A River Calling

Backmatter:

Every Christian dad knows the struggles, trials, and tribulations of trying to raise godly sons in a very ungodly world. What men often forget is the Apostle Paul’s words that they are soldiers fighting spiritual battles every day in a great spiritual war. A River Calling is one dad’s story of realizing how easy it is to be a passive father—on the battlefield, but not in the fight. Against the backdrop of the breath-taking American West, author Glenn Frontin illustrates how the training of a spiritual soldier is remarkably similar to the military training he received as a paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne Division. He explains that simply teaching our sons to behave is not the same as training them to be soldiers for Christ and preparing them for the battles that lay ahead. From a clear mountain stream in Montana to gigantic lakes in the Dakotas, from remote Indian lands to bustling cities, paddle down the Missouri in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark as Glenn relives the adventure of a lifetime and reflects on the lessons of Christian fatherhood in A River Calling.

Table of Contents
Prologue
Those River Miles
Fatherhood Through God’s Eyes
The Wild, Wonderful River
A Soldiers’ Battle
Wind and Waves
A Soldier’s Training
Large Lakes and Lots of Patience
Lucky B. Springfield
A Soldier’s Suffering
Band of Brothers vs. Rambo
Barges, Braves, Bullets, and Buildings
A Soldier’s Discipline
A Soldier’s Uniform
The End of a Journey
A Soldier’s Weapons
Epilogue

A Soldier’s Suffering
THE BOY’ S THIRD MORNING
AUGUST 21, 2002
I can’t imagine how many hours of sleep the boys and I got that night,
but at some point we were all sleeping and sometime before dawn
the wind, rain, and lightning ceased. At first light I awoke, still soggy
in my drenched sleeping bag. It felt awful and I didn’t hesitate for a
moment getting up. The boys were still asleep. As I unzipped the door
to the tent they didn’t even stir.
I stepped through a large puddle on the fl oor of the tent as I climbed
out into the morning light. Standing there outside the tent in my wet
shorts and drenched socks, it was hard to believe there had even been
a storm just hours ago in the dark of night. Though the sun had just
peeked over the hills in the east, the air was already warm. The sky was
blue and there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze.
The ground had been so dry that it had absorbed most of the rain
so there were very few puddles. Everything we had left out of the tent
had been splashed with mud from the pounding rain but now had
dried to a dark brown coating.
I changed into dry clothes and walked down to the bank to check
on the canoes. I was glad I had rolled them over the night before.
They would have been fi lled with water this morning. I could sense a
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slight odor of river mud in the air. It’s not a good or a bad smell, something
like how earthy the air smells after a rain, but it was familiar and
reminded me of our trip back in ’79 and made me smile.
I walked back to the tent and woke up the boys.
“Hey, guys, time to get up.” I peered inside the tent and found
Dustin on his back and Joshua all curled up in a ball. I couldn’t believe
they could sleep.
“Guys, you’ll be more comfortable when you get into some dry
clothes.” It took more coaxing to get Josh up than it did Dustin, but
before long they were both up and dressed.
It was a big day ahead for us. It was our last day on the river but also
the day we would rendezvous with Karen at Judith Landing. It was
still early morning and we weren’t meeting Karen and Dad till around
noon, but I felt a bit anxious to get there. I didn’t want them getting
there fi rst and worrying whether they had missed us or if they were in
the right place. Karen would have driven three hours by then through
some of the most remote land our country has to offer and I wanted to
be there to greet her.
Our wood supply was thoroughly soaked and muddied so we decided
to not bother with a morning fi re and just eat Pop Tarts. We carried
our bins down to the river, loaded the boats, and stepped through fresh
Missouri River mud to push the canoes out into the current.
The boys couldn’t stop talking about the incredible storm. They
both agreed they had never been in such a furious and loud storm
in their lives. We compared it to the wild wind storm that suddenly
hit us while camping in Monument Valley, Utah, when the boys were
younger and the thunderstorm that had come through our campsite up
in the woods in Northern Ontario, Canada, just a few years ago. I had
to agree it was one of the fi ercest in my life. All that of course made it
simply awesome to the boys.
I couldn’t help but think how ironic it was. I had hoped and prayed for
weeks for nice weather for our long-awaited trip. In fact I was quite confi dent
that for just two nights in late August in Montana there was little threat of
rain. The odds were indeed in my favor. But God had different plans.
I never would have asked for such a soggy, sleepless night as the one
the night before. I would have preferred a peaceful night in front of a
soothing fi re, watching the sun slip down behind that huge limestone
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wall across the river, giving way to a sky full of a million stars. Yet,
except for maybe the climb up to Hole In the Wall, Dustin and Josh
will tell you the night of the storm was one of the highlights of the trip.
They had experienced the river in a dramatic and unique way…and I
have to say I was grateful. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
As we paddled down the river, again the wonderful feeling of the
canoe under me, the fresh warmth of the sun on my face, the sound of
the water as we paddled, it all seemed like a wonderful reward after the
night before. I’m sure I appreciated that beautiful morning’s warmth
and brightness so much more after the dark and wet hours during the
night. It made me wonder which experience was the real blessing.
The beautiful morning of course was a blessing. I only had to look
around at the awesome scenery and feel how comfortable and at ease
I felt paddling along. And to make the scene even more perfect, the
boys and I spotted a few mule deer by the water’s edge, their large ears
twitching as we fl oated by.
