Trish #23

Trish walked today. She has been walking slowly for several days now, between the parallel bars, anyway. She has taken little baby steps with her wobbly legs. Today though, she used a walker. With a little help from her therapists, she walked down the hallway, sat down in a chair, rested a bit and then returned to the parallel bars. She was exhausted afterward and had to go to bed for a nap but she had walked. I watched as her feet began taking the kinds of natural steps that showed that her brain is beginning to remember how to walk.

I thought of a verse of Chris Rice's Untitled Hymn:

Like a newborn baby, you have to learn to crawl

Just remember when you walk sometimes you fall;But fall on Jesus, Fall on Jesus, Fall on Jesus --and live!

If Trish allows herself to get paralyzed by the fear of falling she will never walk again. Falling may happen. It's a part of walking. But she can't worry about that. She has to focus on throwing her energies into walking.

I remember first hearing Chris Rice's song at a funeral. We had gathered to honor the memory and the ministry of Jim Roam, surely one of America's finest pastors. I listened as Dan Dean sang the song. When he got to the verse about walking, I nearly came unglued.

Somehow, as I was growing up, I got the idea that falling was the worse thing anyone could ever do. I remember a number of times hearing people whispering about others who had made some kind of mistake. "well, brother, he fell!" they would say. I recall how the atmosphere would fill with sorrow and dread, like someone had died that would not be coming back. How I wish I could go back in time. I would ask those mourning people a question, "well, did he get back up?"

When I heard Dan Dean sing Untitled Hymn, a most powerful revelation broke through to my soul. I grasped at the core of my being it seemed that when you walk, sometimes you fall. That's the way life works. Just make sure you "fall on Jesus and live." The apostle Peter fell on Jesus and lived; the apostate Judas fell and never got up again.

How you fall and what you do about it when you fall, is everything.

Trish has the most wonderful therapists. They encourage her every step. When she makes a mistake, they give her feedback about how she can avoid making the same mistake the next time. As a result, she keeps walking -- however slow, however crooked and however wobbly -- she keeps on walking.

What would happen to our churches if we could learn to pastor the way those therapists care for their patients? What if we told people,

Like a newborn baby, you have to learn to crawl

Just remember when you walk sometimes you fall;But fall on Jesus, Fall on Jesus, Fall on Jesus --and live!

Maybe more people would learn to walk.

Trish #22

I woke up at 6:00, got up from the old cot in Trish's room and got quickly dressed. I picked up Peterson's paraphrase of the Bible, his A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, and my journal. I then walked down the long hospital hallway, went outside and sat down by a little lawn and flower garden. The birds were singing and looking for breakfast. The Phoenix heat would be making itself felt soon but for now the temperature was mild enough. I soaked in the solitude and the morning silence.

After a while, I took up my journal and wrote:

"I wonder how many fights the hospital personnel have had to keep this lawn from being made into a parking lot? How wonderful that it is preserved! Nature and nurture -- these are the two essential ingredients in any healing environment. This garden is yet another example of the principle expressed in that ancient prayer, thanking God for the wine and the bread, which he has created and human hands have prepared. Divine creation must be matched with human intention and preparation if worship is to take place. This garden is also a combination of divine creation and human intention and preparation. I am thankful for it."

I then read in A Long Obedience.

After awhile, I took my journal and wrote once more.

"I am aware this morning of the deepest sense of joy. Why is this?"

In this book, Peterson defines blessing as a sense of well-being that one experiences who feels connected to life, aware of his or her own soul, conscious of the presence of God and reasonably free of anxiety. It is the quality that Jesus, in his Sermon on the Mount, promises to all who follow him.

For most of my life, I have experienced this sense of well-being. Especially in the Latin American years, I awoke every morning to the warmth of Latin American culture. Even in the midst of poverty, I was aware of how that culture's committeeman to hospitality and mutual concern fed my soul. Early in the morning, the church bells called the Roman Catholic faithful to mass while the sounds of Protestant hymns filled the air. The smells of coffee, freshly baked bread and tropical fruit awoke my physical appetite. Life was put on alert. My spirit was stirred. A brand new day was breaking. Even after sleeping on a straw bed, I could feel the vibrancy of my own soul resonating with the awakening world around me.

For the past many years, I have incrementally lost that sense of well-being. Living in the midst of modern American culture, I have steadily allowed myself to accept a definition for blessing that views it as the state of being materially prosperous. For the last few years, I have been trying to put into words the quality of life that I have missed even as I experienced ever increasing 'blessing" as this culture defines it. This morning though, sitting in this little corner of grass, surrounded by the tress and flowers that the medical industry has somehow failed to conquer in the name of progress, I feel that old sense of blessing. I even find myself humming. What is it? Ahhh ...

"This is my Father's world; He shines in all that's fair ..

and though the wrong seems often strong, God is the ruler yet."

I would rather have this sense of blessing than any amount of wealth or power. Without it, I don't even really wish to live.

So how do I permanently surrender my idolatry? How do I give up my excruciating bondage to complication and complexity? How do I return to loving God and loving my neighbor as myself? How can I relearn the joy of discovering delight in a single flower? How do I throw away the foolish concern about the value of stock or stop wasting my valuable time and energy on the ceaseless expansion of my personal power and influence? How can I keep returning my soul to sanctity? How do I escape the prison, the cruel mirage, of this present world?

How does one consistently live in blessing by centering his or her soul in grace, especially in our times?

