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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 [...]]]> I post this article at this commencement of a new year. 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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The boy persisted. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I promise. I really want to hear the story.”

The old man finally answered. “No matter, [...]]]> 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 persisted. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I promise. I really want to hear the story.”

The old man finally answered. “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 clearly… 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.”

Soft words came at last. “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. His blazing clothing blinded us and lit up 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, often to mocking and ridicule.

“Though he told us not to be afraid, his appearance terrified us. Even Eli, who seemed as big as Goliath to me, could barely stand up afterwards. And the angel’s message stunned us. After thousands of years, the Messiah had finally come! But He would not be the king we were expecting. Instead, we would find him lying in manger in a stable in Bethlehem. It didn’t make sense.”

Peter could hardly utter his next question. “Then what happened, Jacob?”

“Then the heavens exploded with countless other angels—all singing and praising God. But like the light from a snuffed candle, they suddenly disappeared, leaving us in darkness again.”

“It was then you went to Bethlehem?”

“Yes. We knew we must seek the Child and see if what the angel had said was true. Eli took off first, and I struggled to keep up as best my short legs could. We ran from stable to stable until we found the Child—exactly as the angel had described.”

“Jacob, the boys in the village say you dreamed all these things.”

“Yes, I’ve heard their foolish talk. 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’ 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 still lives. He is The Last Shepherd.”

“But how can there be another 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! He once said, ‘I am the Good Shepherd!’”

“He is also the Last Shepherd, for no other shepherd will ever come after Him to guard and protect His flock.”

“But how can He prove your story since he’s not here?”

“Tell me, Peter. How do you get your sheep to come to you?”

“I call them by name, and they come because they know my voice. First one, then another, until all are safely in the fold.”

“Exactly. And everyone who sees them respond to your call knows for certain you must be their shepherd. Is that not so? And so it is today with The Last Shepherd. He calls His sheep one by one, and as they hear their names they go to Him in heaven. But a day is coming when He will call all that remain, and the entire flock will go to Him at once. Then those who disbelieve will begin to understand.”

“I think I see, Jacob, but when will this happen?”

“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’s on a night much like tonight, here on the hillside, gazing into the heavens and guarding our sheep. Then I will go to Him.”

“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.

—–
“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 2011 James McAlister

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Then one ordinary day a stranger unexpectedly visited these [...]]]> A long time ago, further back than anyone can remember, a kind and wise king ruled a happy, contented people. His subjects loved him greatly, and he met their every need. In return, the king asked only that they obey him. And for a while they did.

Then one ordinary day a stranger unexpectedly visited these people. Grand in appearance but sly in purpose, he spoke beautiful, compelling words to encourage them to disobey their king. And he made deceitful promises he could never keep. The people listened carefully–before doing exactly as the stranger asked.

But as soon as they disobeyed the wise king, a surprising change confronted them. No longer free as they once had been, they suddenly found themselves enslaved by a harsh master–the stranger!

With great sadness the wise king unfolded the consequences of their disobedience: pain and suffering would be their constant companions.

Still, he did not leave them without hope. “In the fullness of time I will send a powerful new king to break the stranger’s grip on you. Watch constantly for your deliverer, for you do not what day or hour he will come. Unlike other kings, he will be lowly and meek and will not be clothed in regal garments. But you will come to know him by his name.”

A cruel taskmaster, the stranger continually encouraged the people to do all the evils the wise king had warned them against. As their suffering intensified, so did their longing for the deliverer who would release them from the stranger’s prison.

But the deliverer did not come in their lifetimes… or their children’s… or their grandchildren’s. Centuries slipped away, but from time to time the wise king would send reminders that he had not forgotten. The deliverer would come… one day.

Then on a night much like any other night, the heavens exploded with myriads of angels giving glory to God. The deliverer had indeed been born in a stable not far away, and shepherds raced to find this promised king. But as they had been told, they saw no king they recognized–just a baby in a humble manger.

But the wise king was proven right. They would come to know the promised one by his name–a Majestic Name that would thoroughly break the stranger’s powerful hold on them… and their children… and their grandchildren.

Of this Majestic Name, the Bible (Philippians 2:9-11) says, “Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name: That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

And because of the Majestic Name we remember at each Christmas season, hope will always be ours… and our children’s… and our grandchildren’s… forever.

MAJESTIC NAME

When time was full, the world had long been waiting
For God to send the One anticipated.
Of lowly birth, He set aside His glory.
The Son of God fulfilled redemption’s story.

As shepherds watched, the moment unsuspected,
God’s glory shown, and hope was resurrected!
Heavenly choirs poured praise and adorations!
Jesus was born a Savior for the nations!

Though sin had reigned, unchallenged in dominion,
A Babe had come in pow’rful opposition
To rule as King o’er all who would permit Him,
Redeeming souls and making life worth living.

(Refrain)
Majestic Name, above all others towers!
Majestic Name, that’s limitless in power!
At Jesus’ name, all knees will bend in honor
And call Him Lord to glorify the Father.

Copyright 2002 James McAlister

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—–

My dad had two fears: the nursing home and a long-winded speaker at his funeral. He avoided the first; the jury still debates the second.

The call from his apartment [...]]]> I post this article today in memory of my dad, a World War II veteran who was proud of his service. He died in December 2005.

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My dad had two fears: the nursing home and a long-winded speaker at his funeral. He avoided the first; the jury still debates the second.