Yet in a very real way, it was the clamor of the thunder, the discomfort
of everything being wet, the inability to change our surroundings,
again those dark and wet hours that now gave me the perspective to
appreciate the peace, calm, and comfort of the morning.
If you remember my speaking of “river miles” way back when we
got our tow into Great Falls, Montana, back in August of ’79, I would
consider that storm an example. It was an event that surely wasn’t
planned. In fact, I prayed against it. Yet like an unexpected bend in the
river, it brought with it an experience the boys and I could never have
experienced otherwise. A blessing to last a lifetime, and touch two
generations, if not more, simply by suffering through a soggy and miserable
sleepless night in a tent in the middle of Montana! I wouldn’t
have missed it for anything!
Those of us who have lived long enough will have to admit though
we don’t enjoy trials and would almost always choose to avoid suffering
through them, it is through those trials of life that we learn, mature, and
for the Christian, experience a unique time with God. While saying
that, I must also confess that many times, more than I’d like to admit,
the learning and the maturing comes sometimes much later. Sadly, too
often I will still respond inappropriately to various trials than later when
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they have passed, I will fi nally see God’s perspective, the big picture,
and with a humbled heart, fi nally see His hand in it all.
Many books have been written on suffering and the Christian faith.
I suppose it is one topic that every one of us will write our own chapters
in our own life’s experience. None of us will escape it. As parents,
we must also accept our children won’t either. Though it comes in so
many ways and forms, each us will be touched by suffering, sometimes
even shaping our lives.
I remember when Emma, only three years old, had to learn this sad
fact and I had to be reminded of it. A friend from our church was building
his own house and on weekends men from the church would pitch
in and help. This particular weekend the weather was beautiful and
while about a dozen men worked, the ladies prepared an outdoor feast.
While we took time out to eat, a bunch of barn cats came around
looking for scraps. They were dirty, fl ea infested, and really needed
some TLC. Well, as you’d expect, Emma fell in love with one, a particularly
adorable tiny ball of matted fur. When she walked up to me,
cuddling it and giving me a pleading look with her big blue eyes, I was
totally defenseless. I looked to Karen for help but from her expression,
I knew she would be no help. Needless to say, Emma went home with
a brand new kitten.
Emma named her Callie. She and that kitten were inseparable for
about a week. We brought it to the vet and started all the shots, the
wormings, everything little Callie needed. But one night after Emma
had gone to sleep Callie started to have trouble walking. It was as if she
had some type of neurological problem. By midnight, Callie was dead.
That night I went in and sat by Emma in her bed, watching her
angelic face as she slept so peacefully, breathing ever so slowly and deeply.
How could I possibly tell her in the morning that little Callie had suddenly
died? I sat there on her bed, praying for both her and me.
The next morning Karen and I sat with Emma and as gently as I could
I told her what had happened. Looking into that precious face, watching
her eyes as she tried to comprehend what I was saying, all I could see was
the face of innocence trying to understand the unfair and sometimes even
ugly world we live in. When I had said enough for her to understand she
simply wrapped her little arms around me, perhaps tighter than she ever
had, buried her face in my shirt, and cried. And her father cried with her.
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Oh, I felt bad for little Callie, but the tears I couldn’t hold back
were for my daughter. Not even so much that she would feel so sad
for a time, but for the simple realization that as her father there was
nothing I could do to protect her from the harsh realities of this world,
try as I might. Suffering is something we can try to shelter our little
ones from, at least for a time, and we should, but at some point, even
in so-called Ground Week of Spiritual Training, they must start to
experience suffering so they can in time learn from it.
You therefore must endure hardship as a good soldier of
Christ Jesus.
2 Timothy 2:3
In the Apostle Paul’s letter to Timothy, a new pastor, he speaks of the
Christian life as spiritual warfare and points out there will be hardships
to suffer through. In this case it dealt with the confl ict between the faith
and the persecution of the unbelieving world, but it also includes the
war against Satan and even the war against our own sinful natures.
One would think it absurd to enlist in the US Army or Marines
and not expect to suffer hardship. Why then should a spiritual soldier
expect anything less in such a spiritual war? Paul experienced fi ve
whippings, three beatings, and one stoning where he was left for dead.
He was shipwrecked three times, one of those times spending a day
and a half afl oat waiting for rescue. He faced constant dangers in his
travels from both man and beast, in cities and in wilderness, dealing
often with hunger and thirst, sleeplessness, and being exposed to both
blistering heat and numbing cold. Sounds like a combination of US
Army Ranger and US Navy Seal to me!
The Apostle Peter wrote of suffering as well. In the Book of 1st
Peter, he writes to believers caught up in the terrible persecution of the
church throughout the Roman Empire right around the time of the
burning of Rome.
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if
need be, you have been grieved by various trials.
1 Peter 1:6
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Peter says so much in such a short sentence. “Though now for a
little while” reassures me that the trials of this life are indeed very
temporary compared to eternity. They all will pass in due time, though
admittedly, usually not as quickly as we might like.
Paul says the same thing to the Corinthian Church, speaking of
his suffering to proclaim the gospel. “For our light affl iction, which is
but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory.” After all these men had been through, they stayed
focused on the eternal.
Three little words, “if need be” are also reassuring. It should help
remind us that there is a purpose in each trial, even if we don’t know
necessarily what it is. I am usually somewhat skeptical of those that
think they know the exact purpose behind certain events or trials. I
hear things like, “It was God judging that person.” Or “God wanted
to teach them.” Or “God wants to build their faith.” One of many reasons
could be correct, perhaps more than one. I believe asking “Why?”
sometimes can send you down the wrong road. The simple answer is
to keep trusting God, even through the tough times, even through the
river miles, with all the bends and twists they bring.
