The Tiger

My father was a thoughtful gentleman. Not so much thoughtful as in, “Oh, that was thoughtful of you” but more thoughtful as in pondering, reflecting. I don’t think he would have ever called it meditating – that’s too close to something he’d consider borderline un-Christian or more likely, un-Baptist. In his mind and in his world there was little, if any, difference.

But as he aged, I saw him become even more reflective and quiet. There was a time I would have thought that impossible.

Two times, in particular, I saw his heart grow heavy and sad at the state of the world and the condition of his fallen heroes.

He used to lie on his bed on Saturday afternoons and listen to the LSU Tigers on the radio. I still see the scene. There was a Zenith radio beside the bed, the size of a small microwave oven. The sound was rich and full even from an AM broadcast of college football. I don’t ever remember hearing music come from that radio, come to think of it, only talk.

One of his football heroes from those LSU days was a guy named Billy Cannon. You can google his name and find out the details of his life, but it will suffice for the sake of this writing to tell you that Billy Cannon, after his days as a college football star, went on to enjoy a successful professional career as a dentist. In those days, as is the case for so many retired athletes today, their on-field prowess helped provide financial security for them and their families as their celebrity followed them into the real world.

Somewhere in the early 80s, Dr. Cannon found himself in debt and decided the best way out was to take to counterfeiting. Found buried in the back yard of a home he owned was an ice chest filled with fake $100 bills. The total was 50 Million dollars. Dr. Cannon went away for a while.

My father was devastated.

Dad wasn’t the type to go on some verbal tirade to further berate one already publicly shamed. But I could tell, and I remember this vividly all these years later, he was so very saddened and disappointed that someone he admired had turned so dark.

The same thing happened in 1988 when evangelist Jimmy Swaggart, after being so zealous to point out the flaws and failures of fellow ministers of the Faith, fell under investigation for solicitation of prostitutes in New Orleans. The charge was, at first, denied but later, Rev. Swaggart confessed to his deeds from a pulpit drenched in his own television tears.

Mr. Swaggart, along with his cousins, Jerry Lee Lewis of Rock and Roll fame from the 50s, Mickey Gilley of Urban Cowboy fame, grew up around Ferriday, Louisiana – not 30 miles from our back door. I guess the proximity alone put us in some strange alignment with the Swaggart/Lewis/Gilly clan. I can’t think of anything else we really had in common. We were staunch southern Baptist and the Swaggarts, to us at least, were outrageous Pentecostals.

Still, my father admired the sacred and eternal work of one Jimmy Swaggart. And I think he kind of liked the music, too. So, again, my father’s heart grew a little sadder at the public humiliation and failure of another he held in high esteem.

So here I am . . . at a point in my own life where, no matter how I stretch or define it, I can no longer consider myself young. Young at heart, maybe. Feeling better than I’ve felt in a long, long time with, what I think is, a pretty good outlook on the future. Here I am with a short list of people I admire - some for their ethics and their moral constitution, some for their strong convictions, some for their generosity in trying to make the world a better place with the money they’ve made.

And a few that have athletic ability I can only imagine. Some, with ability that is so over the top, my mortal imagination fails in trying to grasp it.

I play golf. So, yes, I’m awed by what I see Tiger Woods do on the golf course. I’ve seen it on television and I’ve watched him from a few feet away. Unless you’ve tried to play the game with any degree of expertise, only to see your skills come and go like a hurricane wind, it’s hard to appreciate the talent it takes to play well. I do appreciate it.

I, like most of the watching world, the hoards of voyeurs that wait for mankind to fall to the lowest common denominator, am saddened by what’s taken place in the life of this talented golfer. But surprised, no - and not inclined to wax theological at this point. There are plenty of on-line religious orators waiting to pounce with their most elementary and extremely obvious observations - looking for a voice or more important, a reader, a listener to satisfy a need for their own fifteen minutes of internet fame.

