Being in the mortgage business over the past several years has not been a lot of fun. It hasn't been very good financially either. Times are tough for many, many people right now, not just in the mortgage, real estate, and building industries but across the board with job losses, reductions of income, loss of values in homes and retirement accounts and much more.
To help make ends come somewhere close to meeting I started doing foreclosure/loss mitigation counseling for a non-profit housing group that I had worked for about 9 years ago on a contract basis. No, it wasn't one of the scams, this was a HUD approved agency with all funding coming from grants and no cost to the clients. Though I certainly did see numerous scam artists and I just really don't know how people that do that type of thing can sleep at night.
I did this from July of 2008 to July of 2009. Financially it was a blessing, and also a blessing in so many other ways with the people I came in contact with. I felt that God called me to this, not only to help survive financially but also because with the struggles I and my family were going through I had the ability to have great empathy toward the situations I was dealing with. Then of course there were those who were just trying to scam things from the consumer side too, but that is a story for another time. Also I have 100 hours of training as a Stephen Ministry Leader which is a caring ministry. Many things in my life have given some different slants on some things (read the "Not Alone" post further down).
That is background to the story of a couple I will call Jack and Jill just because that is the first thing that came into my mind. Jack and Jill came in to see me one day and we filled out the information forms and they signed what I needed and we started to go over their situation.
They were, at the point they came to see me, seriously behind and facing foreclosure at the courthouse steps in the next 30 days. Jack is 73, Jill 71. They had been in their home over 12 years. Jack had been doing a job as a local driver for a delivery company for some time which augmented his Social Security and a very small pension. Jill was a marketer at Wal-Mart part time, one of the ladies who stands at the tables with samples for people to try. This augmented her Social Security, but obviously wasn't much. They were, overall, in good shape physically considering going through and having gone through the treatments they had. They were also gentle, easy going people that I liked instantly.
They had been able to get by until Jack developed throat cancer in early 2008. He was in recovery but was unable to return to work due to the exhaustion that the treatments had caused. He hoped to be able to go back to work, but was not sure when that would be. Even with that they had been doing pretty well, but then Jill got cancer as well. She was going through treatment at present, but was still working 10-12 hours a week as well. Due to all of this they had fallen behind, had used what savings funds they had, and were trying to get back on their feet. They had tried to work things out with the lender but had not been able to at this point and they were on the last days before losing their home. Their family did not have the ability to help them. Their son was not well enough off to do so and their daughter, who was in Texas, was also suffering with cancer at the time...
Now these people were not people who overspent or did not prepare, or at least think they did. Their home was only in the $100,000 range, their payment only in the $750 range. But the combination of all the things happening at one time had created a hurricane for them. They felt they had planned sufficiently, but had not planned for both to get cancer in the same years time. The expenses this created, even though they had Medicare, had drained them. Yet they still maintained a positive outlook. I told them that sometimes prayer is all that we can do, and they agreed with that. I knew that they had their faith at that point to help them, and that helped explain to me how they could be as calm as they were. They knew the realities of this world might not be what they wanted.
We discussed the options and I advised them that I would be in touch with their lender and try to work something out to get the sale date postponed while we tried to get a modification done. We also went over what would happen, if in fact, it did go to sale. When they left I told them I would pray for them. That it was, overall, the best thing I could do.
I was able to get in touch with the lender which, in itself, is an accomplishment given the number of cases that each one is dealing with. I confirmed the status of the account and that it was, in fact, set for sale the first Tuesday of the following month at the courthouse steps. I put together what I had, prepared the forms, spoke with Jack and Jill several times about additional info I needed and as the end of the month drew near was able work out an arrangement to stall the sale date with a three month trial payment. This was on Thursday before the Tuesday sale date. The first payment would be due by Monday.
I called Jack's cell phone telling him I had some good news. I went over what the lender had offered, which was fair, and asked if they could meet the Monday payment. He thanked me for my efforts. Then he told me he didn't think they would be able to do it. They were in Texas, having been called there to be with their daughter, who ahd taken a very serious turn for the worse and was in the last days and hours of her life due to the cancer she suffered with. She was 47. He told me that it had been necessary for them to borrow the money for the trip from their son. He said they knew they were going to lose the house, but had reconciled themselves to that at that point. Obviously there were more important things to deal with. I told him I would keep their daughter and them in my prayers and that if there was anything at all I could do in any way to help I was there.
I tell this story not to make you sad. I tell this story to show how one couple dealt with what this life on this earth had given them to deal with. They dealt with all of this with great dignity, great calm, and an enormous faith. Excuse me, FAITH. Maybe quiet, certainly very strong, an example that shines brighter than any star you will find. I am not certain where they are at right now. It has been difficult to follow all of the people I dealt with, with more and more that were coming in each day. I carry them in my heart, and I pray for them. I know that they will be all right. I would ask you to pray for them as well.
I pray also that this story might help any one suffering. To read this and say "see, there are others worse off than I" may be true, however I know from experience that that does not lessen the pain of what you may be dealing with. But I hope that this story shows that with faith, in HIM, and a trust that if you call HIS name He will be there to see you through, that you will be able to deal with whatever this life throws your way. I know I have...
Monday, October 12, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Being Prepared
I know that this sounds just like a motto for....oh...a scout group or something, and while that is a great motto I have a slightly different meaning for it here. It is not a noun, but an adjective..or at least as much as I can remember my English class.
Being prepared is a process. For instance I took typing in high school. I really only took it becuase there mostly girls in that class, and I figured that was a good thing. But I was really being prepared for the computer age. Typing is actually the class I took in high school that has served me the best overall. I don't have to hunt and peck, I can move pretty rapidly in doing something and with spell check I only have to review for the dumb grammatical mistakes I make.
