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!

GOD'S TONIC

THE OTHER DAY I read again about using “A-C-T-S” as a guideline for prayer:

A for ADORATION—a means of reminding myself who God is and who I’m not;
C for CONTRITION—which I think of as confession with a desire for improvement and the acceptance of forgiveness;
T for THANKSGIVING—for me that’s the ever faithful gratitude attitude;
S for SUPPLICATION—meaning I don’t know what Your plan is, Lord, but I’d like to tell you mine.

I SEEM TO HAVE LESS DIFFICULTY with adoration, thanksgiving, and supplication than I do with contrition. I just can’t seem to put aside my failures. I seem to need to punish myself for what I’ve done that I wish I hadn’t and for what I haven’t done that I wish I had.

GIVEN WHAT I’VE READ in the New Testament about the promise of absolute forgiveness, these failings seem far more important to me than they are to God.

I AM REMINDED of the story about a man who heard God’s voice.
“How do I know you’re God?” the man asked.
“Ask me a question only I would know the answer to.”
“Okay. Tell me how I sinned day before yesterday,” the man said.
God replied, “I don’t remember.”

THAT’S HOW IT IS. God forgives me. He moves on and I waste time cycling back through the sin. Do I doubt the promises?

HOW WOULD MY LIFE CHANGE if I dared to live it forgiven?

I THINK I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT. I waste a lot of energy to “unforgiveness.” I waste a lot of energy refusing His tonic. Confession is like putting the garbage out to be collected. All I have to do is hand it over. Once I do, I’m lighter. I have more energy. I’m ready for His plan and eager to be a part of it.

AND I HAVE PEACE.

THAT ALONE is worth striving a little harder for.

You’re blessed. Be a blessing!