While the world keeps showing its darker side the more we learn of each other, the more difficult it is to keep a compassionate heart. Taking sides might seem valiant but it doesn’t seed gentleness of heart. Yes, I’m incensed by the flagrant disregard for values, for one’s family andfor the future of their two small children. I don’t know how Mrs. Woods could ever live in that environment with anything remotely resembling trust. Decisions have their own inherent rewards and very specific consequences. We do, indeed, finally reap what we sow. The secrets will come out. .

But my desire to see justice served out to others stops short when the finger is pointed at me. I don’t want justice for myself. I want mercy. Don’t get me wrong. I like justice. I just don’t like it for me.

And so we pray always for a more tender heart and a tougher skin. That our hearts will break at the same things that break His and that our proverbial skin will protect us from the stings that are nothing more than annoying blips on life’s radar. That we’ll let mountains be mountains and molehills be molehills. Choose carefully your battles my friends and love with a love that is beyond human. We have that inside us.

Blessings to you all this Christmas!

Wayne Watson

The Late Show

We spent a few days in NYC last week. I always enjoy being there but don’t enjoy the trip to or from. Once on the ground, though, it’s an overwhelming buffet of things to do and see and places to go.


The week before we went, we got a call from the David Letterman show saying that our ticket request would be granted if I could answer one Late Show trivia question. It was a simple question “Dave’s announcer, Alan Colter . . . what color is his hair?” Easy – flaming red! So we were granted the two tickets for the show on Wednesday night.

Some of you are asking “Why would you want to see Letterman after the turkey-like revelations about his personal life and his reckless disregard for his wife - the mother of his son? I don’t know. I just wanted to see the show in person, wanted to hear Paul Schaffer and the CBS Orchestra and I wanted to see the Ed Sullivan Theater.

Just fyi….I remember seeing the show the night he confessed his DWI - dalliances with interns. He was criticized because the audience laughed during this very serious monologue about the attempted blackmail scheme and the indiscretions of his personal life. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable but made even more so by the laughter from the audience. The staff goes to unbelievable lengths two hours before hand to drive home this point…laugh at everything! There are no applause signs . . . you’re just instructed to laugh all the time and clap at any opportunity. They said this to us “If you’re on the fence about whether or not something is funny, laugh anyway.” I’m guessing the prep was the same night after night. The staff prepped the audience as usual, I’m sure, unaware that Mr. Letterman was going to come clean that particular night.

I remember watching the Ed Sullivan show when I was a kid. I was blown away the first time The Beatles performed in the USA on that show. I still remember Ed Sullivan saying, in a way that only he could . . . “The Beatles” which was followed by screaming from the audience that, pretty much, drowned out the music.

So I was particularly pumped that, somehow, we found ourselves sitting on the front row – literally propping our feet up on the stage during commercial breaks.

I’m not going to say what I’m about to say because it’s what you expect from me or because of the kind of things recently revealed about Mr. Letterman - Not so those that count themselves in the Christian Always Right (and never wrong about much of anything) can point their well-rehearsed fingers of condemnation at some poor soul.

(Poor Soul? When David Letterman signed on with CBS to do his show years ago, his salary was somewhere in the neighborhood of $14 million dollars a year! Alert the media – making a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re going to be happy. I really don’t know how many more times I’m going to have to hear that, see examples of it, experience it before I really get it!)

Getting, finally, to the point – I suppose I’ve seen sadder people in my lifetime. They’re everywhere and it’s heartbreaking. But the most vivid and intense feeling we got from being a few feet from this show business legend is that he’s so very broken and sad. I’m very much aware, however, that I don’t know a whole lot about David Letterman and I want to point out how careful any of us should be at drawing conclusions with little bits of information. Lest any of us revert to the “Good, he’s getting what he deserves” scenario, let me remind you (and me….AGAIN), I don’t want what I deserve!!