Being prepared for things in life is a process that is always happening. God has many ways to prepare us for things He has in store for us, many that may not be all that pleasant but that will come in very handy when opportunity arises to use our knowledge, provided we learn things along the way. If I hadn't actually learned how to type in the class it would have been just a passage of time...except for being able to be around more girls of course! I have had a lot of instances of preparation in my life it seems.
The most recent experience of this happened last year. I am in the mortgage business and have been basically my whole career. The past two plus years have been a very difficult time. Financially it has been extremely hard. Very hard. Early last year things were going very poorly and we were struggling greatly. I really wondered what He had in mind for me learn and what I was learning it for. What ever it was it wasn't fun.
About ten years ago I worked in the non-profit housing area setting up a lending department for a non-profit housing group and was involved on a national basis with homebuyer education and lending. Since foreclosures were a huge part of the problems we were going through my wife, Joy (there is always Joy in my life!), suggested I might contact them to see if they needed any help with counseling in this area.
They did. They were swamped. They are a HUD approved counseling agency and had gotten grants to do this counseling so I was able to work out a contract agreement with them. I am also a Stephen Ministry Leader, which is a national caring ministry that does one on one caring with people in need. So I had my "preparation" of being very near where many of these people were at, but also that ministry background and training to draw on. It worked out that being able to do that helped us survive, at least until the funding ran out after a year of putting in 20-25 hours a week doing that as well as doing everything I could to survive in the mortgage business.
My employer was well aware of what I was doing and was fine with it, knowing that we all had to try to do what we could to get through these difficult times. I knew when I started doing it that God had given me the preparation I needed. Not only that but when it ended was the right time as well. I was becoming very exhausted and worn dealing with the issues of people in dire straights.
Things have improved somewhat in my mortgage business, but are still very difficult. I know that He provides and trust in Him completely. He is preparing me for something else, I know not what, but know that I will be ready when He is if I just pay attention and learn!
Being prepared is a process. For instance I took typing in high school. I really only took it becuase there mostly girls in that class, and I figured that was a good thing. But I was really being prepared for the computer age. Typing is actually the class I took in high school that has served me the best overall. I don't have to hunt and peck, I can move pretty rapidly in doing something and with spell check I only have to review for the dumb grammatical mistakes I make.
Being prepared for things in life is a process that is always happening. God has many ways to prepare us for things He has in store for us, many that may not be all that pleasant but that will come in very handy when opportunity arises to use our knowledge, provided we learn things along the way. If I hadn't actually learned how to type in the class it would have been just a passage of time...except for being able to be around more girls of course! I have had a lot of instances of preparation in my life it seems.
The most recent experience of this happened last year. I am in the mortgage business and have been basically my whole career. The past two plus years have been a very difficult time. Financially it has been extremely hard. Very hard. Early last year things were going very poorly and we were struggling greatly. I really wondered what He had in mind for me learn and what I was learning it for. What ever it was it wasn't fun.
About ten years ago I worked in the non-profit housing area setting up a lending department for a non-profit housing group and was involved on a national basis with homebuyer education and lending. Since foreclosures were a huge part of the problems we were going through my wife, Joy (there is always Joy in my life!), suggested I might contact them to see if they needed any help with counseling in this area.
They did. They were swamped. They are a HUD approved counseling agency and had gotten grants to do this counseling so I was able to work out a contract agreement with them. I am also a Stephen Ministry Leader, which is a national caring ministry that does one on one caring with people in need. So I had my "preparation" of being very near where many of these people were at, but also that ministry background and training to draw on. It worked out that being able to do that helped us survive, at least until the funding ran out after a year of putting in 20-25 hours a week doing that as well as doing everything I could to survive in the mortgage business.
My employer was well aware of what I was doing and was fine with it, knowing that we all had to try to do what we could to get through these difficult times. I knew when I started doing it that God had given me the preparation I needed. Not only that but when it ended was the right time as well. I was becoming very exhausted and worn dealing with the issues of people in dire straights.
Things have improved somewhat in my mortgage business, but are still very difficult. I know that He provides and trust in Him completely. He is preparing me for something else, I know not what, but know that I will be ready when He is if I just pay attention and learn!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Chain of Events...
After eating my hotdog and chips for lunch I figured I would finish up by eating something healthy so I went to the fridge for some strawberry yogurt. It had one of those pull off tops, which of course never pull off quite completely. So when I pulled it, it tore the middle, and in the process flipped some yogurt onto the kitchen floor. I opened the door underneath the sink to get a paper towel. When I pulled on the paper towel the whole roll came off the holder and unrolled on the floor. After picking up the roll, rolling it back up, and then pulling one off and putting the roll back on the holder, I knocked a napkin off the counter onto the floor. Realizing that this wasn't going well and would probably only continue to go downhill from there I wiped up the small amount of yogurt on the floor, replaced the yogurt in the fridge, and went and got a couple of cookies. Solved everything!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I haven't written much lately. I really need to get back to it. The following is something that I wrote several months ago. I have been fortunate that it has been posted on a couple of sites. But I thought I would get back into the habit of writing by posting this.....it is kind of long, but hopefully worthwhile..
Not Alone
There is some opinion that children bounce back quicker from traumatic events. This is because they are more resilient, have quicker memory loss I guess, and maybe don’t have quite the reference points an older person would have. I think it just means that they can feel the pain for a longer time because they have more life to live. That isn’t always the case, and it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gives different insight to future events, gives a different reference point than others might not have. Once something happens in your life I believe it becomes a part of who you are. Different people deal with it in different ways, but no matter how old you are a traumatic experience is still that, a traumatic experience.
