It's that time again; time for the latest followup P.E.T. scan & the next in a series of most-important-of-my-life Dr. appointments. The scan is Wednesday, and the appointment is Thursday morning. My typical sequence is to have the scan one day & get the results the next. The purpose of the scan is to determine whether my cancer has come back. (I've had seven clear scans in a row, praise God!) Thus, I thought I'd pull back the curtain & reveal what goes on in my mind & soul every time I come out here for a scan.
To do so, I'm going to rewind the tape & re-post something I wrote for an earlier scan. As I type this, it's the night before the scan. I wrote the entry that follows after the scan & before getting the results. Thus, it's real, true, & perhaps raw.
Important note: Dr. Bedekian said last time that if this scan is clear, I can drop back to once every four months, which would be great progress, after coming every three months for five years now. The reason is that I just passed the two-year anniversary of my last melanoma surgery. Prayers are most welcome, by the way.
Mike
(original entry starts)
What goes through one's mind the morning after a P.E.T. scan & before getting the results? The critical results?
Here are some thoughts I have two hours before that appointment.
--Anxiety
Not fear per se, but definitely anxiety that mounts as the clock moves. A blend of "What will he say this time?" and "How will I react to whatever he says?"
--Calm
Not to contradict the previous, but there's an amazing calm that comes along with the anxiety. Of course, I attribute this to the overwhelming grace & presence of God, and to His graciously answering the prayers of many friends who are praying even as I write. My favorite name of God in Scripture is Jehovah Shammah as I've mentioned here before. Basically it means "the personal God Who is present."
--Memories
Of the distant past, friends, family, places, etc. And of the recent past: surgery, hospital rooms, etc. Mostly, these fall under the category of things that bring great comfort (even the MDA ones!). Strangely, I smile a lot as memories come. And rest assured, I let them come, and even chase them now & then.
--Regrets
Not all of the memories are wonderful though. Mercifully, these are quickly re-channeled into a wonderful appreciation of grace in the Gospel. "Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow" (etc.)
--Hopes
I'm a bit of a dreamer anyway, and this morning in particular brings up quite a number of hopes for the future. Stay tuned. Be scared. *smile* The future in general gets collapsed into 2 phases: between now & the appointment, which is crystal clear, and afterward, which (mercifully, I think) sort of goes into a fog that I cannot see into very clearly.
--Family
My family is never far from my thoughts, but especially out here. And especially on Father's Day weekend. I'm struck this morning with the overpowering awareness that--as a writer once said--I am the narrow funnel where history & heritage meet legacy. My inherited heritage is so deep & rich that I can hardly take it all in. I pray often that 100 years from now my descendants will be making much of Jesus because of what God did in & through Mike Madaris' life. Aside: I often teter over into the arrogance of thinking "Boy, I hope they make much of me!" But as one of my favorite pastors, Crawford Loritts, says, I'm just a clap between two vast eternities; He is the One of Whom much needs to be made.
--Worship
Always...ALWAYS!...worship seems to just bubble up. PLEASE don't be impressed with Mike's spirituality here! I don't create this worship, nor grit my teeth to do it; it's called forth from me almost involutarily, which is just a marvelous experience. Yesterday, about 5 minutes before boarding the shuttle to MDA for my scan, I was overwhelmed by a couple of hymns that came from my soul. ("At the Cross", especially the verse "Amazing mercy, grace unknown, and love beyond degree!" and "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" of which I prefer the version by Selah.) So, yeah, that was me doing the subtle macho guy tear wipe that we disguise as scratching our face or fixing our hair or something.
There's a brief glimpse into what the long space in between a scan & getting the results of that scan looks like for me.
In about 2.5 months, I'll go back out there & do this all again.
Rejoicing in Jehovah Shammah,
bb
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
To Timothy, My Beloved Son
(It's Father's Day. Better freshen up your coffee.)
As you're aware if you've read much I've written, my Dad died suddenly when I was 15 years old & when he was seven years younger than I am now. I haven't fully gotten over that, & don't expect to this side of Heaven. Indeed, I've reached the place where I don't even wish nor intend to get over it. One day, though, I won't have to miss him any more. Lord, haste the day!
But meanwhile, this Father's Day post is not about my Dad.
Instead, I'd like to celebrate some Dads who have had a significant impact on my life despite the fact that I'm not their son. My hope in doing so is four-fold. First, I hope that any Daddies reading this will realize the HUGE impact they have on their children's lives, and will endeavor to make that a positive impact. Second, I hope any men--Dads or not--will realize the huge impact they can have on people who aren't their children, and will begin/continue to do so. Third, I hope any single ladies will wait for a real man, rather than settling for a gutless punk little boy who thinks he's a man because of what he convinces you to do for him physically. Finally, I simply wish to celebrate some men who I view as huge grace notes in the score of my life. None of these men wish to be celebrated; all will/would be embarrassed to see this. And certainly none of these men can ever take the place of my amazing Daddy, James E. Madaris, Sr., who I miss palpably on an almost-daily basis; all of them would agree with this, by the way.
In no particular order, here are some Daddies worth celebrating. (Note: there are many such Daddies; consider these but a sample.)
Dr. James L. Monroe
Dr. Monroe was pastor--and then pastor emeritus--of First Baptist Church of Ft. Walton Beach, FL, my home church. In the memory blur that is Saturday, Dec. 14, 1974 & the next few days, Dr. Monroe stands out. He came to our house & was there when Mom told us Dad had died. Others were too, and I'm thankful for all of them. But Dr. Monroe was the embrace I ran to immediately after hearing the news. There in our living room, I remember crying out "But I wasn't ready!" I can still hear his calm voice, "Mike, nobody's ever ready for this." I've gone back to that great word many times in the 38 1/2 years since. Though a superb theologian & preacher, Dr. Monroe didn't try to explain things to me, nor did he preach me a sermon; both would've been ill-received at that moment. Instead, he just showed up & sympathized with a hurt, devastated, angry 15-year-old. I'm so grateful!
In the days, weeks, months, & years after, I attempted to abandon my faith (which journey has also been written about here). I pretty much gave up on church. And sadly, on God. Despite that, Dr. Monroe never gave up on me. On multiple occasions, I spent time in his office seeking his wise counsel.
The last time I saw him I was on staff with the faculty ministry of Campus Crusade for Christ. (I wonder which of us was more surprised that I, of all people, was in full-time vocational ministry...) Dr. Monroe took me to a restaurant where we pounded down some BBQ ribs. With sauce running down our forearms, he told me he was proud of me. Then he asked me what the Lord had been teaching me lately. Thankfully, I had an answer. Then I asked him the same question (which was pretty cocky of me!). He said, "You know, I've been reading in Haggai,..." & away he went. I marveled then & now that this man who had been a preacher for decades was still learning new things about God & the Gospel. May we all finish so well, straining toward the finish line, never thinking that we know all we need to know!
William D. Huddleston
The Huddlestons are lifelong family friends of ours. Mrs. Huddleston taught with Mom, and Mr. Huddleston was a principal. We also went to church together, and I still see them when I'm at FBC back home. Well, most of them. Mr. Huddleston's faith became sight some years back. But that's the end of the story, getting ahead of myself.
Do you know folks that are just easy to talk to? Who laugh a lot, without being frivolous & unaware of the gravity of life? That was Mr. Huddleston. Just a solid guy. Our families hung out before Dad died, and after. Somehow, after Dad's homegoing, I found myself gravitating more toward Mr. Huddleston. Mostly, just listening, though we did talk college football (he had season tickets to FSU games for a while.)
His faith became sight some years back too. Like Dr. Monroe, he finished the race & kept the faith. And along the way, had a significant impact on this weasly little guy who was in his daughter's class & who seemed to be around his house periodically. Mr. Huddleston's handshake & smile & congratulations on my marriage, college degrees, and the birth of my children were big "welcome to manhood" moments for me, even though I didn't realize it at the time.
Dr. John Morrow
Uncle John is my Mom's brother-in-law. He's a radiologist, now retired. I have several outstanding uncles; Uncle John is one of them. A very wise man, but always humble. Not many wise men can balance it with humility, but Uncle John does & always has. A superb sense of humor, that I've treasured for decades now. Uncle John will speak hard truth when needed, but always with a sense of optimism & "You can do this" and "I believe in you."
After Dad died, Uncle John would call periodically to check on us. Sometimes he would talk to Mom & see if there was anything he could do to help. Other times, he would talk to me & ask me how (a) I was doing, and (b) how Mom is doing. That's an easy question to ask; the difference here is, Uncle John always stood ready to drive down from Alabama to FWB if needed. How I cherish his wisdom, his example, his making us laugh, & his being a role model of what a patriarch should be! Also, the fact that he trusted me enough to ask me how Mom was doing was another big "welcome to manhood" moment, as were the times he has told me, "I'm proud of you." Just now, I'm remembering that he was among my first phone calls when James Madaris was born in Indiana; somehow, that seems important now.
Charles T. Madaris, Jr.
My Dad's oldest brother. Uncle Jr. was another favorite, before Dad died & after. A retired Colonel in the Air Force, he & his family had lived all over, but he landed back in the hills of Lowndes County, AL where he and his wife grew up. Somehow, that sense of connectedness with roots is inspiring. Uncle Jr. was servant-minded& amp; fun loving; great combination! He always wanted us city boys to have fun whether we were visiting his home in Braggs or the lake house on Lake Martin. There were motorcycles to ride through the woods, inner tubes to roll down the hill into the lake, guns to shoot, animals to hunt, fish to catch, and indoor games as well. Some deeply-treasured memories are of hunts with Uncle Jr. Not so much for the hunt itself, but rather for the circle of men that I felt part of on those days. Uncle Jr. always shot last; "There he is, Mike; take him!" Then after I usually missed, he'd knock down the quail or the dove or the squirrel & attempt to give me credit. It was as if Uncle Jr. extended a hand & pulled me up toward manhood in so many ways (the hunts just being one of those ways.)
I only saw him lose his composure one time. At the family Christmas right after Dad died, I took the present I had bought for Dad with me--a collection of Hank Williams' greatest hits. (Back story: Hank grew up not far from where the Madarises had grown up, and not far from where Uncle Jr. lived.) During the family gift exchange, I gave it to Uncle Jr. instead. Seeing his emotions brought home to me that it's OK to love a brother, and also that it's OK to grieve & to show emotion. Uncle Jr.'s passing has always been poetic to me. It was the only time I recall him going hunting by himself. His heart gave out while out in the woods; his tombstone reads "Gone to the Hills." I still thank God for this man who's been gone several decades now, & who I still miss quite often.
George Styles
Was married to my Dad’s oldest sister. Uncle George & Aunt Daisy were our neighbors & landlords when Lisa & I were first married. His impact on my life, faith, & marriage is incalculable. Remember my “Learning to Dance” blog entry last week about couples married for a long time? Lisa & I saw two great dancers live it out before us for the first three years of our married life. I’m eternally grateful.
Uncle George exemplified the phrase “green thumb.” He made things grow more and better than most people. I still miss his “German vegetables” dish. He was also very handy around the house, helping me fix a number of things. Though a quiet, gentle man by nature, he had as strong a set of forearms as I’ve ever seen. And though a principal, he worked hard outside building, cutting, gardening, etc. A military veteran; South Pacific in World War II. One of our absolute treasures is a collection of letters compiled by his younger son, Ben. Uncle George & Aunt Daisy were relatively newly married during that time when he was away, and so they wrote letters very regularly to each other. A long-distance, time-travelling clinic on how to love a spouse. But then, Lisa & I saw the live version 40 years later.
I’ve written here before about how Uncle George & Aunt Daisy got me back to attending church when I moved to Tuscaloosa. He usually sang in the choir, but I personally enjoyed the times he didn’t. That way, I got to enjoy his beautiful tenor voice singing the hymns. Uncle George’s faith became sight some years back. Can’t wait to hear that tenor voice sing again, and to see his smile, and to tell him “thanks.”
Don Madaris
My Dad’s youngest brother. Uncle Don also helped my faith in a number of ways. I remember when Uncle Jr.—his older brother!—died, I fell apart. As I snuck away to fall to pieces in private, he followed me. There, through our shared tears, he loved me & helped me begin to make sense of it. Uncle Don is a very talented musician and a good writer as well. He served in south American and in Mexico, before retiring in New Mexico. I thank God for him helping teach me how to praise God again after some years of not wanting to.
Jim Parker
Mr. Parker taught us 9th grade Sunday School at First Baptist. A man's man; big game hunter, strong, handsome, and truthful. I still recall him telling us, "Boys, some folks will tell you that sin isn't fun; let me tell you, they're not telling you the truth! And that, fellows, is why we're so susceptible to it. It's fun, and dangerous, and spiritually deadly." Frankly, I don't recall much of his actual teaching other than the previous sentences. But I recall that he loved a bunch of knot-headed 9th grade boys, while helping us have fun and teaching us the Word and telling us the truth about life & faith. Some years back, I took him to breakfast when I was home. As I thanked him for his impact on me, this picture of masculinity broke down & cried. Through his tears, he said, "Thanks, Mike, but there are so many I missed..." I'll never forget that breakfast nor his words. A passion for the Gospel and for people.
Dr. Ronnie Kent
A local pediatrician. Ronnie would be my Adult Bible Study teacher today if I weren't called to teach myself. I still consider myself one of his students. Lisa & I landed in Ronnie's Sunday School class the first day we visited Temple in 1989. And all these years later, I still find myself wondering "What would Ronnie do with this passage?" Earlier today, as I was preparing my teaching for Sunday, I again had that thought.
Ronnie helped teach me "the depths of the riches of the knowledge of God" by being my teacher. He taught me how to serve the church by being a deacon & lay leader. He taught me how to be a husband and father by letting me see him lead a family. He taught me how to take prayer seriously on multiple occasions when I've shared a prayer concern with him, and he stopped & prayed for it right there on the spot, in public or in private settings. He taught me how to be an encourager by, well, being an encourager! I'm delighted and humbled and honored that Ronnie is my friend, and a role model of mine.
Dr. John Mayfield
A local veterinarian. A country boy from Smith County, Mississippi. And a discipler of men. I still remember that Sunday night in 1990 when Johnny locked that strong, forceful arm around me in a hug & said, "Listen, Me & Sandy are starting a Masterlife group, and you & Lisa need to be in it." (It wasn't really a question! ) And he & Sandy poured themselves into us for the better part of the next year. I'll never be the same. The first time I wrote my story & shared it was during that time. The first time I ever had a serious evangelistic conversation was during that time (with Johnny by my side). I still remember our three-hour prayer time one Sunday; before that, I doubted I had three hours' worth of things to pray about. That afternoon revolutionized my prayer life! He's the one who first spoke of "my ministry." I thought church staff folks & missionaries had ministries, while the rest of us just sort of hung out & supported them financially. Johnny helped me see otherwise. I could take you to the spot in the parking lot where I asked him to pray with me about a possible job change; he did, but said "How would this new job affect your ministry?" I said, "What ministry?" and he said, "The one you have over there at the university." Changed my whole approach to my job, and I'm forever grateful. Johnny's one of the few guys who has unfettered access to my life & thoughts. I remember him putting that same hug on me a few years back & saying "When's the last time you & Lisa went on a date?" After I stammered, searching for an answer, he smiled, interrupted me, & said, "I'll ask you again next week, & I'll expect a better answer."