We were told that Dave would come out a few minutes before the show and, if time allowed, he might take a question or two. Of course, that set us to asking each other, “What would you ask?” My first impulses were pretty dumb. But my wife said she would simply ask “Are you ok?” That says a lot about her for which, on this day in particular, I find myself extremely grateful.

During commercial breaks on the show we attended, Dave would take off his jacket and walk around the stage alone. Whatever energies he had to harness to interview the guests and keep the show going were put on pause. Then, when back on the air, “showtime.” I have to say, he’s brilliant at it!

There were so many things about the evening we enjoyed. The music was tremendous.

But it was another reminder of the beauty and simplicity of taking my faults and my failures to the Cross and leaving them there. This is why we want people to come to Christ. Not just for fire insurance, not just for eternal life, but for abundance, real joy and peace that passes understanding. I have a few new people on my prayer list.

And now for something completely different (or at least on a completely different subject).

Thanksgiving! Find a way to do it.

Sure, there are things I wish were better, things about the past I’d rather forget that, during the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons seem to get amplified beyond a normal mental volume. But I pray you’ll all find a reason to say “thank You.”

My son, Neal and his wife and three sons spent the last few days in Louisiana with my brother, his children and my mom. I wanted to get there to simply be in the room with the representatives of four generations of Watson people but could not.

It did make me think about this though – for me and for you. How many more of these will we get? What if this were the last Thanksgiving? It’s time to set aside some of those pet grievances you’ve been feeding all your life, get over it, say “forgive me” or “I forgive you.” Or Something like that. You know what to say.

Let me tell you without burdening you with details – I almost didn’t make it to Thanksgiving this year and now that I understand how real and possible that is for all of us, it makes me want to embrace all things good - all the blessings and scream out loud “THANK YOU!”

Without being fatalistic or morbid, remember how brief life is, how easily it’s taken away and how precious is every moment. I know there’s heaviness in lots of hearts right now - economic pressures, job stress, family stress, political unrest, world hunger and poverty. On a more personal scale, we have friends that are wrestling with all kinds of sadness and disappointments.

And with all gentleness and all the compassion I can muster, I want to say I’m thankful for you all, for the troubles you’ve endured this year, the great victories and, most of all, the great hope for eternity that’s in us all.

Christ in me, the hope of Glory.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson

U2

It’s been over a week since the show, so I guess I should say something about the U2 concert here in Houston. The emails I’ve gotten range from way far out to something similar to logical and mature in scope of opinion, etc.

It was an amazing spectacle! I’d never seen a stadium concert like this and I figured the chances of seeing a band this big wouldn’t go on forever. There’re only a couple other acts I would throw down cold hard $$$ to see.

Can you guess who they would be?

Reliant Stadium in Houston was packed! Out walks Mullin with his drum sticks in hand, major applause erupts – he starts to play. Adam Clayton strolls out toting his bass, audience roars as he joins the groove. Out walks The Edge. (Mr. Edge . . .I don’t know)
Must lead to some interesting conversations.

“Hello, I’d like to make a reservation for two for dinner.”

“Yes, what’s the name?”

“Edge.”

“Excuse me, did you say “Reg?”

“No, Edge.”

“Did you say you’re a vegetarian?”

“Never mind.”

or

“I need to see the doctor.”

“Are you a regular patient?”

“Yes, the name’s Edge.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have an Edge in our files.”

“Try, The Edge.”

“Got it.” “What time can you come in, Mr. Edge . . . or should I call you The?”




The Edge starts to play then a few seconds pass before Bono walks onto the platform. The place goes nuts! I was getting my hair cut today and there were two ladies speaking Spanish, talking about the concert. One that really wasn’t that into U2 (so, why the heck was she there???) was very confused when eighty thousand plus started chanting “Bono…Bono…Bono.” Seems “Bono” in Spanish means something akin to “Bonus.”