I can speak with some knowledge on this. At the age of 7 1/2 (almost eight, as at that age it is so very important to be considered older!) I lost my older brother after a nearly two year battle to leukemia. He was nine. He was my best friend, often my only playmate, and, of course, he was my OLDER brother. There were four of us (the oldest, my sister, and a younger brother), and now there were only three. My older brother and I were the closest in age to each other. Over the next ten years three of my four grandparents passed away. My mother’s parents from cancer, spending some of their last days in our house, but always with my mother as the primary care giver, during long, tough, painful battles that I still remember. My younger brother developed an illness that the doctors thought was leukemia. It turned out to be Crohn’s Disease. He has been opened up so many times in his life that I tell him he should have just had a zipper put in. My father and I never got along when he was home, which was about a day and a half a week as he was a long distance trucker. Then six days before my seventeenth birthday my mother, who was the rock, the center, the core of our family, died suddenly of a brain hemorrhage.
But all of that and other stuff are for other stories. This one is a story about one day in life. God has chosen to bless me with a very good memory, which can be both a blessing and a challenge (no, not a curse). When my brother died I think it is fair to say that it devastated our family, maybe a little more than most because he was a very special young boy (which is a story all its own). We lived on a farm in a small town in Illinois. We didn’t own the farm so it helped make it less painful for my parents to make the decision to sell everything at an auction in the barnyard of our home, move, and basically change our lives as much as possible. We moved into the nearest “larger” town (12,000 residents, a major metropolitan area), my father got the job as a long distance truck driver, and we were able to buy a house and move in.
At the age of seven (almost eight!) it was tough to figure out what was going on. It seemed like everything was moving so fast. I was in the second grade and had to leave the friends I had started to make at school just a short time after school had started. I had
-1-
to leave the only home I had ever known. I didn’t have big brother to play with any more, to look up to, and to show me things. My parents were distraught to put it mildly. No farm, with plenty of room to roam, plenty of places to play, knowing where everything was, not worrying about neighbors or streets with cars, or much of anything else. Now everything was changed.
There was some excitement. It was a nice house, and being new and different certainly had its curiosities. The house had a basement, which was different. Different partly because the man of the family who had owned it before had worked for a major paint store. The basement had a block wall about half way up to the ceiling and every block was painted a different color. It was a place to go to get away, kind of. My younger brother and I were to share a room. Now I was the older brother, and I was not sure I could even begin to live up to being what my brother had been to me.
We moved in January, and if you have ever been in northern Illinois in January you know that being outside is not the warmest place to be. Three layers of clothes, boots, gloves (heavy!), and more is required just to go out and play in the snow. The time to get ready to go out, and then to dry out and warm up when you came in, was about equal to or less than the time you actually could stand being out. We didn’t need “wind chill factors” to know that it was COLD. I always thought that the old wives tail about your spit freezing before it would hit the ground was a given fact.
My mother had taken me to register at the new school I would be going to. Much larger than the one I had come from. Very different, and being the “new kid” in school was not anything I was looking forward to. Several days after that she told me that I would be walking to school, the bus did not pick up in town and we were about a mile or so away from the school. She told me that there was a boy that lived across the street that was my age and that he came home from school through our backyard. So it was her idea that I wait in the backyard, giving some time after the end of the school day for him to get home, so that I could meet him and begin walking to school with him.
Wait outside, in the cold, for someone I didn’t know. For a seven year old (used to be six…I was feeling much younger right about this time) who had just gone through a traumatic life change this did not seem like a very good idea. I was really thinking along the lines of a ride to school each day and then pick me up as soon as school let out so I wouldn’t have to be in that “new kid” environment any longer than necessary. It seemed like cruel and unusual punishment to me, just for the freezing aspect of it, if nothing else.
She told me this in the morning, so for the rest of the day my mind was somewhat pre-occupied with the perceived horror that awaited me. It was not something I was eagerly anticipating to say the least. Time marched on and the moment grew closer. I could almost picture the boy who I was to meet. He was probably 6 inches taller than me, tough as nails, and had had a rotten day at school. Maybe the teacher had even scolded him and he was going to be looking for someone to take it out on.
-2-
The time finally came for me to start putting on the layers. Sweater, coat, hat, gloves, boots. At least I would have padding if he tried to beat me up. I could always try to disappear inside my bundles and maybe he would just think I was an elaborate snowman and pass right on by. Probably not, though.
Out the door I went. We had a fairly long yard to the alleyway behind (at least it seemed that way to a seven….used to be six…year old). I went about half way and stood there. The ground is fairly flat in what is known as “prairie land”. I could see across the yards to each side of me. The snow was fairly new and so there weren’t many tracks (our neighbors must have been pretty smart I figured….they didn’t go outside). The wind was very still. When it is cold like that and the wind is still it is very, very silent. No bird or animal sounds, no wind sounds, nothing but the sound of my own breathing. And I was all alone.
All by myself, in a new and strange place, not only physically but emotionally as well, waiting for a boy who I didn’t know. I didn’t know if he would like me, hate me, make fun of me, or just beat me up for the pleasure of it. In a cold, silent place. I might as well have been alone in the desert or on Mars. Either place would have much warmer, but wouldn’t have been any more lonely. The only thing moving was the vapor of my breath as it came out. Fear is compounded by being alone to the nth degree. The cold all around and being bundled up made me feel like I was waiting in a jail, all alone, and every moment seemed like an eternity. I thought about going back into the house and telling my mother he had never come, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Besides, she could tell every time I wasn’t totally truthful.
So I started to think about what had brought me to this moment and place. All through my brothers ordeal there had been one constant. Faith. My mother had great strength in her faith, and her parents, who I stayed with often during this time, is where it had come from. There was a daily Bible reading at lunch time. A quiet courage to deal with what was presented, trusting His will. Prayer was a constant. My father was not of the same strong belief, but I think he knew of His existence in everything.
My brother, even at his early age, was a strong believer. He trusted. One week before his death he had described to my mother a dream that he had about heaven. That he and a boy who was struggling with the same disease, and who he had gotten to be great friends with during their hospital stays, were there in heaven together. He told my mother how wonderful it was! Within the next week they both passed on to that scene within a day of each other.