The call from his apartment building came unexpectedly on Thursday morning. “Your dad has passed out and has no blood pressure.” But when I got there minutes later, he had revived. Flat on his back in the floor, he joked with the paramedics hovering over him.

For a 93-year-old, he did well in the hospital, and we had expected to take him home after a brief stay. But all his systems shut down suddenly on Friday evening, “old and worn out” as he often told us.

Looking back, I realize that he had frequently exhibited a peculiar sense of timing at critical points of life, this one being no exception. Four years ago, for example, he decided that he needed to give up a house for a retirement apartment. Afterward, his health improved enough to extricate himself from all his medications.

Then just a month later he concluded that he needed to quit driving. In picking up the truck keys as he had asked, I was also removing his last grip on independence. But it was time.

He called me the Sunday before his death, worrying that the arrangements for his funeral wouldn’t be handled properly. I assured him otherwise but promised that my sister, Sara, and I would get all loose ends tied up that week. That satisfied him.

Then came the hospital trip on Thursday.

Perfectly alert but seemingly a bit tired, he began asking “Where is Sara?” around noon on Friday. Each time–there were probably a dozen–I explained that she was on her way. When he acknowledged her arrival, I went home to rest. Within a couple of hours, though, he was gone.

Sara, Mary, Barrett and I sat with him in the hospital room for two hours awaiting the arrival of the funeral director. We reminisced and laid plans: I would be the dreaded long-winded speaker.

Beyond that, I wrestled with a peculiar revelation. For from my birth 60 years before until that moment, there had always been someone older in my line of ancestry. But the years had gradually, relentlessly taken all except my dad. And in the instant of his death, I moved to the head of the line.

While he was at the head of the line, Daddy frequently apologized for living so long and for being so much trouble. At such times I assured him, “It’s no trouble. You’re doing the very best that you can.” “Thanks for saying that,” he’d invariably reply.

Don’t those at the head of the line want to be loved and accepted, valued and honored by those lined up behind them? Don’t they want their contributions and sacrifices acknowledged and appreciated? Indeed. I see that more clearly today from my new vantage point.

Though he never spoke to us about World War II for a full 55 years, “The War” was on his mind constantly for the last five. As he lay on his bed, the people, places, difficulties, and distresses of that great struggle marched through his mind with greater intensity than today’s news. He recently confessed, “The War just won’t turn me loose.”

The War finally released him on December 9, 2005. But I wonder this: what will have hold of me until I eventually relinquish my unenviable place at the head of the line? A worthy cause, I pray.

THE HEAD OF THE LINE

The line I’m in that’s been so slow
Moved up one step today;
My turn’s not far away.
On to the front I surely go.
Once far — but now so near –
I see the head from here,
Brought closer with each death, I know.

Copyright 2005 James McAlister

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Bankers and merchants delighted in this new ten-day service. Yet the Pony Express was destined [...]]]> In the early 1860s, mail traveling by Wells Fargo stagecoaches took 20 days for the route from St. Joseph, Missouri, to Sacramento, California. But a single day, April 3, 1860, halved transit time when the Pony Express made its inaugural run.

Bankers and merchants delighted in this new ten-day service. Yet the Pony Express was destined to enjoy a short–but glorious–career. For even as fearless buckaroos streaked from station to station, other stalwarts steadily busied themselves stringing strands of copper, harbingers of greater change on the horizon.

All told, the Pony Express carried 37,753 letters on 308 runs over 616,000 miles. Though historical accounts vary somewhat, a telegraph line connecting Carson City, Nevada, to St. Joseph was completed on October 20, 1861, and two days later the Pony Express pastured its ponies. With the twist of two wires, the world changed again in a single day.

Then on May 10, 1869, at Promontory Summit, Utah, a final spike married the tracks of the Union Pacific Railroad and Central Pacific Railroad. Now connecting east and west, the transcontinental railroad ushered the stagecoach off stage.

Just last week an oak, stable and steadfast for the last 150 years, crashed to the ground, crushing four cars. Its violent plunge to earth sent power lines whiplashing, compelling a young man to eat dirt–or face decapitation. Our son’s close brush with death reminded us: change comes quickly.

And this very afternoon, heavy machinery lumbered into the long-vacant lot next door. The growls of great yellow beasts proclaimed instant change to field mice forced to yield habitat to yet another concrete slab.

New temporarily supplants old in a never-ending succession of leapfrogging.

But the greatest change in a single day cannot be called temporary. Propelled by neither twisted wire nor driven spike nor foot upon the moon, its impetus was a single stone, moved but a few brief feet.

Easter is coming soon. If ever a single day wrought dramatic upheaval, that displaced stone and empty tomb give testimony.

The Bible makes this terse announcement: “He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where He was lying.” Indeed, a man had come back to life, but such had happened before. But unlike His predecessors, this Man would never retreat to the company of the dead. His resurrection blazed a trail to eternity for an innumerable host to follow–one day.

And in the pattern established by telegraph and railroad, change encompassed far more than simple facts interpreted by eyes and ears. The overriding significance of this singular event resides in hopes yet unseen. Hopes of a meaningful conclusion to life, a new body, a reunion with loved ones, a just reward for labors, a home in heaven….

And for each one who personally embraces the hope of That Day, change is instant–and forever.

Copyright 2003 James McAlister

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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 [...]]]> 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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—–

We stood side-by-side, my son and I, gazing at the small photograph on [...]]]> 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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—– As many [...]]]> 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.
—–
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.
—–
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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