Archive for the The Journey Category

Grief has a jagged bite. With rows of sharp teeth it sinks into our flesh and refuses to let go. So we sit in the ashes and mourn what can never be regained. The finality of death is like the bite of a viper; filled with fury and poison.

I am noticing the various reactions of those who grieve around me and remarkably, many of those who have previously walked these dark paths are stoic. There is a certain calmness, an acceptance, and a knowledge that death finds all of us eventually. It terrifies me. If death is an amputation, I find myself screaming like a soldier whose leg has been shredded in battle. “Don’t cut it off!”

We don’t like to speak of such things. We whisper. We deflect. We pretend we are okay and smile.

While speaking to one of my cousins, she shared with me the sad story of a woman she was collaborating with on a project at work. The woman seemed well put together, professional and, well, happy. They spent several months working on a project through a local hospital and were nearing the end when Erin learned she had committed suicide. “I had no idea she was upset.” She said. “She never gave me any inclination she was hurting. Why didn’t I notice something was wrong? What if I could have done something to help?” And beneath all the questions and shock of the situation I heard her heart weeping for the missed opportunity, as if to say, “What if I somehow contributed to her despair by not noticing she was in pain?”

The world is filled with perilous paths, and the human heart carries the weight of a thousand wounds most people will never see. My family has walked these paths more often than not. My beloved cousin died from a drug overdose. My grandmother died in a car accident. My cousin’s mother died from drug related use. My uncle died from a brain aneurism shortly after the birth of his son. Our hearts howl with rage over the removal of the appendage we so desperately need to function.

The paths of peace we have not known. So how do we find them?

When I was a child, maybe seven or eight, I stood next to a garden on my grandfather’s property in the country and looked up into the sky. I saw there the most magnificent clouds and the sun streaming down through them with golden beams that warmed my face. I felt so small and silently wondered if that was what heaven looked like. The incredible beauty stirred a longing in my soul for something more. The specter of grief hovered around us due to the loss of my grandmother a few years earlier but no one talked about it. No one helped me to process it–maybe because they thought I was too young to understand. Still, in my little girl-ness, I wondered where she was and if I would see her again. I heard people talk about heaven and assumed she was there. With all of that pain raining down around me all of the time, I subconsciously longed to be in that sunny place where hearts no longer ached. (Today I am an adult and I long for the same thing.) I had heard that God was in Heaven and that if I believed in him, he would be a father to me. But in that moment he became real to me as never before. I somehow sensed he was looking down at me with love and that each beam of light was a promise from him to me; “Margaret, one day you will be with me.” And candidly, I was filled with impatience.

Many people do not believe in God. We want something we can touch and taste and smell. We want to see this God. We want to hear him. Without these affirmations of the five senses, we reject his realness. We say we will not believe in something that does not satisfy our senses. I understand this need because I too have felt it at times, especially when I am hurting. I have shouted into the darkness, “Prove yourself, God. If you are real, I need you to show up right now!”

Someone recently spoke to me about the things we cannot live without but that we cannot see. He said to me, “I cannot live without love.” And for a moment I tried to imagine that I could, but alas I failed. What is a human being who has never known love?

I saw this realized in a movie recently called, “Unleashed”. Jet Li plays a man who has never known love. He is raised by a vicious loan shark who keeps him in a collar and takes it off only when he wants to collect a debt. He “sicks” Danny on his victims to coerce them to pay, and it is only when Danny meets the kindly blind piano player, Sam, that he begins to understand what it means to be loved. This love transforms him and he finds he can no longer kill people. Love opens his eyes to the sacredness of the human soul.

I know what it is to be loved by God, therefore I cannot believe that he does not exist. But I don’t believe it just because I looked at the clouds one day and thought, gee, that’s pretty, I hope I get there one day. This is not a path of peace. I believe God is real and that he loves me because I read the bible and I believe it is true.

There are others who will vouch for the veracity of the bible. That is not my intent in this discourse. (If you are interested in chasing those questions try books like Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel, Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus, by Nabeel Qureshi or I Don’t Have Enough Faith to be an Atheist, by Norman Geisler and Frank Turek). I also like this webpage.

These are the paths of peace; great truths that bring real and lasting comfort, healing and hope, after the viper strikes.

“Behold, I am coming soon, bringing my recompense with me, to repay each one for what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.” Revelation 22:12

There are some for whom this verse will offend, but I am glad for consequences. I am relieved that God is just. I want to know that for every evil act there is punishment. This knowledge gives me peace. We live in a world where Batman and Superman do not always save the day. My best friend was raped in college and the men were never prosecuted. My neighbor, Shawn Daugherty, died in the street and they never found the person who killed him. Our media feeds are filled with examples of injustice every single day but the bible says God will repay every person for what he has done. For the child who is abandoned in the slums of Honduras, who is trafficked, who dies of starvation, God is just.