“You have been grieved” is enough to help me realize its okay to
be emotional through those times. God gave us emotions. Sometimes
it seems as Christians, we feel guilty if we feel frustrated, saddened,
angry, or disappointed through tough times. It’s as if we should always
have a holy glow with a bright smile because we’re so spiritual. I suppose
if you’re strong enough you can fool most of the people around
you, but you’re preventing true fellowship…and you’re not fooling
God. Sometimes this life hurts.
We can all agree that “various trials” do come in all forms. In the
same way that a soldier does not get to choose his battles, neither does
the spiritual soldier. For someone facing a health crisis, I would imagine
they would gladly trade that for a fi nancial crisis. For the person
struggling in deep debt, they might feel very differently. For the person
suffering through a broken relationship, or even the loss of a loved one,
I’m sure they would gladly trade that for anything else. No, we can’t
choose our battles but we can choose to trust God as we go through
them. As I have said before, I have fi nally realized sometimes the blessa
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ing is in the battle. If it helps us see our dependence on Jesus and draws
us closer to Him, it is indeed a blessing.
So what does Peter mean by “In this you greatly rejoice”?
…that the genuineness of your faith, being much more
precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fi re,
may be found to praise, honor, and glory in the revelation
of Jesus Christ.
1 Peter 1:7
Through trials, we can be assured that our faith is genuine. It is not
a test for God to know, since He already knows our hearts, but a test
for us. When God gives us the grace to hold on and know He is still
there, we can know the power of God and that our salvation is based
on Him and not on us. In fact, Peter speaks of that salvation in the
preceding verses.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us
again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus
Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and
undefi led and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven
for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith
for salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
1 Peter 1:3–5
The joy of our salvation is not a superfi cial emotion like happiness
when things are going well for us or unhappiness when trials come.
There have been times I didn’t feel very Christian. There have been
times I was even mad at God. But I have that inner joy of knowing
I belong to God because of His love and mercy and not of my own
merit or works, and He is always with me. We need to make sure and
help our children understand you can have that joy, even while you’re
grieving through various trials. We need to trust the scriptures, not
our feelings. Feelings may be real, but very often they are not accurate.
They fl uctuate in ways we sometimes can’t even understand.
A few years ago I experienced a vivid example of how fi ckle feelings
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can be. Joshua and I had just arrived at Father/Son Camp, three fun
days out in the woods with sons and dads from all the area churches.
We had been doing it for years since Josh was only six. We arrived
Friday afternoon and after a short snack we headed out to do all the
activities the camp offered.
Josh was disappointed to fi nd they had not brought horses that
year, one of his favorite activities. Without horses, we decided to head
down to the archery range, another favorite activity of ours. But as we
walked across the fi eld, the sky that had been gray all day fi nally started
to drop rain. The weather forecast had predicted rain all weekend and
unfortunately for once it seemed to be accurate so far.
I started to think back to previous years when it rained and I wasn’t
too excited at the prospect of being wet and muddy for three days. I
started thinking about the fact we hadn’t brought enough change of
clothes as my shoulders were already getting wet and my only pair of
sneakers were starting to squeak in the wet, slick grass.
Looking around, I realized Josh had gotten older and many of the
boys were now much younger than him. He probably wouldn’t have as
much fun with all those little kids. Before we reached the range, I started
thinking about all the work at home that I wouldn’t be able to get done
being there at camp. I was thinking about everything negative. I could
feel the depression hitting me like a brick wall. I even thought about how
I hated that Hillary Clinton had been elected our state senator!
At the range, there were just a few dads and boys so Josh didn’t
have to wait to shoot. He’s really a natural with a bow. He landed
three arrows close to bull’s eye, the other two only about an inch away.
Everyone around seemed impressed. I sat on the picnic table behind
Josh, really wishing we were heading home.
The next round I got up and shot with Josh. I hadn’t picked up a
bow since the previous year’s camp. Josh challenged me to a contest.
Whoever got more bull’s eyes this round bought the candy bars back
at the camp store. I told Josh, “You’re on.”
I guess a few dads overheard us because when Joshua’s fi rst shot hit
the bull’s eye, they all cheered and kidded me. I laughed along with
them, but when I strung my bow and released the arrow, I too got a
bull’s eye. There were more cheers now. Josh just smiled, got ready and
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released another arrow, again hitting dead center. He gave me a satisfi
ed look over his shoulder.
I answered his shot with my own bull’s eye, giving him my own victorious
smile. A few more dads and boys had shown up and now everyone
was watching our little contest. Joshua and I both took two more shots
and to everyone’s amazement, including mine, we both hit bull’s eyes!
A large crowd had now formed, as Joshua confi dently got ready
to take his fi nal shot. He drew back the bow, held it for a moment,
released, and everyone went wild as we all realized his fi fth and fi nal
arrow hit dead center! I watched my son as he put down his bow, his
face just beaming.
Now all eyes were on me. “No pressure, Dad!” a father called out
from somewhere in the crowd behind me. I looked down at the target
with the four arrows stuck in the center. I had never gotten four
straight, never mind fi ve. As I drew back, the crowd suddenly went
silent. I held my breath and let the arrow fl y. Before I could see where it
landed I could tell just from the crowd’s reaction that both Joshua and
I had shot a perfect round, something no one at camp had ever done,
never mind a father and son together!