Praise God for men who hold other men accountable & who ask hard questions!
Ethan Pope
A minister who now lives in Dallas, and one who had a HUGE impact on me. Aside from being my friend & wise counselor in many areas, Ethan helped teach me how to study the Bible in depth. I came to realize that he was basically passing along what "Prof" Howard Hendricks--his seminary professor--had taught him. Ethan had been on staff with the Josh McDowell ministry, which is a division of Campus Crusade for Christ. (I'm still a fan of Josh & am still awed that he & Ethan are on a first-name basis.) Ever know anyone who just never gets rattled? Who is always steady & confident & wise? Who has helpful council in virtually any situation? That's Ethan.
Johnny Tatum
A businessman, Johnny's the other guy who helped teach me how to study the Bible in depth. Once I spent a couple of days with him going through 2 Timothy in depth. And then, Lisa & I spent approximately two years under his leadership studying the book of Romans. Just Romans. And I came to realize, we had not nearly exhausted the book! I thank God for Johnny building into me a love of studying the Bible, along with some tools for doing so.
Keith Seabourn
Keith is Chief Technology Officer for Cru (formerly "Campus Crusade for Christ"), but when Lisa & I were on staff, Keith was part of Christian Leadership Ministries--the faculty ministry that we served with for seven years. Do you know anyone who always has a good, wise, biblically-sound, humble answer to any question you ask? That's Keith. Keith & his beloved Kay served in Nigeria for some years before moving back to the states. I have two vivid memories of life-changing moments I spent with Keith. One was when I asked him how he was called to ministry. He said when he was a student at Texas A&M, Dr. Bill Bright came & spoke on campus. As was Bill's wont, he challenged the large group of students to "come help change the world" by joining staff. Keith to me: "Mike, that Gospel call resonated with me then, and still does now." The other was when we were all in CO for staff training one year when Keith turned 50. We had a small party for him that was a lot of fun. But Keith asked if we could have a shared prayer time. I still remember his quoting from Psalm 90; "So teach us to number our days, that we may present a heart of wisdom." One of the most vivid prayer moments of my whole life, realizing that this guy who had already been part of very significant ministry for the Lord was still desiring to use his time wisely, rather than chilling out & coasting.
In his last letter before his execution, the apostle Paul referred to Timothy as "Timothy, my beloved son." Paul was not Timothy's biological father, nor his adoptive one. Paul was recognizing Timothy as a leader and as one who had been impacted by Paul's life & message. None of the men listed here have referred to me that way, but I consider myself the recipient of a small piece of the mantel of their leadership & gifts.
I thank God for raising men. Real men. Men who are unashamed of the Gospel. Men who love their wives, publicly and privately. Men who raise their families and sacrifice for them. Men who love the church, and who celebrate when any part of the Church--not just their local fellowship--brings honor & glory to God. Men who are themselves humbled to be recipients of God's grace in the Gospel. Men who will wake up tomorrow morning, numbering their days, and impacting lives and eternity. Men who are believing Jesus' Great Commission, but more, are living it out in their daily lives. (Take note, by the way: only one of the men listed above was actually a paid minister.) Men who are finishing the race & keeping the faith, while impacting us other lesser men with the Gospel and encouraging us to also finish well.
Go, and do likewise! And hold me accountable for doing so too!
Humbled and honored to be friends with such giants,
bb
p.s. - Again, these are but a sample of the many men who have connected with me & impacted me. There are so many others who deserve mention too.
As you're aware if you've read much I've written, my Dad died suddenly when I was 15 years old & when he was seven years younger than I am now. I haven't fully gotten over that, & don't expect to this side of Heaven. Indeed, I've reached the place where I don't even wish nor intend to get over it. One day, though, I won't have to miss him any more. Lord, haste the day!
But meanwhile, this Father's Day post is not about my Dad.
Instead, I'd like to celebrate some Dads who have had a significant impact on my life despite the fact that I'm not their son. My hope in doing so is four-fold. First, I hope that any Daddies reading this will realize the HUGE impact they have on their children's lives, and will endeavor to make that a positive impact. Second, I hope any men--Dads or not--will realize the huge impact they can have on people who aren't their children, and will begin/continue to do so. Third, I hope any single ladies will wait for a real man, rather than settling for a gutless punk little boy who thinks he's a man because of what he convinces you to do for him physically. Finally, I simply wish to celebrate some men who I view as huge grace notes in the score of my life. None of these men wish to be celebrated; all will/would be embarrassed to see this. And certainly none of these men can ever take the place of my amazing Daddy, James E. Madaris, Sr., who I miss palpably on an almost-daily basis; all of them would agree with this, by the way.
In no particular order, here are some Daddies worth celebrating. (Note: there are many such Daddies; consider these but a sample.)
Dr. James L. Monroe
Dr. Monroe was pastor--and then pastor emeritus--of First Baptist Church of Ft. Walton Beach, FL, my home church. In the memory blur that is Saturday, Dec. 14, 1974 & the next few days, Dr. Monroe stands out. He came to our house & was there when Mom told us Dad had died. Others were too, and I'm thankful for all of them. But Dr. Monroe was the embrace I ran to immediately after hearing the news. There in our living room, I remember crying out "But I wasn't ready!" I can still hear his calm voice, "Mike, nobody's ever ready for this." I've gone back to that great word many times in the 38 1/2 years since. Though a superb theologian & preacher, Dr. Monroe didn't try to explain things to me, nor did he preach me a sermon; both would've been ill-received at that moment. Instead, he just showed up & sympathized with a hurt, devastated, angry 15-year-old. I'm so grateful!
In the days, weeks, months, & years after, I attempted to abandon my faith (which journey has also been written about here). I pretty much gave up on church. And sadly, on God. Despite that, Dr. Monroe never gave up on me. On multiple occasions, I spent time in his office seeking his wise counsel.
The last time I saw him I was on staff with the faculty ministry of Campus Crusade for Christ. (I wonder which of us was more surprised that I, of all people, was in full-time vocational ministry...) Dr. Monroe took me to a restaurant where we pounded down some BBQ ribs. With sauce running down our forearms, he told me he was proud of me. Then he asked me what the Lord had been teaching me lately. Thankfully, I had an answer. Then I asked him the same question (which was pretty cocky of me!). He said, "You know, I've been reading in Haggai,..." & away he went. I marveled then & now that this man who had been a preacher for decades was still learning new things about God & the Gospel. May we all finish so well, straining toward the finish line, never thinking that we know all we need to know!
William D. Huddleston
The Huddlestons are lifelong family friends of ours. Mrs. Huddleston taught with Mom, and Mr. Huddleston was a principal. We also went to church together, and I still see them when I'm at FBC back home. Well, most of them. Mr. Huddleston's faith became sight some years back. But that's the end of the story, getting ahead of myself.
Do you know folks that are just easy to talk to? Who laugh a lot, without being frivolous & unaware of the gravity of life? That was Mr. Huddleston. Just a solid guy. Our families hung out before Dad died, and after. Somehow, after Dad's homegoing, I found myself gravitating more toward Mr. Huddleston. Mostly, just listening, though we did talk college football (he had season tickets to FSU games for a while.)
His faith became sight some years back too. Like Dr. Monroe, he finished the race & kept the faith. And along the way, had a significant impact on this weasly little guy who was in his daughter's class & who seemed to be around his house periodically. Mr. Huddleston's handshake & smile & congratulations on my marriage, college degrees, and the birth of my children were big "welcome to manhood" moments for me, even though I didn't realize it at the time.
Dr. John Morrow
Uncle John is my Mom's brother-in-law. He's a radiologist, now retired. I have several outstanding uncles; Uncle John is one of them. A very wise man, but always humble. Not many wise men can balance it with humility, but Uncle John does & always has. A superb sense of humor, that I've treasured for decades now. Uncle John will speak hard truth when needed, but always with a sense of optimism & "You can do this" and "I believe in you."
After Dad died, Uncle John would call periodically to check on us. Sometimes he would talk to Mom & see if there was anything he could do to help. Other times, he would talk to me & ask me how (a) I was doing, and (b) how Mom is doing. That's an easy question to ask; the difference here is, Uncle John always stood ready to drive down from Alabama to FWB if needed. How I cherish his wisdom, his example, his making us laugh, & his being a role model of what a patriarch should be! Also, the fact that he trusted me enough to ask me how Mom was doing was another big "welcome to manhood" moment, as were the times he has told me, "I'm proud of you." Just now, I'm remembering that he was among my first phone calls when James Madaris was born in Indiana; somehow, that seems important now.
Charles T. Madaris, Jr.
My Dad's oldest brother. Uncle Jr. was another favorite, before Dad died & after. A retired Colonel in the Air Force, he & his family had lived all over, but he landed back in the hills of Lowndes County, AL where he and his wife grew up. Somehow, that sense of connectedness with roots is inspiring. Uncle Jr. was servant-minded& amp; fun loving; great combination! He always wanted us city boys to have fun whether we were visiting his home in Braggs or the lake house on Lake Martin. There were motorcycles to ride through the woods, inner tubes to roll down the hill into the lake, guns to shoot, animals to hunt, fish to catch, and indoor games as well. Some deeply-treasured memories are of hunts with Uncle Jr. Not so much for the hunt itself, but rather for the circle of men that I felt part of on those days. Uncle Jr. always shot last; "There he is, Mike; take him!" Then after I usually missed, he'd knock down the quail or the dove or the squirrel & attempt to give me credit. It was as if Uncle Jr. extended a hand & pulled me up toward manhood in so many ways (the hunts just being one of those ways.)
I only saw him lose his composure one time. At the family Christmas right after Dad died, I took the present I had bought for Dad with me--a collection of Hank Williams' greatest hits. (Back story: Hank grew up not far from where the Madarises had grown up, and not far from where Uncle Jr. lived.) During the family gift exchange, I gave it to Uncle Jr. instead. Seeing his emotions brought home to me that it's OK to love a brother, and also that it's OK to grieve & to show emotion. Uncle Jr.'s passing has always been poetic to me. It was the only time I recall him going hunting by himself. His heart gave out while out in the woods; his tombstone reads "Gone to the Hills." I still thank God for this man who's been gone several decades now, & who I still miss quite often.
George Styles
Was married to my Dad’s oldest sister. Uncle George & Aunt Daisy were our neighbors & landlords when Lisa & I were first married. His impact on my life, faith, & marriage is incalculable. Remember my “Learning to Dance” blog entry last week about couples married for a long time? Lisa & I saw two great dancers live it out before us for the first three years of our married life. I’m eternally grateful.
Uncle George exemplified the phrase “green thumb.” He made things grow more and better than most people. I still miss his “German vegetables” dish. He was also very handy around the house, helping me fix a number of things. Though a quiet, gentle man by nature, he had as strong a set of forearms as I’ve ever seen. And though a principal, he worked hard outside building, cutting, gardening, etc. A military veteran; South Pacific in World War II. One of our absolute treasures is a collection of letters compiled by his younger son, Ben. Uncle George & Aunt Daisy were relatively newly married during that time when he was away, and so they wrote letters very regularly to each other. A long-distance, time-travelling clinic on how to love a spouse. But then, Lisa & I saw the live version 40 years later.
I’ve written here before about how Uncle George & Aunt Daisy got me back to attending church when I moved to Tuscaloosa. He usually sang in the choir, but I personally enjoyed the times he didn’t. That way, I got to enjoy his beautiful tenor voice singing the hymns. Uncle George’s faith became sight some years back. Can’t wait to hear that tenor voice sing again, and to see his smile, and to tell him “thanks.”
Don Madaris
My Dad’s youngest brother. Uncle Don also helped my faith in a number of ways. I remember when Uncle Jr.—his older brother!—died, I fell apart. As I snuck away to fall to pieces in private, he followed me. There, through our shared tears, he loved me & helped me begin to make sense of it. Uncle Don is a very talented musician and a good writer as well. He served in south American and in Mexico, before retiring in New Mexico. I thank God for him helping teach me how to praise God again after some years of not wanting to.
Jim Parker
Mr. Parker taught us 9th grade Sunday School at First Baptist. A man's man; big game hunter, strong, handsome, and truthful. I still recall him telling us, "Boys, some folks will tell you that sin isn't fun; let me tell you, they're not telling you the truth! And that, fellows, is why we're so susceptible to it. It's fun, and dangerous, and spiritually deadly." Frankly, I don't recall much of his actual teaching other than the previous sentences. But I recall that he loved a bunch of knot-headed 9th grade boys, while helping us have fun and teaching us the Word and telling us the truth about life & faith. Some years back, I took him to breakfast when I was home. As I thanked him for his impact on me, this picture of masculinity broke down & cried. Through his tears, he said, "Thanks, Mike, but there are so many I missed..." I'll never forget that breakfast nor his words. A passion for the Gospel and for people.
Dr. Ronnie Kent
A local pediatrician. Ronnie would be my Adult Bible Study teacher today if I weren't called to teach myself. I still consider myself one of his students. Lisa & I landed in Ronnie's Sunday School class the first day we visited Temple in 1989. And all these years later, I still find myself wondering "What would Ronnie do with this passage?" Earlier today, as I was preparing my teaching for Sunday, I again had that thought.
Ronnie helped teach me "the depths of the riches of the knowledge of God" by being my teacher. He taught me how to serve the church by being a deacon & lay leader. He taught me how to be a husband and father by letting me see him lead a family. He taught me how to take prayer seriously on multiple occasions when I've shared a prayer concern with him, and he stopped & prayed for it right there on the spot, in public or in private settings. He taught me how to be an encourager by, well, being an encourager! I'm delighted and humbled and honored that Ronnie is my friend, and a role model of mine.
Dr. John Mayfield
Ethan Pope
A minister who now lives in Dallas, and one who had a HUGE impact on me. Aside from being my friend & wise counselor in many areas, Ethan helped teach me how to study the Bible in depth. I came to realize that he was basically passing along what "Prof" Howard Hendricks--his seminary professor--had taught him. Ethan had been on staff with the Josh McDowell ministry, which is a division of Campus Crusade for Christ. (I'm still a fan of Josh & am still awed that he & Ethan are on a first-name basis.) Ever know anyone who just never gets rattled? Who is always steady & confident & wise? Who has helpful council in virtually any situation? That's Ethan.
Johnny Tatum
A businessman, Johnny's the other guy who helped teach me how to study the Bible in depth. Once I spent a couple of days with him going through 2 Timothy in depth. And then, Lisa & I spent approximately two years under his leadership studying the book of Romans. Just Romans. And I came to realize, we had not nearly exhausted the book! I thank God for Johnny building into me a love of studying the Bible, along with some tools for doing so.