Sin is a curse punishable by death. For that reason I believe we all fear death because we all subconsciously know we will stand before God and have to explain ourselves. It’s a horror to even consider. How can I possibly justify myself before God for tormenting my brother and sister when we were younger? I would wake them in the night to terrify and torture them for no reason other than I enjoyed it. You may say, “Well Margaret, you were young! You didn’t know any better.” But if that was the case, why did I work so hard not to get caught? Now maybe that raises the hackles on the back of your neck because you don’t want to hear that you are a sinner. But the bible doesn’t just say, “Ha, ha! You’re a sinner and you are doomed!” It says, “For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God’s righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins.” (Romans 3:22-25)

“And the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.” Revelation 20:10

I know the end of the story and God wins. This gives me immense peace. The bible begins with the story of how Satan deceived humanity and contributed to our loss of innocence (Genesis 3). I believe this broke God’s heart because he created us to love him and be in relationship with him. Meanwhile Satan continues to work to deceive humanity. He is described as a roaring lion (1 Peter 5:8) seeking whom he may devour. Satan is real. We feel the fire of his breath. But one day God will extinguish it forever. I love how John Owen phrases it in his work, “The Death of Death in The Death of Christ”, “Thus clear, then, and apparent, is the intention and design of Christ and his Father in this great work, even what it was, and towards whom,–namely, to save us, to deliver us from the evil world, to purge and wash us, to make us holy, zealous, fruitful in good works, to render us acceptable, and to bring us unto God; for through him ‘we have access into the grace wherein we stand.’ Romans 5:2.”

Jesus, the God man, entered the world to kill death forever. He said, “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:28). “The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (1 Corinthians 15:26) I have on my desk at work a sketch by John Hendrix which imagines the death of death as a deep chasm in the earth sucking up and swallowing bleached bones. I look at this image when I grieve the curse of sin in the world (death). I look at this image with hope because I am sure that one day we will rise to either eternal death (hell) or eternal life (heaven). This temporal life is just the seed that falls to the ground. When we pass through “the veil” we will see what living really is. “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

“The sum of all is,–the death and blood-shedding of Jesus Christ hath wrought, and doth effectually procure, for all those that are concerned in it, eternal redemption, consisting in grace here and glory hereafter.” – John Owen

These are the paths of peace. They run by still waters. They restore my soul. They deliver me from the bite of the viper that is filled with fury and poison. They enable me to hope when all hope seems lost.

If every life is a book with a beating heart, the last page turned for James Lucas was on Tuesday, June 19th when his heart stopped beating. The heroes in his story were close at hand and fought valiantly to save him. They were Maleah the Stalwart, Jayda the Brave, Nadia the Sweet, Sophia the Sincere, and Lilly the Beautiful. The sword they wielded was love and they fought valiantly.
James (for everyone called him James) was born on Sunday, October 30th, 1977 to James and Gloria Lucas. He grew up in Jennings with a handful of close friends and a feisty, yet quiet demeanor. But it wasn’t until James met his future wife, Rachel Allen that his heart really began to beat.

They met through a mutual friend in August of 1998. Rachel remembers that he was a private person, mysterious even, and that they never really had a first date. They mostly hung out with friends and inconspicuously gravitated toward one another. James was a steady person, solid and strong. She was drawn to his strength, and he found tremendous happiness in wrapping his arms around her to keep her safe.
Their little family grew by one when Maleah was born in 1999, and for James it was love at first sight. For who could resist those dark eyes and charming dimples? He always said he didn’t cry when she was born but witnesses say there were tears of unspoken joy. James and Rachel didn’t need any fanfare to make their love official and quietly married at the courthouse on January 17th of 2001 with a simple, “I do.”

James was a hard worker and devoted employee. He spent several years working for UPS, but in 2004 when the Lucas family began to outgrow their financial means, he took a job at Quick Trip Corporation where he proved to be a faithful employee and a benevolent steward. He worked the night shift in order to be home during the day to care for his girls but was so highly thought of that he floated from store to store as an emergency backfill, spending time in East Alton, IL, Granite City, IL, Florissant and Spanish Lake. When the family went shopping around town the familiar refrain from Quick Trip customers was, “Hey, James! Where have you been? When are you coming back?”

Because everybody loved James.