As Joshua and I walked down to collect our arrows, everyone was
talking about how awesome it had been to watch what we had done.
As I walked with my son, I now felt like everything in the world was
absolutely perfect. I was now walking on air. I had forgotten all about
the horses, Josh getting older, the rain, even Senator Clinton!
The point is that I went from a bout of sudden depression based
on a few circumstances to feeling on top of the world in just about fi ve
minutes and fi ve arrows. If it taught me anything, it taught me to never
trust my emotions. I’m glad I learned the lesson because neither Josh
nor I were ever able to duplicate our fantastic feat. And we did have a
wonderful three days that year.
Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fi ery trial
which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened
to you; but rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s
sufferings, that when His glory is revealed, you may also be
glad with exceeding joy.
1 Peter 4:12
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Isn’t it funny how we sometimes argue with God or at least question
Him when things don’t go our way, as if it must be a mistake. It’s
almost comical how Peter says not to think it’s a strange thing, yet so
often our initial response to trials seems as if we are never to suffer or
go through trials.
Again, Peter mentions the exceeding joy that comes later, keeping
his focus on what matters the most.
But let none of you suffer as a murderer, a thief, an evildoer,
or as a busybody in other people’s matters. Yet if anyone
suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him
glorify God in this manner.
1 Peter 4:15, 16
Too often our suffering is from the poor choices we make, our sinful
way of thinking we know better than God’s commands that are
there to protect us and give our lives meaning and fulfi llment. There
is a big difference in suffering because of our sins than suffering for
Christ and what is good and right.
God is so merciful and loving though, that even the suffering we
experience due to our sins still helps bring us to repentance and wonderful
reconciliation with Him.
Therefore, let those who suffer according to the will of
God commit their souls to Him in doing good, as to a
faithful Creator.
1 Peter 4:19
I believe it is signifi cant that Peter mentions God as Creator. It is
sometimes easy to forget we were created by God. Committing ourselves
to Him is just our way of acknowledging we are His. It is our
way of accepting that His perfect will may include our suffering, sometimes
for purposes we are not to know in this life.
By remembering God as Creator it should remind us that all creation,
including mankind, had been created perfect. The scriptures tell
us death and suffering only entered the world after Adam had sinned
against God. Instead of blaming God, we need to realize we are to
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blame. Suffering is in the world because of sin. Forgiveness and salvation
are in the world because of God. Understanding that may not
prevent the pain and anguish of suffering, but I believe it allows that
underlying joy of knowing God to get us through.
I know there are Christians who do not believe the fi rst eleven
chapters of Genesis are literal history and instead trust man’s silly ideas
of evolution and the earth being billions of years old. Those Christians
need to ask themselves if sin and death didn’t really enter the world
through Adam’s sin as the scriptures clearly state, then how can we say
with any assurance that death and sin have been overcome, and the
penalty of our sins has been paid for by the death and resurrection of
Jesus? We seem to live in an age where our assurance of God has been
weakened by our compromising the authority of the scriptures. Peter
speaks of that in his second letter to believers.
Beloved, I now write to you this second epistle (in both of
which I stir up your pure minds by way of reminder), that
you may be mindful of the words which were spoken before
by the holy prophets, and of the commandment of us, the
apostles of the Lord and Savior, knowing this fi rst: that
scoffers will come in the last days, walking according to
their own lusts, and saying, “Where is the promise of His
coming? For since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue
as they were from the beginning of creation.
2 Peter 3:1- 4
How we all in this day and age need to have our minds stirred
with knowledge of the scriptures rather than just having our emotions
stirred, sometimes by false doctrine and error. Peter speaks of both the
teachings of the Old Testament prophets and also the new teachings of
the apostles, which would become the New Testament documents.
Peter reminds us as believers that scoffers will come in the last days.
They will be preoccupied with their own lusts and self interests and will
mock our assurance of Jesus returning one day. Every Christian who
wants to be a soldier for Christ should examine how Peter describes
these scoffers. They not only mock our belief in Christ’s return, but by
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saying all things continue as they were from the beginning of creation,
they also mock God’s judging the world by a worldwide fl ood.
For this they willingly forget, that by the Word of God
the heavens were of old, and the earth standing out of the
water and in the water; (Genesis 1:7) by which the world
that then existed perished, being fl ooded with water.
2 Peter 3: 5, 6
Peter is not talking about the Genesis fl ood as allegory, but as historical
fact, explaining that those same people who make fun of our
belief in Christ’s return are the same people discounting the Genesis
fl ood. I don’t know any Christians who would mock the belief in Jesus’
return yet they will turn around and say Noah’s fl ood is just a story.
Obviously Peter didn’t think so. Neither did Paul or Jesus!
But the heavens and earth, which are now preserved by the
same word, are reserved for fi re until the day of judgment
and perdition of ungodly men.
2 Peter 3: 7
Peter speaks of the earth being judged again, this time by fi re. Do
Christians believe it? If the world really wasn’t judged by water, can we
really trust Peter?
Picking and choosing what parts of scripture we will believe will
eventually leave us doubting God’s Word. With that doubt, when trials
hit us, we will be spiritual casualties. We might as well hang a glass
angel from our rear view mirror and hope for the best!
No, we can have the assurance by the Word of God that though we
live in this world corrupted by sin, where bad things do happen to everyone,
including God’s people, God will get us through them, and will one
day restore all creation to perfection. The Apostle Peter and Paul never
wavered on that throughout their lives. We each must do the same.