Trish is here to rediscover how to walk and talk. She will have no time today for any worries about new furniture or buying some amazing gadget she saw on TV. She will not care one iota about whether or not her clothes are fashionable. Yesterday, after she finally realized that half of her head had been shaved, her only comment was, "that sure was an expensive haircut!" She is just glad to be alive. She is delighting in being able to express love for me, for her family and for her friends.

For both of us, life suddenly got very basic.

I have just slept on an old cot that was terribly uncomfortable, my sleep constantly interrupted by hospital personnel going about their work. She has been fighting to remember who she is and what her life is all about. Most people would say that we have experienced a catastrophe. No one I know would want to trade places with us.

So why am I happier this morning than I was a month ago? Where did all those worries about silly things go? And is it Trish that God sent to rehab or is it me?

Trish #21

Last night I awoke to strange mechanical noises. Trish was pushing the buttons on her bed and moving it up and down. So I got up and went to her side. I asked her, "honey, why are you moving your bed?"

"Because I want to," she said.

She was obviously worried, so I talked to her for a while. For the first time since she woke form her coma, she started talking about aspects of her recovery that causes her distress. Among the indignities she mentioned was "wearing boots to bed."

"That's not right, " she said. "I don't like wearing boots in bed."


At night the nurses put a boot-like contraption on her feet. Under these, she wears some legging-like things that constantly message her feet and legs. These work to prohibit the formation of blood clots. She has worn them for weeks. Last night was the first time she seemed upset about them.

I called for a nurse. When I had explained what Trish was saying, the nurse turned to her and said very tenderly, "you're right dear. Normal people don't wear boots to bed. The first step toward not having to wear them any more is becoming aware of what normal is. You are getting better, That's why you're suddenly upset with things."

A few minutes later, as I listened to Trish's breathing fall into a normal breathing pattern for a sleeping person, I lay awake a while thinking about what the nurse had said. I thought about the paradox of Trish's recovery actually making her more distressed. It made me think of one of the verse of Amazing Grace, "Twas grace that taught my heart to fear and grace my fears relieved." One of the best definitions of the process of recovery in the field of addictions involves four steps:

1. Unconscious incompetence (I screw up and don't know why)

2. Conscious incompetence (Now I know why I screw up)

3. Conscious competence (I don't screw up so much when I make myself focus on what I know I am supposed to do)

4. Unconscious competence (Most of the time I act in healthy ways without really thinking about it.)

Obviously, people at stage #1 & stage #4 of recovery are the most content people in the process! The folk in the other two steps may sometimes wish that they had remained unconscious of their incompetence! In recovery, people who "put their shoulder to the plow" must not look back. For once one becomes aware, there is no way to go but forward.

In addictions work, we often see family interventions. In these, one family member after another will say things to the addict like "Mom, you are addicted to pain medication. You are hurting all of us and we are tired of it." Or, "Sally, I am not sure I can live with you any more if you intend to keep using your drugs." For the addict, intervention feels like the worse day of his or her life. But it can be the beginning of a new and healthy life. The addict's self-created world gets shattered because it is a sick and counterfeit world and must be shattered. However, if it is the only world he or she knows, then for a while it will be difficult to imagine how life is going to work.

In the spiritual journey, those moments in which we become suddenly aware that we have been hateful, or selfish or a bore or addicted, are terribly difficult to bear, When these moments happen, we are actually making progress in our personal lives. Even though we feel worse we are actually getting better.

Grace teaches our hearts to fear before it moves to relieve our fears. We fear before we heal because we cannot heal ourselves and that vulnerability can be terrifying.

Last night, one of the nurses said, "Mrs. Scott, we are here because we want to serve you. If any of us had suffered what you have suffered, we would require the same care you are getting. We chose this profession because we are called to do this. We know that you are anxious tonight because you are getting better. You are a lady. Naturally, you are uncomfortable doing things ladies don't ordinarily do. But soon you will not have to do things like wear boots to bed. You have to wear them for a few more nights because you are still sick. You were so sick before that you didn't even care. Now that you are better, naturally you want to be totally well. But it is unfolding as it should. Be patient."

As these two servants of health and healing talked, Trish relaxed. Soon she was asleep. Amazing how a truthful explanation can soothe the soul.

"How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed."


How gross our faults can appear to us the moment we are first willing to actually see them. We may have spent a lifetime not even believing we had faults. Then, for some reason, we receive grace to see our own faults as others see them. The sudden awareness of our own sinfulness and even wretchedness can be devastating. Even though our faults have been there all along and even though we realize that others are no different than we are, it is devastating to know that we are not in some kind of special category of sinlessness after all. We are in the same boat as all humanity and the things we hate in others have been in us all along. When we realize this, we naturally want to be completely well -- right now!

I hear the words of St. John's gospel, "God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world but that through Him all might be saved." Without words like these, ignorance really would be bliss. One we hear them, our awareness of our own sin becomes an assurance that we are actually being saved. For the grace that makes us aware is the same grace that works mightily to relieve.

Consciousness has its price!

Trish #20

Trish is working hard to do simple things now; things like keeping her head up straight. She has to really focus on this because if we leave her alone for very long, her head leans over to the right until it almost touches her shoulder. Her neck then gets stiff. She seems frozen in place and it is difficult to straighten her up.

I stay with her most of the time now. The time that her doctors, nurses and therapists can be with her, though extremely valuable, is limited. So I help her carry through with what she learns during the various therapy sessions. Today, every few minutes, I have been telling her, "Trish you have to hold your head up. You are leaning to the right. You must retrain your brain." Or, "Trish, you have to take care of your left side. Your left hand is a part of your body too. Use it. You must retrain your brain."

Nearly everything I said to her to her today, I would add the words, "you must retrain your brain!"