As I stood there and thought about this, his death, the pain, not only for him, but for all of us because of his loss, and all the other changes, my focus on the cold and emptiness kind of faded. I actually started to feel a little warmer. Not just because I was now starting to sweat somewhat under all those clothes, but warmer inside of me. I did begin to feel a presence. I didn’t know what it was, but it did make me feel better. Not quite so all alone. Not quite so cold. Not quite so empty.
-3-
Colossians 2; 5 says in part “For though I am absent from you in body, I am present with you in spirit….” I could begin to feel that spirit, and even my brother and his spirit as well. The more I let that feeling in, the warmer and less afraid I became. Some comfort and peace started to filter through the fear and anxiety. It wasn’t a revelation, or a lightening bolt, it was a gradual feeling of….not being alone. There were no words, no visions, and no gust of wind or sudden light flash. Only a growing feeling that the cold wasn’t quite so cold, the emptiness really not empty at all, that I was…not alone.
I could finally see the boy coming through the yard behind us and into our yard. He was about the same size as I was. He was certainly bundled up as much too. As he approached I found I had the courage to say “Hi”. He responded in as friendly a way as any seven year old boy nearly mummified by layers of clothing can. It turned out that his mother and mine had spoken so he knew I would be waiting for him. That day began a very good friendship that lasted until his family moved several years later. I had a new best friend, and though he could never take the place of my brother, it was a special friendship. The next morning we started the daily ritual of walking to and from school each day. Now even though I was the “new kid” I had a friend to show me around and introduce me.
I also had something else. I had the knowledge that I wasn’t really all alone, and that I never would be. I wouldn’t begin to tell you that I was a perfect angel and didn’t go far, far, far, off the beaten path. That would not be true. You can see by the first part of this story that much more heartache and pain were just down the road I would travel. My life has been filled with “learning experiences”. I have made many mistakes and many errors in judgment. My choices in life have been far from right or perfect. But through every twist and turn, every falter to temptation, every pain and sorrow, and every thrill and happiness, there has been one constant. I have always known from that day on that I am not alone.
The last sentence of the last verse of Matthew says “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age”. He gave me a memory, along with all of life’s lessons so far. One of the reasons He did, I think, was so that I could tell you this story, and confirm to you that the sentence is absolutely true.
-4-
Not Alone
There is some opinion that children bounce back quicker from traumatic events. This is because they are more resilient, have quicker memory loss I guess, and maybe don’t have quite the reference points an older person would have. I think it just means that they can feel the pain for a longer time because they have more life to live. That isn’t always the case, and it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gives different insight to future events, gives a different reference point than others might not have. Once something happens in your life I believe it becomes a part of who you are. Different people deal with it in different ways, but no matter how old you are a traumatic experience is still that, a traumatic experience.
I can speak with some knowledge on this. At the age of 7 1/2 (almost eight, as at that age it is so very important to be considered older!) I lost my older brother after a nearly two year battle to leukemia. He was nine. He was my best friend, often my only playmate, and, of course, he was my OLDER brother. There were four of us (the oldest, my sister, and a younger brother), and now there were only three. My older brother and I were the closest in age to each other. Over the next ten years three of my four grandparents passed away. My mother’s parents from cancer, spending some of their last days in our house, but always with my mother as the primary care giver, during long, tough, painful battles that I still remember. My younger brother developed an illness that the doctors thought was leukemia. It turned out to be Crohn’s Disease. He has been opened up so many times in his life that I tell him he should have just had a zipper put in. My father and I never got along when he was home, which was about a day and a half a week as he was a long distance trucker. Then six days before my seventeenth birthday my mother, who was the rock, the center, the core of our family, died suddenly of a brain hemorrhage.
But all of that and other stuff are for other stories. This one is a story about one day in life. God has chosen to bless me with a very good memory, which can be both a blessing and a challenge (no, not a curse). When my brother died I think it is fair to say that it devastated our family, maybe a little more than most because he was a very special young boy (which is a story all its own). We lived on a farm in a small town in Illinois. We didn’t own the farm so it helped make it less painful for my parents to make the decision to sell everything at an auction in the barnyard of our home, move, and basically change our lives as much as possible. We moved into the nearest “larger” town (12,000 residents, a major metropolitan area), my father got the job as a long distance truck driver, and we were able to buy a house and move in.
At the age of seven (almost eight!) it was tough to figure out what was going on. It seemed like everything was moving so fast. I was in the second grade and had to leave the friends I had started to make at school just a short time after school had started. I had
-1-
to leave the only home I had ever known. I didn’t have big brother to play with any more, to look up to, and to show me things. My parents were distraught to put it mildly. No farm, with plenty of room to roam, plenty of places to play, knowing where everything was, not worrying about neighbors or streets with cars, or much of anything else. Now everything was changed.
There was some excitement. It was a nice house, and being new and different certainly had its curiosities. The house had a basement, which was different. Different partly because the man of the family who had owned it before had worked for a major paint store. The basement had a block wall about half way up to the ceiling and every block was painted a different color. It was a place to go to get away, kind of. My younger brother and I were to share a room. Now I was the older brother, and I was not sure I could even begin to live up to being what my brother had been to me.
We moved in January, and if you have ever been in northern Illinois in January you know that being outside is not the warmest place to be. Three layers of clothes, boots, gloves (heavy!), and more is required just to go out and play in the snow. The time to get ready to go out, and then to dry out and warm up when you came in, was about equal to or less than the time you actually could stand being out. We didn’t need “wind chill factors” to know that it was COLD. I always thought that the old wives tail about your spit freezing before it would hit the ground was a given fact.