Over the years, I’ve watched Bono as he’s fronted this undeniably gigantic rock success story. I’ve heard lots of commentary. Opinions are like noses . . . most people have one. “He’s arrogant and cocky.” So on and so on. I don’t know about you, but if I walked onto a stage in front of eighty thousand - give or take a few thousand – every night, I’d probably be a little cocky, too.

Anyway, I didn’t sense that. But what difference does it make what I “sense.”

One comment that was sent to me – and I want to be respectful of everyone’s opinion and their right to have it – mentioned that they were under the impression that U2 was made up of Christians “until a member of the family went to the show and got drunk on the alcohol being served.” Listen, this is not a Sunday evening concert at your local church.
This is big time rock business. I would guess the powers that be at Reliant Stadium and U2 didn’t have late night negotiations over whether beer would be sold during the show. Everybody wants to make their money at these things. Heck, I paid $20 just to park! Like I said, I don’t do this often.

From what little I know about it, three of the four testify to being followers of Jesus.

So let’s just assume the best for a few.

Back to the alcohol thing. I’m assuming the people in question purchased their drinks because, during the little time I spent in line to buy a five-dollar bottle of H2O,
I didn’t see a single person get anything for free. So somebody’s got to take responsibility for their own decisions here. But in this culture, we’re always looking for somebody to blame. “Somebody’s got to be the bad guy, ‘cause it sure ain’t me!”

The Book says there are none righteous, not one . . . and a whole bunch of other stuff along those lines that you probably don’t need me to point out.

Some others I’ve heard from were blown away by the fact that, late in the show, Bono (you know, the “bonus” guy) sang a verse of “Amazing Grace.” It was a nice rendition of the classic and a tremendous testimony. To hear eighty thousand singing along was cool, but they also sang at the top of their lungs to “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Lookin’ For” and “It’s A Beautiful Day.”

It’s interesting to see the reaction of believers when some popular icon makes a proclamation of what we identify as Christian faith. “Oh,” we pine “he’s one of US.” That happened years ago when Bob Dylan made a couple of albums built around Christian lyrical content. “Saved” and “Slow Train Comin’” were interesting but nobody would claim them to be Dylan’s best work. But oh man, how we ran to claim Bob Dylan. BJ Thomas was another, back in the day, that had an experience with Christ only to be overwhelmed (and a little bewildered) by the faithful clamoring over his citizenship in the “us” culture of Jesus people.

If we’d been able to further identify or confirm the sincerity of their faith, we’d probably have drawn blood from one another over the question of whether they were charismatic, spirit-filled, conservative, fundamentalist, etc.

We all remember the fever pitch that surrounded Mel Gibson when he produced and released “The Passion of The Christ.” Not too long after the great success of this amazing film, too many of us cleared our proverbial spiritual throats as he was (and maybe still is) caught up in all kinds of personal firestorms. I just hope there’re some grownup Jesus people loving on Mel, BJ and Bob right now. Truth is, most of us are on the lookout for the next rock idol or movie star to sink our spiritual claws into and claim as our own.

The way I read It, we’re not our own . . . but were bought with a Price.

Why do you think we’re so bent in this direction? Is there not enough value in our own remarkable redemption that we have to validate it with the lives of others we declare to be on a higher level of human nobility?

Eternity will be the great equalizer so we might as well start practicing.

How can we get past this recurring behavior? How can we grow up?

Amazing Grace? It is sweet. It is timeless and indescribable. It has taken on a new, deeper definition to me in the last 5 years. And my deep thought of the day – “Get over yourself.”

Give Thanks.

Wayne Watson

P.S. Please pass this along to anyone you know that might like to read it, really, anyone you like. Anyone you don't like, anyone that you feel might benefit from reading it. thanks.....

The Last Word?

Great responses to yesterdays post about Worship.

It’s a hot topic and I guess that’s good. But, wow, it’s emotional for a lot of you. I’ve gotten stories that range from peoples tremendous worship experiences to some who’ve been burned, cornered, verbally assaulted, hurt so much they’ve left the fellowship of church. All of us probably have heard stories of churches splitting over controversies concerning worship. So sad.