Right before lunch, I pushed her in her wheelchair to the outside. We parked the wheelchair beside the small lawn and some flowers. While we were sitting there, I just started talking about this and that. Somewhere in the middle of a lot of nothing, I said, "Trish, you have to get well. You have to come home. Look, I have been washing my own shorts! I am getting desperate."

She was quiet for a long time. Then she slowly whispered, "Why don't you retrain your brain to wash your own shorts?!"

Hmmm. What if therapy works too well?

I stayed with her last night. The nurses gave me a cot and allowed me to sleep in Trish's room, right beside her bed. Several times in the night, her hand searched in the dark for me. When I was aware of it, I touched her hand. Each time I told her that I was still there. She would then go back to sleep.

I grieve watching my intelligent and independent wife struggle with the most basic issues of her personal care. I suffer watching her ponder so long before she can do the simplest things. I will be glad when she completes her therapy and returns to some semblance of her normal life. In a hundred ways, this ordeal has been a nightmare. But in one way, it has been a honeymoon. For when she looks into my eyes, she finds a way to express her love for me; the deepest love I have ever felt from a human being. Underneath all her confusion and difficulty, she finds a way to prove St. Paul's assertion; "love never fails."

I would not have wanted to live my life without knowing that this famous statement is more than a cliché.

We live in such cynical times. Many people really believe that love is just "a second hand emotion." Millions really believe that we express love to get people into our beds or to otherwise meet our needs. When gifted people make movies and write novels about love, we pay to see their movies and to read their books because we dare hope that such love really exists. We dare hope that we might even experience such love one day for ourselves. Nonetheless, many of us live with at least a shadow of the cynicism of our times, fearing that "love" is really just a myth and a longing impossible to actually fulfill.

Trish and I fought a long, hard battle learning how to experience love. Because of a number of factors, we struggled with our romantic connection from the very beginning of our marriage. On the second night of our honeymoon, I began a two week revival service for a little church in Eastern Virginia. From that moment onward and for many years afterward, I preached somewhere nearly every day. Time past. Both of us, for different reasons, found it difficult to connect to each other in any way other than as "ministry partners" and as parents.

The human part of our love was sad and empty. We had so spiritualized everything in our lives for so long that normal human love had become nearly non existent for us. Several years ago though, we went to marriage therapy. Once we began, we went at it full steam -- week after week, year after year, trying to learn how to be human adults, capable of experiencing adult love for one another.

We had rarely vacationed.

We had rarely gone on dates.

We didn't speak of much to one another except about "the work of God."

Ours was a false spirituality. It was even idolatrous. And it nearly destroyed our marriage and our family.

The reason I say "false spirituality" is this: a spirituality that rejects common sense and material life has an appearance of godliness but it is really soulish and devilish.

Aquinas wrote that God made only three creatures -- spiritual creatures (angels), material creatures (animals), and incarnational creatures, that is to say creatures that are both material and spiritual ( humans). He said that this state of incarnational life is our appointed realm. The enemy of our souls, he said, is continually trying to deceive us into either denying our spirituality (to become animals) or into denying our materiality (to become angels). Of the two deceptions, he claimed, trying to become angels, that is to say trying to be wholly spiritual, is the most dangerous assault upon our souls. For when we try to become angels, we are rebelling against our God -appointed realm, trying to rise above the station in which He created us and placed us. When we try to become wholly spiritual, we get into territory that is really over our heads, into places in which we can get easily deceived -- even become mad!

Human love, human intimacy, and human sexuality are all blessed parts of our "God-appointed realm." Trying to become so spiritual that we finally "rise above" our need for deep connections with our loved ones is really not spirituality at all. It is a cruel Satanic deception. Trish and I spent untold hours of many weeks for many years exposing this deception in our lives. We came to realize that this same deception has a hold upon many of God's children. There is much needless devastation and untold pain in Christian marriages because of it. For some time we have been talking about how to address this.

Last night in the dark, when her hand touched mine, even surrounded by hospital noises and the surreal weirdness of our situation, I knew what love is. Human, romantic love is not a "second hand emotion." It is not a base thing to be surpassed by some super spiritual experience. The love I felt for my wife last night is, to the extent human beings are capable of experiencing it, the same quality that is the very essence of God. In that sacramental moment, when our souls touched through the material medium of our interlocked hands, we experienced as much of God as we have ever experienced in any church. For there was a third hand upon ours last night. The One who in holy matrimony made us man and wife, smiled as we touched and He said "it is good."

"Many waters cannot quench love," for "love is stronger than death." "He that loveth, knoweth God for God is love."


I know I speak for both Trish and I when I say to all of you, Don't settle for a cold and lifeless marriage. Don't tell yourself that this is just the way things really are. Don't give up your dream for a meaningful and loving marriage. Fight for it. Dare risk stability in search of it. We are living testimonies that married love doesn't just happened, that it must be fought for.

Whatever our present circumstances, I rejoice in God. I thank Him for freeing Trish and I to love one another. Even brain trauma has not conquered what He has worked in our lives these past few years. I will not die without knowing what married love is.

If God was able to do all of this, helping us to "retrain our brains" so we could experience some degree of normalcy in our love and our marriage, then learning to walk again should not be all that difficult for Trish.

And for me?

Well, I may even be able to learn to do my own shorts.

Miracles do happen! They already have.

Trish #19

When I arrived at the hospital yesterday, I asked Trish what she had done earlier.

"I learned to get out of a chair and to sit down in it again," she said.

Trish is busy this week learning to walk, eat and otherwise care for herself.

