Thank you for sharing that phil. Praise the Lord. -- When Satan is knocking on your door. Simply say, "Jesus could you get that for me?" Karen Carter '74 > This will become a new chapter in my booklet called The Deceitfulness Of Sin > which is on my website. I still have some proofreading to do but for > posting, this will do for now. > > Phil. > > > Where there is pain, there is belief. Truth has no pain. > www.SafePlaceFellowship.com > > > Grief > > > > > > He stood respectfully by his mother and listened, without hearing > the preacher's words. This was called, he had learned, a graveside > service. He stared at the casket, knowing his father, his now dead > father, lay inside. His hands would be properly folded, of course, > just as they had been at the funeral home. The funeral home part was > called the viewing of the body. He had, of course, been in the > funeral home for many hours as friends of the family stopped by to pay > their respects. He had done pretty well with it all, too, not crying > except for the time he freaked out. > > As he stood on the other side of the room, he heard his mom and > sisters talking but he wasn't listening; he was just staring at his > father's lifeless body. His dad had died just days before and he > didn't know why. Well, they had explained it to him, without a doubt, > but he had not understood why his father was now gone. Oh, sure, they > said he was in Heaven, to be sure, but nobody could explain why he was > there and not back on earth where he could be the little boys father > again. > > Children, in those days, were not allowed by hospitals to go and > visit any of the patients in any of the rooms. So every time they > went to the hospital during those three weeks, he and his little 7 > year old sister, had to stay at home with a baby sitter, or if they > went along to the hospital, they had to sit by themselves in the > waiting room on the ground floor. So, he had not been allowed to see > or say goodbye to his father before he died. Somehow, this made him > very sad as well as angry. This, unfortunately, he wouldn't realize > until almost 40 years later. > > How well the little boy remembered the day his dad died. It was > when he came home from school one day that he was told by his mother, > the room full of friends sitting all around, that his father had died > that very day. He didn't understand death, of course, but he knew > enough to realize his father was never coming back. He was alone now, > with three sisters and a mother, and he had no idea how to act or > feel. > > As he stared at his father's inert body in the funeral home, > laying stretched out so neatly in the open casket, dressed in a nice > suit, he stared fixedly on his father's crossed hands. Suddenly, one > moved and he burst into tears. His older sisters and mom came > hurrying over and asked what was wrong. The little boy tried > explaining that he saw his daddy's hand move. He just had to be > alive! He knew it hadn't really moved and that he had willed it to > moved but everyone did their best to explain how his dad was really > dead and that he couldn't move. It would, again, be almost another 40 > years before he learned that his father really wasn't dead after all. > > A 50 year old man stood near the casket of his 80 year old > mother. She had just died of a stroke a few days earlier. It had > taken her 9 agonizing days for her to die in hospice. Not agonizing > perhaps for her, since they kept her fully sedated and regularly > administered her pain medications, but certainly agonizing for those > who remained and came to watch her die. > > It was a typical beautiful Colorado November morning. The fresh > crisp mountain air felt good to breathe. It was a perfect day for a > funeral, if there is such a thing, and the people gathered near the > casket prepared to be lowered into an underground volt where dirt > would cover it. The sun had just slowly risen over the Rockies and > provided the little bit of warmth needed to keep the chill away. A > friend, knowing the woman's favorite flower was the rose, had > purchased a spray of beautiful roses to place in her casket. > > Her pastor offered a brief review of her life in a pleasant voice > and then silence fell. > > Soon a man began talking in a conversational tone. "these > beautiful birds are called homing pigeons. they know where they live > and have no problem finding their way home. When I release them from > this first cage, they will home in on their permanent dwelling place > and will fly effortlessly and gracefully to where they live." > > bending over, the man released the latch and the birds waddled > out of there cage. Then, almost in unison, they flapped effortlessly > and gracefully into the air. With their wings beating the fresh > mountain breeze, they rose into the morning sunlight. Rounding a > nearby tree, they turned and headed off; rising higher and higher into > the blueness of the bright Colorado morning sky. Soon they were lost > to sight. As I stood and listened, I would have given a million > dollars that day to have seen them with my own eyes. > > The man was speaking again. Pointing to a single remaining bird > in a smaller