I have had the privilege of meeting and knowing Christian brothers
and sisters who have suffered many various trials. Their lives have
been testimonies of how God will work through those who will trust
in Him. If you look around, you will fi nd spiritual strength and power,
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sometimes in unlikely places through unexpected people. If we are discerning
enough, we can be blessed by those around us.
One of those unexpected times occurred a few years ago. I had a
lunch seminar scheduled at a veterinary clinic at noon and I needed
to stop and prepare my PowerPoint slides for the presentation. It was
such a warm sunny day I decided I’d park somewhere and get myself
organized. Ahead was a parking lot I could pull into, but on my left
was a pretty cemetery. You know the type. It had rolling hills with
fresh new grass, budding trees and winding carriage lanes that were too
pretty to pass up. I drove through the beautiful scene with my windows
down and the blaring radio turned off. Toward the back, I found a
secluded spot among some trees, parked the car, and got to work.
As I occasionally looked up to take in the scenery, I noticed one section
of tombstones stood out among the others. The stones were of various
sizes and looked just like the others, except for the bright ribbons,
balloons, and various toys scattered throughout them. The tranquility
of the scene was lost as I realized this was the children’s section.
I walked over and started to read the inscriptions.
Some stones were already 10 or 15 years old while others were very new.
The dates revealed some of the children were 2 or 3 years old, a few 8 or 9.
The names were familiar fi rst names we hear all the time at church or in
playgrounds at school. Some stones announced the birth and death as the
very same day. A few truly sad ones just said Baby Boy or Baby Girl.
Maybe you have to be a parent to understand, but the lump in my
throat was not so much for these little ones, whom I knew were now
with Jesus, but for their parents. I thought about all the heartache and
sorrow every one of these stones meant.
The worst part was the toys and trinkets the parents had left. There
were old helium balloons, now sitting on the ground, windmill toys
slowly turning in the spring breeze, a toy truck, and so many stuffed
animals. I could almost feel the parent’s aching, wishing their little
ones were hugging and kissing those little bears and sheep so lovingly,
like my own little Emma at home. Yet these little Teddies were worn
and dirtied by the elements. There would be no cuddles, no kisses. I
was headed back to the car when I noticed a lengthy inscription on the
back of one particular granite stone. I decided to stroll over to read it
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before I left. As I crouched down and started to read, I heard a voice
call out, “Is that your little girl?”
At fi rst I was startled, not realizing someone else was nearby, but
hearing someone ask if this beautiful granite grave stone was for my
precious Emma tore at my heart. The idea of it, even though it wasn’t
true, rocked me.
She was an elderly woman, with a very peaceful face and sparkling
blue eyes that I noticed right away.
“No, it’s not,” I said, shocked that my voice cracked with emotion,
still reeling from the thought of this grave being Emma’s. I told her I had
noticed the poem written on the back of the stone. She said she walked
by it often and never had noticed it. “May I read it with you?” she asked.
As we both read the stone, we read a poem of a very special little
girl who could not walk or talk or play like the other boys and girls,
but whom God still saw as precious. This little girl would be a special
blessing to those whose life she touched. Then, too soon, she would
leave them. The poem was written by her mommy.
As I fi nished reading I realized we both were sobbing. We couldn’t
say or do anything but cry together. I suppose I should have felt strange.
Here we were, two perfect strangers crying over the grave of a little girl
neither of us knew. But I didn’t. I just cried.
The woman pulled out some tissues from nowhere, an ability my
grandmother had. We wiped our eyes and noses. “She was only fi ve
years old,” I was just barely able to get out. Her name was Amber, but
I didn’t attempt to talk more.
The sweet woman looked up at me, her blue eyes still full of tears,
and told me she had lost her own child, a son. I tried to say, “I’m sorry,”
but I don’t think it came out audibly. She explained he was grown, in
his thirties. Cancer. It had been ten years now, yet her eyes revealed a
pain that never went away, and for both of us, more tears came.
She told me of an old saying she had never forgotten. It explained
how when a wife dies, the husband is called a widower. When a husband
dies, the wife is called a widow. When parents die, the child is
called an orphan. But when a child dies there is no name for the parent.
There is no name because none could describe the sorrow and pain.
Nonetheless, she told me she was a Christian and that we need to
trust in God’s plan. I told her I was relieved that Jesus had said that all
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children were welcomed into His kingdom. I told her we all need to
trust in the scriptures, yet I think I was saying it more for me than for
this faithful saint.
I shared with her my own wife and my two boys and little girl. They
seemed even more precious to me as I spoke. She said, “You love them and
remember they truly are a gift from God.” I told her I would and I said
simply, “God bless you,” as she walked away down the tiny, tree-lined lane.
I hadn’t even gotten her name, but that sweet woman and I had
shared a special moment together and I thank God for it. It was evident
that she knew what suffering was. She knew what it was like to
grieve. Yet I could see the power and grace of God in those deep blue
eyes and that joy that Peter spoke of.
As I remembered all those grave stones from the morning, I thought
of the Apostle Paul reminding us of the prophet Isaiah’s words, “Where,
Oh death, is your victory? Where is your sting?”
I wished I had gotten her name before we had parted ways but
thanks to our Savior, I thought of a time we would meet again in the
future. She’ll be with her son, never to be separated again. And perhaps
God will introduce both of us to little Amber, with her perfect, glorifi
ed body. Then fi nally, the last tears will be washed away.