This forum is interesting and this web culture gives everyone a voice. But just because I’m writing something doesn’t mean it’s the final answer. I’m just sharing some of what I believe. I’m not able, and in some part unwilling, to expose all of my thoughts and beliefs on anything here in this very public vehicle.

I’m trying to refine an art in me that gets lost too easily . . . keeping my mouth shut and my opinions to myself.

The post I wrote about Andrew Jackson drew some interesting emails as well. Again, some readers conclude that I’ve poured out all of my opinions, all my conclusions and convictions about the subject of abuse of power in the presidency, the greatness of a particular official, the mistreatment of indigenous groups, or the taking of American lands. That’s simply not true. I know there’re many sides to a story. Does it make you feel better to embrace your side with no thought, no credence to the other? Me either. It makes me feel selfish and narrow. Lots of times, I feel strongly both ways! I trust in the power of the Spirit of God to guard my heart without letting me be overwhelmed or blindsided. He does it very well.


Truth is, my heart, on any number of subjects, gets tweaked everyday by the Spirit into, what I can only pray is His perspective. The older I get, the one prayer I pray most constantly is “Lord, help me get over this need to always be right.”

Someone mentioned, in a response to the worship subject that one of our problems is that we don’t want to be told what to do. That’s true in worship and in life. One of the obstacles all of us have to overcome when we read God’s Word is the objection to being told what to do. That’s what the Bible does . . . for our best . . . for our good. And because we’re flawed mortals, it’s tough to hear and sometimes tough to do.

So maybe the best move, this moment, is to breathe out. Say to God, “I’m sorry I rebel against what I know is your best for me and mine. Forgive me for being selfish and arrogant, for always wanting the last word, for always wanting my way.” “Oh, and one more thing….”

My way has some serious problems. There’s proof. But strangely, I don’t feel obligated to share all of it.

As a matter of fact, some of what I’m writing right now is a veiled attempt to “get the last word” in response to some emails and posts of yesterday. Good Grief.

So, I’ll just step away from this for a few, come back and read it later and see if it’s more
nonsense than necessary.

…….. hmm…….hmmm……oh, cookies…… hmmm...



Ok, back now.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson

Did You Worship?

“I always feel for you when you’re up there singing your heart out, trying to get people to join in, and some of them . . . just won’t!”

A friend of mine said this to me the other day. When I’m not on the road, I lead worship at a church about ten minutes from my home. They’re the most gracious people - from the staff to the membership. They aren’t so much concerned with the insignificant stuff, you know, the stuff that nobody will remember next week much less a year from now. They like doing church to bathe in God’s presence as a corporate body once a week, to gather to worship, to learn and have great fellowship.

Worship has become a production. While I admire the quality of all the elements as much as anyone (Heck, maybe more than most . . . because I know what it takes to pull it all together, and I know what kind of gear it takes to produce such great audio and video and lighting effects.) sometimes, it tires me.

The spiritual pendulum swings pretty fast. While one day, I’m energized by the production, on another, I’m deeply, deeply moved by singing an old hymn in a small gathering of ordinary folks with no particular musical expertise.

So, does it bother me when people don’t always join me when I’m leading? Used to.
Not so much anymore. I realize that the hundreds of people in the room are coming from a great variety of life experiences.

I don’t know too many of them intimately, but, as we’re not that different from any other gathering of spiritually hungry humanity, there’s probably any number of issues being dealt with on any Sunday AM.

There were arguments at home about being late for church. Love that one. Some parents stood in the door and denied exit by some teenager daring to show up at Sunday School in some inappropriate something. “Too much makeup,” says another. “You can’t go to church in those shoes, son.” Then there are, inevitably, the couples that are on the verge of calling it quits. “One more church service and if God doesn’t do something big – and I mean BIG, I’m outta here.” “What am I going to do with my life?” a single, young adult asks in quiet. “Am I ever going to meet somebody to love? I don’t fit in here with all these families.” Then, there’re those with aging parents thinking about how to care for them, pushing back guilt for not visiting more, pondering how the estate will be split between siblings, what to do with the house.