My mother had taken me to register at the new school I would be going to. Much larger than the one I had come from. Very different, and being the “new kid” in school was not anything I was looking forward to. Several days after that she told me that I would be walking to school, the bus did not pick up in town and we were about a mile or so away from the school. She told me that there was a boy that lived across the street that was my age and that he came home from school through our backyard. So it was her idea that I wait in the backyard, giving some time after the end of the school day for him to get home, so that I could meet him and begin walking to school with him.
Wait outside, in the cold, for someone I didn’t know. For a seven year old (used to be six…I was feeling much younger right about this time) who had just gone through a traumatic life change this did not seem like a very good idea. I was really thinking along the lines of a ride to school each day and then pick me up as soon as school let out so I wouldn’t have to be in that “new kid” environment any longer than necessary. It seemed like cruel and unusual punishment to me, just for the freezing aspect of it, if nothing else.
She told me this in the morning, so for the rest of the day my mind was somewhat pre-occupied with the perceived horror that awaited me. It was not something I was eagerly anticipating to say the least. Time marched on and the moment grew closer. I could almost picture the boy who I was to meet. He was probably 6 inches taller than me, tough as nails, and had had a rotten day at school. Maybe the teacher had even scolded him and he was going to be looking for someone to take it out on.
-2-
The time finally came for me to start putting on the layers. Sweater, coat, hat, gloves, boots. At least I would have padding if he tried to beat me up. I could always try to disappear inside my bundles and maybe he would just think I was an elaborate snowman and pass right on by. Probably not, though.
Out the door I went. We had a fairly long yard to the alleyway behind (at least it seemed that way to a seven….used to be six…year old). I went about half way and stood there. The ground is fairly flat in what is known as “prairie land”. I could see across the yards to each side of me. The snow was fairly new and so there weren’t many tracks (our neighbors must have been pretty smart I figured….they didn’t go outside). The wind was very still. When it is cold like that and the wind is still it is very, very silent. No bird or animal sounds, no wind sounds, nothing but the sound of my own breathing. And I was all alone.
All by myself, in a new and strange place, not only physically but emotionally as well, waiting for a boy who I didn’t know. I didn’t know if he would like me, hate me, make fun of me, or just beat me up for the pleasure of it. In a cold, silent place. I might as well have been alone in the desert or on Mars. Either place would have much warmer, but wouldn’t have been any more lonely. The only thing moving was the vapor of my breath as it came out. Fear is compounded by being alone to the nth degree. The cold all around and being bundled up made me feel like I was waiting in a jail, all alone, and every moment seemed like an eternity. I thought about going back into the house and telling my mother he had never come, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Besides, she could tell every time I wasn’t totally truthful.
So I started to think about what had brought me to this moment and place. All through my brothers ordeal there had been one constant. Faith. My mother had great strength in her faith, and her parents, who I stayed with often during this time, is where it had come from. There was a daily Bible reading at lunch time. A quiet courage to deal with what was presented, trusting His will. Prayer was a constant. My father was not of the same strong belief, but I think he knew of His existence in everything.
My brother, even at his early age, was a strong believer. He trusted. One week before his death he had described to my mother a dream that he had about heaven. That he and a boy who was struggling with the same disease, and who he had gotten to be great friends with during their hospital stays, were there in heaven together. He told my mother how wonderful it was! Within the next week they both passed on to that scene within a day of each other.
As I stood there and thought about this, his death, the pain, not only for him, but for all of us because of his loss, and all the other changes, my focus on the cold and emptiness kind of faded. I actually started to feel a little warmer. Not just because I was now starting to sweat somewhat under all those clothes, but warmer inside of me. I did begin to feel a presence. I didn’t know what it was, but it did make me feel better. Not quite so all alone. Not quite so cold. Not quite so empty.
-3-
Colossians 2; 5 says in part “For though I am absent from you in body, I am present with you in spirit….” I could begin to feel that spirit, and even my brother and his spirit as well. The more I let that feeling in, the warmer and less afraid I became. Some comfort and peace started to filter through the fear and anxiety. It wasn’t a revelation, or a lightening bolt, it was a gradual feeling of….not being alone. There were no words, no visions, and no gust of wind or sudden light flash. Only a growing feeling that the cold wasn’t quite so cold, the emptiness really not empty at all, that I was…not alone.
I could finally see the boy coming through the yard behind us and into our yard. He was about the same size as I was. He was certainly bundled up as much too. As he approached I found I had the courage to say “Hi”. He responded in as friendly a way as any seven year old boy nearly mummified by layers of clothing can. It turned out that his mother and mine had spoken so he knew I would be waiting for him. That day began a very good friendship that lasted until his family moved several years later. I had a new best friend, and though he could never take the place of my brother, it was a special friendship. The next morning we started the daily ritual of walking to and from school each day. Now even though I was the “new kid” I had a friend to show me around and introduce me.
I also had something else. I had the knowledge that I wasn’t really all alone, and that I never would be. I wouldn’t begin to tell you that I was a perfect angel and didn’t go far, far, far, off the beaten path. That would not be true. You can see by the first part of this story that much more heartache and pain were just down the road I would travel. My life has been filled with “learning experiences”. I have made many mistakes and many errors in judgment. My choices in life have been far from right or perfect. But through every twist and turn, every falter to temptation, every pain and sorrow, and every thrill and happiness, there has been one constant. I have always known from that day on that I am not alone.
The last sentence of the last verse of Matthew says “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age”. He gave me a memory, along with all of life’s lessons so far. One of the reasons He did, I think, was so that I could tell you this story, and confirm to you that the sentence is absolutely true.
-4-
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Christmas Tree
Ahhh, I love turkey. I love Thanksgiving, not only for the holiday and it's meaning and a time to pause and reflect on the things that we are blessed by and have to be thankful for. I just really do love the food too! I don't mind eating turkey for days after and hope that there is enough cranberries and pumpkin pie to last too.