Keith Seabourn
Keith is Chief Technology Officer for Cru (formerly "Campus Crusade for Christ"), but when Lisa & I were on staff, Keith was part of Christian Leadership Ministries--the faculty ministry that we served with for seven years. Do you know anyone who always has a good, wise, biblically-sound, humble answer to any question you ask? That's Keith. Keith & his beloved Kay served in Nigeria for some years before moving back to the states. I have two vivid memories of life-changing moments I spent with Keith. One was when I asked him how he was called to ministry. He said when he was a student at Texas A&M, Dr. Bill Bright came & spoke on campus. As was Bill's wont, he challenged the large group of students to "come help change the world" by joining staff. Keith to me: "Mike, that Gospel call resonated with me then, and still does now." The other was when we were all in CO for staff training one year when Keith turned 50. We had a small party for him that was a lot of fun. But Keith asked if we could have a shared prayer time. I still remember his quoting from Psalm 90; "So teach us to number our days, that we may present a heart of wisdom." One of the most vivid prayer moments of my whole life, realizing that this guy who had already been part of very significant ministry for the Lord was still desiring to use his time wisely, rather than chilling out & coasting.
In his last letter before his execution, the apostle Paul referred to Timothy as "Timothy, my beloved son." Paul was not Timothy's biological father, nor his adoptive one. Paul was recognizing Timothy as a leader and as one who had been impacted by Paul's life & message. None of the men listed here have referred to me that way, but I consider myself the recipient of a small piece of the mantel of their leadership & gifts.
I thank God for raising men. Real men. Men who are unashamed of the Gospel. Men who love their wives, publicly and privately. Men who raise their families and sacrifice for them. Men who love the church, and who celebrate when any part of the Church--not just their local fellowship--brings honor & glory to God. Men who are themselves humbled to be recipients of God's grace in the Gospel. Men who will wake up tomorrow morning, numbering their days, and impacting lives and eternity. Men who are believing Jesus' Great Commission, but more, are living it out in their daily lives. (Take note, by the way: only one of the men listed above was actually a paid minister.) Men who are finishing the race & keeping the faith, while impacting us other lesser men with the Gospel and encouraging us to also finish well.
Go, and do likewise! And hold me accountable for doing so too!
Humbled and honored to be friends with such giants,
bb
p.s. - Again, these are but a sample of the many men who have connected with me & impacted me. There are so many others who deserve mention too.
Thursday, June 06, 2013
The Vivid Air Signed with Their Honor
69 years ago last night, this guy I know--one of my heroes--didn't get any sleep. I imagine it's rather hard to sleep when yours will be among the very first Allied military boots to land on Hitler's fortress Europe. My friend was a pathfinder with the 101st Airborne; he parachuted in very early in the a.m. on DDay to mark the drop zones for the massive drops a few hours later.
He won't talk about it. I can only imagine, but I understand, and most assuredly do NOT press him on it.
There aren't many of them left. And we are worse off because of that.
Important note: there are still heroes walking among us doing amazing feats of arms in the face of a hostile enemy. I salute them all; men before whom I stand silent, except to say "Thanks."
But World War II in gen'l--and the DDay invasion of Normandy in particular--seems to have produced heroes in very large volume. Some made it home; some didn't. In just the first four hours of daylight in June 6, 1944, there were 9,000 U.S. casualties (combo of wounded & killed.) During the next few weeks of the campaign, there were tens of thousands more.
Some, like my friend, parachuted, jumping into what looked like a maelstrom of gunfire, often landing in flooded fields. Some were towed across the English Channel in gliders; these crash-landed on purpose. Some went over the sides & out the front of landing craft like the picture below.
All of them displayed a level of courage I've never approached. When I was in my late teens & early 20s, I was focused on being cool, making it to the beach, learning to scuba dive the springs of central FL, attending college football games, and getting a date. These guys were focused on living until sunset. And then living until the following sunrise.
Four years ago, on the 65th anniversary of DDay, a buddy & I drove down to the DDay museum in New Orleans. The museum staff had invited every known survivor of the 1944 invasion to come. A couple hundred showed up.
I doubt I'll ever walk among so many towering heroes again this side of Heaven. It was awesome in the truest sense of the word.
Last year, my buddy brought me some hallowed ground.
This is a small bag of dirt from Omaha Beach & Utah Beach in Normandy. Omaha & Utah were the two American landing zones. I keep these where I do my morning times with the Lord & with reading books. Looking at them just now reminds me that I need to be thankful more often.
One day, I hope to visit Normandy. I hope to stand on the beaches. I hope to stand atop Pointe du Hoc. I hope to visit the U.S. cemetery just inland from the beach. There is absolutely no chance of me remaining composed when that day comes.
One final story. A guy recently spoke of his uncle who was tasked with cleaning up the beaches of Normandy. He never spoke of that day to anybody for the rest of his days.
I hope we always remember, even as those who were there leave us on a daily basis. As President Reagan said in his fantastic speech at Pointe du Hoc on June 6, 1984, "Gentlemen, I look at you and I think of the words of Stephen Spender's poem. You are men who in your 'lives fought for life and left the vivid air signed with your honor.'"
War is hellacious, brutal, uncomprising, deadly,...and sometimes absolutely necessary. As on June 6, 1944. If you know any veterans of World War II, make a point of thanking them.
Now I need to go look at my two small bags of dirt--hallowed ground--and remember & celebrate & pray & give thanks for some heroes I never met. (And for one that I see quite regularly.)
bb
| General Eisenhower addresses a group of paratroops preparing for the DDay invasion. |
There aren't many of them left. And we are worse off because of that.
Important note: there are still heroes walking among us doing amazing feats of arms in the face of a hostile enemy. I salute them all; men before whom I stand silent, except to say "Thanks."
But World War II in gen'l--and the DDay invasion of Normandy in particular--seems to have produced heroes in very large volume. Some made it home; some didn't. In just the first four hours of daylight in June 6, 1944, there were 9,000 U.S. casualties (combo of wounded & killed.) During the next few weeks of the campaign, there were tens of thousands more.
Some, like my friend, parachuted, jumping into what looked like a maelstrom of gunfire, often landing in flooded fields. Some were towed across the English Channel in gliders; these crash-landed on purpose. Some went over the sides & out the front of landing craft like the picture below.
 |
| U.S. Troops wade ashore toward Omaha Beach. |
Four years ago, on the 65th anniversary of DDay, a buddy & I drove down to the DDay museum in New Orleans. The museum staff had invited every known survivor of the 1944 invasion to come. A couple hundred showed up.
I doubt I'll ever walk among so many towering heroes again this side of Heaven. It was awesome in the truest sense of the word.
Last year, my buddy brought me some hallowed ground.
One day, I hope to visit Normandy. I hope to stand on the beaches. I hope to stand atop Pointe du Hoc. I hope to visit the U.S. cemetery just inland from the beach. There is absolutely no chance of me remaining composed when that day comes.
One final story. A guy recently spoke of his uncle who was tasked with cleaning up the beaches of Normandy. He never spoke of that day to anybody for the rest of his days.
I hope we always remember, even as those who were there leave us on a daily basis. As President Reagan said in his fantastic speech at Pointe du Hoc on June 6, 1984, "Gentlemen, I look at you and I think of the words of Stephen Spender's poem. You are men who in your 'lives fought for life and left the vivid air signed with your honor.'"
War is hellacious, brutal, uncomprising, deadly,...and sometimes absolutely necessary. As on June 6, 1944. If you know any veterans of World War II, make a point of thanking them.
Now I need to go look at my two small bags of dirt--hallowed ground--and remember & celebrate & pray & give thanks for some heroes I never met. (And for one that I see quite regularly.)
bb
Sunday, June 02, 2013
Learning to Dance
You’ve seen the dance.
It’s so great that it almost goes unnoticed.
A senior adult couple is best at the dance. A young married couple is surprisingly not nimble at it, contrary to what I thought when I was half of a young married couple. (Perhaps contrary to what you think as well.)
Next time you’re around a couple that has been married for decades, observe the dance. It will take your breath away.
In the manner of highly-skilled dancers, this couple moves together while retaining their separate identities. Their movements are separate & unique, but they work in combination so well that it seems choreographed. They anticipate each other’s moves & reactions & wants & needs. In the great description of a friend of mine, they go beyond completing each other's sentences...they complete each other’s thoughts.
(And that’s why young married couples don’t dance so well. Not an indictment at all, but the dance as I’m describing it above only comes after years of studying each other & living in very close proximity through good times and bad.)
I’m learning to dance. I’ve come a long way, by the enabling, transforming grace of God through the love of my wife. But I’m quite certain that I still have a LONG way to go.
Today is Lisa’s & my 29th anniversary. When I got married, I basically didn’t have a clue. (I may not have many clues now, but I have lots more clues than I had June 2, 1984 in that church in southwest Alabama!)
A couple doing the dance will laugh a jokes unspoken, but shared in memory. They’ll finish a sentence that the other one hasn’t even started yet. They’ll smile at each other, knowing that they just shared a thought & perhaps a reaction to the thought…without a word ever being spoken.
Lisa & I have had multiple instances recently of one of us saying something that the other was thinking at that very moment. Maybe we’re learning how to dance. It seems so. I hope so.
I can’t wait to learn more of the dance, for among men, I am most blessed in being given the extremely high honor & privilege of being Lisa’s husband.
With thanks for 29 years & hope for many more,
Mike
A senior adult couple is best at the dance. A young married couple is surprisingly not nimble at it, contrary to what I thought when I was half of a young married couple. (Perhaps contrary to what you think as well.)
Next time you’re around a couple that has been married for decades, observe the dance. It will take your breath away.
In the manner of highly-skilled dancers, this couple moves together while retaining their separate identities. Their movements are separate & unique, but they work in combination so well that it seems choreographed. They anticipate each other’s moves & reactions & wants & needs. In the great description of a friend of mine, they go beyond completing each other's sentences...they complete each other’s thoughts.
(And that’s why young married couples don’t dance so well. Not an indictment at all, but the dance as I’m describing it above only comes after years of studying each other & living in very close proximity through good times and bad.)
I’m learning to dance. I’ve come a long way, by the enabling, transforming grace of God through the love of my wife. But I’m quite certain that I still have a LONG way to go.
Today is Lisa’s & my 29th anniversary. When I got married, I basically didn’t have a clue. (I may not have many clues now, but I have lots more clues than I had June 2, 1984 in that church in southwest Alabama!)
A couple doing the dance will laugh a jokes unspoken, but shared in memory. They’ll finish a sentence that the other one hasn’t even started yet. They’ll smile at each other, knowing that they just shared a thought & perhaps a reaction to the thought…without a word ever being spoken.
Lisa & I have had multiple instances recently of one of us saying something that the other was thinking at that very moment. Maybe we’re learning how to dance. It seems so. I hope so.
I can’t wait to learn more of the dance, for among men, I am most blessed in being given the extremely high honor & privilege of being Lisa’s husband.
With thanks for 29 years & hope for many more,
Mike
Monday, May 27, 2013
Who's On Your Mind This Weekend?
It's Memorial Day. A day set aside to honor those who didn't come home.
But to me, the phrase "those who didn't come home" is too broad for today. Almost like Stalin's edict that "one death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic." Thus, my question: Who--what specific person--is on your mind as you celebrate Memorial Day?
I've been thinking of three men I never met, just as representatives of the MANY thousands who should be remembered this weekend. And every weekend.
One is from around here: Lance Corporal Roy Mitchell Wheat, USMC. LCPL Wheat was from Moselle, MS, which is a small town just a few miles up the road. A friend from church's Dad was a classmate of his. A stretch of interstate that runs past Moselle has been named for him, as has the local post office. If you look at his information below from the Virtual Vietnam Wall, you'll notice a Congressional Medal of Honor. LCPL Wheat died on August 11, 1967 in Vietnam when he jumped on an antipersonnel mine that had been triggered. In so doing, he died, but his fellow Marines were spared injury.
LCPL Wheat's name appears on the Vietnam Memorial Wall at Panel 24E Line 101.
Roy Wheat was 20 years old.
Another man I've been thinking of is Major Carl Wilson Drake, USAF. Major Drake was originally from Ohio, but was based out of St. Petersburg, FL with the 421ST Tactical Fighter Squadron, 366TH Tactical Fighter Wing, 7TH Air Force. His younger son was the first guy I met on the University of FL campus when I showed up for registration in the summer of 1977. Randy & I became fraternity brothers, & hung out a lot during my time in Gainesville. Major Drake's F4 fighter plane was shot down over Cambodia on June 18, 1970. His body was not recovered; thus, he is officially KIA/Body Not Recovered.
Major Drake's name appears on the Vietnam Memorial Wall at Panel W9, Line 65.
Carl Drake was 37 years old. He was born the same year as my Mother.
The third man I've been thinking of is the uncle of one of my dear friends. The uncle was on Iwo Jima in 1945. His last radio transmission was one word: "Incoming!" There were no remains. Which means he's one of ~94,000 U.S. soldiers & sailors & flyers whose remains were never recovered.
In addition to those two who died when I was a kid and the one who died before I was born, I recently read a good article called "America's Forgotten War". The article was about World War I, the so-called "war to end all wars." Just last week, we visited my Granddaddy's gravesite in Selma, AL. Charlie Madaris was not a combat casualty, but was there in the trenches in that war.
Here's a WW1 statistic for you: 117,000 U.S. soldiers KIA in 19 months.
Enjoy your Memorial Day activities; I am doing that. But at some point, pause & remember those who didn't make it home from War. Debate the merits of the various wars America has been involved in all you want. I do. Lambaste seemingly clueless political leaders making foreign policy decisions through the years. I do.
But this weekened...today...set ALL of that aside. Today, honor the memories of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice in War. Today, as General George Patton said, be thankful that such men lived.
Today, voice a prayer for the friends & families, who will never ever truly get over their loved one's death.
It's Memorial Day. Who's on your mind?
bb
But to me, the phrase "those who didn't come home" is too broad for today. Almost like Stalin's edict that "one death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic." Thus, my question: Who--what specific person--is on your mind as you celebrate Memorial Day?
I've been thinking of three men I never met, just as representatives of the MANY thousands who should be remembered this weekend. And every weekend.
One is from around here: Lance Corporal Roy Mitchell Wheat, USMC. LCPL Wheat was from Moselle, MS, which is a small town just a few miles up the road. A friend from church's Dad was a classmate of his. A stretch of interstate that runs past Moselle has been named for him, as has the local post office. If you look at his information below from the Virtual Vietnam Wall, you'll notice a Congressional Medal of Honor. LCPL Wheat died on August 11, 1967 in Vietnam when he jumped on an antipersonnel mine that had been triggered. In so doing, he died, but his fellow Marines were spared injury.
LCPL Wheat's name appears on the Vietnam Memorial Wall at Panel 24E Line 101.
Roy Wheat was 20 years old.
Another man I've been thinking of is Major Carl Wilson Drake, USAF. Major Drake was originally from Ohio, but was based out of St. Petersburg, FL with the 421ST Tactical Fighter Squadron, 366TH Tactical Fighter Wing, 7TH Air Force. His younger son was the first guy I met on the University of FL campus when I showed up for registration in the summer of 1977. Randy & I became fraternity brothers, & hung out a lot during my time in Gainesville. Major Drake's F4 fighter plane was shot down over Cambodia on June 18, 1970. His body was not recovered; thus, he is officially KIA/Body Not Recovered.
Major Drake's name appears on the Vietnam Memorial Wall at Panel W9, Line 65.