Add your own personal drama.

It’s no wonder that it’s difficult to pull aside for an hour our so to be quiet, to pray, to sing, to listen and be taught or at least comforted.

I don’t take it personally when people don’t sing with me in worship. I worship and I hope my demeanor, my heart and voice can gently plead with them to join me, but honestly, I don’t know what each one needs or what they have to offer. That’s out of my hands and none of my business. I do know this – I’ve had some incredibly intense worship experiences listening to others sing, listening to someone speaking, keeping my own mouth shut for a few. My built-in southern Baptist guilt mechanism does kick in from time to time. It rears its head with loud piety. “Your not singing. What are people going to think?” “Nod your head like your agreeing. No, no, no that looks more like you’re falling asleep!” “Say “Amen” or something . . . not too loud or they’ll think you’re trying to be, well, you know.” “Smile….no….look serious.”

Yikes.

Here it is….and this probably doesn’t need to be said but I’ll say it anyway. Don’t wait for Sunday to worship. Live your life in an attitude of worship. If you pay attention to God’s moving in your life, you’ll have a worship experience every day. And in worshiping Him, you’ll live in a spiritual posture that will cause you to be humbly thankful for all He’s done and for all He’s doing.

Then every once in a while, show up at church and sing your heart out!

I’d love to hear how you’re doing with all this. Let me know.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson
October 12, 2009

PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgHg0w5DFp4


Not always.

I just finished a tremendous book about Andrew Jackson. Fascinating man with such a wide scope of opinion and views on people, life, spirituality and a host of other issues.

An orphan at fourteen, the revolutionary war took the lives of his brothers and mother. He saw little distinction between family and nation. In his eyes, they melded together into one formation and one loving devotion. He was passionate in his pursuit to defend and preserve both.

He is said by some to have been the president most like you and me. During his presidency, the culture was absorbed in fascination with politics, patriotism and religion. “My Country Tis of Thee” and “Amazing Grace” were products of this era and culture.

“He could be incredibly violent toward Indians and decidedly generous. Still there was nothing redemptive about his Indian policy.” There was conflict that is more than obvious in hindsight of nearly two hundred years. The way the United States acquired much of it’s property is downright scandalous. The wrongs and injustices perpetrated on the Native American can never be undone. Simple apologies from a generation far removed from the original offenses are almost meaningless.

One of the most poignant quotes from this book “Andrew Jackson: American Lion” by Jon Meacham . . .

Not all great presidents were always good, and neither individuals nor nations are without evil.

Andrew Jackson was blinded by the prejudices of his age and owned at least 150 slaves. It’s easy, in the year nearly 2010, to judge.

While I find this all very interesting and love to read the history of the world and particularly of the United States, there are so many undeniable facts that cause me to reflect with some degree of what I can only call shame and recoil that God hasn’t called us into judgment over the public escapades of our past, much more so over the things done in secret “in the best interest of the Nation.”

I won’t go on about the embarrassing episodes in our country’s history. Most of us are painfully aware. We proceed to live with bowed heads, thankful for God’s Grace and Mercy over us as a people – praying for forgiveness as individuals and as a nation for the missteps and intentional offenses we’ve committed. Thankful that none of us gets what we deserve. Justice is for another time. His mercies are new every morning.

So with that said, there are times when I’m proud to be an American. Let’s make this clear though - I find the word “pride” has few applications in the life of one trying to walk in the steps of Christ. And in the light of all the public observations of those we celebrate as “famous” I have to say, I don’t know why we expect people who’ve never been to the Cross to behave as if they have been, when it’s hard enough for those of us who have been there to behave as if we have been there! I’m embarrassed at my own judgmental attitude when I’m aware of my own life and it’s twists, turns and failures.