cage, he said, "Some of us are left behind to continue on > but when it is our turn, we will know exactly where all of our friends > are and who has passed on before us." Bending down, the man released > the latch on the cage and the lone pigeon slowly made his way out on > to the low cut grass in front of his cage. "As with the one who has > recently died," the man continued speaking, "we are freed to join > those who have gone on before us. It is now time for our loved one to > join the others." > > Just then, the single pigeon flapped his wings and sword into the > air. Strangely enough, he took the exact same route his companions > had taken moments before. He knew the way. Winging his way around > the same tree, he began to climb, higher and higher, soon to catch up > with those going home. > > Comments On Grief > > This is something a part of the human experience or so we are > told. Furthermore, it is strongly suggested that Christians have a > leg up on this, because, if their loved one was a born again > Christian, then there's no need for grief or at least no need for > prolonged grief. A day or two, perhaps a week, is plenty for the > spiritual. Unfortunately, even adults facing the grief generated by > the loss of a loved one are told to just "Learn to live with it," or, > "Time heals everything." This worthless and compassionless advice is > generally from those who have never experienced the loss that comes > from the death of a loved one or by those super Christians who have > experienced it successfully by the suppression and repression of their > horrible feeling of loss. Those who are left alone, or those who > have little children to raise, see this loss, or should I say, feel > this loss, quite differently. Why? Because they know, after all the > friends and relatives leave, the truth of death comes crashing in on > their lives. They have to be strong, however, lest other Christians > think they are weak in their relationship with the Lord. > > The 11 year old boy and the 50 year old man in my story was me. > My parents are both in Heaven now and no longer do they physically > suffer. I was 50 years old, however, before I was set free of the > grief I carried from the loss of my father. > > I sat in the large church and watched my mother, about two weeks > following my father's death, stand to her feet, when the invitation > for testimonies was given. I woodenly sat and heard her empty words > as she spoke. She probably felt the necessity to give a testimony. > My dad, after all, was a preacher and he had been the chairman of the > deacon's board of the large Baptist church we attended. I often > wonder now, what that pastor and those deacons, and the thousand > friends and relatives who attended the church service where his > funeral was conducted, would have thought if they had known my father > suffered from depression and anxiety and had even been on medication > for it. Back then, in the fifties, such was never even talked about > by Christians, and those who were treated medically were, at the best, > weak Christians, and at the worst, failures. > > Mom was saying something about how the Lord had blessed her with > two children and that she would continue serving the Lord. That was > all I remember hearing. Everyone thought it was a wonderful testimony > except for me. I simply did not understand what she was talking about > nor did I feel she believe a word she was saying. I knew it wasn't > true because I lived at home with her and knew that she was hurting > and nobody really cared about us since we were now a broken family. > > "Phil, your dad is in a better place now, son. Isn't that > wonderful?" > > "Son, we don't understand it but God called your dad home." > > "Philip, God's ways are not our ways and some things we just > can't understand now. Your dad is in a better place, though." > > "He's better off now. No suffering in Heaven, you know!" > > "Your dad is just rejoicing with the angels in Heaven now, > Philip. Don't let this get you down." > > "I know your dad suffered terribly in the hospital, son, but he > isn't suffering now." > > Let me tell you the true story. > > Dad went to work one day and felt fine. Half way through the > morning, he told his boss that he wasn't feeling right. "Willie," his > boss said, "you look terrible. Get over to the infirmary right now." > Dad began making his way across the building to the infirmary but it > was a long ways away. As he walked, he felt worse and started to run. > As he burst through the doorway into the infirmary where the nurse > was, he announced he was ill and began vomiting blood. > > Rushing him to the hospital via ambulance, they lost his pulse > twice, we were told, and thought he had died. In the hospital, they > began giving him blood transfusions because, for some unknown reason > at the time, he was bleeding internally. Over the course of three > weeks, they gave him 21 pints of blood. It never helped. > > After a day of being in the hospital, dad called our pastor to > come and visit him. They had my mother leave the room for some > reason. When the pastor left, and mom entered dad's room again, he > told her that he had planned his