Happy Anniversary…

33 years ago today, I proposed to my wife.  At an BnB in the Texas Hill Country, I told her I could imagine nothing more romantic than growing old with her.  3 months later, I promised to love and cherish as long as we both would live in front of our church, families, and before God Himself.  It was a serious vow taken and given seriously.

Today, I’m looking out the windows while she sleeps.  She’s receiving her weekly chemo for the terminal cancer that is slowly trying to kill her.  It’s a battle we’ve been fighting for almost 3 years and that we will fight until it wins or God restores her this side of heaven.  She is strong, joyful, compliant, and a natural rebel—enough so that she told Cancer when we started that it too was in the fight for its life.  And we were taking on full-murderer status against it.

While she sleeps, I wonder what I would have told that young 20-year old on that day?  Could I have adequately prepared him for what the next 33 years would entail?  

What could I have shared that would’ve appropriately help him bear up to the job losses, many moves, financial struggles, losing close friends and parents?  What about the 5 year struggle thinking we wouldn’t be able to have kids or the church hurt that nearly destroyed my family and our faith?  

How too could I adequately express the joy of watching 4 kids accept Christ, grow and now launching into adulthood?  Of doing seminary at 40 years old, of working alongside this woman for 30+ years of ministry together?  Of the deep joy of witnessing from the front row seat that God gave us to watching each other grow and be used for larger purposes than our simple selves? 

What would I tell that naïve kid that wouldn’t terrify him to his core?  

He was completely unaware of his own junk and how the world worked, much less of the many battles that walking in love and purpose can bring.  

What would I say?  

I think I’d tell him about today—about the season we’re in—the reality of having to learn to say goodbye, through walking into empty nest or walking people home eternally.  

But I’d tell him that he and his family are stronger than he could ever imagine—that God would grow him according to the need at hand, so that he really could learn how to ‘consider it all joy when you face trials of many kinds’.   I’d tell him that there would be seasons that God seems silent—almost dead or heartless…but only for a season—a few very long seasons.  

But above all, I’d tell him this day is coming…and because it’s coming for all of us…

…he would be wise to live for depth and not distance.  

To live deeper, love longer, worry less, and stop overthinking everything.  I’d want him to see that behind all of these things is one simple truth.  

I’d tell him: just go be brave.

Love is messy, but so is life.  It’s an uncontrollable series of fits and roller coasters that bring you to the highest point of feeling alive and sometimes come crashing down into the darkest nights.  Love—like life itself, requires the highest levels of bravery that we can imagine.  And if we’re doing it right, we should always be becoming better students of love itself.  

Back out the window…I look out at the pond sitting next to the infusion chair and see life going by.  It went by at the same pace since long before she or I arrived, as it will continue long after us.  I am thankful for the journey and want to drink deep from the love and grace He allows me yet to experience with her. I want decades more with her because we’re ‘not old yet’.  

There’s just so much more I want to experience with her.  

So. Much. More.

But I am equally so very thankful for every day since.  In fact, that thankfulness is the one thing that keeps me from balling myself into a sobbing fetal mess in the corner:  Selfishly, I don’t want to miss one second of the gratitude she brings into my heart and world. And I don’t’ want her to feel alone in one second of the journey ahead.  Life is beautiful and wonderful! …and I’ve never had to be so brave.

But this room isn’t empty.  There are many here walking similar walks.  Some older, some much younger.  Some filled with hope and optimism. Some seemingly marking time until death catches up with them, filled with dread.  But all of them are brave—as are the selfless souls who have made their calling caring and helping us in the chairs.  

Here’s to the many who walk through valleys of death and suffering with bravery and heaven-sent courage.  If that’s you, know that you are not alone.  God hears you, sees you, and longs to walk with you if we’ll allow Him. 

Holy One of creation, please give us the strength to walk in a manner worthy of the good news of Jesus Christ.  You alone are worthy of my best life and all the courage in us that you empower.

Amen