Trish is relearning behaviors that most of us perform many times a day without conscious thought. It turns out that these behaviors are far from simple. I have been watching as her therapists teach her the serious business of walking. She very slowly rises out of her wheelchair (with the help of two strong men, named, I kid you not, David and Obed!) She carefully ponders about what to do next.

"Grab the bars of this walkway," the therapist says. "Bring your right foot forward. Now, shift all your weight to the right side. Good. Now put your left foot forward. Shift all your weight to that left side. Great. Now lets do the same thing again with the right side."

Habits are deep structures of complicated behavior. What we observe on the surface as a person walks, is the tip of a mental and physical ice berg. The brain and muscle coordination, the constant feedback from the environment that assesses things like uneven surfaces, the constant balancing of the body -- these are enormously complicated things. The reason we do them so effortlessly is that human beings are capable of learning complicated things by arranging them into a series of steps that become physical and mental programs. Once we have molded complicated behavior into a program, the program nearly disappears into the deepest parts of our mental life. After that, we need only to consciously initiate the first step of the program. Once it springs into action it is usually off and running without much conscious thought on our part. That's the way we are made.

The brain trauma Trish suffered erased many of these programs for Trish. She has to relearn them.

(Trish would probably insist that I point out here that addictions operate the same way. I would argue with her that addiction is not the subject of this e-mail but finally I would get exasperated and put in a sentence about addiction. We are such creatures of habit!)

For a long time now, we have been trying to believe that spiritual life differs from natural life. We have tended to glorify the spontaneous, the unpremeditated, the non-habitual acts of devotion and service. We have tended to sneer at the rehearsed, the prepared and the habitual acts of spiritual life. We have known that past generations of Christians set hours of prayer, practiced daily devotions and Bible readings, honored rhythms of spiritual seasons and, of course, maintained a once a week observance of a day of worship and rest. Our ancestors knew dozens of verses to hymns that they sang so often that the words and melodies got pushed deep inside their minds and spirits. We know that their spiritual life was formed and maintained by habit but we have been taught for a couple of generations that we are different from them in that way. We have been taught that we don't need all of that habitual structure.

Is that true?

Most of us know first hand that habitual patterns of spiritual life can be turned into very boring and lifeless rituals. What person raised in church can't recall some prayer meeting that felt like a root canal? That's why, for a couple of generations, we have been turning away from any hint of the habitual or contrived in our spiritual lives. But can spiritual life really exist without habits? Where does spiritual spontaneity come from is there is no spiritual foundation?

This time next year, Trish may see an old friend and jump from her chair in a spontaneous burst of joy. She will run to her friend, shouting while throwing her arms open to embrace her. But Trish will only be able to do that next year if today she maintains enough patience to slowly relearn a complicated series of behaviors. "Right foot forward, shift your weight to that foot, stand a moments. Now the left foot, etc." If she practices walking today, does it again tomorrow, repeats it the next day and the day after that; if she keeps on with this until walking once again becomes a habit, that is to say until the complicated parts of walking get reduced to a program that operates at the deepest parts of her mental life, then spontaneity and fun will once again become a possibility for her. If she gives up on practice before the practice becomes a habit, she will never again experience the joy of spontaneously running to greet an old friend.

Speaking of spontaneity --

We usually love it. However, there are kinds of spontaneity that adults don't really want. For example, my granddaughters are totally spontaneous. When they need to use the bathroom, they do so. Wherever they are and whatever the environment may be around them, they are not ashamed to just let it fly! They do not premeditate.They do not plan or prepare. They just abandon themselves to the moment and experience the sweet release of their pent-up frustrations. They do what they feel. They do it with great joy. (That is, joy for them!) Adults do not get joy from that kind of spontaneity. Adults learn to structure their needs and plan for their fulfillment. (Sometimes they overstructure their needs but that is another subject.)

When adult spontaneity brings delight it is because the spontaneity springs from seasoned, habitual and mature behaviors. A man may suddenly decide to make pancakes at midnight because some old friends have showed up. They all start talking about the pancakes that he used to make at college and suddenly, on impulse, he blurts out, "well, lets have some right now!" However, as he gathers the ingredients and begins to prepare to make the pancakes, he draws upon deep habitual structures that were placed there long ago. Those old programs spring into action so he can keep talking to his old college friends while he almost thoughtlessly creates a wonderful spontaneous experience. That is the nature of adult spontaneity.

I can't imagine that spiritual life works any differently.

Well, my brave and persistent wife is laughing her way through learning the simplest of things. Just a month ago, she could do those things while she thought about other, apparently more important things. Today, once again, she will practice: "right foot forward, shift the weight, That's right. Now the left. Do it again. Good job. Tomorrow we'll do this again."

And now, if you will excuse me, it is time for my morning Bible reading and prayer. After that, I am going to work out. I don't feel like doing either of them today but perhaps if I will just get started ...

Trish #18

This was quite an eventful day!

Several doctors, social workers and therapists came by Trish's room and administered various kinds of tests. I'll try to recap the results for you.

They determined that Trish can swallow. However, she cannot swallow well enough to drink liquids unless they are thickened with corn starch. The preliminary cognitive test revealed that Trish has made remarkable progress. Though, when looking at a clock, she could not tell the time. (I asked her if not being able to tell the time distressed her. She laughed. "No!, she replied. For an hour she sat up in a chair (a normal one this time, not the therapeutic mechanical chair.) She wrote a few sentences for me on her little white board. From the tests and from observing her progress, the hospital recovery team decided to move her to rehab. So, this evening, Trish moved into the facilities where she will relearn to walk, go to the bathroom, eat normal foods and, in general, live the normal life that we take for granted.