Carl Drake was 37 years old. He was born the same year as my Mother.
The third man I've been thinking of is the uncle of one of my dear friends. The uncle was on Iwo Jima in 1945. His last radio transmission was one word: "Incoming!" There were no remains. Which means he's one of ~94,000 U.S. soldiers & sailors & flyers whose remains were never recovered.
In addition to those two who died when I was a kid and the one who died before I was born, I recently read a good article called "America's Forgotten War". The article was about World War I, the so-called "war to end all wars." Just last week, we visited my Granddaddy's gravesite in Selma, AL. Charlie Madaris was not a combat casualty, but was there in the trenches in that war.
Here's a WW1 statistic for you: 117,000 U.S. soldiers KIA in 19 months.
Enjoy your Memorial Day activities; I am doing that. But at some point, pause & remember those who didn't make it home from War. Debate the merits of the various wars America has been involved in all you want. I do. Lambaste seemingly clueless political leaders making foreign policy decisions through the years. I do.
But this weekened...today...set ALL of that aside. Today, honor the memories of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice in War. Today, as General George Patton said, be thankful that such men lived.
Today, voice a prayer for the friends & families, who will never ever truly get over their loved one's death.
It's Memorial Day. Who's on your mind?
bb
If you are able,
save for them a place
inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can
no longer go.
save for them a place
inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can
no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say
you loved them,
though you may
or may not have always.
Take what they have left
and what they have taught you
with their dying
and keep it with your own.
you loved them,
though you may
or may not have always.
Take what they have left
and what they have taught you
with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.
Major Michael Davis O’Donnell
January 1, 1970
Dak To, Vietnam
January 1, 1970
Dak To, Vietnam
On March 24th, 1970, Michael O'Donnell along with crew mates Berman Ganoe, John
C. Hosken, Rudy M. Becerra, John Boronski, Gary A. Harned and Jerry L. Pool went
Missing In Action. Although remains for all crewmen were not recovered, this
crew is now considered accounted for.
Friday, March 29, 2013
I am Judas
He followed Christ on earth. So do I. But that's not nearly all that Judas and I have in common.
Yes, he followed Christ. But he was very concerned that the rules & proper procedures be followed.
I am Judas.
He seemed to have decided he was more important that his fellow followers.
I am Judas.
He thought they didn't fully understand Jesus like he did.
I am Judas.
He didn't care for Jesus' extravagant grace when the recipient didn't fit Judas' preconceived notions of who was worthy. He forgot that he himself wasn't any more worthy than the "least of these." [Heavy sigh]
I am Judas.
He loved the idea of the radical Jesus overturning the system. Then he discovered the rewards for becoming part of that same system, and changed his mind.
I am Judas.
There's reason to believe that Judas used his position in Christ's group of followers to his own benefit, possibly even to the point of mis-allocating things that were Jesus' to himself. Stealing money in Judas' case; stealing glory--or attempting to--in mine.
I am Judas.
He loved the roar of the crowd, and apparently got caught up in it such that he missed the point of Jesus' teaching.
I am Judas.
He betrayed Jesus. [another heavy sigh]
I am Judas.
When he realized that he had blown it, he pathetically & feebly attempted to fix it after it was too late.
I am Judas.
Despite all of these many shortcomings, Jesus still had close fellowship with him, even knowing that Judas would fail and betray him. Jesus invited him to the table to eat. Jesus fed him. Hung out with him. Showed him great grace.
I am Judas.
Lord Jesus, by Your grace, and only by Your grace, may I run well the course you have remaining for me. You know my thoughts, the number of hairs on my head, the result of my next P.E.T. scan--and every one after that. You know the time of my departure. You know my sinful tendencies and temptations and weak points and struggles. Lord, I come empty-handed, with absolutely NOTHING to give You to merit Your saving and sustaining grace. I echo Your friend Peter: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." And yet, praise God, You don't. Instead, You forgive, and forgive, and forgive,...far more often than 70 times 7 in my case. I do NOT deserve to share communion with you, now or at the marriage supper of the Lamb. And yet, you freely offer both. May I never get over your grace. And by the fullness of the power of Your Holy Spirit, Lord, enable this weak, trembling, woefully-inadequate follower--who deserves a gruesome end like Judas--to finish well. As the hymnwriter said, "And when before the Throne I stand in (You) complete, Jesus died, my soul to save, my lips will still repeat."
Finally, Lord, I echo the prayer you heard on the cross: "Jesus, remember me when You come into Your Kingdom."
With faltering words, tear-filled eyes, and a thankful heart & marvelous hope because of both Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday,
Mike
Yes, he followed Christ. But he was very concerned that the rules & proper procedures be followed.
I am Judas.
He seemed to have decided he was more important that his fellow followers.
I am Judas.
He thought they didn't fully understand Jesus like he did.
I am Judas.
He didn't care for Jesus' extravagant grace when the recipient didn't fit Judas' preconceived notions of who was worthy. He forgot that he himself wasn't any more worthy than the "least of these." [Heavy sigh]
I am Judas.
He loved the idea of the radical Jesus overturning the system. Then he discovered the rewards for becoming part of that same system, and changed his mind.
I am Judas.
There's reason to believe that Judas used his position in Christ's group of followers to his own benefit, possibly even to the point of mis-allocating things that were Jesus' to himself. Stealing money in Judas' case; stealing glory--or attempting to--in mine.
I am Judas.
He loved the roar of the crowd, and apparently got caught up in it such that he missed the point of Jesus' teaching.
I am Judas.
He betrayed Jesus. [another heavy sigh]
I am Judas.
When he realized that he had blown it, he pathetically & feebly attempted to fix it after it was too late.
I am Judas.
Despite all of these many shortcomings, Jesus still had close fellowship with him, even knowing that Judas would fail and betray him. Jesus invited him to the table to eat. Jesus fed him. Hung out with him. Showed him great grace.
I am Judas.
Lord Jesus, by Your grace, and only by Your grace, may I run well the course you have remaining for me. You know my thoughts, the number of hairs on my head, the result of my next P.E.T. scan--and every one after that. You know the time of my departure. You know my sinful tendencies and temptations and weak points and struggles. Lord, I come empty-handed, with absolutely NOTHING to give You to merit Your saving and sustaining grace. I echo Your friend Peter: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." And yet, praise God, You don't. Instead, You forgive, and forgive, and forgive,...far more often than 70 times 7 in my case. I do NOT deserve to share communion with you, now or at the marriage supper of the Lamb. And yet, you freely offer both. May I never get over your grace. And by the fullness of the power of Your Holy Spirit, Lord, enable this weak, trembling, woefully-inadequate follower--who deserves a gruesome end like Judas--to finish well. As the hymnwriter said, "And when before the Throne I stand in (You) complete, Jesus died, my soul to save, my lips will still repeat."
Finally, Lord, I echo the prayer you heard on the cross: "Jesus, remember me when You come into Your Kingdom."
With faltering words, tear-filled eyes, and a thankful heart & marvelous hope because of both Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday,
Mike
Friday, March 15, 2013
The Long Wait...
(From the archives; as Lisa & watch the clock tick toward this next most-important-of-my-life Dr. appointment where we'll hear the results of the P.E.T. scan & brain MRI. Slightly updated 3/15/13. Your prayers are MOST appreciated today & always!)
(Originally written the morning after a scan in June 2011, before getting the results.)
What goes through one's mind the morning after a P.E.T. scan & before getting the results? The critical results?
Here are some thoughts I have Friday morning in my hotel room, 2 hrs before that appointment.
--Anxiety
Not fear per se, but definitely anxiety that mounts as the clock moves. A blend of "What will he say this time?" and "How will I react to whatever he says?"
--Calm
Not to contradict the previous, but there's an amazing calm that comes along with the anxiety. Of course, I attribute this to the overwhelming grace & presence of God, and to His graciously answering the prayers of many friends who are praying even as I write. My favorite name of God in Scripture is Jehovah Shammah as I've mentioned here before. Basically it means "the personal God Who is present."
--Memories
Of the distant past, friends, family, places, etc. And of the recent past: surgery, hospital rooms, etc. Mostly, these fall under the category of things that bring great comfort (even the MDA ones!). Strangely, I smile a lot as memories come. And rest assured, I let them come, and even chase them now & then.
--Regrets
Not all of the memories are wonderful though. Mercifully, these are quickly re-channeled into a wonderful appreciation of grace in the Gospel. "Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow" (etc.)
--Hopes
I'm a bit of a dreamer anyway, and this morning in particular brings up quite a number of hopes for the future. Stay tuned. Be scared. *smile* The future in general gets collapsed into 2 phases: between now & the appointment, which is crystal clear, and afterward, which (mercifully, I think) sort of goes into a fog that I cannot see into very clearly.
--Family
My family is never far from my thoughts, but especially out here. And especially on Father's Day weekend. I'm struck this morning with the overpowering awareness that--as a writer once said--I am the narrow funnel where history & heritage meet legacy. My inherited heritage is so deep & rich that I can hardly take it all in. I pray often that 100 years from now my descendants will be making much of Jesus because of what God did in & through Mike Madaris' life. Aside: I often teter over into the arrogance of thinking "Boy, I hope they make much of me!" But as one of my favorite pastors, Crawford Loritts, says, I'm just a clap between two vast eternities; He is the One of Whom much needs to be made.
--Worship
Always...ALWAYS!...worship seems to just bubble up. PLEASE don't be impressed with Mike's spirituality here! I don't create this worship, nor grit my teeth to do it; it's called forth from me, which is just a marvelous experience. Yesterday, about 5 minutes before boarding the shuttle to MDA for my scan, I was overwhelmed by a couple of hymns that came from my soul. ("At the Cross", especially the verse "Amazing mercy, grace unknown, and love beyond degree!" and "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" of which I prefer the version by Selah.) So, yeah, that was me doing the subtle macho guy tear wipe that we disguise as scratching our face or fixing our hair or something.
There's a brief glimpse into what the long space in between a scan & getting the results of that scan looks like for me.
In about three months, I'll go back out there & do this all again.
Rejoicing in Jehovah Shammah,
bb
(Originally written the morning after a scan in June 2011, before getting the results.)
What goes through one's mind the morning after a P.E.T. scan & before getting the results? The critical results?
Here are some thoughts I have Friday morning in my hotel room, 2 hrs before that appointment.
--Anxiety
Not fear per se, but definitely anxiety that mounts as the clock moves. A blend of "What will he say this time?" and "How will I react to whatever he says?"
--Calm
Not to contradict the previous, but there's an amazing calm that comes along with the anxiety. Of course, I attribute this to the overwhelming grace & presence of God, and to His graciously answering the prayers of many friends who are praying even as I write. My favorite name of God in Scripture is Jehovah Shammah as I've mentioned here before. Basically it means "the personal God Who is present."
--Memories
Of the distant past, friends, family, places, etc. And of the recent past: surgery, hospital rooms, etc. Mostly, these fall under the category of things that bring great comfort (even the MDA ones!). Strangely, I smile a lot as memories come. And rest assured, I let them come, and even chase them now & then.
--Regrets
Not all of the memories are wonderful though. Mercifully, these are quickly re-channeled into a wonderful appreciation of grace in the Gospel. "Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow" (etc.)
--Hopes
I'm a bit of a dreamer anyway, and this morning in particular brings up quite a number of hopes for the future. Stay tuned. Be scared. *smile* The future in general gets collapsed into 2 phases: between now & the appointment, which is crystal clear, and afterward, which (mercifully, I think) sort of goes into a fog that I cannot see into very clearly.
--Family
My family is never far from my thoughts, but especially out here. And especially on Father's Day weekend. I'm struck this morning with the overpowering awareness that--as a writer once said--I am the narrow funnel where history & heritage meet legacy. My inherited heritage is so deep & rich that I can hardly take it all in. I pray often that 100 years from now my descendants will be making much of Jesus because of what God did in & through Mike Madaris' life. Aside: I often teter over into the arrogance of thinking "Boy, I hope they make much of me!" But as one of my favorite pastors, Crawford Loritts, says, I'm just a clap between two vast eternities; He is the One of Whom much needs to be made.
--Worship
Always...ALWAYS!...worship seems to just bubble up. PLEASE don't be impressed with Mike's spirituality here! I don't create this worship, nor grit my teeth to do it; it's called forth from me, which is just a marvelous experience. Yesterday, about 5 minutes before boarding the shuttle to MDA for my scan, I was overwhelmed by a couple of hymns that came from my soul. ("At the Cross", especially the verse "Amazing mercy, grace unknown, and love beyond degree!" and "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" of which I prefer the version by Selah.) So, yeah, that was me doing the subtle macho guy tear wipe that we disguise as scratching our face or fixing our hair or something.
There's a brief glimpse into what the long space in between a scan & getting the results of that scan looks like for me.
In about three months, I'll go back out there & do this all again.
Rejoicing in Jehovah Shammah,
bb
Thursday, March 07, 2013
Finishing Well - Remembering Prof
Howard Hendricks' faith has become sight. Christianity--and the world in general--have lost a towering figure whose impact during his lifetime is incalculable. (Personally, the guy who taught me how to study Scripture in depth learned how to do that under Dr. Hendricks, or "Prof" as he was widely known.)
I had the great pleasure of hearing "Prof" speak a couple of times during our days on staff with Cru. Just fantastic. I remember him sharing his own story of coming to faith out of an unchurched background. "Sunday School? Why would I want to go to school on Sunday?" (in response to an invitation by a Sunday School teacher when Hendricks was a kid in Philly.)
I can both see and hear Prof speaking to a group of men. "You need a Paul--an older guy who's building into your life. You need a Barnabas--a soul brother at your same life stage. And you need a Timothy--a younger man into whose life you're building."
And I can see him & hear his voice raised as he stepped from behind the podium while speaking to 5,000+ folks all in ministry. He pointed at us & said, "You wanna know why I'm so fired up about accountability? Because it's already hard enough for me to share my faith as it is; I can't have any more people like you crash morally."
Great sense of humor. Amazing teaching. Married for 66 years. Taught at Dallas Theological Seminary for--get this--over 60 years.
To use an analogy from track, Howard Hendricks leaned into the tape. As Paul told Timothy, he finished the race & kept the faith. (2 Timothy 4)
O, that you would raise up men to follow in the footsteps of Dr. Howard Hendricks, Lord. Raise us up like Prof to be faithful all the way to the finish line. Make us faithful in our marriages, and in our teaching, and in our discipleship as Prof was. Help us love our wives as Christ loved the church and gave Himself for her as Prof did. Make us men who love Scripture and who study it all the days of our lives as Prof did. Make us think it a sin to make the Bible boring, as Prof said. Show us not the many things we might do, but rather, focus us on the one thing we must do, as Prof taught us. May our lives model 2 Timothy 2:2 just as Prof's life did. And may we always be careful to give You the glory for whatever you choose to do with our lives. Just like Prof.
R.I.P., Prof! Thanks for blazing such a clear trail for us to follow.
Mike, your long-distance 2nd-generation student.
I had the great pleasure of hearing "Prof" speak a couple of times during our days on staff with Cru. Just fantastic. I remember him sharing his own story of coming to faith out of an unchurched background. "Sunday School? Why would I want to go to school on Sunday?" (in response to an invitation by a Sunday School teacher when Hendricks was a kid in Philly.)