That experience with that woman had been such a blessing and
a source of inspiration. Through the months that followed I would
occasionally stop by the cemetery to pray and just to rethink my priorities
in the peace and quiet of the place. The silly problems of the day
seemed so trivial when I went there. Now and then I would read the
poem etched on the back of the stone, its words always bringing me
to the brink of tears. I left fl owers more than once. I always wondered
how this little girl’s family had survived the tragic loss of their daughter.
I always prayed for them there.
One day, in late August, I decided to leave a note at the base of the
tombstone about how the poem had so touched the woman and me. I
wrote, “To Amber’s parents.” It seemed like such a strange thing to do
and felt like I was intruding on their privacy, so I didn’t leave my name.
I never knew if they had received it or not.
In mid January, I stopped by Amber’s grave again. It was a cold,
windy day with a gray sky, but there was a pretty Christmas tree about
two feet tall with angels all over it beside the stone. As I looked at the
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stone, I realized the next day would be the anniversary of Amber’s
passing away. I knew, as a parent, that Amber’s parents would be visiting
the cemetery tomorrow, so I decided to leave my business card
tucked into the tiny limbs of the tree.
The next day, a woman named Cathy, Amber’s mom, called me. It was
strange to fi nally talk with someone I did not know, but had been praying
for. She said she wondered if I was the man who had left the letter that
past summer. She immediately started sharing her story with me.
Little Amber Lynn had been born extremely handicapped, with
very little brain tissue, an extreme cleft palette, and no eyes. The doctors
expected her to live only 24 hours.
The little girl did survive her fi rst 24 hours, which turned into days,
and then weeks. Her mom realized that a life hooked up to machines
was no way to live, so one day she bought a beautiful lacey dress for
Amber Lynn, and went to the hospital. Against the hospital’s wishes,
she unplugged her daughter, lifted her from the incubator, dressed her
in the pretty dress, and sat down and rocked her in her arms, expecting
her to pass away. To the doctor’s amazement, Amber lived.
When Cathy decided to bring her daughter home, her husband
refused, feeling she should be institutionalized. When Cathy insisted,
he left her, never to return.
Cathy’s life became consumed with caring for her daughter. At
fi rst, friends and family were there to support her, but over time they
all had to get on with their lives.
Well-meaning friends and family urged her to consider putting
Amber in a facility. The little girl did not make a sound the fi rst year, so
there was no way of knowing if she even knew Cathy was there. There
were countless surgeries, countless seizures, each time threatening to
take Amber, countless hours in the hospital. Cathy stayed by Amber’s
side always, not even leaving the house to get milk. She could never
forgive herself if Amber died while she was away.
In her second year, Amber Lynn started crying and responding to
her mom. It became obvious that she knew when her mom touched
her and talked to her. She seemed to enjoy music. She would even
shake a rattle ever so slightly with her one hand.
Cathy wrote a poem to her daughter that year, the very poem that
had touched me so deeply that day in the cemetery.
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As Cathy told her story, I marveled at her courage and strength.
I asked her how she got through it. She said she was very angry with
God in the beginning. Why her? Why her daughter? Though she had
no church and knew little of the Bible, she came to realize she had to
trust God. It was in His plan that all this was happening and she would
accept it. Instead of feeling cursed by God, in time she realized she had
been given a precious gift in Amber Lynn. Even through the toughest
times, she accepted God’s will. But even in her acceptance, she still
yearned for her daughter to hug her and say, “I love you, mommy.”
Cathy tried to do the normal things parents do with their kids. When
her daughter turned four, she had a birthday party for Amber at Chucky
Cheese, inviting all the cousins of the family. The other children had fun,
but the spirit was dampened when the adults asked Cathy why she was
doing it. “After all, Amber doesn’t even know she’s here,” they said.
Cathy told me her favorite times with Amber Lynn were during
Christmas. Unlike other families caught up in the hustle and bustle and
the presents, for the two of them, it was simply remembering Christ’s
birth and cherishing the time they had together. She had a little tree
that she would decorate with mauve ornaments and little angels each
year, every year adding a special ornament for Amber.
She told me she would spend nights lying with her daughter, pleading
with her and with God that she would never leave her. Amber
Lynn was her whole life. Cathy then told me of a cold, snowy night in
January that changed all that.
She watched a movie on TV called “A Heart for Olivia.” It was a
story of a young couple whose little daughter was dying and needed a
heart transplant. As the story unfolded, they fi nally found a heart, but
the little girl died in the operation. Cathy said she watched the funeral
scene, imagining how awful that would be. But when the movie was
over, she went to Amber’s bed and slid in beside her. That night she
told her little daughter it was okay. If she was tired of fi ghting, tired
of the seizures, weary of the surgeries, mommy understood and was
releasing her. She would not plead with her or God any longer. The
very next morning when Cathy awoke, little Amber Lynn was gone,
now with her Lord.
At the funeral, the church was standing room only. Cathy said she
saw so many doctors and nurses, friends and family and many people
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she didn’t even know. Even her ex-husband, Amber’s dad, was there.
She hadn’t planned it, but she read the poem she had written for
Amber, adding a few lines at the end. She is still amazed she had the
strength to get through it.
The one thing Cathy knew she had to do was to put her poem to
her daughter on the stone. Though it cost an incredible amount of
money that she didn’t have, the whole poem was engraved.
Cathy said it was hard to let go. She would bring things to the
cemetery, even Easter outfi ts and toys. Amber had been everything
to her. She considered suicide but knew that was not the answer. She
fought extreme depression. But time went on, and she got through it.
Each year, she would bring the little Christmas tree and place it beside
Amber’s stone, adding a new ornament; the same tree I saw the last
time I was there.