One doctor told me that given her progress so far, it is entirely possible that Trish will return to normal in most ways in a year or less. But this will happen slowly, slowly, slowly and only as a result of much work and persistence.

People have been asking me what I have been reading these past few weeks. Not much of anything! On most days, I can't focus enough to read. I have been slowly reading Eugene Peterson's A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, though. I began reading this book the day that Trish went to the hospital. I have also been reading Peterson's translation (and paraphrase) of the scripture which he calls The Message. Though I usually don't like paraphrases (or very many contemporary translations at all, for that matter,) Peterson 's version of Ecclesiastes and the Proverbs have really blessed me. So, I am making an exception for his paraphrase. I'm sure he'll be delighted!

Peterson begins his book with a quote from Nietzsche, "the truly great men of the world have been those who have maintained a long obedience in the same direction." Peterson's book by that title is worth the reading, to be sure. But even if you just read the quote from Nietzsche and meditate upon it a bit, you'll gain some important information for the journey of life.

Trish can only heal and recover if she undertakes and maintains "a long obedience in the same direction." Her recovery will require an acceptance of boredom, monotony, frustration, practice and failure then practice and failure again, weariness and a quality of character that the King James translators render as "longsuffering." Without longsuffering, Trish will live a very diminished life from this point on. If she just does what feels good, just watches TV and shuffles around from chair to dinner table to bed each day, what she will experience the rest of her earthly existence will be a kind of "sleepwalking through twighlight."

A return to a responsible quality of life will require something else altogether. It is no different for any of us.

In the first part of his book, Peterson says that never in the history of Christianity has it been easier to make converts but more difficult to make disciples. He asserts that our churches and even our pulpits are filled with believers in Christ who have never accepted "the long obedience in the same direction." You can, after all, accept Christ in a moment. You can memorize the Ten Commandments, the Apostles Creed, the Lord's Prayer and the Twenty First Psalm in a few days. If you really get ambitious, you can do a ten week Bible study easily enough. But becoming a disciple requires a commitment to slowly, slowly work the teachings of Jesus into every fiber of your life.

The quality of spiritual life that God offers us requires the "long obedience in the same direction." For spiritual life is never a quick fix. It is never a sprint. It is never accompanied by drum rolls and the sounding of trumpets. Much of the time, the formation of spiritual life within us feels like we are missing out on exciting things. The little decisions we make when no one is watching and the uneventful actions we undertake when we would rather do something else -- simply because we have decided to be a follower of Christ -- are, to tell the truth, often boring and repetitious. Deciding to not pass the juicy gossip on, putting up with that boring old lonely man who wants to talk to us every Sunday after church, stopping to pick up the piece of paper on the church grounds that someone carelessly threw down -- these are the kinds of things that really make a disciple over long periods of time. They are not things that provoke people to write our names in the sky. Over time though, such simple actions push out the selfishness, pride, hunger for power and the like from our souls. Since spiritually toxic attitudes like these destroy our spiritual life, learning how to neutralize them is of major importance. The actions that we slowly adopt in order to move away from these idols of the age, reflect transformations that are taking place at the deepest levels of our being. Usually, we do not even know that these transformations have been happening to us or to our loved ones until some life-altering event comes to reveal them.

That is what has happened in Trish's life.

Today, the lady doing Trish's preliminary cognitive evaluation asked her to write down a phrase of her choice -- any phrase at all -- on a space at the bottom of the paper. I watched as Trish slowly, painfully, scribbled out: "count your blessings; name them one by one." I stared at the paper. Here is a woman who has lost her ability to tell the time. She can't turn over in her bed. She can't even drink water without choking. Where did such a phrase come from? Why did she choose it?

Such a phrase could only come from a beautiful soul who has been steadfastly maintaining "a long obedience in the same direction."

Poor Nietzsche wrote that wonderful phrase. He nonetheless died a raging lunatic. For him, meaning in this world got reduced to a quest for power over others. He deplored the weakness of character and the erosion of willful strength that he believed Christ had introduced into the classical Roman world. I am afraid that most of us in contemporary life have adopted his philosophy. Even many Christian leaders seem to have adopted it. They quote the words of Jesus but live the life of Nietzsche. In the end though, our nervous avoidance of all things tedious, repetitious, boring and obscure -- our cynicism about servanthood and our secret disdain for humility of heart -- leaves us addicted to a need for ever-growing doses of adrenaline and stage presence. It is often not until that dark day when the stage lights go out for us that we realize we never really had an audience; that we have been alone on an empty stage created by our own imagination. Nietzsche's way is death and madness. It can't be the road to a meaningful Life.

Trish, even in her present state of trying to recover from her brain trauma, is at peace. For she is counting her blessings and she is naming them one by one. Her struggle has become an aroma, the incense of a God-centered life rising from a soul whom Satan has attempted to crush but whom God has chosen to honor. It is the life I want too. It is the kind of life that leads us home.

Trish #17

Well, Trish has her own room.

She ate a little bit of food today (fed herself as a matter of fact! Did it very slowly, but nonetheless ...)

She's still a bit confused but sometimes but that's not all bad. For example, today when the nurse asked her to look at me and say my name, she paused a bit and then said, "sweetheart, his name is sweetheart." That may sound corny to you but it sure sounded good to me!

Since Trish's aneurysm ruptured, the events of each day have seemed to arrange themselves around a core thought. Today was no exception. Someone wrote me yesterday to say that they had been sending copies of my e-mails to their friends. The same person told me that those friends have been enjoying the news about Trish. However, they had wondered if they could get abbreviated versions of my updates, e-mails with "just the facts, " since, as they put it, I tend to write a bit "flowery."