I can both see and hear Prof speaking to a group of men. "You need a Paul--an older guy who's building into your life. You need a Barnabas--a soul brother at your same life stage. And you need a Timothy--a younger man into whose life you're building."
And I can see him & hear his voice raised as he stepped from behind the podium while speaking to 5,000+ folks all in ministry. He pointed at us & said, "You wanna know why I'm so fired up about accountability? Because it's already hard enough for me to share my faith as it is; I can't have any more people like you crash morally."
Great sense of humor. Amazing teaching. Married for 66 years. Taught at Dallas Theological Seminary for--get this--over 60 years.
To use an analogy from track, Howard Hendricks leaned into the tape. As Paul told Timothy, he finished the race & kept the faith. (2 Timothy 4)
O, that you would raise up men to follow in the footsteps of Dr. Howard Hendricks, Lord. Raise us up like Prof to be faithful all the way to the finish line. Make us faithful in our marriages, and in our teaching, and in our discipleship as Prof was. Help us love our wives as Christ loved the church and gave Himself for her as Prof did. Make us men who love Scripture and who study it all the days of our lives as Prof did. Make us think it a sin to make the Bible boring, as Prof said. Show us not the many things we might do, but rather, focus us on the one thing we must do, as Prof taught us. May our lives model 2 Timothy 2:2 just as Prof's life did. And may we always be careful to give You the glory for whatever you choose to do with our lives. Just like Prof.
R.I.P., Prof! Thanks for blazing such a clear trail for us to follow.
Mike, your long-distance 2nd-generation student.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Cry "Glory!"
The day after an EF-4 tornado rolls through my town, and when it's still raining like crazy with the near certainty of more tomorrow, King David's thoughts on God's power over nature give great comfort. Psalm 29 (ESV)
Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings,
ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.
Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name;
worship the LORD in the splendor of holiness.
The voice of the LORD is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders,
the LORD, over many waters.
The voice of the LORD is powerful;
the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.
The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars;
the LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon.
He makes Lebanon to skip like a calf,
and Sirion like a young wild ox.
The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.
The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness;
the LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.
The voice of the LORD makes the deer give birth
and strips the forests bare,
and in his temple all cry, “Glory!”
The LORD sits enthroned over the flood;
the LORD sits enthroned as king forever.
May the LORD give strength to his people!
May the LORD bless his people with peace!
(back to bb) Please join me in praying for those--including several friends--who have suffered great loss of property in this tornado. May we, His people, cry "Glory!"
Mike
Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings,
ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.
Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name;
worship the LORD in the splendor of holiness.
The voice of the LORD is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders,
the LORD, over many waters.
The voice of the LORD is powerful;
the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.
The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars;
the LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon.
He makes Lebanon to skip like a calf,
and Sirion like a young wild ox.
The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.
The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness;
the LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.
The voice of the LORD makes the deer give birth
and strips the forests bare,
and in his temple all cry, “Glory!”
The LORD sits enthroned over the flood;
the LORD sits enthroned as king forever.
May the LORD give strength to his people!
May the LORD bless his people with peace!
(back to bb) Please join me in praying for those--including several friends--who have suffered great loss of property in this tornado. May we, His people, cry "Glory!"
Mike
Friday, February 08, 2013
Remembering An Absent Friend
In my years on earth, there has been some very good music recorded. (Of course, when one reaches my age, the sheer quantity of music around suggests that there should be at least some good music...*smile*) Recently, the ipod shuffle rolled around to this one old-school Doobie Bros. song. "Down in the Track" from the album "What Were Once Vices..." A very nice shuffle-blues-rock groove.
As always, the song made me remember a good friend from long ago. This past year was the 35th year since my class graduated. I know people have different reactions to HS reunions, but I love ours. HS was a good life season because of some *great* people there. They pulled me through some very dark days, & made me smile along the way.
Doug was one of those people. I wanted to see him at our 30th reunion (the last "official" reunione we had)...and probably would have. But then I got the news.
I initially wrote the piece below back in 2007, not long after our 30th reunion, but sort of let it lay there in the "just for Mike" category. "Down in the Track" brought this flooding back in my mind. Let me just say, that particular song sounded GREAT in Doug's black van blasted through a bunch of speakers he installed with enough power to be heard from quite a distance away. *smile*
To An Absent Friend – Doug.
Doug was a good friend from 7th through 12th grade. We played in band throughout jr. high & high school. Both of us played saxophone. Thus, I was his section leader in high school; we practiced music together. We spent a lot of time together in school, in band-related activities, and in...other activities...
We rode around in his van…when we were 14. 16 is the driver’s license age in FL. In fact, he drove himself in said van to the summer driver’s ed course we took together before 10th grade. He was 15 then, and driver’s ed was a pre-req to getting one’s license. I thought this was pretty brazen. And very cool. Which pretty much describes Doug as I knew him and remember him: brazen and cool.
He taught me to ride a motorcycle…his. (I still dream of rolling on a Harley.) He was tough; I was much less so, and thus needed tough friends. We double-dated on occasion. He had a crush on one of our friends; such that he got into a fist-fight with her older boyfriend. I was impressed, even though the guy & his friends, er, won the fight. In the frequent jr. high boys PE dust-ups that would occur, I was OK despite being one of the smallest guys in the class. I was Doug’s friend, and somehow he was never far away.
He taught me the finer points of rolling yards, and other juvenile delinquent antics. Doug knew the unpopulated dirt roads outside of town; these roads were outstanding for figure eights, J-turns, and other driving stunts one should never do. Boy, did we have some fun back then! Nothing real bad, just “boys will be boys” stupid-guy behavior. Doug was the youngest of 4 sons, with the older two much older & rather successful. Somehow I had the impression that Doug never felt he measured up. I disagreed. Still do.
But not all was “boys will be boys” behavior. Doug was a very hard worker outside of the classroom. He got me a very good job—with him—on a small garbage truck he drove for his Dad’s waste disposal company. I’ve never worked harder, nor made as much quick money. He also encouraged my musicianship by complimenting my saxophone skills regularly. He encouraged my academic pursuits of upper-level classes too. “Mike, I’m not smart enough to take that, but you are. Go for it!” I think he was smart enough.
We lost touch late in HS & more so thereafter. The last time I saw him was some years ago at a class reunion. Doug was still in northwest FL, and had expanded his Dad’s business into a rather lucrative operation. I was proud, and told him so. I’m glad I did. He told me several times, “Mike, I think of you all the time. Really I do. And I miss hanging out with you.” I think he and I had gotten our respective acts together after some bumps in the road. Mine took a bit longer to get together, but that’s another story that's been told here before.
I would have seen him that weekend at the 30-year class reunion. And we would have greatly enjoyed each other’s company. He would have told Lisa again how fortunate she was, and I would’ve told his wife—whom I never met, as they were married after we lost touch—the same thing.
But about 3 weeks before that 30th reunion, Doug died. “Unexpectedly” was the word the paper used. Nobody at the class reunion knew the details, which is for the best. (A gruesome industrial accident was the cause.) I just found out about his passing the Thursday afternoon before the reunion via an email. Tears flowed there in my office for my friend. And for his family. And selfishly, for me.
With Doug died a piece of my past. And a long-lost, under-treasured friendship. And a piece of my heart. When I was with Doug, I was tough. I belonged, even though I was 5-foot-nothing and a bit of a pansy. It didn’t matter, because I was Doug’s friend. We laughed together, rode his motorcycle fast with both of our long hairdos flying in the breeze, drove cars fast and wild. Rarely since then have I felt that free. Come to think of it, he was one of the very few classmates who never called me by any nickname. Always just “Mike.” Somehow just now, that is an important recollection.
I missed him hard all weekend at the reunion. Friday night when we classmates were all standing around swapping stories and waiting to walk into the stadium in the homecoming parade. When the band marched in, I really missed him. Saturday night at the reunion gathering at a local seafood restaurant/bar as more stories & memories were shared. Paradoxically, his absence was palpable to me throughout the reunion.
Yesterday afternoon on the way home when the classic rock station played “La Grange,” I missed him again. Doug first turned me on to Z.Z. Top; we agreed that Tres Hombres was one of the great rock albums. I still think so today. We loved them and rocked to them; their "Just Got Paid"--one of my favorite rock songs--also sounded great blasting out of the van. (Just last week, I found a collection of Z.Z. Top’s hits on sale and bought it. And the memories and tears flowed again.) So on the first few notes of the song "Down in the Track," I was transported back 35 years or so to the simple house near our junior high, watching Doug tinker with the van or with the motorcycle, laughing as his car—or occasionally, mine (sorry, Mom!)—successfully survived a fishtail or some other idiotic car maneuver. As my daughter grooved to “La Grange,” I thought of the many times I had grooved to that song with Doug back in the day.
Right now, as I sit on my deck, I miss Doug hard. Last week, before I knew of Doug’s passing, I wrote “we remember those classmates who are gone. They are somehow a part of us still today.” Little did I know how prophetic those words would be…
Doug, my old friend, through the sunset and the many tears right now, I hate that you left me. With you back then, I wasn’t the short, slow, uncertain kid. Instead, I was your buddy, and you always made me feel big. I will always cherish that when I think of you. Which I will often. I regret…oh, how I regret!... not being a better friend in the years since. I hope you somehow knew that I loved you as a great friend.
Tonight, I feel small again as I think of you not being around. Northwest FL feels slightly less like home. I hope…I really hope…that I’ll see you again on the other side. Thanks for making me feel like someone who mattered during an incredibly awkward phase of the journey on this side.
I miss you, buddy. Rock on. Thanks for everything. Especially for being my friend.
With much love from your old friend,
Mike
As always, the song made me remember a good friend from long ago. This past year was the 35th year since my class graduated. I know people have different reactions to HS reunions, but I love ours. HS was a good life season because of some *great* people there. They pulled me through some very dark days, & made me smile along the way.
Doug was one of those people. I wanted to see him at our 30th reunion (the last "official" reunione we had)...and probably would have. But then I got the news.
I initially wrote the piece below back in 2007, not long after our 30th reunion, but sort of let it lay there in the "just for Mike" category. "Down in the Track" brought this flooding back in my mind. Let me just say, that particular song sounded GREAT in Doug's black van blasted through a bunch of speakers he installed with enough power to be heard from quite a distance away. *smile*
To An Absent Friend – Doug.
Doug was a good friend from 7th through 12th grade. We played in band throughout jr. high & high school. Both of us played saxophone. Thus, I was his section leader in high school; we practiced music together. We spent a lot of time together in school, in band-related activities, and in...other activities...
We rode around in his van…when we were 14. 16 is the driver’s license age in FL. In fact, he drove himself in said van to the summer driver’s ed course we took together before 10th grade. He was 15 then, and driver’s ed was a pre-req to getting one’s license. I thought this was pretty brazen. And very cool. Which pretty much describes Doug as I knew him and remember him: brazen and cool.
He taught me to ride a motorcycle…his. (I still dream of rolling on a Harley.) He was tough; I was much less so, and thus needed tough friends. We double-dated on occasion. He had a crush on one of our friends; such that he got into a fist-fight with her older boyfriend. I was impressed, even though the guy & his friends, er, won the fight. In the frequent jr. high boys PE dust-ups that would occur, I was OK despite being one of the smallest guys in the class. I was Doug’s friend, and somehow he was never far away.
He taught me the finer points of rolling yards, and other juvenile delinquent antics. Doug knew the unpopulated dirt roads outside of town; these roads were outstanding for figure eights, J-turns, and other driving stunts one should never do. Boy, did we have some fun back then! Nothing real bad, just “boys will be boys” stupid-guy behavior. Doug was the youngest of 4 sons, with the older two much older & rather successful. Somehow I had the impression that Doug never felt he measured up. I disagreed. Still do.
But not all was “boys will be boys” behavior. Doug was a very hard worker outside of the classroom. He got me a very good job—with him—on a small garbage truck he drove for his Dad’s waste disposal company. I’ve never worked harder, nor made as much quick money. He also encouraged my musicianship by complimenting my saxophone skills regularly. He encouraged my academic pursuits of upper-level classes too. “Mike, I’m not smart enough to take that, but you are. Go for it!” I think he was smart enough.
We lost touch late in HS & more so thereafter. The last time I saw him was some years ago at a class reunion. Doug was still in northwest FL, and had expanded his Dad’s business into a rather lucrative operation. I was proud, and told him so. I’m glad I did. He told me several times, “Mike, I think of you all the time. Really I do. And I miss hanging out with you.” I think he and I had gotten our respective acts together after some bumps in the road. Mine took a bit longer to get together, but that’s another story that's been told here before.
I would have seen him that weekend at the 30-year class reunion. And we would have greatly enjoyed each other’s company. He would have told Lisa again how fortunate she was, and I would’ve told his wife—whom I never met, as they were married after we lost touch—the same thing.
But about 3 weeks before that 30th reunion, Doug died. “Unexpectedly” was the word the paper used. Nobody at the class reunion knew the details, which is for the best. (A gruesome industrial accident was the cause.) I just found out about his passing the Thursday afternoon before the reunion via an email. Tears flowed there in my office for my friend. And for his family. And selfishly, for me.
With Doug died a piece of my past. And a long-lost, under-treasured friendship. And a piece of my heart. When I was with Doug, I was tough. I belonged, even though I was 5-foot-nothing and a bit of a pansy. It didn’t matter, because I was Doug’s friend. We laughed together, rode his motorcycle fast with both of our long hairdos flying in the breeze, drove cars fast and wild. Rarely since then have I felt that free. Come to think of it, he was one of the very few classmates who never called me by any nickname. Always just “Mike.” Somehow just now, that is an important recollection.
I missed him hard all weekend at the reunion. Friday night when we classmates were all standing around swapping stories and waiting to walk into the stadium in the homecoming parade. When the band marched in, I really missed him. Saturday night at the reunion gathering at a local seafood restaurant/bar as more stories & memories were shared. Paradoxically, his absence was palpable to me throughout the reunion.
Yesterday afternoon on the way home when the classic rock station played “La Grange,” I missed him again. Doug first turned me on to Z.Z. Top; we agreed that Tres Hombres was one of the great rock albums. I still think so today. We loved them and rocked to them; their "Just Got Paid"--one of my favorite rock songs--also sounded great blasting out of the van. (Just last week, I found a collection of Z.Z. Top’s hits on sale and bought it. And the memories and tears flowed again.) So on the first few notes of the song "Down in the Track," I was transported back 35 years or so to the simple house near our junior high, watching Doug tinker with the van or with the motorcycle, laughing as his car—or occasionally, mine (sorry, Mom!)—successfully survived a fishtail or some other idiotic car maneuver. As my daughter grooved to “La Grange,” I thought of the many times I had grooved to that song with Doug back in the day.
