The Good Good-bye

When I started this blog a few months ago, our friend Harry responded with a note to my inbox. He wrote that he had missed reading my articles—we used to live in the same city, and he often saw my local pieces—and he said he had already put a shortcut on his computer to this page.

That note gave me great encouragement, not just because it reassured me that I’m not writing just for myself, but because I have great affection for Harry and his wife Brenda. My husband and I met his family through the Upward basketball program at our church. Harry and his family became church members, and our families became friends—true friends. Instead of backing away when we had troubles, Harry and Brenda moved in closer.

Harry, a lawyer, once gave my husband a brilliant piece of advice, the kind I still marvel at for its simplicity as well as deep wisdom. His timely words and insight resolved a situation before it escalated into a problem. The solution had eluded us, but not Harry.

About 18 months ago, Harry’s experienced some severe health problems following a surgery. He came very close to dying then.

One day last month my husband told me about an email message he received from Harry. It moved both of us. Harry wrote in a 6 a.m. emal that he had awakened at 4 a.m. with my husband on his mind and used the time to pray for him.

Harry had a way with words. They made me smile as I read them: “Please tell Kima hello for me,” he wrote. “It never ceases to amaze me how badly she and Brenda got the short ends of the respective sticks and pretend not to notice."

He updated us on his family with loving pride. And he gave a powerful testimony of his faith in Christ a few concise sentences: “I'm still in and out of the hospital with the lung issues,” he noted, “but every day I'm on this side of the grass is a blessing. Besides, it's like I turned to the back of the book and checked the answers. I know the way the story turns out, and I come out way ahead in any of the scenarios.”

In less than a week, we received another email message. Although he wasn't much older than me, the lung issues had defeated Harry. The note that had moved us just five days prior now held even greater meaning. It was Harry’s good-bye. And it documented that Harry had used his remaining time on earth to love his family, to pray for people, to encourage them and to express deep, resolute faith in God.

Harry didn't just have a way with words, he had a way. He lived well, and he died well. We miss Harry. We’re sorry he’s not here, walking on the earth with us. But we look forward to seeing him again on the “other side of the grass.”

So then, those who suffer according to God's will should commit themselves to their faithful Creator and continue to do good~1 Peter 4:19 NIV

Rest Assured

I learned a long time ago that the secret to answered prayers is two-fold: 1. Ask God. 2. Believe that He answers. There’s a lot of faith bound up in prayer. It takes faith to ask, and it takes more faith to trust that He’s answered.

Once, when she was young, my daughter Jordan didn’t show up in the Sunday worship service on schedule. She was about 10 at the time, old enough to move from Bible study to worship without a parental escort but still young enough that I was concerned when she was late.

The service started, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t concentrate on anything being said or sung. Should I go look for her? “God,” I prayed, “would you let me know where Jordan is because otherwise this time with you will be a waste.”

Immediately I felt calm spread over me like a blanket. I remembered that I had told her that I might need to serve in the preschool. I knew she had gone there to check and stayed in that safe place once she was there—and that’s exactly what happened.

Recently on a Saturday night I got concerned about the whereabouts of my 20-year-old son. Although it wasn’t yet very late, it was bitterly cold, and the roads had turned icy. On such occasions I liked to remind him to drive carefully and watch for black ice. Except he wasn't answering his phone, even after I called him repeatedly. I could tell that his phone was on, not dead or turned off, but he wasn’t picking up. I started getting anxious. What if he was in a ditch somewhere?

I remembered my prayer for Jordan, years earlier, and asked God to provide that blanket of calm if Luke was safe. To my chagrin, it didn’t come. Instead, it occurred to me to go to his room and look around. Then was not a normal practice for me, but maybe I would find a clue to his plans for the evening.

I opened the door to his room ... and there lay my son, in bed, sound asleep, not answering his phone because he is such a heavy sleeper. He had not gone out that evening as I thought but come home from work and gone straight to bed.

Once again, God answered my prayer, not in the way I expected—no blanket of calm this evening—but better. He took me directly to my son’s side so that I could rest in peace.

I call on you, o God, for you will answer me~Psalm 17:5 NIV

The Hat I Wear

A symbol of my destiny arrived in the mail recently. It’s not the only one, just the latest.

The first is on a shelf in my closet, a corduroy hat. I like this hat. More than just fashionable, it’s perfect for cold winter nights when I walk the dog. By itself, that would not be remarkable—but when I bought it I didn’t live where there were cold winter nights, and I never walked the dog.

