Monthly Archives: July 2010

I think I can. I think I can.

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Most of us remember an inspiring childrens book entitled “The Little Engine that Could.” It championed the attribute of stick-to-itiveness, even when the odds were formidable, such as having to climb over a mountain while pulling a heavy load.

Although the first published version of this story was part of a Sunday school paper in 1906, at least four authors are on record as having written it. But way back in the first part of the Old Testament, God had already authored the tale, and not just authored it but also offered to fortify our can-do effort with the strength to get a difficult job done.

In a Deuteronomy passage, Moses, the revered leader of several million people over 40 year’s time, had died just short of entering their new homeland. In these verses the people were recounting specific blessings he’d spoken to each of the 12 tribes before he passed away. He knew battles were coming and had done his best to encourage and prepare them, confident that  God’s abilities exceeded those of every enemy.

Last fall, as Nate’s health made its rapid plunge toward complete incapacitation and finally death, I was fearful I wouldn’t be able to handle the unknown “mountains” ahead in caring for him. I’d heard stories of uncontrollable pain, abusive words coming from patients, horrible bathroom messes and frightening death scenes. Would I make it?

Then I opened a letter from our friend Caroline in England. Although her words of love and kindness meant a great deal, the real power was in the few words of Scripture she’d written next to her signature. They reminded me of the little blue engine who eagerly wanted to succeed, even after others had failed, others who were better suited for the job than he was.

I felt ill-suited for my job, too, but I wanted to succeed, to be everything Nate needed me to be, no matter how distasteful, agonizing or sad it became. And most of all I wanted to remain single-minded to the very end, putting Nate ahead of everything else. But I had no idea how I would have the know-how or strength to conquer whatever might come.

But amazingly, as each day passed, the Lord supplied whatever was needed, enabling me to say, “I think I can. I think I can.” God astounded us again and again with his creative provisions, never running out of new ways to come to our aid. And there isn’t any set of crisis-circumstances God can’t handle. He is the enabler; we are the I-think-I-cans.

At the end of the story of “The Little Engine that Could,” the blue train slides with ease and joy along the track on the down-side of the mountain, having done what the other engines thought was impossible. Smiling at his accomplishment, he says, “I thought I could. I thought I could.”

And that’s where our storyline breaks from that of the blue engine. Although we, too, look back with amazement, we’re looking at God’s accomplishments, not our own. It’s “We knew God could. We knew God would.”

“As your days, so shall your strength be. The eternal God drives out the enemy before you.” (Deuteronomy 33:25b,27b)

Father Figures

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When the preacher told us this morning his sermon would be about fatherhood, he explained why it would be relevant to everyone. Young fathers would get a description of how to father well. Mothers would be glad to hear their husbands challenged. The rest of us were to think of our own fathers, especially if issues from difficult childhoods still tormented. The pastor hoped to help in each scenario.

My thoughts wandered to the father of my seven children, though he wasn’t on hand to hear the sermon. During Nate’s last weeks of earthly life, he often talked about his kids, proud of each one. He also had regrets over some of the fathering mistakes he’d made. Early zeal in parenting caused both of us to do and say things we wish we hadn’t.

Beneath Nate’s regrets, however, lay a foundation of undying love for his children that grew with the years. He used to puzzle over fathers who abandoned their families, unable to understand how any dad could behave that badly. He’d shake his head and say, “If a man takes part in bringing children into the world, why wouldn’t he want to stick by them?”

In his mind, children were the most precious treasure a man could have, proven by his deep satisfaction in having each of them under his roof when his health crisis escalated. For a father to walk away from them would be to experience a loss beyond description. Even when a couple of his own kids “churned the pot” pretty well during their teen years, Nate was always in their corner, and he often told them, “I love you.”

During church this morning, I also thought of my own father, a serious Swede born in 1899, who waited until age 42 to marry. He was careful, thoughtful, conservative and a Christian. As an older dad, he never rough-housed on the floor with his kids, but he did live out a faithful example of uprightness in front of us.

He was impeccably honest, so much so that he even refused to reuse a postage stamp if it came through the mail unmarked. “It did what it was paid to do. To reuse it would be to rob the post office.”

Dad was calm in a crisis, worked hard at the church, took us to Sunday school and was 100% dependable. He quietly gave time to charity, lived beneath his means and never tooted his own horn. After he died, as we read his will, we found Scriptures there to counsel us even as we mourned.

The pastor said it right this morning when he reminded us there are no perfect people and thus no perfect parents. But the two important fathers in my life were, at a bare minimum, really good ones.

“A righteous man will be remembered forever.” (Psalm 112:6b)

Shrill Screams

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Last night at about 3:30 am, I was woken up by ear-splitting screeching coming from the woods behind our cottage. In my stupor I couldn’t decide if it was human or not, but as it continued for nearly a minute, I could tell it was an animal. I found myself thinking, “Hurry up! Finish it off!” Whatever it was, it was in agony.

Today I’ve tried not to envision what might have been going on out there in the dark. Was it an owl having dinner at the expense of a rabbit?

Before sin existed, every person and animal got along. One day that’ll be true again. In the mean time, much of what happens in our fallen world is unpleasant. Some of it is downright gruesome, like last night’s attack. God could have protected that poor animal and provided food for its foe another way, but he didn’t.

Even though humans aren’t attacked as food, we sometimes, like the animal being attacked, come to a place of shrill screaming. Our lives ebb and flow, dipping in and out of negatives and positives. Some of it has to do with the laws of nature just as the attack in the woods did: hurricane Katrina, diseases like Alzheimer’s or meningitis, the BP oil spill, the ash cloud in Ireland, drug addictions. And Nate’s cancer. The labels are different for each of us, but none of us is exempt from the events that make us want to scream.

Although we often do rail against circumstances, what’s rumbling beneath our shrieking is probably anger against God. Wise counselors say, “Go ahead and yell at him. He can take it.”

But should he have to? If we’re trying to lead godly lives, our response to the negatives ought to be, “Yes, I hate this, but because of God, I know good stuff will come from it.”

Our family has seen the truth of that repeated again and again as a result of Nate’s death from pancreatic cancer. For one thing, all of us are less likely to take the others for granted or to assume, “It’ll always be this way.” We’ve seen our father and husband get snatched from us, and we’re aware, in a poignant way, that everyone’s hold on life is fragile. Another positive is that we’re appreciating Nate in a thousand ways, thankful daily for his part in our lives in former years. As a result of living in a world that includes cancer, these two good things are now ours. And they’re only the tip of the blessings-iceberg.

None of us would appreciate happy times if there were no bad ones. So we learn to endure, experiencing agony and uttering a shrill scream now and then but bearing up under the misery because at the end of it, encouragement that can’t be gained in any other way will be waiting for us.

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.” (Romans 5:3)