Right now, as I sit on my deck, I miss Doug hard. Last week, before I knew of Doug’s passing, I wrote “we remember those classmates who are gone. They are somehow a part of us still today.” Little did I know how prophetic those words would be…
Doug, my old friend, through the sunset and the many tears right now, I hate that you left me. With you back then, I wasn’t the short, slow, uncertain kid. Instead, I was your buddy, and you always made me feel big. I will always cherish that when I think of you. Which I will often. I regret…oh, how I regret!... not being a better friend in the years since. I hope you somehow knew that I loved you as a great friend.
Tonight, I feel small again as I think of you not being around. Northwest FL feels slightly less like home. I hope…I really hope…that I’ll see you again on the other side. Thanks for making me feel like someone who mattered during an incredibly awkward phase of the journey on this side.
I miss you, buddy. Rock on. Thanks for everything. Especially for being my friend.
With much love from your old friend,
Mike
Monday, January 21, 2013
The Birthday Girl
(From the archives, about one of my heroes.)
The first Bama coed I ever knew has a birthday today.
When she was at UA as an undergrad student, the football team was bad on an epic level. I quote her remembering those days: "We never really thought we'd win; we just wanted to score every now & then to keep it interesting." (This would change in a couple of years when a former player named "Bryant" was hired as HC. But that's another story for another day) She still watches & enjoys UA games to this day.
She skipped her college graduation ceremony. Because she was all busy getting married back home in Enterprise, AL to this handsome young man from the hills & woods of central Alabama. Shortly after, they moved to Anchorage, AK (taking that "leave" thing in Genesis 2 to a whole new level!). She taught school, & he worked on the local newspaper. One son later, they moved back to Alabama. Montgomery, to be precise. A couple of years & another son later, these two adventurers sacked up & moved south. Ft. Walton Beach, FL, which was then a small fishing village surrounded by swamps, snakes, & alligators. And some of the most beautiful white sand beaches anywhere on the globe. She still lives there, & still loves the area.
She was the elementary school librarian, and still loves books & reading. She reads big, long books, preferring historical fiction these days. In her 40s...in her 40s!...she spent some more time at UA pursuing & receiving a Master's degree.
She also helped the handsome husband start his new business in 1960. She spent a lot of time in the small print shop helping him get it going.
As people who took their faith seriously, they joined & became deeply involved with First Baptist Church. As givers, they served. (All of us of that faith are supposed to...but all too many of us seem to view our "ministry" as that of griping & complaining & sitting in the sanctuary daring the preacher to bless us--when we show up at all. That too is another topic for another day.) They served mostly in the preschool ministry. Behind the scenes doing stuff most don't want to do. They helped prepare Communion . Behind the scenes doing stuff most don't want to do. She still serves at that church, although age has made her ministry change a bit. Now she serves mostly by visiting shut-ins & encouraging them. Behind the scenes doing stuff most don't want to do. She is still faithful to her Lord, her faith, and her church.
The handsome husband departed this world suddenly leaving her a young single mother of two high-school age sons. And still she was faithful. She still is even now. She is a relatively new bride again by the way. She has had an enormous impact on the lives of so many. One of the great encouragers around. An incalculable impact on her sons and their children.
I cannot even begin to fathom all of the many ways her life & love & faith have impacted my own. You see, I am son #2.
Happy Birthday, Mom! "Thanks" doesn't come close...but thanks!
I love you.
Mike
The first Bama coed I ever knew has a birthday today.
When she was at UA as an undergrad student, the football team was bad on an epic level. I quote her remembering those days: "We never really thought we'd win; we just wanted to score every now & then to keep it interesting." (This would change in a couple of years when a former player named "Bryant" was hired as HC. But that's another story for another day) She still watches & enjoys UA games to this day.
She skipped her college graduation ceremony. Because she was all busy getting married back home in Enterprise, AL to this handsome young man from the hills & woods of central Alabama. Shortly after, they moved to Anchorage, AK (taking that "leave" thing in Genesis 2 to a whole new level!). She taught school, & he worked on the local newspaper. One son later, they moved back to Alabama. Montgomery, to be precise. A couple of years & another son later, these two adventurers sacked up & moved south. Ft. Walton Beach, FL, which was then a small fishing village surrounded by swamps, snakes, & alligators. And some of the most beautiful white sand beaches anywhere on the globe. She still lives there, & still loves the area.
She was the elementary school librarian, and still loves books & reading. She reads big, long books, preferring historical fiction these days. In her 40s...in her 40s!...she spent some more time at UA pursuing & receiving a Master's degree.
She also helped the handsome husband start his new business in 1960. She spent a lot of time in the small print shop helping him get it going.
As people who took their faith seriously, they joined & became deeply involved with First Baptist Church. As givers, they served. (All of us of that faith are supposed to...but all too many of us seem to view our "ministry" as that of griping & complaining & sitting in the sanctuary daring the preacher to bless us--when we show up at all. That too is another topic for another day.) They served mostly in the preschool ministry. Behind the scenes doing stuff most don't want to do. They helped prepare Communion . Behind the scenes doing stuff most don't want to do. She still serves at that church, although age has made her ministry change a bit. Now she serves mostly by visiting shut-ins & encouraging them. Behind the scenes doing stuff most don't want to do. She is still faithful to her Lord, her faith, and her church.
The handsome husband departed this world suddenly leaving her a young single mother of two high-school age sons. And still she was faithful. She still is even now. She is a relatively new bride again by the way. She has had an enormous impact on the lives of so many. One of the great encouragers around. An incalculable impact on her sons and their children.
I cannot even begin to fathom all of the many ways her life & love & faith have impacted my own. You see, I am son #2.
I love you.
Mike
Monday, January 07, 2013
What Champions Do
We watched a few on TV, & listened to a few on the radio.
But we only attended one togther in person. Coach Bryant called it the greatest game he was ever part of as a player or a coach. There were six lead changes. The final score was 24-23. It was a fantastic game.
Despite the fact that Notre Dame scored 24 & thte Crimson Tide scored 23, it's one of my favorite Bama football memories. I've been remembering it for a month now, since the season ended & bowl matchups were set.
I was there that night in 1973, with Dad & a couple of his sisters & my cousin.
As I say, it's one of my favorite Bama football memories. Great players on both sides. Great coaching on both sides. Excitement. You-gotta-be-kidding me plays by both teams.
But that's not why it's one of my favorite football games ever.
I was there in Legion Field in the mid 80s as a student when the Tide finally got a measure of revenge by pounding Notre Dame. That game was famous for "the Sack" in which Bama's Cornelius Bennett just blasted Notre Dame's QB, such that I almost felt sorry for him. During that game & after, I remembered that night in 1973.
I almost went up to South Bend in 1987 when we lived about 3 hours down the road to watch the Tide play the Irish again. I'm SO glad I didn't go, as Notre Dame won 37-0...but it wasn't really that close. And during that game, I remembered that night in 1973.
In fact, a couple of days ago, I went to Birmingham to watch a bowl game between Ole Miss & Pittsburgh. During that game, I also thought about that night in 1973. Mostly because I was sitting next to Dad's grandson, my son James. Like Dad did, I cheered mightily for a team from a university I never attended. (To some, that makes me a "sidewalk alumnus." I'm quite OK with that title if anyone's wondering. I loved sitting there next to my son, wearing his school's colors & cheering on his team. Just like I expect Dad would've done for my team in the 1980s. Our team.)
I was in New Orleans for another game in which Bama played for a title. Miami this time. The Hurricanes had amazing talent, and the game wasn't even close. The Tide steamrolled Miami. I sat next to my pa-in-law for that one, & we had a blast. But I still pondered that night in 1973.
So in a a couple hours, there will be a rematch. #1 vs. #2. Notre Dame v. Alabama, for all the marbles. (Aside: "all the marbles" here means the BCS national championship. A flawed system of selecting a national champion...just like next year's playoffs will be, and like any other system will be. Since the BCS is the approach currently used, I claim last year's for my alma mater, and the one two years before that. Hopefully, there will be another to claim later tonight, but that remains to be seen.)
My hunch is that tonight's game will be big-boy football. Physical & hard-hitting. My preferred approach to the game, for what that's worth. While I'd love for the Tide to blow out the Irish early & leave no doubt, I don't predict that.
Howard Cosell said on that night in 1973, "At Notre Dame, football is a religion. At Alabama, it's a way of life." Exactly.
But even when the wrong team wins (such as on that night in 1973 for me!), a college football game has story lines that far transcend what happens on the field. Which is another reason I love the game so much.
Sometimes, the score has nothing to do with the game's significance. Like the 1973 Notre Dame-Bama game.
Sometimes, the game provides what proves to be a deep & abiding & vivid memory. As is the case with the '73 game.
Not quite two years later, Dad's faith suddenly became sight when he was 6 years younger than I am now. Long before his younger son transferred up to Bama & attended the last three years of games coached by Paul Bryant. And before the younger son met this gorgeous Bama coed with beautiful blue eyes who has sat next to him for over 30 years of football games played by Bama & others.
So, if I'm asked to name my favorite Bama football game, that's an impossible task. There are so many through the years...But near the top of the list will be a loss to Notre Dame on a rainy night in 1973 in New Orleans. Because that's the only Bama game I ever watched in person sitting next to my Dad.
Tonight's game? It's a game. The final score--which I strongly hope is in Bama's favor!--matters not one whit. Precisely nothing of ultimate value will be affected by it.
But it's my hope that in the stadium in Miami and around TVs all over, there are boys watching the game with their Dads, wearing their team colors proudly (whichever set of colors signifies their team). Putting memories into the memory bank that will be treasured long after the score & details of the game are forgotten. And that 40 years from now, those boys are saying "I remember watching that 2013 Bama-Notre Dame title game with my Dad..."
Creating great memories like that--whether about a football game or something else entirely--is what Champions do for their sons.
Thanks, Dad!
Roll Tide!
 |
| Bama-Notre Dame, 1973 |
Despite the fact that Notre Dame scored 24 & thte Crimson Tide scored 23, it's one of my favorite Bama football memories. I've been remembering it for a month now, since the season ended & bowl matchups were set.
I was there that night in 1973, with Dad & a couple of his sisters & my cousin.
As I say, it's one of my favorite Bama football memories. Great players on both sides. Great coaching on both sides. Excitement. You-gotta-be-kidding me plays by both teams.
But that's not why it's one of my favorite football games ever.
 |
| "The Sack" |
I was there in Legion Field in the mid 80s as a student when the Tide finally got a measure of revenge by pounding Notre Dame. That game was famous for "the Sack" in which Bama's Cornelius Bennett just blasted Notre Dame's QB, such that I almost felt sorry for him. During that game & after, I remembered that night in 1973.
I almost went up to South Bend in 1987 when we lived about 3 hours down the road to watch the Tide play the Irish again. I'm SO glad I didn't go, as Notre Dame won 37-0...but it wasn't really that close. And during that game, I remembered that night in 1973.
In fact, a couple of days ago, I went to Birmingham to watch a bowl game between Ole Miss & Pittsburgh. During that game, I also thought about that night in 1973. Mostly because I was sitting next to Dad's grandson, my son James. Like Dad did, I cheered mightily for a team from a university I never attended. (To some, that makes me a "sidewalk alumnus." I'm quite OK with that title if anyone's wondering. I loved sitting there next to my son, wearing his school's colors & cheering on his team. Just like I expect Dad would've done for my team in the 1980s. Our team.)
I was in New Orleans for another game in which Bama played for a title. Miami this time. The Hurricanes had amazing talent, and the game wasn't even close. The Tide steamrolled Miami. I sat next to my pa-in-law for that one, & we had a blast. But I still pondered that night in 1973.
 |
| Bama - Miami, 1993 |
My hunch is that tonight's game will be big-boy football. Physical & hard-hitting. My preferred approach to the game, for what that's worth. While I'd love for the Tide to blow out the Irish early & leave no doubt, I don't predict that.
Howard Cosell said on that night in 1973, "At Notre Dame, football is a religion. At Alabama, it's a way of life." Exactly.
But even when the wrong team wins (such as on that night in 1973 for me!), a college football game has story lines that far transcend what happens on the field. Which is another reason I love the game so much.
Sometimes, the score has nothing to do with the game's significance. Like the 1973 Notre Dame-Bama game.
Sometimes, the game provides what proves to be a deep & abiding & vivid memory. As is the case with the '73 game.
Not quite two years later, Dad's faith suddenly became sight when he was 6 years younger than I am now. Long before his younger son transferred up to Bama & attended the last three years of games coached by Paul Bryant. And before the younger son met this gorgeous Bama coed with beautiful blue eyes who has sat next to him for over 30 years of football games played by Bama & others.
So, if I'm asked to name my favorite Bama football game, that's an impossible task. There are so many through the years...But near the top of the list will be a loss to Notre Dame on a rainy night in 1973 in New Orleans. Because that's the only Bama game I ever watched in person sitting next to my Dad.
Tonight's game? It's a game. The final score--which I strongly hope is in Bama's favor!--matters not one whit. Precisely nothing of ultimate value will be affected by it.
But it's my hope that in the stadium in Miami and around TVs all over, there are boys watching the game with their Dads, wearing their team colors proudly (whichever set of colors signifies their team). Putting memories into the memory bank that will be treasured long after the score & details of the game are forgotten. And that 40 years from now, those boys are saying "I remember watching that 2013 Bama-Notre Dame title game with my Dad..."
Creating great memories like that--whether about a football game or something else entirely--is what Champions do for their sons.
Thanks, Dad!
Roll Tide!
Sunday, December 16, 2012
The Long & Winding Road - 2 From the Archives
(These 2 were originally published around this time of year a couple of Decembers ago. They are deeply autobiographical & intensely personal. If you're still reading, please read them in sequence. If you have it in your mind that a professing Christian professor & Bible study teacher like myself has always been a man of great faith & academic success & good moral conduct...um, better cinch up your seatbelt before reading any further as there will be some turbulent air ahead. I republish these not because of scintillating writing nor profound theology contained therein; rather it's my hope & prayer that you will see the fingerprints of God and perhaps be encouraged about some bends & bumps in your own road.)
(Note: the 2 titles below are clickable links that take you to the specific blog entries)
Darkness...And Light
36 years ago today, I abandoned the Christian faith.
It was right after we got home from Dad's funeral. (Dad died of a heart attack as a young 47-year-old)
I snuck out into the back yard, and literally shook my fist at the sky. I said "God, if this is what you're about, I quit! Leave me alone!"...
...
Grace in the Darkness
Having just pondered here a season of darkness for me, I wanted to illustrate how those days were not *all* dark. With a head fake too; you've been warned...*smile*
Almost immediately after renouncing my faith (or trying to...) some friends in town showed up within just a couple of days....
...
(Back to the present)
I wouldn't have chosen MANY aspects of this journey, but I am SO VERY THANKFUL for where it--and the God Who providentially orders it--have taken me!
Because He came & is coming again,
Mike
(Note: the 2 titles below are clickable links that take you to the specific blog entries)
Darkness...And Light
36 years ago today, I abandoned the Christian faith.
It was right after we got home from Dad's funeral. (Dad died of a heart attack as a young 47-year-old)
I snuck out into the back yard, and literally shook my fist at the sky. I said "God, if this is what you're about, I quit! Leave me alone!"...
...
Grace in the Darkness
Having just pondered here a season of darkness for me, I wanted to illustrate how those days were not *all* dark. With a head fake too; you've been warned...*smile*
Almost immediately after renouncing my faith (or trying to...) some friends in town showed up within just a couple of days....