In fact, I bought the hat—actually I bought two—for no apparent reason. I walked into the clothing store where my college-age daughter was working and browsed while I waited for her. This wasn’t the kind of store where I normally shopped. Catering to a young market, the music blared loud and proud, and I was eager to get out of there. But, meanwhile, there were hats to try on. I bought not just one, but two. I took them home and modeled one for my husband.

“Nice hat,” he said. “Where are you going to wear it?” At the time, we lived in Alabama, and prior to that we had lived in Arizona and Florida. I had no reason to collect winter clothes, especially cold-weather hats. Even during brisk weather, I didn’t take long walks with the dog. Our house had a big back yard with a fence, and our dog got plenty of exercise without me.

“I have a feeling,” I said as I tucked the hat into the closet, “that we’ll live in cold weather one of these days.” I had a feeling because I had a calling.

As a freelance writer and pastor’s wife, I had received several assignments to write about the need for new churches in northern states. The Bible belt got its name for a reason; I had not only become convinced of that but was getting the feeling when the next call came from a church, it would be further north.


It came from an established church outside of Dayton, Ohio. We moved north, and I started wearing my hat, a lot, mostly while walking the dog on cold winter nights because we ended up at a house without a fenced-in yard.

Meanwhile, as we ministered in this established church, I continued accepting assignments about church planting. Previous to our move I had written several magazine articles featuring new churches; now the assignments were getting bigger and more in-depth: I interviewed several church planters and contributed to books published by the North American Mission Board. One book, entitled Ready? Preparing for the Pressures of Church Planting, arrived in the mail just the other day, confirmation of my own destiny.

For when the opportunity came along for my husband to help start New Day Church in Dayton, Ohio, I realized God had been preparing and training me. If I had doubts—and I didn’t—I also had the hat, the articles, the books—and the faith—to dispel them.

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God planned in advance for us to do.~Ephesians 2:10 NIV

Grace Not Shortchanged

Lunch on the day I served as a juror turned out to be almost as challenging as the criminal trial. During a recess from court, where we were hearing a case about sexual contact with a four-year-old, a handful of jurors and I made our way to a nearby restaurant within walking distance of the courthouse.

We couldn’t talk about the case, so we chatted about inconsequential things. All was well until our server handed us a single tab.

I looked in my wallet. I had a couple of $20 bills. No one else had change. “Let’s go to the counter and get her to split the ticket,” I suggested. Because each of us ate from the buffet, the only price difference would be for those who drank tea with their meal versus those who drank Diet Coke.

Nevertheless, the resulting math equation turned out to be confusing for the cashier. My fellow Diet Coke drinker paved the way. “One buffet and one Diet Coke,” she said. It took some calculation, but the cashier finally rendered the verdict: “$7.07.”

I handed over my $20 bill next. “Mine is $7.07, too,” I announced. “I had the same thing as her.” The cashier took my money and handed back some bills and coins. I grabbed them and walked back to the table to leave a tip. When I returned to the cash register, the others in my party were still trying to sort out their bills.

“No, that’s not the right amount of change,” my fellow juror pronounced as she carefully counted the money.

I looked at the bills I still clutched and counted them, too. “Oh, this isn’t the correct change either. I gave you a $20.” The cashier dealt with the other woman, looked at the money in my hand and handed me more bills.

“Is that correct?” my fellow juror asked.

“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “I took some out for a tip, but it’s still not right.” We had 20 minutes before we were due back in court. It didn’t seem worth the hassle, and the cashier looked flustered. “I’m not going to worry about it. Let’s go.”

We returned to the courthouse and spent the rest of the day listening to a case we never got the opportunity to deliberate. After the prosecution rested, the judge took over and decided the case. He determined the prosecution had not proven its case and set the defendant free.

It made me wonder. Had the prosecution been too eager to find guilt? Would we, the jury, have shortchanged the defendant if the judge had not intervened? Did the defendant receive mercy he did not deserve?

It was still snowing, still cold, and I was still hungry as I pulled out of the parking lot late that afternoon. I turned into a fast food restaurant drive-thru, handing the cashier another $20 bill. This time I looked at my change as she handed it back; it was not correct. In fact, with the extra bill she gave me, I could more than make up for being shortchanged at lunch.

I dismissed the thought; it just wouldn’t be right. “I think you gave me too much change,” I told the sheepish young woman as I handed back a five.

