A FIVE Word Question With a Line Into Hope

Therefore.

Years ago a pastor in St. Louis, during a Bible study, one hand raised in the middle of a Scripture reading by an overly articulate study participant, said, “WAIT! Stop.”

Hm? Now why would you interrupt such a beautiful reading?

The word, “therefore,” should always make you pause, he explained. And when you pause, ask yourself, “What is it there for?”

The verses preceding it were pivotal to…something.

Everything…is pivotal to something. Nothing is wasted.

What. Is. It. There. For?

Maybe out of desperation to maintain some sense of positivity, maybe out of the fact that I can be a little *off* at times, maybe out of experiencing some years that I can say were much worse than 2020, those five words are life changing, life saving.

On Christmas Eve, my friend Erin woke me with an article by text about a hymn derived from a poem Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote during the Civil War.

We sing it at Christmastime. Casting Crowns made a contemporary Christian Christmas song out of it. Yet I’d never pondered its origin.

“And in despair I bowed my head…
‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said.
‘For hate is strong and mocks the song…
Of peace on earth, good will to men…’”

(“Christmas Bells” Longfellow)

See, Longfellow had lived some tragedy. His lens into a holly jolly Christmas clouded by the tragic loss of his wife two years earlier.

She was sending some mail, using candle wax to seal envelopes, when her dress caught fire. Engulfed in flames, she ran into his study for help, where he was badly burned by the flames that would in coming days prove to take her life. Random, huh? Life can feel that way. Death, too.

Fast forward two years, called to the side of his war-injured son as December was just beginning to paint frost on the ground, and Longfellow penned that most brutally honest Christmas-poem-turned-hymn.

I wasn’t there with him when he did it. Because I’m not that old. But I would venture to say he was hanging on because of those five words: What is it there for?

I wonder if under some candlelight, one hand holding his son’s, tears streaming through a scraggly beard, he begged God to show him what it’s all there for.

I’m not sure. But it seems as though, in contemplating the birth of Christ, he quickly turned the corner to contemplate the death of Christ. 

What is this beautiful thing there for? What is this tragic thing there for?

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep…
‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.’"

Peace on earth. Good will to men. Because God is not dead, He doesn’t sleep.

So we had a hard year. Many say it was the worst they'd experienced. But for every little distracting or disastrous…or beautiful…or frustrating or devastating impact this year has brought, the question offers a line to hope.

What...Is...It...There...For?

For you to be closer to God? For us to be brought to our knees, asking Him to show us what it’s there for, while knowing we may not quite understand this side of heaven, but that none of it is wasted? For YOU. It’s there for you. For us. 

We "want the dets," as the kids say. But...God has the details worked out for you. Look at the story of a Savior born in a manger because his parents were told there was no room for them to stay. 

1 Corinthians 13, 12-13…These are our family verses. You can have them as your family verses, too. Or just cling to them during the times you wish you had the answer to that question.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

RAWR: A Note to Moms of Sons

 "Few mothers do it willingly; very few do it well. But the boy has a question that needs an answer, and he cannot get the answer from his mother. Femininity can never bestow masculinity.” – John Eldredge

Ouch. That hurts. But it’s true. For most boys it happens in their teenage years, Eldredge explains in “Wild at Heart.”

Sometimes it gets ugly. A teenage boy pushing away from the comfort of mom will often get pretty stinkin’ rude. It’s hurtful to mom, boy feels guilty, but it’s a necessary thing.

I remember this clearly with my oldest, Daniel. The whole family around the table for dinner on a calm, Tuesday evening, and his testing of some choice words.

Shocked, I dared him to use those words again. And he did. Standing to his feet, towering over me at 15, tall and lanky, fiery green eyes meeting mine, the rest of the family mortified.

And so it began. A painful, teary separation for a mom, a bold declaration from a son: I’m a man. Move outta the way.

Now, the words weren’t acceptable, and he knew it, but lashing out was his way of saying it. I might not have heard it otherwise maybe.

In one look toward his Dad that said, “He’s all yours,” I stepped aside.

Fast forward, and my youngest is in that bold place now, at 22. My husband, his Dad, passed away when he was in high school, so we remained close. Sure, he had his moments, but the loss tamed them, and we were a family that needed each other closer for a little while longer.

Now, he's engaged to be married, the joy of the season also marked by a quick transition that says, "move outta the way." My role? Step aside.

Femininity cannot bestow masculinity.

You might be thinking, “Uh-oh. She’s got a situation. Who do you turn to with the, 'He’s all yours now,' look? You’re all alone, girlfriend."