As Cathy shared her story, I shared verses from scripture that
refl ected what she was saying. I was sharing the Word of God and
she was sharing those words lived out in her life. I so wanted to share
the gospel with her, and didn’t know how to ask until she asked me,
“What’s your religion?”
She said her ex-husband’s family was members of a particular
church but she didn’t like it at all. But she had remembered going to a
Baptist Church for a short time as a nine year old girl.
I explained the difference between receiving God’s gift of salvation
and trying to earn it through good works of religion. I used Amber’s total
dependency as an example of how helpless and dependent we are without
God’s grace. I told her how God wants to be not only our Father but even
our daddy, as Paul tells us in Romans. I shared His unconditional love,
like the love she has for her daughter. I told Cathy I knew I would see
Amber one day in heaven and how God promises that.
It was then that she mentioned she had remembered praying a
prayer at nine years old in that Baptist church, accepting Jesus as her
Savior. I told her I believed that is why God was with her through all
that suffering she had been through. She agreed, saying her life was
not better because of accepting Him, but He was with her through it
all. I told her God loved her so much and now she could see how He
was working in her life even back then. We talked about the deeper
meaning of Romans 8:28 in all our lives.
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Even God’s grace on the evening before Amber passed away was so
evident. Cathy had felt guilty telling her daughter she could go, believing
somehow she had killed her. I pointed out to her that perhaps God,
in His patience and mercy, was waiting for her to reach the point of
being ready, that point of acceptance, and then He took Amber home
to be with Him; all in His timing, not ours. She had been faithful with
what He had given her; faithful indeed.
I asked her what God was doing in her life now. She told me she
remarried and had a healthy baby boy who was now fi ve years old, and
just four months ago, she had a healthy baby girl.
She was dealing with the guilty feelings, having a healthy baby girl.
Even family and friends suggested she stop going to the cemetery, now
that she had a healthy daughter. I told her I disagreed. She has two
daughters now. She had done such a wonderful job taking care of the
fi rst, now God was entrusting her with another. He was honoring her
faithfulness and she should enjoy the blessing!
I confessed to Cathy that I would walk the lane of the cemetery
in prayer, thinking about all the blessings God has given me, but I
could still go home and when the kids misbehaved or something went
wrong, lose control and get upset. How could that be?
She shared with me the fact that she gets upset sometimes when her
son is out of control and misbehaving. If anyone should know better,
it’s her! She would have given anything to see Amber Lynn running
and playing with such reckless abandon. We agreed to stay focused;
remembering what are truly the precious things God has given us.
When Cathy’s phone started beeping, she told me it was a cordless
phone and it meant the battery was running out. We hadn’t even realized
we’d been on the phone over two hours! We had to say our good
byes quickly. I told her that she was a true hero and an inspiration to
me. She thanked me that at least she knew two people who had been
touched by the poem she had written for Amber Lynn.
When I hung up, I realized I felt drained of energy, yet so encouraged
and excited over it all. I was so grateful to God I had made the
effort to fi nd out about this little girl and the story behind that wonderful
poem. I had been so blessed by the old woman in the cemetery
that day the year before, now blessed by this faithful young mother.
And blessed to see how God had worked through it all.
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I thought of the heroes of faith we read of in Hebrews 11. This
young mother had a faith as great as theirs, a wonderful gift given to
her as a young nine year old girl, to take her safely through the valley
of the shadow of death and despair that would come.
I thought of the faithful saint from that little church who had
shared the gospel with that nine year old girl, never knowing how God
was working. It comforted me to know one day the Lord in glory will
show him or her the results of their faithful service.
In 2 Corinthians chapter 12, Paul speaks of the thorn in
the fl esh that he endured after asking God three times to
take it away.
And He said to me, “My grace is suffi cient for you, for my
strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly
I will rather boast in my infi rmities, that the power of Christ
may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infi rmities,
in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for
Christ’s sake. For when I am weak I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9
Christian men are aware of our culture’s war on man’s masculinity,
but we must also be aware of the opposite extreme. Both secular and
spiritual men suffer many of the same vulnerabilities. We strive for
success. We respect power. We savor the victories we achieve. We enjoy
acceptance and recognition. We have a nature that says we can do it on
our own. Humility and humbleness do not come naturally to us.
It makes no sense to this world when Paul speaks of strength being
found in becoming weak, but scripture tells us God will resist the proud,
but gives grace to the humble. The simple fact is that the spiritual soldier
will only have victory in battle by learning how to surrender. Not
surrendering to the enemy but to his ultimate commander-in-chief,
the Lord Jesus Christ.
I have found the strong spiritual soldier does not fi t any mold. He is not
necessarily the man with the strongest physique, the most athletic, the best
looks, or the most powerful job. In fact, very often he is the man ignored by
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the world, or even made fun of. He is the man who knows his relationship
with his God and seeks to live by God’s will and not his own.
The same is true for women, as that young mother, Cathy, demonstrated
so well. It seems to me that this strength through weakness
seems to come more naturally to women than men. We seem to
struggle with the concept.
Perhaps the best illustration of strength through weakness that I
have ever seen occurred at a very unlikely place where I least expected
it, not from a brother while I was in the army, where physical and mental
toughness abounded, but at an elementary school dance recital.