Mercy and justice are glorious gifts from God. To experience either has the power to change us into our best selves. To dispense either requires that we be our best selves. Mercifully, some of the responsibility for this had just been taken out of my hands. But otherwise, at least on this day, I was satisfied that what I served was both just and full of grace.

But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-ending stream!~Amos 5:24

Homespun Faith

On special occasions we trek deep into the mountains of West Virginia for family gatherings, which is exactly what we did for Christmas. I love the rustic appeal of the small town where I grew up, one so unpretentious that its charm is not obvious to outsiders. I also take comfort in being with people who have known me all my life.

Unlike the people who come at me in later life to remind me that I’m not meeting their expectations, the people who knew me when always make me feel like I’m exceeding theirs. They put their arms around me and wrap me in unconditional acceptance. I expect the welcome of heaven to be something like that.

I listen as my 89-year-old uncle asks God’s blessing on our Christmas dinner, enjoying the rich inflection of what we claim as a hillbilly upbringing. Soon I focus less on the soothing sound of his voice than on his words. “Thank you for Jesus,” he says, praising God, not with the feebleness of an octogenarian but the strength of a man who still walks with Him. His language is eloquent in its simplicity and all the more powerful because it is softly spoken. My great-uncle is leading us in worship, homespun, the way faith is meant to be lived. I am reminded that, like charity and everything else significant in life, praising God begins at home.

My uncle puts his arm around me as we take our place in the serving line. “I am glad to see you,” he whispers in my ear. “You are one of my favorite people.” I suspect he says that to all his girls. It feels good to hear it.

“Thank you for your beautiful prayer,” I whisper back, wishing everyone has family who helps you humbly praise God. But for those who don’t have the benefit of this great blessing, we have church.

Peace and Good Will to All

I walked through the mall, intent on purchasing my first Christmas present of the season. Christmas was a week away, and I was way behind in my preparations. To be honest, it was a challenge to consider the gifts of Christmas when I was so busy dwelling on what was missing.

Instead of reconciliations, it had become something of a Christmas tradition in my life for relationships to splinter at this time of year, painfully, and, to my way of thinking, unnecessarily. Lately I had felt the void of what God promised Christ would bring, peace and good will, acutely.

"Kima!" A woman jumped out from behind a vendor's cart in the middle of the mall and thrust herself in my path. Hidden from my view, she could have escaped my notice. But she made sure that didn't happen.

It had been several months since we saw each other, and we spent a few minutes catching up. "I think of you often," she said.

"I was thinking about you just yesterday," I replied. Curiously, this was true. Yet I have come to understand this is how God works. He brings someone to mind for purposes of His own. In this case, perhaps it was because this woman and I were destined to meet, and it was God's way of prompting me to pay attention when it happened.

"I've still got you on my speed dial," she continued. I nodded. I was ready to move on, to continue my shopping and my silent heartache. But she wasn't ready to let me.

She dug in her purse and fished out her phone, scrolling through her contact list until she found my name. "There you are are," she said triumphantly, holding the phone up for my inspection. Then she held my gaze.

There I was. And there, in her phone and in her eyes, was the promise of Christmas. This woman had first called me as a parent reaching out on behalf of her child. It was a connection she had not forgotten, nor one she was prepared to sever. While I mourned how easily people abandoned relationships, she was declaring her intention to hang on.

The true gift of Christmas always comes in humble wrappings. The first Christmas took place in a raw stable and a crude manger. This year it came to me wrapped in a cell phone and woman who extended her good will, for no good reason.

"Glory to God in the highest, and on the earth peace to men on whom his favor rests." ~ Luke 2:14

Morning Mercies

On the morning the temperatures dropped to usher in Ohio's first blast of Arctic air, I stopped at the gas station on my way to work. I like first-thing treks to the gas station. I enjoy rubbing shoulders with people intent on fulfilling their purposes while the air is crisp and the day still untouched.

On this morning, however, the snow was blowing, and the wind had an knife edge as I stepped inside the brightly lit convenience store for a 64-ounce of my morning cup--Diet Coke, my drink of choice. The clerk was singing out loud with the radio. I didn't recognize the song, but his serenade welcomed me.

"I'm hoping it snows four feet," he said cheerfully as I paid for the Diet Coke. "Snow boarding." His smile warmed.

I put on my sunglasses as I went back to my car, wondering if it would help someone else if I sang aloud. I doubted that, but the mercy of an enthusiastic clerk on a cold winter morning is no small thing. His smile I would pass along.

Because of the Lord's great compassions we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness~Lamentations 3:22-23