After it is over the trend is to then begin looking toward Christmas. Yes, Christmas, not "The Holidays". I am so worn out on the attack on the meaning of this season. But I will also continue to make it very plain to anyone who wants to know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, our salvation. It is truly a glorious time.
I am not sure where all the tradiitions started and why, nor do I really care all that much. The meaning of it is what is most important. But all of the things that go into it make it a fun time as well. Take the Christmas tree for example. I really don't know where that tradition started but it is kind of nice to have a centerpiece in the house, a kind of super lighted and decorated candle for Jesus cake so to speak.
I have always been a "real tree" person. I grew up having a real tree every year and it has always been kind of important to me. My wife and I have always gone the weekend of Thanksgiving and gotten the tree. When our boys were home and little (they are now 27 and soon to be 24) they often went with us. I think on two differrent occassions we went to a "tree farm" and actually cut the tree down. Two different places, one a "no frills" place and another that had other things going on as well. That was a lot of fun, and I hope those times are good memories for the boys, when they remember things like that.
We of course looked the trees over, tried to make sure they were straight, just the right height, and so on. We always did a pretty good job and were always happy with the trees that we picked. After the boys grew older and didn't really have any interest in the tree being a "family project" we began going to home improvement stores or the local lots to get the trees. As time wore on and the boys moved away we spent less time looking them over and got the job done quicker. Amazingly enough we always seemed to pick a good one and were never really disappointed in our choices. It was still fun, and there is something about the smell of a real tree during the season that seems kind of special.
The last two years we have finally gotten to a point of using a "fake tree". I have found that these trees have progressed quite a bit since I was young. They aren't all silver now, and in many cases they look pretty real. Once they are decorated and lighted and draped with tinsel....all trees should have tinsel (or icicles if you will)....they really do look pretty good. While they don't have the smell there are actually sprays you can get that give them the smell....no, we don't use that, but I know it's out there. Modern technology is amazing.
I guess my point is that we tend to evolve over time. Things change, the world changes, our lives change. The times that are special to me are the quiet times, when I am sitting in the family room where we put the tree, late at night, with all the lights turned off except for the tree. The colorful lights give off such a wonderful glow. The angel at the top of the tree is lighted and sits on top of the celebration of colors and decorations that have been accumulated over the years. The ones marking certain passages of time, the ones going back to years gone by that are special to different phases of a families history. During this quiet time I feel a sense of the wonder that is our lives, of the time that has passed during the year and of the upcoming new start to a new year. I realize that no matter how difficult things are financially or personally that sitting in the quiet with the lights of the tree, which carries the meaning of the season, that with faith and trust everything will be all right.
Most of all though I think of the greatest gift of all, the gift of the Son. To come to this earth and ultimately die for our sins. No matter how much things change, no matter how many people say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", no matter what kind of tree it is, real or imitation, the MEANING of what we are doing will never change. This is the season for the celebration of birth of the messiah. I hope that no matter what kind of tree, or what kind of decorations you might have, or put out, or up, that as you do it you will remember WHO it is for.
Enjoy this wonderful time of year.
After it is over the trend is to then begin looking toward Christmas. Yes, Christmas, not "The Holidays". I am so worn out on the attack on the meaning of this season. But I will also continue to make it very plain to anyone who wants to know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, our salvation. It is truly a glorious time.
I am not sure where all the tradiitions started and why, nor do I really care all that much. The meaning of it is what is most important. But all of the things that go into it make it a fun time as well. Take the Christmas tree for example. I really don't know where that tradition started but it is kind of nice to have a centerpiece in the house, a kind of super lighted and decorated candle for Jesus cake so to speak.
I have always been a "real tree" person. I grew up having a real tree every year and it has always been kind of important to me. My wife and I have always gone the weekend of Thanksgiving and gotten the tree. When our boys were home and little (they are now 27 and soon to be 24) they often went with us. I think on two differrent occassions we went to a "tree farm" and actually cut the tree down. Two different places, one a "no frills" place and another that had other things going on as well. That was a lot of fun, and I hope those times are good memories for the boys, when they remember things like that.
We of course looked the trees over, tried to make sure they were straight, just the right height, and so on. We always did a pretty good job and were always happy with the trees that we picked. After the boys grew older and didn't really have any interest in the tree being a "family project" we began going to home improvement stores or the local lots to get the trees. As time wore on and the boys moved away we spent less time looking them over and got the job done quicker. Amazingly enough we always seemed to pick a good one and were never really disappointed in our choices. It was still fun, and there is something about the smell of a real tree during the season that seems kind of special.
The last two years we have finally gotten to a point of using a "fake tree". I have found that these trees have progressed quite a bit since I was young. They aren't all silver now, and in many cases they look pretty real. Once they are decorated and lighted and draped with tinsel....all trees should have tinsel (or icicles if you will)....they really do look pretty good. While they don't have the smell there are actually sprays you can get that give them the smell....no, we don't use that, but I know it's out there. Modern technology is amazing.
I guess my point is that we tend to evolve over time. Things change, the world changes, our lives change. The times that are special to me are the quiet times, when I am sitting in the family room where we put the tree, late at night, with all the lights turned off except for the tree. The colorful lights give off such a wonderful glow. The angel at the top of the tree is lighted and sits on top of the celebration of colors and decorations that have been accumulated over the years. The ones marking certain passages of time, the ones going back to years gone by that are special to different phases of a families history. During this quiet time I feel a sense of the wonder that is our lives, of the time that has passed during the year and of the upcoming new start to a new year. I realize that no matter how difficult things are financially or personally that sitting in the quiet with the lights of the tree, which carries the meaning of the season, that with faith and trust everything will be all right.