So, today I have been asking myself, "why have I made Trish's trial 'flowery?'"

What came to me as an answer reflects my views about the purpose and nature of art. Of course, I use the word "art" in the broadest sense here. My e-mails are not anything like Paradise Lost or The Divine Comedy, to be sure. However, there is more to art than just "high art." The word "art," after all, consists of the first three letters of the word "artificial," that is to say, "something made by humans." In one way of looking at it, anything human beings make is art. We must also say that ONLY what human beings make is art. For nature is often beautiful but it is never "art." The materials and events of nature are raw products that make art possible but no thing becomes "art" unless and until a human being decides to arrange it in some meaningful way.

Of course, human beings do not always decide to make art out of the materials they discover. Most individuals have an opportunity at some time to hold a lump of clay. Few will decide to mold it into a magnificent piece of pottery such as the ones Native Americans in the Southwest create. Likewise, every day people win lotteries, get serious illnesses, get married, get divorces, and see sunsets. All these events are raw products that nature and life present to these individuals. However, each must decide what he or she will do with these "raw products."

In some of the old liturgies of communion, Christians pray, "We thank Thee Lord God, King of the Universe for this bread and this wine which you have created and which human hands have prepared ..." The prayer acknowledges that only God can create wheat and wine. It also acknowledges that human beings are requires to make bread and wine from these raw products. For bread and wine are not found in nature. Fine bread and wine are pieces of art. They require "artists" to craft them if they are to exist at all.

From the second day of Trish's illness, I wanted her pain to pay. I was not prepared to let this wonderful woman go out of this world without people knowing about her. I decided that her light had been under a bushel long enough. The e-mails were my way to put her light high upon a lampstand, so you could see her good works and glorify her Father in Heaven. As a result, many have prayed. Many have written. Many have renewed their sense of marriage and family. Only God can do that. However, He only does it when we give Him the opportunity.

I am rambling but I forgot to quote the rest of that old communion prayer. In that prayer we don't just thank God for "the bread and wine which you have created and which human hands have prepared." We go on to say, "and they shall be for us the body and the blood of Christ." We pray that prayer as a way of recognizing the process by which God makes things redemptive, by which he makes them into vehicles of blessing.

The process goes something like this:
1. God, life and nature offers us materials and situations.
2. We decide how we will mold those materials and situations -- what we will make out of them. 3. We give what we fashion from those "raw products" to God.
4. God pours grace upon our gifts in order to transform them into something capable of bearing "the weight of glory."

Trish has really suffered. Those of you who know her would not have enjoyed seeing her these past few weeks. Her body has been beaten and bruised from the operations. The tubes, the loss of blood, the indignity of her exposure -- well, you get the picture; it hasn't been pleasant. For two weeks she hardly opened her eyes. Her brain had fever. She hung between life and death.

Why? Why? Why?

Because she is a human being. She is subject to all the difficulties and tragedies of any creature living in a fallen world. Others will face other things; she faced an aneurysm. But there is a wonderful thing about our faith: it centers upon a cross. When tragedies cannot be avoided, they can at least become redemptive, if we so choose.

For three weeks, Trish has joined our Lord "in the fellowship of His suffering." She could have just laid there and cursed. But I knew she that wanted to make her tragedy into a piece of art.

I knew she would want to find some meaning that might possibly lurk in the things she has been facing. I knew that she would want to offer her ordeal as an offering, as a piece of art.

These e-mails have just been my "amen!"

Trish #16

Dear Friends,
This is the e-mail I have longed to send to you.

Trish woke up today -- really woke up!

The doctors had removed her ventilator at 7:30 AM. Since she was able to swallow and breathe just fine, there was no need for a tracheotomy. They are still giving her a little oxygen through her nose because she is not yet taking deep breaths. Tomorrow they plan to move her out of ICU!

She can't talk very well, not because of any neurological impermanent but because of the nearly three weeks she has had a tube down her throat. Her body is also very weak. But I sat in a chair and put my ear down next to her mouth so she could whisper to me.

I thought I would share a bit of our conversation with you. "Why aren't you taking care of the evening service?" she asked. (Pastors wives will understand this question!)

"Someone else is taking care of it tonight," I replied.

"Is there food in the house?"

"More than we can eat, " I assured her. "People are helping us with food."

"Did you dream while you were asleep so long?" I asked

"Yes," she answered. " I kept looking for my grandchildren. I wanted to hold my babies."

"Thousands are praying for you, " I told her. "Praise the Lord!" she whispered.

"You are going to my all right. God is not finished with you yet."

"No he's not. We have things to do."

"Well, we have been feeling that God was about to take us into a new season of fruitful ministry. I just didn't know it would happen like this!"

"It's all OK." she smiled. (Our conversation was not all holy. Here is a sample of some of the other stuff. Things I am willing to write!)

"Marty (our brother-in-law) fell through his shower door. He sprained his other ankle. (He recently broke one of his ankles.) He's OK though. Your mom and dad were in the next room but they couldn't help him because he was naked."

She looked very concerned for a minute. Then she laughed -- so hard I thought I should call a nurse.

I have no more commentary than this tonight. The road to her recovery is now before us. There will be many weeks and months of exercise and therapies of various kinds to face, no doubt. But the person I spoke to tonight was my Trish. The grace, love of God, concern for her family and her unquenchable humor is all there.

God be praised!