While I was in the Philippines in September, I was able to visit the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial. We were able to pass slowly through this beautiful memorial to the more than twenty thousand who died in the islands during the second world war. Those who live in the Philippines are thankful for the United States of America and the part our service men and women played in securing their nation.

The cemetery and memorial are beautifully maintained by the United States. It is a quiet, humbling place. A place that honors many whose bodies were never recovered. Their families were simply and respectfully informed of the loss of one they loved.

As I walked this memorial, looking at the names on the wall, watching the landscape pass filled with white crosses marking the life of some young soldier, marine or sailor, I found myself thankful for those that made the decision to stand at the door of these beautiful islands, these sweet people, and hold off the oppressive forces that wanted to overrun and dominate them.

Each marker in this memorial represents a person, a body, a soul. One who was born on that one day to a family that eagerly awaited the arrival. “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl” they said that day. They celebrated birthdays with their friends, that first day of school, they went to ballgames, had dates, made their folks proud when they announced they were going into the service. Moms cried when they got letters from the South Pacific. Moms and Dads worried and prayed over each of these children grown into grownups. Then they let go into the Eternal Hands when there was nothing else they could do.

Yes, we’ve made some monumental mistakes as a nation but we’ve done some wonderful good, too. Just like you and just like me.

Stay Thankful always. Do good.

I welcome your comments, questions and discussions.

Wayne

My friend James

A few days ago, I talked with a dear old friend.

James played guitar and other instruments with me on the road for 10 years. They were some of the best musical days of my career. Every night, he added so much to the evening. People would come up after the concert and ask all kinds of questions about “how did all of that music come from two people?”

James was tender and gentle. Always gracious and kind.

I’ve lost count of how many years ago we stopped traveling and playing together. But it’s been, probably, another ten years. I tried to stay in touch, called every long once in a while to a phone that I thought was his home, but got no answer. I let it go. We’ve both move far, far along.

But the other night, I got a voicemail and it was James. His voice was the same gentle voice I’d known all those years. He said he was sorry that he’d not been more in touch, that he was sorry to hear of the struggles and troubles of my past 5 years, etc.

I called him the next day because in his message, he mentioned that he was facing some “stuff” of his own. Of course, the mind takes over and starts to write an imaginary script of all the worst things you can think of….illness, failed marriage, death of a family member, accidents, whatever.

His wife answered the phone so that was a good sign and, for the moment, eliminated one looming question. She put him on the phone and we talked for 10 or 15 minutes.

After exchanging pleasantries and apologies for not being more in touch, he asked questions that I answered, followed by mutual expressions of our collective appreciation for fresh definitions of old words. Words like grace and mercy. While “God is good” can, sometimes, come off trite and flippant, it certainly didn’t in the course of this conversation with James.

James told me (and I don’t think he’ll mind me telling you . . . he’s asked for prayer from everyone. Please do!) that he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma three or four weeks ago. He thinks the prognosis is good and that there’s a good chance they’ll be able to beat it.

My breathing stopped for a moment.

This isn’t the first phone conversation I’ve had like this. But you’re never prepared and it’s never easy to know how to respond.

And I find, even as I write these words, I have little if anything, profound or exceptionally spiritual to say. I’m just a little deflated and tired of what happens to this body.

I’ve felt bad this whole year. But my stuff is minor compared to this. My stuff is done and fixed and I’m thankful every moment of every single day.

I’m concerned for James and praying for James and his wife. But as in all things, I know and am more convinced than ever that we just don’t know everything that God is up to.

He is a Mystery and will always be. Faith requires that we trust what we cannot see or understand. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be faith at all.

Whatever you’re facing today. Trust God with the unknown and the unknowable. Smile in the face of Mystery and enjoy the fact that so much of all of this is out of our hands – and safely in the Palm of His.

Wayne Watson
October 7, 2009