Most of all though I think of the greatest gift of all, the gift of the Son. To come to this earth and ultimately die for our sins. No matter how much things change, no matter how many people say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", no matter what kind of tree it is, real or imitation, the MEANING of what we are doing will never change. This is the season for the celebration of birth of the messiah. I hope that no matter what kind of tree, or what kind of decorations you might have, or put out, or up, that as you do it you will remember WHO it is for.
Enjoy this wonderful time of year.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Touching Tale
We are almost to Thanksgiving. A time when we should stop and remember all the blessings that we have, all that we have to be thankful for....gee, that really should be everyday shouldn't it?
I have been doing foreclosure and loss mitigation counseling for people who are past due, in default, and facing possible foreclosure on their homes for a non-profit agency. There is no charge to the client for this (more about this issue in another blog), the funding comes from grants. The number of people in trouble is very troubling, and it is getting worse, not better at present. There are some very touching stories among them, and since this month has both Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving I think one story is very pertinent.
I met with Joe the other day. Joe is a Vietnam veteran, a veteran of the Gulf War, and just returned from his third tour of duty in Afghanistan as a reservist for the Air Force in June. He was discharged in September. His wife and he live in the metro Atlanta area, she does work for a day care facility, and he has been searching for work since his return, to this point, with no success. As a result they have fallen past due on their mortgage and are struggling to make ends meet.
Joe is very concerned, is trying to do whatever he can to make some money, and, in his words, feels as if he is "drowning". Falling further behind without knowing what to do. I am fairly certain that we will be able to work something out with the lender and that he and his wife will not have to lose their home. But the situation itself is a statement on where we are at. Times are troubling.
When we finished our meeting he thanked me for my time and efforts, and we will continue to stay in touch as we try to work out a solution for the problem. I assured him that I had far more to thank him for, as he has done far more for me than I can ever do for him to repay him for his sacrifices.
As Veteran's Day is still in memory I honor him and all like him who have given so much so that we can be free. So that our way of life, our ideals, our freedom to worship, dissent, and vote, is maintained. As Thanksgiving approaches I give thanks to him and those who have kept the many reasons for thanks in place. I give thanks for the blessing of being in a position to help him and his wife, to tell him personally how much I and my family appreciate him.
I pray that we all focus on the many blessings that we have in the people around us, the wonderful life that we have, the love that we can all share, with or without "things", and remember that we can do this, not just on Thursday, but each and every day we live on this earth.
Tell someone today "thanks!". Thanks for just being them. It can make a much greater impact and difference than you might think.
I have been doing foreclosure and loss mitigation counseling for people who are past due, in default, and facing possible foreclosure on their homes for a non-profit agency. There is no charge to the client for this (more about this issue in another blog), the funding comes from grants. The number of people in trouble is very troubling, and it is getting worse, not better at present. There are some very touching stories among them, and since this month has both Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving I think one story is very pertinent.
I met with Joe the other day. Joe is a Vietnam veteran, a veteran of the Gulf War, and just returned from his third tour of duty in Afghanistan as a reservist for the Air Force in June. He was discharged in September. His wife and he live in the metro Atlanta area, she does work for a day care facility, and he has been searching for work since his return, to this point, with no success. As a result they have fallen past due on their mortgage and are struggling to make ends meet.
Joe is very concerned, is trying to do whatever he can to make some money, and, in his words, feels as if he is "drowning". Falling further behind without knowing what to do. I am fairly certain that we will be able to work something out with the lender and that he and his wife will not have to lose their home. But the situation itself is a statement on where we are at. Times are troubling.
When we finished our meeting he thanked me for my time and efforts, and we will continue to stay in touch as we try to work out a solution for the problem. I assured him that I had far more to thank him for, as he has done far more for me than I can ever do for him to repay him for his sacrifices.
As Veteran's Day is still in memory I honor him and all like him who have given so much so that we can be free. So that our way of life, our ideals, our freedom to worship, dissent, and vote, is maintained. As Thanksgiving approaches I give thanks to him and those who have kept the many reasons for thanks in place. I give thanks for the blessing of being in a position to help him and his wife, to tell him personally how much I and my family appreciate him.
I pray that we all focus on the many blessings that we have in the people around us, the wonderful life that we have, the love that we can all share, with or without "things", and remember that we can do this, not just on Thursday, but each and every day we live on this earth.
Tell someone today "thanks!". Thanks for just being them. It can make a much greater impact and difference than you might think.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
The Other Side of Things
As we go through life we make many contacts and have many relationships. Some are fleeting, even for an instant, some are for hours, days, months, years, and lifetimes. We often go through life with an outlook of inside out. By that I mean we look at things from our own perspective, whatever that may be, overall, that moment, that year, that lifetime. As a result it often becomes a one sided relationship. Certainly in some cases we are very attuned to the other person and their feelings and, in close relationships, to their viewpoint, their past, and their current situation. Whether we place much importance on it is another matter.
I didn't have a very good relationship with my father, which is a very long story. When I went to his funeral it was like going to that of a stranger which, in reality, it was. My family had been through a lot. My older brother had died when I was seven of leukemia, my younger brother had/has Crohn's disease, my mother died of a brain hemorrhage and, in between my brother and mother, three of my grandparents passed away. After my brother died my dad didn't pay much attention to me or my brother and sister and after my mother died the relationship was worse if anything.
I had a very bitter feeling toward my father. I didn't really have any relationship with him at all to speak of. We probably saw each other over the years maybe less than a handfull of times. I maintained my bitterness and hard feelings toward him and felt very justified in doing so for a lot of reasons. I could go into a lot of detail but that would fill a book which, someday, I hope to get accomplished. But for the sake of a short (kind of) post on a blog understand that it was a pretty bad relationship.