James was fiercely protective of his family; a trait he learned from his best friend; his father. Still, people often joked with James that he was the only male in his house and told him he needed a boy to balance out the femininity. But James said, “I don’t need no boy!” He was proud of his position as King of his castle. He wrestled with and tenderly teased his girls, often playing games with them like Rock Band on their Wii. He would gather them around him and say, “C’mon, we’re gonna get the band back together!” He also expressed his adoration for them with little nicknames like, “Chubby Cheeks”. He was frequently playful and sarcastic at home; a sensitive guy with a big heart, but he was never afraid to put on his Teflon demeanor should anyone cause hurt to his family. There was once a boy who started hanging around and causing problems for one of the girls and he calmly stepped outside and told him, “Don’t you come around here no more.” For that reason his girls would frequently come to him and ask for his advice when they had issues with friends because he was such an excellent judge of character.

James was an exceptional cook and loved to smoke meat. His favorites included pork loin and pork butt but his specialty was brisket. He had created his own special rub for the meat and nobody knew the secret recipe. James was often found cleaning or making dinner for his family while singing.

“He just loved music,” Rachel said. “He bought a mega boom speaker to hook up to his iPad so he could jam to Elton John, Johnny Taylor, Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and Bruno Mars. His frequent crooning was sometimes met with a “Hush, James!” but he paid it no mind. He would belt out tunes like “Rocket Man” and “Bennie and the Jetts” with aplomb to his audience of six. In fact, he nicknamed Nadia, “Bernie” because he thought she looked like a Bernice. Hence “Bennie and the Jetts” became “Bernie and the Jetts.” Another frequent favorite was “Cheaper to Keep her” by Johnny Taylor. He would bounce and warble, “‘Cause you gonna pay some alimony if you leave home, I tell y’all it’s cheaper to keep her. All the fellas know what I’m talking bout.”

James didn’t really love having his picture taken, probably due to his generally unassuming nature. His girls would lift a camera and he would cover his face and say, “No paparazzi!” But he took pride in his yard, going so far as to hire True Green to come in and help it flourish. His little gardens were the delight of his family and this year he had planned to make pickles for the first time. The tiny cucumbers are still growing on a plant in the back yard next to flourishing tomatoes.

James loved conspiracy theories and ruminated frequently on the pyramids and how they were “actually” built. He watched Ancient Aliens on the history channel and was the frequent cause of rolling eyeballs in the family as he proposed various theories. But he also loved to laugh and spent considerable time with his girls watching cartoons like Bob’s Burger’s and American Dad. He and Sophia loved to watch WWE; especially Mark Henry and John Cena. And if they weren’t laughing with him, he’d give them a swift poke in the ribs or a pinch on the cheek.

The Lucas girls were often the recipients of kind little gifts that James picked out especially for them. Christmas was a delight to all because each present was hand-picked by their daddy. “He was so thoughtful and creative about celebrating,” Rachel said. “Birthdays were sacred; it was just us.” Jayda is their resident baker. She frequently makes special cakes for family occasions but James refused to let her make her own Sweet 16 cake. He had a special cake made at Baskin Robbins but when he brought it home his wife lovingly nudged him, “It says 15, James. She is 16!” But he just laughed and added a candle. He was very particular about the little things, not big grand gestures.

James story seemed to have a very abrupt ending. He had been on medical leave for some months due to recurring seizures. And while he found the down time frustrating, he made up for it by caring for his family. Rachel said, “He took care of everything, and I mean everything! No one ever had to worry.” Thus his departure has been particularly difficult for those closest to him. But in some respects his story is not over. His heroes—his beautiful girls—will continue to tell the stories of their daddy and live out the love he had for them. He may have been young but he lived a full life. It was full of laughter, full of music, and full of love. He will be sorely missed but never forgotten.

The “James Lucas Memorial Fund” has been set up to provide financial support for the family.
c/o First Community Credit Union
17151 Chesterfield Airport Road
Chesterfield, MO 63005
or via paypal: Margaretwolfinbarger@gmail.com

How often have we used the phrase, “What goes around, comes around?” Like a giant cosmic boomerang, we sardonically point at those who persecute us and celebrate the hope that their offences will “come back around” to whack them upside the head. This is especially pertinent in the workplace when we who have no power are taken to the woodshed over minor incidents and made to feel as if our efforts are—if not worthless—then at least completely trivial. The project we expended so much energy on, lost sleep over, and poured our life’s blood into is discarded with a simple, “That’s not what I asked for. You’ll need to start over.” We crumple. We retreat. We embitter. And we seethe with disappointment because we really have no recourse for retaliation.

Those who know me well know that I used to work for a bad boss. He was the epitome of casual heartlessness and made my days at work a passive hell because I never knew exactly when, like a poisonous viper, he would strike. He was proud of his nasty reputation (yes, he would actually boast about how everyone hated him) and took great delight in torturing those who reported to him.