funeral and that he knew he would > never leave the hospital alive. > > Eventually, doctors removed more than half of his stomach trying > to stop the bleeding but it didn't help. Dad began going into violent > convulsions. Once he told my mom, "I want to die and nobody will let > me die." > > By the end of the first week, he was in a coma and two weeks > later, the hospital called mom and told her, "You better get up here > as fast as you can; your husband is dying. He probably won't survive > the day," they told her. > > Mom called her oldest sister to meet her at the hospital. I > often wonder what that drive to the hospital must have been like for > my mother. > > When she arrive, she stood by his bedside and sang hymns and > talked of her love for him. She told him not to worry about their > children because she would take care of them. > > Then she said, "Willie. You said once that nobody would let you > die in this place. It's time for you to go home to be with the Lord." > > Dad had double IV's in his legs because the veins in his arms > were nearly collapsed. Mom slowly and gently removed the needles from > his legs. she and her sister then continued singing quietly to him > and listened to his breathing eventually slow. > > Sensing a presence, mom looked up. A man was standing on the > other side of the bed directly across from her. It was Jesus! I > asked her once if Jesus appeared ghostly or hazy, or unreal in any > way. "Oh, no," she replied. "He was as real as any human body. I > could have reached across the bed and touched him. He was that real," > she concluded. > > "You have come to take him?" mom said out loud. > > Jesus said, "Yes. I have come to take him home." > > Mom stepped back and she and her sister watched and listened as > dad's breathing grew slower and longer until he stopped breathing all > together. He was instantly in Heaven. > > After learning of his death, the house never felt the same to me. > My yard, where I spent so much time playing, seemed somehow empty and > I couldn't explain it. I mowed our large grassy yard as always, just > as dad had taught me, but I was alone as I pushed the mower through > the ocean of green. The house, even from the outside, didn't look the > same to me either. I washed the car, his car, just as he had taught > me but I was alone and he was no where to be found. Going back to > church was weird. I didn't know how to act around my friends and my > friends didn't know what to say so they said nothing. > > Returning to school after about a week, I was given about 33 > dollars from the kids at school. They had collected it. I was amazed > at such a gift but somehow it didn't seem right. > > It was probably four or five days following my father's funeral > that I decided I would get out and do something with friends. I > walked down to Danny's house and saw him, along with his brother, > playing in a big pile of crispy fall leaves they had raked up. I > joined them without saying a word. We played and rolled and covered > ourselves with the crunchy leaves and played like everything was > normal but it wasn't. Finally, Danny's older brother, Chris, said, > "Phil, I'm sure sorry about your dad." I can't remember what I said > but I was grateful because someone finally broke the ice. > > A few days later, I asked my mom if I could ride the three blocks > over to the Macpherrson's house to play with Mike and Steve. My > father car pooled with their dad and my father had led Bob to the Lord > many years earlier. > > I remember we were playing tetherball when Steve, the younger of > the two boys said, "Phil, I'm sorry that your dad died." Again, I > can't recall what I said but I appreciated his remarks because it > helped me begin to face the deep loss I felt in my life. > > Soon things returned to almost normal. My little sister and I no > longer slept with mom at night as we had the first couple of weeks. > Play was back to normal, or so it seemed, church was no longer > difficult to attend, and I think I was happy again. > > One day, while running around the grassy elementary playground, I > stopped to tie my tennis shoe. When I stood, I absent mindedly looked > up into the sky. I loved watching the clouds, thunderheads rolling in > across the expansive Iowa skies bringing their rain, birds winging > their way around the ubiquitous blueness of space, and the sun blazing > overhead. I loved the sun. I couldn't study it carefully, of course, > due to its brightness but somehow, and for some reason, I love seeing > it climbing into the sky in the early mornings and slowly dropping > down below the horizon; its translucent illuminated colors painted > across the vastness. > > Noticing the few puffy white clouds that hung in the sky that > day, something seemed wrong. I looked down at the green grass, but > couldn't see them any longer. I looked back to the white clouds and > there they were. I twisted my head away from the clouds into the > blueness of the noon day sky. They were gone. The clouds were > floating slowly across the expanse and I stared at them once again. > They were back. tiny faint brown spots floated in my vision. > Shrugging my shoulders, I ran off. > > In