...
(Back to the present)
I wouldn't have chosen MANY aspects of this journey, but I am SO VERY THANKFUL for where it--and the God Who providentially orders it--have taken me!
Because He came & is coming again,
Mike
Friday, December 14, 2012
To Old Age & Gray Hairs
"What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say."
Ralph Waldo Emerson is reputed to have said this. Regardless of the true origin, it's some wise words.
And descriptive of this guy I used to know.
He was a country boy, in the very best sense of that phrase. Loved the outdoors, loved travelling & exploring, enjoyed hunting & fishing, greatly enjoyed time with his family (both immediate & extended), servant-minded, hard-working,...
He was passionate about his duties & responsibilities as a husband & a father. If the men of my generation & the next were equally passionate about those two high callings, many of our nation's problems would be alleviated.
Related, he was mindful of the heritage that was his and the legacy he would leave after his time. If the men of my generation were similarly mindful about this, some additional problems our nation faces would fade a bit.
He was a man of great faith that he passed on to others. To my knowledge, he never spoke from behind a pulpit. He did teach a Sunday School class for many years...a class full of three-year-olds. (again, servant-minded) His was not the public speaking type passing on of his faith. His was more Susanna Wesley than John Wesley. Behind the scenes, lived out before his family and in the marketplace.
You know...like every Christian's faith is supposed to be lived out & passed on. (whether a preacher, a business person, or, well, a keeper of 3-yr-olds...)
He was short in stature, but towering in impact. He was very handsome, but lived as if he never noticed. He took the heritage he was given and magnified the good while leaving the spotty parts behind. With the way he lived his life, he put on a clinic on how to love a wife and father children. (VERY important distinction: there is an ENORMOUS difference between creating a child and fathering one. The former involves doing something that most any 13-year-old guy is capable of doing. The latter requires lifetime of focused, intentional, challenging work. We have plenty of the former these days; far too little of the latter.) He taught many how to live out the Christian faith in a business setting. Not so much by verbal teaching or writing; those are easy to do. He taught it by doing it, day after day, week after week, year after year. He showed how to be a faithful church member, serving in behind-the-scenes ways that most don't want to do. (Such as the 3-yr-old Sunday School class.)
He lived a life & faith that FAR outlived him.
In auto racing, drivers speaking of "drafting," which is following behind another car with that other car doing the hard work of cutting through the resistance. Drafting requires much less energy & effort, because the car in front does the hard work & faces the difficulties.
I've been drafting off of this guy I'm describing for 53 years now. 38 of which have come since his faith became sight.
On December 14, it will have been 38 years since my Dad entered eternity. I haven't gotten over his passing. I don't think I ever will. Frankly, I don't intend to get over it, for it teaches me & challenges me on an almost-daily basis.
I have recently shared with a couple of friends whose Dads both died suddenly that nobody expects them to be their Dad. That is true and is great advice...that is very difficult to abide by. All these years, I've been drafting & chasing after being the man/husband/father/churchman/employee that my Dad was. If anyone's wondering, I'm not there. For a few years after he died, I tried hard NOT to be like him because I was angry that he died. For decades since, I've tried hard to be like him.
Neither approach has worked.
But by the grace of God, I'm perhaps closer to being like James E. Madaris, Sr. than I used to be...while still maintaining my God-given identity as his son who is different from him.
On today, Friday, Dec. 14, I may well smile at nothing apparent. I'll be remembering that great smile that made the ladies of Lowndes County, AL go weak in the knees in the 1940s...and this one lady from Coffee County, AL...my Mom. I'll be remembering his laugh, which is a huge part of that heritage that he passed on as part of his legacy.
This Friday, I may stare off into the distance at odd times. I'll be remembering him driving us all over the country (literally! I've been in all 50 states.) and around Western Europe. I'll be remembering weekend camping trips near home such that he could go in to work while still hanging out at a campground at night. I'll be remembering catching speckled trout, largemouth bass, red snapper, and king mackerel beside him. I'll be remembering the fantastic sound of a highly-trained hunting dog as we followed along behind up in the hills of Lowndes County, Alabama.
I may re-read one of several books I have about the Alabama Crimson Tide football team. I'll be remembering listening to and watching games with him. He was a huge fan. I suppose he was what some call a "sidewalk alum"...which is a derogatory term for those who never actually attended the college whose team they support. But seeing as the U.S. Army Air Corps in Japan at the end of WW2 in 1945 didn't have a football team, and neither did the Gadsden School of Trades, and seeing as that's where Dad spent the next few years after high school, I'm quite OK with Dad being a serious Bama fan. (Aside: if you're one who gets all snooty about who's a "real" fan of your preferred team, I feel sorry for you, because you discount great fans who represent your team well. People like my Dad.)
He & I only ever attended one game together. A bowl game. A national championship game. Against Notre Dame. The Irish won by one point; despite that, it's one of my favorite Bama games ever, because I sat in the rain beside my Dad & watched it. I've been remembering that game for a couple of weeks now, ever since it was decided that Dad's & my Crimson Tide would again face Notre Dame in a bowl game to decide the national championship.
I'll likely fire up some Hank Williams, Sr. on my ipod. Dad loved Hank, who hailed from the same neck of the central Alabama woods as Dad & his family. I'll chuckle too, remembering Dad singing Hank's lines to Mom: "Heeeey, Good Lookin'...whaaaaaacha got cookin'? How's about cookin' somethin' up with meeeee?"
I'll probably call my beloved brother. Partly because he's my best guy friend & I really enjoy chatting with him. Partly because maybe that reflects how crazy Dad was about his own beloved siblings. And partly because he's James E. Madaris, Jr...I've drafted off of Jim for a bunch of years now too.
I'll call Mom, of course.
I'll call my two greatly-treasured children. Partly because I'm just moonbat-crazy about both of them (one of whom bears my Dad's first name). Partly because after his Lord & his wife, Jim & I were Dad's most treasured things on earth. (Which is, of course, as it should be. See above comments about fathering a child.)
I'll look at some pictures again. I'll be remembering his 5:00 shadow on my cheek in an end-of-the-workday hug, and the smell of Old Spice aftershave. There are some men today who fancy themselves too macho to hug their sons. I pity such a cowardly, incomplete approach to manhood and those who grow up in it. I am SO thankful that my Dad hugged me. If you're wondering, my son James' Dad hugs too. *smile*
I'll also be wondering again why I don't look more like him. (Did I mention that Dad was very handsome?)
I'll look at his business card again, wishing my educated mind was as sharp as his relatively un-educated mind. And wishing that people who encounter me in my profession would remember me as fondly as those who encountered Dad in his do. There are many who think degrees & education make one wise, & thus those who don't have the degrees & education aren't wise. If that's you, you should've met Dad. He is one of the wisest men I've ever met.
I'll read the poem again, and remember. This particular poem is found on the back of every business card Dad ever gave out. It's called "The Little Chap Who Follows Me," and its imprinting on the business card humbles me still now. On the front of the card was the name of the business Dad started; on the back was the poem. Jim & I were his priorities, and he announced that to every supplier and potential customer.
I'll reflect on his flaws, which were there. And on my own, which are far greater in number and magnitude.
I'll ache the familiar ache again.
One day, I won't have to miss him any more.
Until that day, I will always miss him.
And I'll thank God for raising up a country boy and shaping him via family, location, education, giftedness, experience, hardship, triumph, and faith...such that he would be just the perfect Dad for Jim & me.
And I'll thank God as I do often but not often enough for His saving grace that redeemed James Madaris, Sr....and his son, Mike Madaris.
Ralph Waldo Emerson is reputed to have said this. Regardless of the true origin, it's some wise words.
And descriptive of this guy I used to know.
He was a country boy, in the very best sense of that phrase. Loved the outdoors, loved travelling & exploring, enjoyed hunting & fishing, greatly enjoyed time with his family (both immediate & extended), servant-minded, hard-working,...
He was passionate about his duties & responsibilities as a husband & a father. If the men of my generation & the next were equally passionate about those two high callings, many of our nation's problems would be alleviated.
Related, he was mindful of the heritage that was his and the legacy he would leave after his time. If the men of my generation were similarly mindful about this, some additional problems our nation faces would fade a bit.
He was a man of great faith that he passed on to others. To my knowledge, he never spoke from behind a pulpit. He did teach a Sunday School class for many years...a class full of three-year-olds. (again, servant-minded) His was not the public speaking type passing on of his faith. His was more Susanna Wesley than John Wesley. Behind the scenes, lived out before his family and in the marketplace.
You know...like every Christian's faith is supposed to be lived out & passed on. (whether a preacher, a business person, or, well, a keeper of 3-yr-olds...)
He was short in stature, but towering in impact. He was very handsome, but lived as if he never noticed. He took the heritage he was given and magnified the good while leaving the spotty parts behind. With the way he lived his life, he put on a clinic on how to love a wife and father children. (VERY important distinction: there is an ENORMOUS difference between creating a child and fathering one. The former involves doing something that most any 13-year-old guy is capable of doing. The latter requires lifetime of focused, intentional, challenging work. We have plenty of the former these days; far too little of the latter.) He taught many how to live out the Christian faith in a business setting. Not so much by verbal teaching or writing; those are easy to do. He taught it by doing it, day after day, week after week, year after year. He showed how to be a faithful church member, serving in behind-the-scenes ways that most don't want to do. (Such as the 3-yr-old Sunday School class.)
He lived a life & faith that FAR outlived him.
In auto racing, drivers speaking of "drafting," which is following behind another car with that other car doing the hard work of cutting through the resistance. Drafting requires much less energy & effort, because the car in front does the hard work & faces the difficulties.
I've been drafting off of this guy I'm describing for 53 years now. 38 of which have come since his faith became sight.
On December 14, it will have been 38 years since my Dad entered eternity. I haven't gotten over his passing. I don't think I ever will. Frankly, I don't intend to get over it, for it teaches me & challenges me on an almost-daily basis.
I have recently shared with a couple of friends whose Dads both died suddenly that nobody expects them to be their Dad. That is true and is great advice...that is very difficult to abide by. All these years, I've been drafting & chasing after being the man/husband/father/churchman/employee that my Dad was. If anyone's wondering, I'm not there. For a few years after he died, I tried hard NOT to be like him because I was angry that he died. For decades since, I've tried hard to be like him.
Neither approach has worked.
But by the grace of God, I'm perhaps closer to being like James E. Madaris, Sr. than I used to be...while still maintaining my God-given identity as his son who is different from him.
On today, Friday, Dec. 14, I may well smile at nothing apparent. I'll be remembering that great smile that made the ladies of Lowndes County, AL go weak in the knees in the 1940s...and this one lady from Coffee County, AL...my Mom. I'll be remembering his laugh, which is a huge part of that heritage that he passed on as part of his legacy.
This Friday, I may stare off into the distance at odd times. I'll be remembering him driving us all over the country (literally! I've been in all 50 states.) and around Western Europe. I'll be remembering weekend camping trips near home such that he could go in to work while still hanging out at a campground at night. I'll be remembering catching speckled trout, largemouth bass, red snapper, and king mackerel beside him. I'll be remembering the fantastic sound of a highly-trained hunting dog as we followed along behind up in the hills of Lowndes County, Alabama.
I may re-read one of several books I have about the Alabama Crimson Tide football team. I'll be remembering listening to and watching games with him. He was a huge fan. I suppose he was what some call a "sidewalk alum"...which is a derogatory term for those who never actually attended the college whose team they support. But seeing as the U.S. Army Air Corps in Japan at the end of WW2 in 1945 didn't have a football team, and neither did the Gadsden School of Trades, and seeing as that's where Dad spent the next few years after high school, I'm quite OK with Dad being a serious Bama fan. (Aside: if you're one who gets all snooty about who's a "real" fan of your preferred team, I feel sorry for you, because you discount great fans who represent your team well. People like my Dad.)
He & I only ever attended one game together. A bowl game. A national championship game. Against Notre Dame. The Irish won by one point; despite that, it's one of my favorite Bama games ever, because I sat in the rain beside my Dad & watched it. I've been remembering that game for a couple of weeks now, ever since it was decided that Dad's & my Crimson Tide would again face Notre Dame in a bowl game to decide the national championship.
I'll likely fire up some Hank Williams, Sr. on my ipod. Dad loved Hank, who hailed from the same neck of the central Alabama woods as Dad & his family. I'll chuckle too, remembering Dad singing Hank's lines to Mom: "Heeeey, Good Lookin'...whaaaaaacha got cookin'? How's about cookin' somethin' up with meeeee?"
I'll probably call my beloved brother. Partly because he's my best guy friend & I really enjoy chatting with him. Partly because maybe that reflects how crazy Dad was about his own beloved siblings. And partly because he's James E. Madaris, Jr...I've drafted off of Jim for a bunch of years now too.
I'll call Mom, of course.
I'll call my two greatly-treasured children. Partly because I'm just moonbat-crazy about both of them (one of whom bears my Dad's first name). Partly because after his Lord & his wife, Jim & I were Dad's most treasured things on earth. (Which is, of course, as it should be. See above comments about fathering a child.)
I'll look at some pictures again. I'll be remembering his 5:00 shadow on my cheek in an end-of-the-workday hug, and the smell of Old Spice aftershave. There are some men today who fancy themselves too macho to hug their sons. I pity such a cowardly, incomplete approach to manhood and those who grow up in it. I am SO thankful that my Dad hugged me. If you're wondering, my son James' Dad hugs too. *smile*
I'll also be wondering again why I don't look more like him. (Did I mention that Dad was very handsome?)
I'll look at his business card again, wishing my educated mind was as sharp as his relatively un-educated mind. And wishing that people who encounter me in my profession would remember me as fondly as those who encountered Dad in his do. There are many who think degrees & education make one wise, & thus those who don't have the degrees & education aren't wise. If that's you, you should've met Dad. He is one of the wisest men I've ever met.
I'll read the poem again, and remember. This particular poem is found on the back of every business card Dad ever gave out. It's called "The Little Chap Who Follows Me," and its imprinting on the business card humbles me still now. On the front of the card was the name of the business Dad started; on the back was the poem. Jim & I were his priorities, and he announced that to every supplier and potential customer.
I'll reflect on his flaws, which were there. And on my own, which are far greater in number and magnitude.
I'll ache the familiar ache again.
One day, I won't have to miss him any more.
Until that day, I will always miss him.
And I'll thank God for raising up a country boy and shaping him via family, location, education, giftedness, experience, hardship, triumph, and faith...such that he would be just the perfect Dad for Jim & me.
And I'll thank God as I do often but not often enough for His saving grace that redeemed James Madaris, Sr....and his son, Mike Madaris.
Psalm 71:18
Dad never made it to "old age & gray hairs." But most assuredly he proclaimed God's might to another generation & his power to those to come. I am so very thankful to be part of "another generation" and to be one of "those to come" who got to...get to!...live in the enormous shadow of a short but mighty man who walked this earth for far too few days.
However many days I have left, Lord, would you empower me to proclaim You to another generation & to demonstrate your power to those to come?