I can answer that for you.

I have prayed good men into his life since even before Dan, his Dad, passed away five years ago. When Dan was diagnosed with cancer, that became a passionate prayer.

After the loss, our worship leader took him under his wing, and to this day, even though we are halfway across the country, he still plays a critical role in my son’s life.

With the engagement, I dropped to my knees even harder. I’m just a girl, I don’t have the “rawr!” for this. Back up, please, God! I can’t do this, but I know YOU can.

Enter…a good friend who, like my son, likes to shoot guns. (rawr!)

Enter…a connection through a WayFM coworker who began a small group for young men. A good group of young guys who are also either engaged or newly married? Rawrrrrrrrrrr!

Moms, God loves our boys even more than we do. Crazy to even try to wrap our momma minds around that one. But, it’s true. And, He knows just what they need. God can interpret our moans apparently, so I am sure He will understand you when you pray for, "Rawr."

And, move outta the way. That’s the hard part.

WORDS

Social media has become a hateful place lately. People are divided, pride is strong, and the façade of hiding behind a screen, convincing.

But words…they yield power. They can heal. Or, they can destroy. 

When my late husband Dan was battling lung cancer, he’d just begun a new chemotherapy when his voice began to quickly fade. 

At first, he sounded like he was developing laryngitis. Hoarse…to raspy. Then he sounded whispery. Then…nothing. 

Baffled, we called his cancer doctor, who referred him to a throat specialist. 

On a looming monitor above a procedure chair, the specialist took us on a tour of Dan’s vocal cords.

He pointed that one looked like it was ready to form a word, bowed out. As Dan attempted to speak, it would move. The other though, was like a teenager being told to take out the trash. It just sat there, refusing to do its job. 

To form a word, both of your vocal cords need to cooperate, the doctor explained. But one wasn’t meeting the other; it was paralyzed. 

The solution? To inject the cord with silicone. Yes. They were going to put plastic in his throat to help him speak again.

I was asked if I’d like to stay in the room to watch the procedure. My nerdiness about all things medical, which Dan and I shared, was competing with my passy outty-ness.

I had been in nursing school out of high school, only to realize I pass out easily at the sight of blood. I spent a lot of time talking to patients, and realized I was more useful as a talker than as nurse who might be passed out cold on the floor.

I stayed for the procedure though. The doctor lifted the hugest needle I’ve ever seen from a tray off to his side. 

As he prepared Dan, and the solution he needed to fill the failing cord, I began to ponder this question: WHY…why…would a vocal cord be affected by treatment for cancer in the lungs? It just didn’t make sense.

Dan had stage four lung cancer, terminal, at diagnosis. He was 42. It was a very specific mutation that often affected non-smokers like Dan. The new chemotherapy had caused tumors within and surrounding the lungs to get very angry as they realized they were being challenged, and they were inflamed. This was good news. It meant it was likely going to help shrink them.

But I was baffled that his voice would somehow be affected. 

So, as the doctor began to pierce the skin on Dan’s neck with that gigantic needle – yes, that’s how they went in – I asked the question. Why?

The doctor said, “Oh I know. Isn’t it crazy? It’s a mystery why our nerves are arranged this way.” He explained that the nerve that supplies our vocal cords could have taken the easy road, and simply began in the brain, and made their way to the cords, and boom, you got words!

But, no. The nerve leaves the brain and takes a deep dive around your aorta, near your HEART, before it ventures back up to supply your voice. That’s why inflammation in Dan’s chest caused him to lose his voice.

So, let me get this straight…our words are run past our hearts, literally?

I don’t see that as a quirk.  I see a clever God.

“For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” (Matthew 12)

5 Things to Do Instead of Freaking Out...

Control Freaks, unite. 

FIVE THINGS TO DO instead of buying more groceries. 

1. Have a dance party. Do you still know the lyrics? 

2. Open your windows. (My neighbors know I still know the lyrics!)  

In nursing school, which I was in until I realized I’m very passy outy, I learned that WWII nurses would sing, “fling high the windows!” as they worked with a lot of sick and injured people under their care in tight places. 

Light and air will reduce germs and your stress level. I still sing this in my head as I open windows. 

3. Do squats. You’ll come out of this with a great butt. 

4. Send a silly video to your friends. They’ll laugh a little, and you’ll have a little piece of history to refer to, which will offer perspective when this passes.  

5. Write. A poem, a song, your thoughts, a blog, a book.

6. Clean, rearrange your furniture, put together some things to donate. I know this is six, but in the long history of Five Things, there’s always at least six, always more. We’ll get through this. There’s more.