by Jimmy McAfee | Oct 17, 2018 | Uncategorized
All of us have something that our emotions can’t deal with. For some people, it is childhood illness. For others, it may be mistreatment of animals, domestic abuse, or something else. When we are confronted with the struggles of those victims we try to deny it, then become overwhelmed by anger and sadness.
I wasn’t aware of the area where I was totally defenseless until it found me. It is a condition that cannot be fought and robs people of their very identities.
My mother-in-law was a victim of early onset dementia. We witnessed her frustration when she first couldn’t find the right words to finish a sentence, and then later when she was unable to complete tasks she had once enjoyed.
Our kids could not understand why their grandmother didn’t know who they were anymore. Eventually, when Kim told her “It’s my fortieth birthday, Mom” there was no recognition left in her eyes. Her mother wanted badly to know who people were, but her memories of them were just no longer there.
Day by day, we sat by helpless as a vicious disease slowly stole her life. Each of the little things that made her special disappeared, one at a time. It was a heartbreaking process that lasted for years and took an enormous toll on everyone. By the time she passed away, there was nothing left of who she had once been. I wouldn’t curse my worst enemy with that pain.
Less than five years later, my mother could no longer hide the same symptoms.
I don’t like to talk about my mom’s condition. It hurts me to answer questions when there is no hope of a cure. I don’t know how to help, or even how to handle my own jumbled emotions.
I have always been close to her. We talked almost daily wherever I lived, but we can’t anymore. I still visit her regularly but miss her desperately. I wish I knew a way to reclaim the sweet, loving person who touched so many lives. I am helpless.
When I recognized the same early symptoms in a friend the other day, I didn’t want to believe it, then alternated between being angry and wishing I could push it out of my mind.
The Gospel of John, chapter 11, verse 35 is the favorite verse of every lazy kid assigned to memorize a Bible verse. It reads simply
Jesus wept.
It is part of the story of Lazarus. Four days after Lazarus’ death, Jesus joined the funeral party. When he saw the overwhelming sorrow that had consumed both family and friends, he became angry at first and then began to cry. He gathered himself and raised Lazarus from the dead. Showing his power over the grave was a pivotal point in his ministry.
In my search for comfort during hard times, the simple verse “Jesus wept” troubled me.
Jesus knew his identity as the author of life. He knew with certainty that Lazarus would rise to live with him again in a glorious celebration that exceeded anything he had known before. He even knew that Lazarus would walk out of his grave in a few moments to rejoin those he loved.
But the sadness, pain, suffering, and loss of life brought the Savior himself to tears. Although he was able to do anything, the sorrow in this world was so great that he wept.
If Jesus was affected that deeply, how can I hope to find peace?
Crushing sorrow became unbearable in the knowledge that the creator himself was reduced to tears. The pain was so great and relief so far away that I simply gave up.
That was when God told me that I had it all wrong.
Jesus didn’t weep because of the situation. His tears didn’t come because of the hardship or lost hope. Even as he brought the answer to their prayers, he had paused to connect with them and to share their pain.
He cried because he had never wanted it to be this way; he never wanted to see us hurt.
There is a big difference between Jesus crying with us in our pain and crying because the pain in this world overwhelmed him. He conquered this world, but he never left us behind.
It is hard for me to fathom a savior who can breathe life into a hundred billion galaxies but patiently comforts me. He rules over everything but cares about the daily struggles of one small man who is sad because his mom is sick.
That is why I make a decision every day to give my life to him. It’s not the infinite power. It’s not a sense of obligation. It’s certainly not a fear of hellfire or endless punishment. It’s because I can always depend on his love for me being total and complete. His love is so personal that he will cry with me. He cries for you, too.
One day all the pain will be gone, and I will be reunited with those who have been taken from me. We will sing praises to the one who not only saved us from death but loves us enough to share every moment. If he is there in our sorrow, how much more in our celebration?
Jesus wept.
Hope is alive.
My prayer today:
Father, help me to reflect your spirit. When I serve others, remind me to slow down and connect with them. Your light shines the brightest when others feel that I care, not merely because they receive my assistance. May I be filled with your love and compassion for each of my brothers and sisters. Amen.
by Jimmy McAfee | Oct 4, 2018 | Uncategorized
I grew up in Nashville and country music is part of my DNA. It’s not the first thing you’ll hear on my radio, but if you dig into my music library you’ll find a lot of Willie, Hank Jr. and my favorite
– the Man in Black. I also love Garth Brooks. When I hear the sounds of lightning strike and thunder roll, I have an uncontrollable urge to roll the windows down, turn the volume up and sing like nobody’s listening.