I have two boys whom I love very, very much. I always told myself that I would never be like my father was to me. In some ways though I was and I am very disappointed in that. But in the most important one I think I have done o.k. My boys do know that I love them. I told them everyday when they lived with us, and still tell them every time I speak with them. It is not just words, they know that I do. I hug them, and while our relationships have not always been "peachy" I am comfortable that they know how much they mean to me.
Over the years I have learned about looking at things from the outside in, not the other way around. I came to a point of understanding that I needed to look at relationships from the "other side". When I did that with my father I came to some interesting conclusions. I found out that I had never considered what it might have been like for him...when he lost a son. When the family was in disarray because of this. When we had to sell everything and move because my mother could not stand to stay where we were at because of the memories.
What it must have felt like to lose his own father. What could have gone through his mind when the doctors originally thought that my younger brother had leukemia instead of Crohn's. I never considered what his pain was when my mother died in a matter of three days, with two sons still at home. I never looked at these things from the standpoint of a man who was a second generation American of Swedish parents, of a father who was.....a disciplinarian at best and just plain mean at worst. I just looked at things the way I saw them, the way they affected me.
I wish now that I had been smart enough to take some of these things into consideration. Yes, I was just a young boy, and my life had been shattered many times over too, but that doesn't excuse me. Certainly these things don't neccessarily excuse the things my father did or the way he acted either. If I had looked at it from his viewpoint though our relationship might have been better. I could have at least tried. I certainly wish that I had.
My point in all of this is that we need to always remember to look at things from what we know of the other person's perspective. We need to try to walk in thier shoes, if not a mile, then at least a little bit. This goes for the cashier at the fast food restaurant who isn't the most courteous. Maybe they are just mean by nature, but maybe, just maybe, they are having a really bad day. Maybe their child is sick, their lights were turned off, their significant other just left. In our work relationships someone may just be having a bad day, might just have a heartache that we don't know about. Even just a smile might help them at that moment.
Maybe it is someone we know very well, maybe we should ask what's troubling them. Maybe, just maybe, we can help. Even if it just listening. Maybe it is just a smile and the question that will make a small difference in the right way.
Even when someone is happy it is nice to find out what has brightend their day. Take joy in someone else's good fortune as much as you do your own. It well help you learn what makes them happy. It certainly never hurts to brightened by someone else. When you are down yourself it certainly helps to have someone to tell.
God put us here to help one another. In doing so the blessing He gives us in a feeling that is hard to explain. My hope is that we can all start looking at things and people from the outside in, rather than the other way around. It just might make the world a better place for all of us.
I didn't have a very good relationship with my father, which is a very long story. When I went to his funeral it was like going to that of a stranger which, in reality, it was. My family had been through a lot. My older brother had died when I was seven of leukemia, my younger brother had/has Crohn's disease, my mother died of a brain hemorrhage and, in between my brother and mother, three of my grandparents passed away. After my brother died my dad didn't pay much attention to me or my brother and sister and after my mother died the relationship was worse if anything.
I had a very bitter feeling toward my father. I didn't really have any relationship with him at all to speak of. We probably saw each other over the years maybe less than a handfull of times. I maintained my bitterness and hard feelings toward him and felt very justified in doing so for a lot of reasons. I could go into a lot of detail but that would fill a book which, someday, I hope to get accomplished. But for the sake of a short (kind of) post on a blog understand that it was a pretty bad relationship.
I have two boys whom I love very, very much. I always told myself that I would never be like my father was to me. In some ways though I was and I am very disappointed in that. But in the most important one I think I have done o.k. My boys do know that I love them. I told them everyday when they lived with us, and still tell them every time I speak with them. It is not just words, they know that I do. I hug them, and while our relationships have not always been "peachy" I am comfortable that they know how much they mean to me.
Over the years I have learned about looking at things from the outside in, not the other way around. I came to a point of understanding that I needed to look at relationships from the "other side". When I did that with my father I came to some interesting conclusions. I found out that I had never considered what it might have been like for him...when he lost a son. When the family was in disarray because of this. When we had to sell everything and move because my mother could not stand to stay where we were at because of the memories.
What it must have felt like to lose his own father. What could have gone through his mind when the doctors originally thought that my younger brother had leukemia instead of Crohn's. I never considered what his pain was when my mother died in a matter of three days, with two sons still at home. I never looked at these things from the standpoint of a man who was a second generation American of Swedish parents, of a father who was.....a disciplinarian at best and just plain mean at worst. I just looked at things the way I saw them, the way they affected me.
I wish now that I had been smart enough to take some of these things into consideration. Yes, I was just a young boy, and my life had been shattered many times over too, but that doesn't excuse me. Certainly these things don't neccessarily excuse the things my father did or the way he acted either. If I had looked at it from his viewpoint though our relationship might have been better. I could have at least tried. I certainly wish that I had.
My point in all of this is that we need to always remember to look at things from what we know of the other person's perspective. We need to try to walk in thier shoes, if not a mile, then at least a little bit. This goes for the cashier at the fast food restaurant who isn't the most courteous. Maybe they are just mean by nature, but maybe, just maybe, they are having a really bad day. Maybe their child is sick, their lights were turned off, their significant other just left. In our work relationships someone may just be having a bad day, might just have a heartache that we don't know about. Even just a smile might help them at that moment.
Maybe it is someone we know very well, maybe we should ask what's troubling them. Maybe, just maybe, we can help. Even if it just listening. Maybe it is just a smile and the question that will make a small difference in the right way.
Even when someone is happy it is nice to find out what has brightend their day. Take joy in someone else's good fortune as much as you do your own. It well help you learn what makes them happy. It certainly never hurts to brightened by someone else. When you are down yourself it certainly helps to have someone to tell.
God put us here to help one another. In doing so the blessing He gives us in a feeling that is hard to explain. My hope is that we can all start looking at things and people from the outside in, rather than the other way around. It just might make the world a better place for all of us.
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