By your grace, would you allow me to outlive my life just as Dad continues to outlive his?
Would you enable me to be as good at my vocation as Dad was at his, and to similarly impact those in my workplace orbit as he did those in his?
Would you forgive me for falling short despite living with such an incredible example of what a Christian man should be for those 15 1/2 years?
Would you enable me to love & cherish & honor my wife as Dad did his?
And to parent my adult children as he parented his teenage sons?
And would you empower me to serve in my church as Dad did in his?
Thank you, Lord.
And thanks, Dad. See you soon.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
"We Need More Patients Like You..."
...said the P.A. out at M.D. Anderson.
"You're the miracle patient," said a nurse there last year.
"Metastatic Melanoma patients three years out are...not many." Dr. Homsi, my main medical Dr. for 4 years.
None of these quotes are aimed at drawing high-fives & attaboys for me. I want you to think of what's behind each one of them.
Picture with me. You're on the way to another day at work. You work for one of the great healthcare facilities anywhere. You are close to the top of your profession. You're probably fairly well paid. (Aside: from this patient's perspective, I certainly hope so!)
And yet, despite all of that, you know that you'll spend this day the same way you spent most of your days at work: giving people bad news. In many cases, VERY bad news.
Where do such people come from? How do they face such grim workdays on a regular basis?
I couldn't do it. The worst things that ever happen at my job are a student failing a test or a class or not graduating because s/he didn't make a high enough grade from me. That's rough, and I dislike any of those scenarios.
But that's not in the same UNIVERSE of bad that the average medical professional at Anderson (and other such facilities) faces on a daily basis.
During the course of 20-something appointments seeing various Drs. & NPs & PAs & nurses, ranging from pretty bad-news visits to very good-news visits, I've asked. Pretty pointedly. "So, how do you handle coming in here knowing that you'll be the bearer of news usually from bad to VERY bad?"
The consensus seems to range from "We focus on the good news" (see comments above) to "We try to comfort whatever the news" to simply looking away & saying "It's tough..."
After nearly 30 visits in 4 years, plus 4 surgeries, plus 2 cycles of high-dose immunotherapy, I am still simply awestruck at the men & women out there. They're good at what they do, sure. But lots of people are good at what they do. What strikes Lisa & me is the depth of feeling & passion about what they do, in the face of what has to seem like an absolutely overwhelming hill to climb.
Again, I'm WAY outside the boundaries of probabilities for stage IV metastatic melanoma patients in terms of, well, still being here. Every good Dr. or nurse or NP or PA puts the patient first & foremost, and most try to relate to the patients as people. But picture doing this, knowing that your personal connection with your patients is likely to be rather short-term.
Lisa & Jim & I have commented that there's a feel out there that--at the risk of overdramatizing it--feels like those folks show up at work thinking "this could be the day"..."the day we've all worked toward & waited for"..."the day when this insidious thing called cancer is pushed back into the darkness of unpleasant memories"..."when an outright cure is found."
That goal & expectation is part of the DNA of Anderson (so to speak).
"The mission of The University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center is to eliminate cancer in Texas, the nation, and the world through outstanding programs that integrate patient care, research and prevention, and through education for undergraduate and graduate students, trainees, professionals, employees and the public."
Simple, isn't it?
108,000 patients last year. 1 0 0 8 0 0.
10,000 patients participating in clinical trials.
$623,000,000 spent on just on cancer research last year.
6,800 medical professionals trained there last year.
18,000 employees total, spread among 50 separate buildings.
1,100 volunteers.
I've NEVER felt like I was merely part of a production process. NEVER felt like just a number. It's always "How are you doing, Mr. Madaris?" P.E.T. techs, nurses, phlebotomists, patient transport folks,...
Which probably explains why "for the 6th consecutive year, The University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center has been named the nation's top hospital for cancer care" by U.S. News & World Report. (press release here)
Vision
"Everyone at MD Anderson - each one of our 19,000-plus employees and 1,100
volunteers - contributed to us remaining the number one cancer center in the
nation," said Ronald
A. DePinho, M.D., who is experiencing the national ranking for the first
time as president of MD Anderson. "It's an honor we share with all of our
patients, survivors and their loved ones, who challenge and motivate us every
day to pursue our mission, advance our knowledge and improve each person's
experience at our institution." (quoted in the press release linked above; emphasis mine)
(1-minute video with Dr. DePinho, MDA's President; I loved the phrase "that will bring this disease to its knees.")
I say again, I'm in awe. And I am so very thankful.
"You're the miracle patient," said a nurse there last year.
"Metastatic Melanoma patients three years out are...not many." Dr. Homsi, my main medical Dr. for 4 years.
None of these quotes are aimed at drawing high-fives & attaboys for me. I want you to think of what's behind each one of them.
Picture with me. You're on the way to another day at work. You work for one of the great healthcare facilities anywhere. You are close to the top of your profession. You're probably fairly well paid. (Aside: from this patient's perspective, I certainly hope so!)
And yet, despite all of that, you know that you'll spend this day the same way you spent most of your days at work: giving people bad news. In many cases, VERY bad news.
Where do such people come from? How do they face such grim workdays on a regular basis?
I couldn't do it. The worst things that ever happen at my job are a student failing a test or a class or not graduating because s/he didn't make a high enough grade from me. That's rough, and I dislike any of those scenarios.
But that's not in the same UNIVERSE of bad that the average medical professional at Anderson (and other such facilities) faces on a daily basis.
During the course of 20-something appointments seeing various Drs. & NPs & PAs & nurses, ranging from pretty bad-news visits to very good-news visits, I've asked. Pretty pointedly. "So, how do you handle coming in here knowing that you'll be the bearer of news usually from bad to VERY bad?"
The consensus seems to range from "We focus on the good news" (see comments above) to "We try to comfort whatever the news" to simply looking away & saying "It's tough..."
After nearly 30 visits in 4 years, plus 4 surgeries, plus 2 cycles of high-dose immunotherapy, I am still simply awestruck at the men & women out there. They're good at what they do, sure. But lots of people are good at what they do. What strikes Lisa & me is the depth of feeling & passion about what they do, in the face of what has to seem like an absolutely overwhelming hill to climb.
Again, I'm WAY outside the boundaries of probabilities for stage IV metastatic melanoma patients in terms of, well, still being here. Every good Dr. or nurse or NP or PA puts the patient first & foremost, and most try to relate to the patients as people. But picture doing this, knowing that your personal connection with your patients is likely to be rather short-term.
Lisa & Jim & I have commented that there's a feel out there that--at the risk of overdramatizing it--feels like those folks show up at work thinking "this could be the day"..."the day we've all worked toward & waited for"..."the day when this insidious thing called cancer is pushed back into the darkness of unpleasant memories"..."when an outright cure is found."
That goal & expectation is part of the DNA of Anderson (so to speak).
"The mission of The University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center is to eliminate cancer in Texas, the nation, and the world through outstanding programs that integrate patient care, research and prevention, and through education for undergraduate and graduate students, trainees, professionals, employees and the public."
Simple, isn't it?
108,000 patients last year. 1 0 0 8 0 0.
10,000 patients participating in clinical trials.
$623,000,000 spent on just on cancer research last year.
6,800 medical professionals trained there last year.
18,000 employees total, spread among 50 separate buildings.
1,100 volunteers.
I've NEVER felt like I was merely part of a production process. NEVER felt like just a number. It's always "How are you doing, Mr. Madaris?" P.E.T. techs, nurses, phlebotomists, patient transport folks,...
Which probably explains why "for the 6th consecutive year, The University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center has been named the nation's top hospital for cancer care" by U.S. News & World Report. (press release here)
Vision
"We shall be the premier cancer center in the world, based on the excellence
of our people, our research-driven patient care and our science. We are Making
Cancer History. "
"Everyone at MD Anderson - each one of our 19,000-plus employees and 1,100
volunteers - contributed to us remaining the number one cancer center in the
nation," said Ronald
A. DePinho, M.D., who is experiencing the national ranking for the first
time as president of MD Anderson. "It's an honor we share with all of our
patients, survivors and their loved ones, who challenge and motivate us every
day to pursue our mission, advance our knowledge and improve each person's
experience at our institution." (quoted in the press release linked above; emphasis mine)(1-minute video with Dr. DePinho, MDA's President; I loved the phrase "that will bring this disease to its knees.")
I say again, I'm in awe. And I am so very thankful.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
I Cannot Imagine
I hung out with three veterans today on Veterans' Day. Two pilots & one logistics/admin type.
One is my Mom's husband Leo. Leo was a USAF pilot who flew various fighter planes throughout his career. As a squadron commander in Vietnam, he had to write those terrible letters to brides & parents & children that begin, "It is with great regret..." He knows the sound of anti-aircraft fire hitting his plane & the look of the trails made by S.A.M. missles coming toward the plane he was flying. He once landed a plane with one of the two engines knocked loose by a-a fire; the plane was scrapped because of this. He knows how to drop close air support ordinance on enemy troops, thereby greatly assisting our own troops. I cannot imagine.
The other two are my brother Jim & his wife Sandi. Jim flew anti-sub P-3s for the U.S. Navy around the Atlantic during the bad old days of the cold war. He knows the chill of pre-flighting a plane and seeing nuclear weapons attached, and knowing that a certain set of circumstances + commands could've resulted in him launching & thereby beginning a nuclear war with the (then) Soviet Union. He knows how to identify a submarine as a "fast attack" or a "boomer" (missle-launching) sub. He knows the screech of the missle-lock warning in his ear that signalled that they had been "locked on" by enemy ships' anti-aircraft missle systems. I cannot imagine.
Sandy was also an officer in the USAF for her career. She worked in supply & logistics & in hospital administration. She knows that behind the budget numbers & boxes of requisitioned supplies are military men & women needing medical care. I cannot imagine.
Had we been in town today, at church I'd have seen my friends Jim & Lance. Jim served in Iraq with the Marine Corps, and Lance served with the Army. I might have seen my friend Bob. Bob was a pathfinder with the U.S. Army during the Normandy invasion in 1944. His were literally among the first Allied boots on the ground in our invasion of Hitler's Fortress Europe. I would likely have seen my friend Philip, who served as a gunner on an armored personnel carrier in the Army. I would also likely have seen my friend Gary, who serves with the Army, and who has served in Afghanistan. I cannot imagine.
One of my students does missle defense; he returned from a year deployment earlier this year. He knows the sound of his defense systems taking out missiles aimed his way. He also knows the rumble of the explosions caused by a couple that they didn't knock down before hitting the base. Another friend from WCU is a crew chief on a cargo plane. He has accompanied caskets home from the middle east. Caskets that were flag-draped and were not empty. He has greeted the grieving families "on behalf of a grateful nation." I cannot imagine.
My Dad served with the Army Air Corps, the predecessor to the USAF. His first duty post was with the Army of the Occupation near Nagasaki, Japan. Just after a nuclear bomb there helped end WW2. Lisa's Dad served as a combat medic in Korea. He was assigned to a rifle company very much in harm's way. He knows the sounds of bullets pinging off the rocks around him as he was tending to a wounded soldier. I cannot imagine.
A day is coming when soldiers & sailors & airmen will no longer be needed. When "He shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." (Isaiah 2:4)
I. Cannot. Imagine.
But just as the veterans mentioned experienced & trained for things that I cannot imagine, so we will all one day experience war's end, when the Lord Himself will render war obsolete. Until that day, I honor those who put on a uniform & take a pledge & stand in harm's way on behalf of a nation conceived in liberty. I thank God for raising up men & women exemplified by the few I've mentioned here. It's easy to build a monument and to salute a flag. That requires very little courage. But what our veterans have done? Courage beyond measure!
Whatever your thoughts on the current administration or on any particular current military conflict, I hope you took time to honor our veterans today. I hope you take time to honor them every day. For truly, every day that we are free is Veterans' Day.
One is my Mom's husband Leo. Leo was a USAF pilot who flew various fighter planes throughout his career. As a squadron commander in Vietnam, he had to write those terrible letters to brides & parents & children that begin, "It is with great regret..." He knows the sound of anti-aircraft fire hitting his plane & the look of the trails made by S.A.M. missles coming toward the plane he was flying. He once landed a plane with one of the two engines knocked loose by a-a fire; the plane was scrapped because of this. He knows how to drop close air support ordinance on enemy troops, thereby greatly assisting our own troops. I cannot imagine.
The other two are my brother Jim & his wife Sandi. Jim flew anti-sub P-3s for the U.S. Navy around the Atlantic during the bad old days of the cold war. He knows the chill of pre-flighting a plane and seeing nuclear weapons attached, and knowing that a certain set of circumstances + commands could've resulted in him launching & thereby beginning a nuclear war with the (then) Soviet Union. He knows how to identify a submarine as a "fast attack" or a "boomer" (missle-launching) sub. He knows the screech of the missle-lock warning in his ear that signalled that they had been "locked on" by enemy ships' anti-aircraft missle systems. I cannot imagine.
Sandy was also an officer in the USAF for her career. She worked in supply & logistics & in hospital administration. She knows that behind the budget numbers & boxes of requisitioned supplies are military men & women needing medical care. I cannot imagine.
Had we been in town today, at church I'd have seen my friends Jim & Lance. Jim served in Iraq with the Marine Corps, and Lance served with the Army. I might have seen my friend Bob. Bob was a pathfinder with the U.S. Army during the Normandy invasion in 1944. His were literally among the first Allied boots on the ground in our invasion of Hitler's Fortress Europe. I would likely have seen my friend Philip, who served as a gunner on an armored personnel carrier in the Army. I would also likely have seen my friend Gary, who serves with the Army, and who has served in Afghanistan. I cannot imagine.
One of my students does missle defense; he returned from a year deployment earlier this year. He knows the sound of his defense systems taking out missiles aimed his way. He also knows the rumble of the explosions caused by a couple that they didn't knock down before hitting the base. Another friend from WCU is a crew chief on a cargo plane. He has accompanied caskets home from the middle east. Caskets that were flag-draped and were not empty. He has greeted the grieving families "on behalf of a grateful nation." I cannot imagine.
My Dad served with the Army Air Corps, the predecessor to the USAF. His first duty post was with the Army of the Occupation near Nagasaki, Japan. Just after a nuclear bomb there helped end WW2. Lisa's Dad served as a combat medic in Korea. He was assigned to a rifle company very much in harm's way. He knows the sounds of bullets pinging off the rocks around him as he was tending to a wounded soldier. I cannot imagine.
A day is coming when soldiers & sailors & airmen will no longer be needed. When "He shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." (Isaiah 2:4)
I. Cannot. Imagine.
But just as the veterans mentioned experienced & trained for things that I cannot imagine, so we will all one day experience war's end, when the Lord Himself will render war obsolete. Until that day, I honor those who put on a uniform & take a pledge & stand in harm's way on behalf of a nation conceived in liberty. I thank God for raising up men & women exemplified by the few I've mentioned here. It's easy to build a monument and to salute a flag. That requires very little courage. But what our veterans have done? Courage beyond measure!
Whatever your thoughts on the current administration or on any particular current military conflict, I hope you took time to honor our veterans today. I hope you take time to honor them every day. For truly, every day that we are free is Veterans' Day.
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