One of my favorite Garth songs is Unanswered Prayers (click on the song title if you want to hear it). The lyrics tell the story of a man who takes his wife to a football game at his old high school. They stop to talk to a woman he had dated back in the day. He remembers how he had prayed for things to work out for them, but his prayer wasn’t answered. Later, he understood the genuine blessing when God brought him the true woman of his dreams.
I sympathize with the high school kid in the song, wanting something so badly that he would pay any price. I can imagine him sitting alone, lost in his thoughts, begging God to save a relationship that was failing. That feeling of powerlessness and desperation is too familiar. It is the prayer of a humbled person spoken to the only one who can offer hope.
When life races out of control, we are drawn to Him. As we sink lower, our cries instinctively go higher. We know that he is powerful enough. With a thought, he can make any pain go away. Miracles happen every day.
He is a god of hope. But why does he remain silent sometimes?
Like every parent of a teenage child, I’ve laid in bed sleepless, long after the world fell asleep, praying that no harm would come to someone too naive to understand risk and too innocent to suspect the evil that roams the world. I have prayed for angels to guard my children. I asked for more than regular angels, but that he would assign the fiercest and most vigilant warriors to defend them from dark forces. “Please God, keep them safe.”
Physically, they survived unharmed. Did their hearts, though? When friends disappointed them or young love didn’t last, I would worry about the seeds that had been planted. “Please God, give them peace.”
The teen angst that marked those years seemed to stand in defiance of my prayers. All I could do was to pray for them and ask God to show them a love that changes destinies.
If success was measured by results, it didn’t seem like he was listening.
Countless mornings found me awake long before the sun rose or the kids got out of bed. I would leave brief notes taped to their doors for them to find when they woke up. I wanted them to feel that they were loved.
The messages were simple things like “I enjoyed our time together at dinner last night. You are funny. I love you.” or “You have good friends. Be thankful for them. I love you.”
They never acknowledged they had read or even seen the notes. I wondered but was afraid to ask.
Other unanswered prayers came at the request of a friend. People whose own prayers remained unanswered and asked me to join them.
I have prayed faithfully for the reconciliation of broken families and watched them fall further apart. I have prayed passionately for healing and laid hands on friends whose sicknesses progressed.
I’ve asked other friends to join me in these prayers. We have sat together with heads bowed, begging for God to reveal himself. Sometimes he did, at other times he didn’t.
As the years have passed, the number of prayers that seemed unanswered has grown larger, and so has the number of people who have joined me in crying out for God to be with us and to comfort us. We know that he is big enough. We know that he loves us. He is faithful. He is good.
Through all of the pain, we stayed together. When no answers seemed to come, we held to each other tightly.
Recently, the miracle of the unanswered prayer revealed itself.
Kim asked me to provide her with a list of names to invite to my birthday party. It took just a few seconds to rattle off the people I hoped would come. After all, these were my best friends.
Later as everyone arrived at the party, I realized something.
My living room was filled with my unanswered prayers.
People I had prayed for and others who had prayed alongside me were celebrating together. We laughed and remembered the good times we had shared and the things we loved in each other.
The pains that had once seemed unbearable were fading into the past. We remember each of them but have learned to find hope together. We have revealed our secrets to each other and shared our innermost pain. After battling hardships together, we know each other’s strengths and when to offer help. We are better together.
As music and laughter rang out, I realized that God had been answering our prayers all along. We had asked for momentary relief and in his wisdom, he had given us something much better. He provided friends. He connected us to love each other, pray together, and to give comfort when it is needed.
What an incredible answer to prayer.
As I was getting ready for bed that night, I plugged my phone into the charger and realized I had an unopened text message. It was a note from my daughter. It was digital but reminded me of all the ones I had left taped to her door, never knowing if she read them.
It was the best gift I received that birthday.
All those prayers I had made night after night to provide the kids with protection hadn’t gone unanswered. He had surrounded them with warriors who had a preternatural ability to sense danger, he made them brave enough to challenge any foe, and he gave them the ferocity to charge the gates of Hell to defend those entrusted to them.
These guardians were vigilant not only to outside threats but were charged with deflecting dangers that would harden hearts. They did all of it while remaining inconspicuously in the background. The kids never suspected a thing.
They only knew us as mom and dad.
While we prayed for defenders, he had given us the strength to meet their need.
God always hears our cries for help from the middle of the storm. He may not provide exactly what we request, but he answers our prayers. Sometimes when we ask for short-term relief, he responds with grace and gives us more than we asked for.
Thank you, Father.
