It’s the 4th of July, and I’m thinking today about our freedom and what it cost and costs. A few weeks ago, my friend and coworker, Tony Bierman, posted a poignant reminder on Facebook. He has allowed me to repost it here.
“Twenty years ago this week, I was serving as a low-ranking airman in the US Air Force. I was stationed in a top secret communications center at Yokota Air Base in Tokyo, Japan. My job was to translate and route classified incoming message traffic. I was one of the lowest-ranking members of the team, so it fell to me to work the overnight shift. That’s when the news from China started rolling in.
On June 3rd and 4th of 1989, my nightly rote and mundane existence was interrupted as messages began coming in from China. Along with CNN news reports, the message I handled spoke of students assembly in the central square of Beijing, and of the Chinese military surrounding them, trapping them in the square. In the day time while I was off duty, I would watch the reports from CNN, waiting for the news agency to tell the world what I was learning through our classified communications.
But the public cable news reports never aligned with the truth. The number of dead and and dying were under reported, and the atrocities largely ignored. I began to sicken as I realized that not only would the Chinese government hide the truth, but that my own country was not admitting all that we knew. Over the course of that week in 1989, I promised myself I would never work for any government ever again, and that I would rather be lied to along with the masses than know secret, ugly truths.
While the news reports claimed hundreds dead, I knew it was really thousands murdered in cold blood. Thousands of young men and women from my own generation that would never graduate college, build families and careers, or grow old with their loved ones. And though I knew none of them, the young men and women who died in Tiananmen Square affected my life dramatically. They opened my eyes, encouraged my voice, and taught me to appreciate the rights and freedoms I enjoy even today. Those young men and women are the Thomas Jeffersons and John Hancocks of my generation. We know some of their names, but most we do not. Some were imprisoned, and some were exiled. But far too many more died in the streets twenty years ago so that the world can remember just how important and expensive freedom is.”
Thanks, Tony, for reminding us ALL just how important and expensive freedom is. I hope everyone enjoys the 4th of July festivities today, and I hope everyone takes a moment to reflect on the cost of our freedom, and to pray for those who are even now in harm’s way defending freedom.
As the beautiful golds and reds of Autumn paint the Tennessee landscape, and the chilly winds begin to blow, I am taking a moment to reflect on the events of the past month. October was a rough month emotionally for so many that I know and love — and for me and Rosie as well. Within a week of each other, both Deb Smith and Mary Lafleur passed on — their absence felt keenly and deeply by all who knew them. And yet, we were all so relieved that the pain and suffering of their cancer had been lifted, and so thankful that they had passed from the dark and uncertain days of suffering and sadness into the resplendent light of the One they had so faithfully served, in whose presence is fullness of joy, and in whose right hand are pleasures forevermore.
I think most of us hope that our lives will make a difference — that when we reach the end of our days, we can look back and see a trail of people whose lives have been blessed and enhanced because of our influence and example. That the world will be better for our having been here. That we can leave behind the sweet aroma of a life well-lived — a life finished well.
My desire is that it might be said of me as it was said of King David in Acts 13:36: “For David, after he had served the purpose of God in his own generation, fell asleep, and was laid among his fathers…” I was here, I fulfilled God’s purpose for my life, and then I went home to be with Him for all eternity. A life lived well. A life finished well.
That’s the kind of life that both Deb Smith and Mary Lafleur lived. That is their legacy. I cannot say for certain that each of them had fulfilled all that God had for them in this life. Nobody can. But they made great use of the time they had, and they impacted hundreds of people. Deb as a pastor, a worshipper, an artist, a mentor, a wife, a mother, and a grandmother. Mary as a writer, a mentor, a singer, a lover of children, a wife, and a mother. You can see the fruit of the seeds that they planted in the lives of their children and grandchildren, and in their ministries and artistry.
I have spoken of Deb Smith in a previous post, and the Loving Deb Smith blog site contains numerous comments testifying to her accomplishments and her character. If you haven’t read them, you need to. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Mary Lafleur, she was a writer of poetry and songs, mostly for children. Her work won numerous awards and was published in very prestigious publications over the years. Her “Pink Elephants” series of children’s music and poetry on CD is wonderfully imaginative and challenging to a child’s growing mind — whimsical and fun. You can learn about her music from her website, http://marylafleur.com. When Mary found out that she had only a few weeks left, do you know what she did? She traveled from her home in Lexington, Kentucky to Nashville, Tennessee, where she had raised her family. She wanted to see all of her good friends one more time, and to record two new songs she had written. Some of that time, she was so sick she couldn’t get up from the couch, but she pressed on cheerfully and determinedly, and she did just exactly as she had planned. Those two songs are brilliant, and a lasting testimony of someone in love with life and determined to squeeze every last drop out of it.
