Back. On Target.

I’ve missed a few of my weekly blog posts. I was on vacation, working on my book, and distracted by other matters. In particular, during the past week I went on a tangent as I spent time “talking about something that is only slightly or indirectly related to the original subject.” While I don’t regret expressing my opinion or learning from the opinions of others, politics is more of a distraction than a passion.

My tangent did help me better understand the purpose of my blog and my writing. When I began, I thought I would write a blog that posted reflections on random topics. Science and politics, work and life, grief and joy. I would always turn a spiritual eye toward the topic, perhaps gleaning an insight from them that made my readers think differently about the world we live in. That’s how my mind works, so why not share it with others?

I had it backward. My passion is to let people catch glimpses of God and to allow those brief sightings to inform their understanding of themselves, God, and the world around them. Yes, to see God in all the areas I mentioned before but to never lose sight of the fact that God is the focal point; the rest is background. I want to get back to that. To that end…

Tina and I feel like we’ve found a new home church. Years ago, she attended Church of the Open Door and loved it. The name intrigued me for years when I saw it from Interstate 94, but I never stopped. After our first time there together, Tina asked what I thought. “I feel like I’m alive.”

This past Sunday was no different…even though it was one of the most exhausting services I have been through in a long time. Unbeknownst to me, this was the Sunday of the annual “Novembering” service where we remember those who died in the year prior. “I can handle this,” I thought…until Josh arrived with his mom and his wife and sat 5 rows ahead of us. As soon as I saw them, I knew that this service was going to be rough.

Josh and my son, Jason, first met at our church’s summer Art Camp and retained their friendship during the school years. The night after Jason died by suicide, Josh approached me to tell me that Jason’s smile and simple act of noticing him had helped him through his transition from homeschooling into public high school. That was March. Josh and Jason’s girlfriend carried his picture in the Grand March at Prom later that year. Josh was that guy and Jason held that place in his heart.

Shortly after Jason’s death, Brian (Josh’s dad) offered to spend time with me. He was going to be driving for work and wanted to know if I would like to drive along. As an introvert, the thought was overwhelming to me. How could I drive an hour in each direction – and probably lunch besides! – with a man I barely knew talking about my son’s death? I soon came to regret that I had declined his generous offer.

Four years later, Brian lost his life to cancer. His funeral was packed, leaving Tina and myself in the very uncomfortable position of sitting in the narthex with our back to the stage area and our faces toward 100+ people. I was a wreck and sobbed uncontrollably through much of the service. Afterward, a “chaplain” who had seen my tears offered to talk. She did. I was patient with her, but the last thing I needed or wanted was a plethora of words.

Now Josh and his mom were sitting in front of us at church. All the beauty and grief came on me like a flood and washed out through my tear ducts. These lyrics especially got to me. I wanted so desperately to sing at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t get the words out through my tears.

The blood and tears
How can it be?
There’s a God who weeps
There’s a God who bleeds

Those words gave me a picture of God that spoke to my aching heart. And that was before the sermon started.

Pastors Dave and Katie shared the time, going back and forth between them. Much of Pastor Dave’s life had been spent as pastor at Open Door. He was preaching this morning on “the valley of the shadow of death” because he had recently been diagnosed with the same terminal illness that took his father and his sister. With humor, grace, and vulnerability, he shared his thoughts from this “final room” of his life.

Several times, he repeated the metaphor of “glimpses” of God. Not long gazes or steady stares, just glimpses. “But the glimpses are real.” That struck me as being painfully and beautifully true. We don’t get to take good long looks at God; He’s not there on display for us to view whenever we want. But every once in a while, we catch a glimpse of Him. The glimpse reminds us that God is there, assures us of His presence, and leaves us longing for more.

Pastor Katie spoke briefly about walking “through the valley of the shadow of death” when Pastor Dave quipped, “And sometimes we get to see Him.” Not everyone who walks through the valley gets the opportunity to see God. Some do. What a gift!

Sometimes. A glimpse. The phrases indicate that our opportunities to see God are intermittent, unscheduled, and short. That’s the sadness. On the other hand, they are real. And there’s the beauty. Can you see the beauty while you feel the sadness? Have you been blessed by a glimpse of God during a sojourn through your valley? If so, how did God’s presence comfort you?