the classroom, I noticed the brown spots again when looking at > the white paper laying on my desk. Looking up at the blackboard, it > was actually a greenboard, the spots were gone. On the paper? They > were back. I mentioned it to mom that night after school. She made > no comment but I felt she was worried. > > A day or so later, the eye specialist confirmed nothing was wrong > but prescribed drops. Odd. If nothing was wrong, why the drops? A > week later, the faint brown spots in my vision were now dark brown and > swirling thick clouds blocking my vision. I couldn't even see the TV > through the swirling brown mess before my eyes so I put a small piece > of paper under my glasses so I could watch TV out of my other eye. > six months later, after a dozen eye operations, I was totally blind. > > My experience of going blind blocked out everything about my dad > or so I thought. I had many new things to focus on. I had to leave > home during the week and live and go to an educational institution for > the blind. I had to learn how to use a white cane. Braille was a > totally new way to read and it took months before I could even read 90 > words per minute. I never did learn to read very fast even as a > sighted person but this was ridiculous. > > Fast forwarding through my life, I found myself approaching 50 > years of age. My wife and I were both totally blind and had been > married over 30 years and we had three grown married children, and at > that time, four grandchildren, soon to be 6, and all of them could see > normally. I had preached, pastored a couple of small churches, taught > Sunday school, traveled as a guest speaker in churches for several > years, served as an assistant pastor in western Colorado, started a > high speed cassette duplication business for churches and other > preachers, and overall, felt life had been ok. I somehow wasn't > satisfied, and as the number 50 approached, I took stock of my life. > Many nights, over the years, I had lain on my back, crying myself to > sleep, and thought of my dad, wishing he were alive, so I could talk > to him and ask for his advice. Now I was 50 and as I examined my > life, I felt as if nothing was there. I was a failure. I had > accomplished nothing and I never would. somehow, deep down inside, I > knew my dad had felt the same way. Fear and anxiety and panic attacks > rushed in upon me like an angry summer storm. I began hearing voices > and they often told me to kill myself because I was a failure. Then > it got worse. > > sitting in a man's office one day, we were praying together. I > was there because I had emotionally crashed and burned. The memory of > my father came to my thoughts as we prayed. Although I had never been > to see my dad, I saw him in my mind's eye now. He was unconscious and > laying on his back. I could hear, almost hear, what he was saying. I > looked to my right and saw a illuminated man. "This is your father > now," I heard my dad say. > > The man, whom I could not see clearly, but knew was there, said, > "I am your Father now." > > I felt it so strongly, it would have been impossible not to > believe. > > Then he said, "Your father is not dead." > > I knew, as I had never known before, what He meant. Dad was > alive in Heaven with the Lord and I was hearing the Lord speak to me > at that moment. Although I knew this theologically already, now I > knew it because I was presently experiencing it and by the Authority > of the universe. > > "You must say goodbye to your dad now," I heard Him saying. > > Tears came to my eyes and the emotions of a little boy overflowed > into reality. I had never gotten to say goodbye to my earthly father > and now the Creator of all things was giving me that chance. > > My prayer partner was talking but I interrupted him and told him > what the Lord had said. "Go ahead and pray, then," he encouraged, "in > your own words." > > My body began to shake. I knew I was a grown man but at the same > time I felt 11 years old and I cried 11 year old tears as I prayed. > "Goodbye, dad," I said, hardly able to speak. It was over and I was > free. I had a new Father now and one who would never leave me. > > Grief is so misunderstood by the church today, few people ever > are freed from its devastating effects. It is possible, however, > because I experienced exactly that, after nearly 40 decades of > suffering from it. furthermore, if you would, as Paul Harvey says, > like to read the Rest Of The Story, read my booklet called, "I Flew > Kites With Jesus." It will explain how the Lord made up the > difference of all the lost years I had without a dad. > > Those suffering from grief due to the loss of a loved one should > keep one thing in mind. sorrow isn't the same thing as grief. You > can cry, as I did writing this testimony, because you feel sadness due > to the physical and emotional absence of the one who has gone on > before us. Grief, on the other hand, isn't something you have to live > with and it won't go away with time no matter who tells you otherwise. > Jesus can heal the pain of grief for you and He does it through a > simple thing called prayer. If you need to know how this form of > prayer works, call me.