The girls ranged from PreK to 5th grade, the fi rst dance recital for
our fi ve-year-old daughter, Emma, and the fi rst for me, since Karen
and I had raised two boys. I was sitting up front with the rest of our
family and friends, anxiously awaiting the lights to go down and the
curtain to open, my video camera ready at a moment’s notice. You
might think an hour and a half of watching little girls performing ballet
and creative dance would be dull, but from the fi rst little angels that
glided out onto the stage, we were all enchanted by their enthusiasm
and their innocence. They each seemed to have their own way of performing
the same dance step and at times the choreography seemed
to dissolve right there on stage, only to reappear as the little ballerinas
continued. To every daddy there, his little girl was the prettiest and the
most graceful in the show and I was no exception. Emma tiptoed out
in her fl owing blue dress, with a sparkling bodice and spaghetti straps.
Her long blond hair was pulled back, still wavy from the curlers Mom
had put in that morning. She performed each step with confi dence and
the biggest smile.
Cameras clicked and movie cameras rolled as each group performed.
It was truly a blessing for all the families there, but a second,
unexpected blessing came later in the show, when the 4th grade girls
came out. They were older and had more experience than the little
ones. Their number was more intricate with more diffi cult moves and
more complicated choreography. It was a larger group of about twenty
girls and they moved across the stage as one, all except one young girl.
I didn’t even catch it at fi rst as the dance began, but I noticed someone
now and then would be out of step here and there. After a whole evening
of little girls being out of step I had grown used to it, but I fi nally
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realized this girl was different. Her right hand was not fully formed
as neither was her right foot. Her movements, though correct, were
sometimes erratic and unsteady, struggling to keep up with the other
girls. I found myself cheering her on as she performed, falling out of
step, then a moment later back in position with the rest of the dancers.
Though you could tell she was concentrating as hard as she could,
her face beamed with delight and a bright smile never left her face.
Tonight she was a ballerina.
Even during my years as a paratrooper I had not seen such toughness,
resilience, and bravery, but somehow in her sometimes awkward
moments and her shining smile, I witnessed a sense of strength and
courage along with a vision of grace.
I thought of her dad somewhere in the dark audience, a daddy who
would do anything to heal his little girl. He probably held his breath
through the whole dance, probably not praying so much that she do as
well as the other dancers but that she would simply enjoy being there.
Talk about courage. How much easier it would have been to tell her
she simply couldn’t do it, trying to avoid any more pain or disappointment
in her life. I prayed for her parents, hoping God had somehow
reassured them of His love and His purpose in all things, while honestly
being thankful that though Emma had been a so-called “high
risk” pregnancy, she was born physically healthy. I thought of the wisdom
and compassion of the dance teacher. Again, it would have been
easy to say she couldn’t participate with the other girls. One could only
wonder what lessons those girls and that teacher learned from watching
this brave dancer each week.
She was right on queue when the music ended. She had fi nished
well, out of breath, but her smile even brighter than ever.
After the show, I spotted the little girl seated against the wall with
her friends. On impulse I walked over and crouched down to be eye
to eye with her. She was even prettier close up, her face with glittery
makeup, her hair intricately braided, still beaming from the magic of
the night. “You were beautiful out there,” I said.
She looked at me, sat up even straighter and simply said, “Thank
you,” and smiled.
I was thankful to her for the wonderful reminder of being grateful
for what we have been given and having courage and grace under
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those tough circumstances that come in our lives. Aren’t we just like
that little girl when it comes to our Christian lives? We get out of step
at times. We stumble, sometimes falling fl at on our faces, but just like
the loving dad that was somewhere out there in that audience, our
Heavenly Father, in all His mercy and grace, sees us as His perfect
children. He is not interested in us being the best, just doing our best,
even with all the limitations we think we have in our lives. And my
thanks to those courageous parents who reminded me I need to be just
as courageous as a dad. And to a compassionate teacher, who taught
me I must never lose my compassion for those He brings into my life.
And to a little ballerina, who had a dream to dance, who proved you
can face any obstacle in your life, and even do it with a smile.
Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same
sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world.
1 Peter 5:9
It is through genuine fellowship that we realize we are not alone is
our suffering and there are others facing many of the same trials that
we face. As I have said before, there should be no Rambo’s in God’s
Army. We are a brotherhood; a band of brothers. A band that will not
be broken, sealed for eternity.
But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal
glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while,
perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you.
1 Peter 5: 10
Peter understood God would use his suffering for his own good in
this world and the next. Peter was strengthened in his suffering and
we can be, too.
The Apostle Paul, after all his suffering, even while languishing in a
Roman prison, not long before his death, was able to keep his suffering
in this world in perspective, focusing rather on eternity.
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Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our
Lord, nor of me, His prisoner, but share with me in the
sufferings for the gospel according to the power of God,
who has saved us and called us with a holy calling, not
according to our works, but according to His own purpose
and grace which was given to us in Christ Jesus before time
began, but has now been revealed by the appearing of our
Savior Jesus Christ, who has abolished death and brought
life and immortality to light through the gospel, to which
I was appointed a preacher, an apostle, and a teacher to
the Gentiles. For this reason I also suffer these things;
nevertheless I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have
believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep what I
have committed to Him until that day.
2 Timothy 1:8–12
We all have “river miles” to travel in this life, full of unexpected
blessings and unplanned trials. There will be twists and turns and the
next unknown bend is always just up ahead. We may always yearn for
the smooth, peaceful path that goes straight ahead, but rivers don’t
fl ow that way and neither does life.
Yet with all the suffering we might see around us or have to go through
ourselves, God has given His children a great gift. He has given us His
Spirit, so that we can know Him as Creator and Savior, know His love
and forgiveness, and know He is with us every mile of the way.