One fine winter day we were in the process of planning a spring training conference to which most of our department would travel. I was responsible for logistics and general administrative responsibilities. I very much liked the other fellows on my team and wanted to play a practical joke on them while we were on the trip. Namely, I wanted to put plastic bugs in their hotel rooms. This stemmed out of their stories from travel all over the continental United States and some of the horrors they had experienced in low-budget motels (leftover toenail clippings and assorted skin scrapings-oh my!). I asked the hotel if I could gain entrance to my co-worker’s rooms in order to place the roaches, spiders and ants, but they told me I needed approval from my boss, to whom I will affectionately refer to heretofore as “The Toad.” (there’s a story behind that as well but I’ll save it for another day)

And so I went into The Toad’s office and asked if I could do this prank for fun. And he said, “Only if I get to play a little prank too.” He described the prank he wanted to play on the gentlemen I worked with. I personally thought it was awful and I wanted to say no, but I really wanted to have fun on the trip and so I awkwardly let him do that terrible thing. And I can still see the men walking out of his office with their faces completely dismayed after having been notified that their careers were over because their co-worker, Margaret, had accused them of sexual harassment.

20 years have passed since this seemingly minor workplace event. There are days when I wonder why I allowed The Toad to torture my friends (for they were surely my friends) in such a despicable way. Why didn’t I somehow thwart his evil plan? Or why didn’t I find another way to have fun with my co-workers on our trip? I can chalk the experience up to my youth and inexperience and a handful of other excuses that make me more comfortable, but when applied to the Karmic response of the boomerang, I have to admit I’m a little nervous.

I’ve been taking some lumps at work lately and when I consider past workplace indiscretions (of which this is a very minor example), I think shoot, maybe this is what I deserve. For it sure is comfy to say, “what goes around comes around” when it applies to someone else but it doesn’t feel very nice when applied to me.

I had lunch with a friend recently who told me that he very much strives to live a perfect life. He is kind, generous, thoughtful and caring. He lives in such a way as to make a positive difference in the lives of those around him. He said, “God created people as imperfect. I don’t know why, but he did. And so I hope that when we die God judges us on intent, knowing that we did the best we could.”
I’ve thought a lot about that conversation since we had it, not the least of which was one morning this week after my son sent me a text message to notify me that he was driving to the courthouse to get married. I was shocked and disheartened because I wanted to witness that sacred event and I felt robbed of being present. Worse, I learned later that he had told others this was planned for months, but he had not shared it with me. And while I knew he was engaged and that they were planning a ceremony of sorts, his 4-word text sent me reeling into a state of broken heartedness.

So when I found myself jogging through my neighborhood the next morning while thinking about my own youth and all of the vain seeds I sowed in blissful ignorance, I felt this whack upside my head. I thought about my own mother and the tears she shed over the many ways I disregarded her advice, railed against her wishes and better judgement, and rejected the love that would have spared me future pain. I thought, is this what happens when what goes around comes around? And I wept bitter tears of regret.

For there certainly was a time I did not strive to live a life that served others but rather spent all my time and energy serving myself. And if there is a scale that weighs all of my mistakes and willful selfishness against the good deeds I strive to do (many of which are pridefully motivated), I figure I’m pretty much doomed.

Have you ever had such thoughts? Have you ever walked a dark path and considered how very much you deserve the hurtful thing that has been done to you? Have you experienced the guilt and shame that accompanies it? If you have not I will tell you something; it is a double wound! And it throbs like ones bowels are spilling out. And if the only hope I have is that, like Earl Hickey, I must rectify my former sins in order to avert the baleful repercussions, I am just really, really worried.

But, dear reader, this is why I love the gospel message. The gospel is a message of peace because it teaches me that if (it reminds me that though my sins be as scarlet, they will be as white as snow) I surrender my will to God—my will to do things my way—Jesus takes the punishment/repercussions for my mistakes/transgressions instead of me. Yes, human beings are imperfect! I believe this is the curse of sin and we just cannot get away from it. Sin is constantly maligning all of my wishes to do good things and twisting them into absurdities. I was born into a dreadful curse from which my only hope of escape is through the free gift of God—his only son—who takes my sins and crucifies them on his cross. Surrendering my will is often much more difficult than I anticipate but the freedom from guilt, shame and the “cosmic boomerang” is immensely gratifying.

Today if you find yourself beaten down and despondent because it feels like what goes around truly does come around, please know that God sees your predicament and grieves with you. And then know that because of his love and care for you, He made it possible for the boomerang you deserved to be thwarted into the heart of his very own son. And all you have to do is accept his free gift of grace and then rest in peace. And dear reader, if you have never experienced it, please know that the peace of God truly does transcend all understanding.