A TALL ORDER

IN BETWEEN TEN DAYS of scans, biopsies, injections, examinations, and consultations, I began reading Thomas Cahill’s DESIRE OF THE EVERLASTING HILLS. It's an odd name for a book about the times before and after Jesus walked the earth as a man. The title comes from Genesis 48:26. It's crouched in the verses of Jacob (now known as Israel) blessing Joseph, his favorite son, the firstborn of his favorite wife, Rachel, the one whom his other eleven sons had told him had been killed so many, many years before.

THE BOOK IS POWERFUL, informative, and not too difficult to wade through (as some Bible scholars can be). It is well worth reading.

NEAR THE END, Cahill points out the joy the early Christians had in their faith and in their community. They’d formed what I like to think of as a covenant group. Close-knit, caring, serving and willing to share a good time as well as a good meal with each other and anyone else lucky enough to be around. I used to think of these simple people as pious and serious, but I can hear the joy in Acts if I pay close attention. They bore the Good News, and they were excited about it.

THESE EARLIEST OF CHRISTIANS lived in double peril. To the Jews they were blasphemers—a sentence punishable by being stoned to death. To the Romans they were disturbers of the peace—a sentence that could easily put them up on the cross. Despite this, they didn’t cringe in the corner. They were, as Cahill describes them, “engaging, affectionate, informal people ready to roll up their sleeves and pitch in.”

IT’S A REMINDER TO ME that as a Christian I need to model the best my faith teaches me to be. People, both non-believers and believers, are watching.

OH, I’LL MAKE MISTAKES. I know I will. I’ll miss doing what I should and many times I’ll do what I shouldn’t. But, as often as I can I need to be kind, slow to anger, and patient. I must try to never be rude, boastful, arrogant, or insist on my own way. I need to check any tendency to be irritable or resentful. The whole list is there in I Corinthians 13.

A TALL ORDER for anyone.

You’re blessed. Be a blessing!

THE PRAYER OF A DESPERATE WOMAN

LORD, YOU ARE THE MIGHT IN MY LIFE. I am learning to surrender, to accept my weaknesses as being as much a part of my life as my strengths. This is very hard for me. I am learning to explore the gifts and talents You’ve given me within the confines of my limitations, and this is even harder. If the day comes in my journey with this disease when I find I can’t do even that any more, I will still be able to pray . . . to spend time with You. And I will remain grateful for that.

I KNOW YOU SEEK ME IN CONVERSATION, just as you seek all of us. That puzzles me. What could I have to say about my day and my ziggy-zaggy thinking patterns that could possible interest you? It’s clearly not a give-and-take conversation. I spend my time complaining, pouring out my troubles, voicing my hopes, making requests, asking for guidance and for help, and reminding myself of how grateful I am. Who would want to hear that over and over?

I’M REMINDED OF MY CHILDREN. Our conversations really have to be mostly about what’s going on in their lives. I don’t worry them with the nitty-gritty of this boring old cancer. Unless they bring it up, why should I? It’s not anything they’ve experienced (thank you, Lord), and they don’t really know what’s going on. I’m not sure they should.

FOR MY PART, I really do want to know what’s going on in their lives. One struggles to find a job. The other has stayed up all night with a sick child. These are things I’ve done too—they’re a basis for a relationship.

PERHAPS THE WAY I FEEL about my children is the way You feel about me, Lord. Given Your infinite intelligence, if our conversation is going to have any meaning for me, I’m the one who has to set the foundation for it.

SO, LORD, teach me to open the door a little wider from my side. I’m desperate—really desperate—to have a closer relationship with You.

AMEN.

(You’re blessed. Be a blessing.)

THE ONLY THING THAT COUNTS

THIS PAST WEEK while my dear husband and I were attending a business conference in Athens, Greece, the husband of a friend of mine began telling me how glad he was to see me so well. By then, jet lag had worn off, so I took his comment without regard to this illness I've dragged around with me for so long.

BUT, HE DID MEAN THIS ILLNESS. His sister had died ten days before of cancer while he and my friend were on a cruise. Her death had not been expected so soon, and I could see, despite his calm tone, he was deeply shaken. He hadn’t realized that when his sister had called him upon hearing that he would be gone for three weeks that she was initiating what she knew—even if he didn’t—would be their final conversation. “She wanted to settle all our old disputes and differences,” he said. “We’d never gotten along.” He paused. “She told me she loved me.”

IT WAS THE WORST OF MOMENTS for meaningful conversation. A band began playing music that Greeks seem to appreciate the most, and, not three feet from me, a woman well past the age when she should be clad in a black gossamer dress began to sway and warble out a middle eastern song. She seemed to know that few in the crowd understood her, and she compensated with volume. I shouted my condolences to my friend’s husband.

HE RAISED A HAND. “I’m not sad. She’s in a better place.”

I NODDED MY CONCURRENCE, and he continued. “After all, we’re only energy, you know. We’ve been here before, and we’ll be back again.” He buttered a roll with too much care. “Of course, we may not recognize each other,” he winked, “but it’ll be us.”

THE TEMPO OF THE MUSIC PICKED UP. The woman was joined by four dancers and a man who crooned meaningfully into a microphone he seemed in danger of swallowing. It was impossible for me to offer further comment.

HAD I HAD THE CHANCE, I would have told him that we are far, far more than energy. We are children of God, made in His image, destined for bodily—not just spiritual—resurrection. Christ was the first, but we will follow. Surely seeing his sister as the beloved individual God had created would be better than thinking of her as so many electrical impulses.

THE MOMENT PASSED, and our paths didn’t cross again before my husband and I caught our return plane.

NOW, AS I REFLECT ON THE MAN and his private grief, I wish I had been wise enough to say what Paul said in his letter to the Galatians (5:6): The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.

BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH THIS MAN did not understand the Message as I do, he was expressing his own faith through love for his sister, and she, by defusing whatever differences that they had had throughout her life, had done the same for him.

AND MAYBE THAT WILL BECOME A STEPPING STONE for him to build on in the future.

You’re blessed. Be a blessing!