I thank you all for your fervent prayer. I thank you for your encouraging e-mails. I thank you for not getting angry at me for adding to your e-mail spam! Most of all, I thank you for being the church. For I discovered in my hour of trial, that this ever dysfunctional mess we call the church, really can, when the situation requires, "rise up as an army with banners." I have been walking with Jesus Christ these three weeks because you reflected Him so wonderfully. I hope I have learned to do that for your hour of need. If so, then you have taught me some things I really needed to be a Christian.

I may write you much less now. I will do my best though to keep you informed of her progress as she prepares herself for what I believe will be the best and most fruitful years of her life and ministry -- and mine.

Trish #15

Today, the doctors decided once again not to remove Trish's ventilator.

This time they were concerned about her inability to do without the external drainage tube that they installed to keep her intercranial pressure down. Her brain's natural drainage system, the ventricles, were clogged from the hemorrhage she suffered on June 1. So tonight they have closed the drainage tube to give her body one more chance to reabsorb the spinal fluid naturally. If this doesn't work, they will operate on her first thing tomorrow morning to install a shunt, that is to say an internal drainage system. After they have installed the shunt, they will attempt once more to remove her ventilator. If she has any difficulty breathing or swallowing, they will also do tracheotomy.

Obviously, tomorrow is a big day for her.

My prayer is that she will need neither the shunt nor the tracheotomy. However, we have placed all of this in God's hands.

Something else happened today.

A few days ago, one of the hospital chaplains asked if Trish and I would welcome a visit from Bishop Thomas O' Brien. (For those of you who do not live in Phoenix, O' Brien is the former bishop of Central and Northern Arizona. He was in the news here for several months because of his mismanagement of priests charged many years ago with inappropriate sexual conduct. He returned to the news because of his involvement in a hit and run accident. He was convicted on that charge and sentenced to several thousand hours of community service. Of course, he also lost his position as bishop.) I told the chaplain we would be glad for him to visit us.

Bishop O' Brien called me later that day and thanked me for allowing him to visit Trish. He said that he would serve our family in any way he could.

So this evening he came into Trish's room.

It helps to have a context for this story. O' Brien was consecrated to his office by Pope John Paul II. He has hosted both Mother Teresa and the Pope in their respective visits to Phoenix. So he is a man who has known great power and responsibility. But this evening he walked meekly into Trish's room and asked me permission to pray for her. Trish had been asleep but she suddenly opened her eyes. When she saw bishop O' Brien, she smiled. So I asked her, "do you remember Bishop O' Brien?" She shook her head "yes." Then she smiled as best she could with that breathing tube in her mouth.

O' Brien smiled back. He knew he was welcome there.

That's the way Trish is. She has always been concerned about people who are being excluded. I remember when the bishop was in the news every night, she commented that though he had done wrong and would, like anyone else, have to face the music, he was nonetheless God's child. She kept saying to me, "we have to find a way to reach out to him." Well, today she did reach out to him and I wondered whether he was there to minister to her or whether she was there to minister to him? Then I thought, "does it matter? Does ministry ever really flow in just one direction?"

Also today, a respiratory doctor came in Trish's room to check on the various machines to which she is hooked up. He said to me, "this is my favorite room to come to. I like the music. I like coming in here to check on things."

Trish's corner of the ICU has become a center for healing; healing for her, naturally, but also for all those trying to help her.

After all of this, my children gave me a Father's Day present this evening. It was a two volume, leather bound edition of the Far Side. I reverently opened volume I and began to laugh from the very first page. Now I still had fresh tears on my cheeks from leaving Trish. I was worrying about her facing those procedures in the morning after all she has been through. I had cried because I miss her. I had cried because I was enjoying my family while this huge hole is in the middle of us where she is supposed to be.

But I still laughed. I laughed because if we wait until all is well with us we will never laugh at all. I laugh because if we wait until the bills are paid, or until no one we love is sick, or until there is no war, or until poverty is abolished or until the evil one ceases to rage, or until we have all the money we need, we will never laugh. We must laugh. We must laugh in the very presence of all the ugliness and sadness around us. We must laugh not because we do not care about all these things but because we know that in spite of them, "all will be well, all manner of things shall be perfectly well" (as Julian of Norwich once put it).

I laughed at the antics of the crazy centipedes and the bewildered dogs imagined and drawn by the twisted genius of Gary Larson. I laughed because Larson, made as he is in God's image and likeness, reflects in his work the dazzling kind of alchemy that God works upon situations like ours. God takes a situation full of suffering and fear and makes it into a conduit of grace and a womb of charity. God gives laughter in the midst of tragedy and humor in the center of despair. How can I not laugh?

As a Pentecostal, I was taken aback a few years ago when I read Thomas Aquinas's take on healing. He asserts that though God often heals through the laying on of hands and through other mysterious displays of his supernatural grace, God prefers to heal gradually, through the agency of human medicine. Aquinas taught that when a sick person is helpless he or she must submit to doctors, nurses, pharmacists and the like. A community quickly forms in order to bring healing to the sick person. The sick person who submits to this community learns humility. Doctors get to apply their learning and discover compassion. Pharmacists explore God's creation for the proper plants, roots and herbs needed for healing. The sick person's family mobilize to serve their loved one and thus learn more about love. While all of this is happening, God's people pray. The healing community that forms around helping a person get well thus creates a dwelling place for God and goodness. Aquinas said that while we focus upon getting the sick person's body well, God focuses upon bringing healing to many souls and spirits. So when we work together to care for one who is ill, the compassion, prayer and service that gets directed toward that person creates an atmosphere in which God can do a deep work upon many people. I think Aquinas was right. I think I have been watching what Aquinas described unfold before my eyes.

