Wednesday Witness: Wanting, Needing, Having

Between Thanksgiving and this coming Monday, when our new refrigerator arrives, my bride and I will have replaced all four major kitchen appliances. These expenditures were practical: Our dishwasher hadn’t worked in a year or more; the electronic oven controls on our gas range worked only if you held your mouth right while pressing the buttons; our microwave struggled to pop popcorn, and the range lights quit working; and our refrigerator/freezer gets hot to the touch.

At the same time, new appliances were not entirely necessary. We had, after all, survived a year without a dishwasher; the oven still worked with a little coaxing; the microwave was still quicker than most other options for a wide range of tasks; and thus far, the fridge is still cold inside, if not outside. And plenty of people live quite comfortably without one or more of these devices.

Over the past couple weeks, as we prepare to tackle some home projects and work on my old truck, I convinced my bride to allow me to upgrade our garage. My work has gone well the past year—I’ve picked up a few extra projects and used the money from one such project to purchase some new hand and power tools and organize them. Now, when I have time to work on projects, I spend far less time looking for tools, purchasing cheap tools for particular tasks, setting up, and cleaning up. I can just get to work.

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A Year Apart: Reflecting on My Father’s Passing

One year ago today, my father passed away.

I flew to Michigan early that morning with the experienced observation of a close family friend ringing in my head: It won’t be long. The flight was flawless and landed early. When the rental car clerk learned why I was in Michigan, he expedited everything, and I was on the road in minutes. Traffic moved. The pavement was dry. I drove the limit and made myself relax, reflecting that this was unfolding in God’s time, and I would arrive when I should.

I arrived just in time. My sister came out to greet me in the driveway and said she thought Dad may have just stopped breathing. I went in and held his hand, which was warmer to my touch than it had been in years. I spoke to him softly, telling him it was okay, telling him to go to the Lord and not to be afraid, telling him we were okay and would take care of each other. 

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Wednesday Witness: Step Outside Yourself

But God said to him, “You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong?” – Luke 12:20

Not long ago I met a woman going through serious medical and financial difficulties. For many weeks, she had been off work and in severe pain due to a spinal injury. She was behind on her bills, immobile most of the time, barely able to care for herself and her child. Friends and family offered what support they could, but even the very best prognosis put her a month away from working again, provided she still had a job.

At the end of a tearful conversation, I offered to pray with her and for her. She gratefully accepted, and I asked the Lord to heal her, to address her challenges, to protect her family, and to guide those around her to know how best to help.

When I stopped to ask if she would like to add anything, she said yes—and then proceeded to pray for a friend who was going through hard times and needed a spiritual boost. She prayed earnestly, by name, for this other person, then thanked God for all the help He has provided to her so far. She never once mentioned her own situation.

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Wednesday Witness: Take a Minute

In last week’s Wednesday Witness column, I described one of several homeless men and women who frequented Yale’s campus when I attended in the 1990s. I worked for the graduate School of Music all four years, and one of my first and primary duties was walking the entire campus, distributing or hanging concert flyers and posters at various buildings, businesses, and kiosks. I made the rounds at least once a week; as a result, I saw the local homeless frequently, and they saw me.

During my first year, one man, in particular, kept his eyes open for my brown leather ballcap and black poster portfolio. He was an older fellow, creased and grimy from years on the street, with lank and thinning gray hair, well-worn workman’s clothing, and the unmistakable aroma of body odor and booze. Whenever he saw me, his pale eyes would pull into focus, and his mouth would break into a smile that was equal parts crooked yellow teeth and no teeth at all. He would rise (if seated), reach out to shake my hand, and start the same conversation.

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Wednesday Witness: Hard Choices

The coldest I have ever been was during a late-season, black-powder deer hunt. I was sitting atop a ladder stand in the dark in January. The morning was bitterly cold following a storm that dropped more than two feet of fluffy snow, leaving clear skies and wind in its wake.

I had dressed for a long, cold sit while a friend attempted to push deer toward me from the other side of the section. I had not dressed for the half-mile march through knee-deep snow and buried brush that preceded my climbing the stand. By the time I was settled, I was also sweating, and once I was stationary, I shivered beneath my layers.

Even after sunrise, the air was frigid. My fingers ached as I held my rifle, and I clenched and unclenched my toes inside my boots, trying to maintain some semblance of feeling. (It was weeks before they lost the pin-prickly feeling from that morning.)

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