My wife Rosie (Mary’s best friend) and I attended both memorial services/life celebrations this past month. Both in the services themselves, and in the conversations among friends and family that followed, one person after another spoke of the impact that Deb and Mary had had on their lives — of the inspiration and encouragement their lives had been. In Nashville, TN, Cincinnati, OH, Lexington, KY, and Mt. Vernon, IL, they have left a trail of people whose lives have been blessed and enhanced because of their example and influence. Theirs were lives that made a difference. They were lives well-lived.
It was 1971. I was living back at home, for the time being. I got a call from someone named “Tom Smith” who claimed to be a “campus minister” at the University of Cincinnati. He claimed to be a friend of Gary Sweeten. Said he had a “campus house” near the university and wanted to find a core of committed college-age brothers to live there and minister. At first I thought he was joking. “Tom Smith”? Come on. You can do better than that. Who is this really?
But I called my friend (since 5th grade) Poody (Don Patten) and told him about it. We prayed about it, and decided to move in together. For both of us, the effects of that decision were life-changing. Tom baptized me in a swimming pool in French Lick, Indiana. Under Tom’s mentoring and influence, I came to have a ministry. And Poody came to have a wife. It doesn’t get more life-changing than that!
Tom met and married a sweet sister named Deb, and their ministry has effected the lives of countless people, young and old, throughout the US and the world. They both have impacted me deeply.
It has been many years (way too many) since I saw Tom and Deb. They have raised three children who are now raising their grandchildren. Tom has returned to his farming roots, and they live in rural Illinois.
Just a few weeks ago, Deb was diagnosed with cancer — lung cancer, bone cancer, lymphatic cancer, — already very advanced. It is even in the retina of one of her eyes. The shock, the pain and sickness, the strain on their finances, and the impact on their family has been severe. Tom works two jobs, tries to find time to spend with Deb and the family, and to “keep the ship afloat”. Deb tries to deal with the pain, and to maintain hope in the God she has served so faithfully for many decades. Their children and siblings are also working tirelessly on their behalf.
The Smiths need our prayers, our financial assistance, and our encouragement. Friends of the Smiths have created a blog designed to facilitate all three — Loving Deb Smith. Whether you know them or not, would you take a few minutes to pray for them, to visit the blog, and, if the Lord leads, to assist in any way you feel able?
I am praying that the Spirit of Life, the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead, will give life to Deb’s mortal body through his Spirit who lives in her (Romans 8:11). I am praying that that dark and evil cancer will wither and fade away in the blazing light of the presence of His Spirit in her. I am praying for total freedom from pain and discomfort for her, and complete restoration of health. There is nothing too hard for Him!
As I pray for Deb, I am also praying the same thing for two other friends, both of whom are also battling cancer — Mary Lafleur and Dave Perkins. Please join me in praying for these precious folks.
When we lived in Bunker, Missouri (population 450 — sa-lute!), my buddy and next door neighbor Steve Stewart would come over, sit in my living room, and say, “Rando,…tell me a story!”.
Stories. We all have them. They’re what make each of our lives unique. Our individual experiences. The little anecdotes that may seem totally insignificant to us, but are snapshots of who we are and how we are. For most of us, these stories stay locked up. We think maybe someday it would be good to write them down, for our children and grandchildren if for no one else. But we don’t take the time. We think it would be good to tell them to our kids. But work, television, life, a constant blur of busy-ness, seem to keep us from finding that opportune moment. And our stories go untold.
I like what Sue Monk Kidd says in her wonderful book, The Secret Life of Bees.
“Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.”
My youngest son, Jonathan, loves to hear my stories. That has inspired me to remember more, and to take the time to sit with him more and tell them. It has deepened both our lives.
I have determined to take the time to tell and to write my stories. If only to remember.
What about you? Who needs to be hearing your stories?
So many families are struggling financially right now. Lost jobs, house foreclosures, etc. Please pray that God will come through for them. Why not take a minute right now? Thanks!