So as I prepare to for bed tonight, I find myself agreeing with Julian of Norwich. Despite all that is difficult and scary, "all will be well; all manner of things shall be perfectly well."

Trish #14

People keep asking me if Trish has "woken up yet." I can only reply that she is awakening -- slowly and steadily.

This morning a nurse asked her if she knew me.

She shook her head "yes."

Then "who is he?" the nurse asked.

Trish looked puzzled for a moment. Then she pointed her finger at her heart.

Her heart knew more than her mind. (That is often the case. We should trust our hearts to speak for us more often!)

Details still escape Trish. Complicated questions seem to bewilder her . She is still not fully conscious for very long at a time.

I compare the process of her recovery to the times when the telephone has awaken me out of a deep sleep. Something in me hears the phone ring. My instinctual self walks (or runs) in a panic to the phone. Some part of me picks it up. That same part of me stammers out something like, "YES! HELLO!" If the person on the other end of the line asks me my name or some other simple thing, that diminished part of me takes a few seconds, trying to figure out what is being asked. Some kind of conversation takes place in a fog but it is not very informative or connected. In fact, there have been a few times like that I did not even remember later.

A similar process is at work in Trish's recovery. In her case, it will taking weeks or perhaps even months for her to become fully conscious. Thank God she did not suffer serious neurological damage, not enough anyway to keep her the way she is permanently. For the moment, however, she is stunned and "sleepy" from her close encounter with death. Her brain was traumatized and is taking its time to heal and to wake up.

I find myself experiencing a diminished sense of conscious awareness since Trish's aneurysm. During these days I have at times felt like as though I were looking at the rest of the world through water. I try to read and can't. I try to think of the church and its needs but I can't focus. I tell myself that it is foolish to stay at the hospital when Trish is asleep most of the time but I can't leave. Every morning I say that I will not stay down there all day but every day I break that promise. I am helpless to do anything constructive for her but I can't seem to do anything else anyway. So I just sit at her side or in the waiting room. Then, the next day, I do it again.

Today though, when I learned that the doctors were going to do another angiogram and knew it would be three hours before I could find out anything about it, my anxiety level got too high to just sit and wait. I called up some friends and we went to see the Stepford Wives. I liked it. The movie is about a group of husbands who arrange to have their wives operated on so the women will be totally submissive and pliant.The women always smile, say cute things, look sexy and don't cause any trouble. The men and women in Stepford think they are living the good life. Actually, they are just sleepwalking; never thinking, never reading, never questioning, never really engaging with life. They are just numbed by their wealth, good looks comfort and a total absence of conflict.

This state of being half-awake is what most of us experience spiritually most of the time. That's why the Bible speaks of the need for us to learn how to be "sober minded" watchful, and "mindful." The bible writers tell us that we were once "dead in trespasses and sin." They admonish us that it is high time that we "awake from our sleep." When I think about the spiritual numbness that seems to be our natural inclination, I wonder if I will spend my whole life sleepwalking. Have I really been wakening up, learning to live, learning to love, learning to be aware? I know that I have always wanted to do big things, important things. Today I just want to be alive. I want to enjoy life with Trish, my family and my friends. I want to serve God and his people wherever I can be of service, whether in a big and important setting or in obscurity. I want to be awake, even if waking up requires pain and conflict.

After all, what good is life if we live it asleep? Or marriage, for that matter.

For years Trish and I had no conflict. We never argued. We never fussed. We thought our relationship was that way because it was an example of a fine Christian marriage. But really our marriage was asleep. It was in a coma. When our marriage first began to wake up, we were afraid. The awareness first made its appearance as conflict and disagreement. Since we were not used to disagreement, were used to being numb, the life and awareness felt scary. But after a while, our conflict turned into discussion and partnership. We threw out the "Stepford marriage model" and opted for a real human partnership.

That's why today I could not hold back the tears when Trish made that little gesture with her finger. As she pointed to her heart to answer the question, "who is this man?" I translated her gesture to mean, "he's the man I have allowed in here, in the deep part of my heart."

What love letter, what romantic gesture, could speak in such a moving way as this?

Does God feel this way when we first begin to wake up? When we begin to stumble our way toward prayer and devotion does he give us such focused attention as I did to Trish today? Is He as moved as I was today when we, sleepy in our spiritual twighlight began to gesture and stagger our way toward Him? If marriage is anything like the relationship between Christ and His church (as we say that it is in the marriage ceremony,) then today I experienced something like what God must experience when we remember him, when we struggle to stay awake, when we watch and pray, when our sleepy soul begins to turn Godward.

Yesterday's MRI did not reveal any damage in Trish's brain stem and today's angiogram revealed nothing worthy of major concern. There is every reason to believe that her ability to swallow should soon return Also, she has been using her left side more and more. So the doctors decided to wait until tomorrow to remove her ventilator. They are hopeful that she will be ready to live without it and without the need to do a tracheotomy. Everyday the doctors and nurses seem to be unplugging a different apparatus from her body. It appears that Trish is being prepared to leave ICU in a couple or three days, if all goes well.

Meanwhile, Trish keeps waking up -- like the rest of us who struggle against our own stupor of anxiety, fear, lust, self centeredness, inordinate love of money and power -- all the effects that have happened to us as a result of the great trauma endured by our souls. Like Trish's brain trauma, we shake ourselves to get free of the things that isolate, confuse and numb our present existence and which keep us from waking up. We want to know and to be known by our beloved; just as I long to know and be fully known by mine.

Trish #13

We are now well into the third week of our adventure. Today, the doctors did an MRI that they hope will determine why Trish still cannot swallow. Her inability to swallow is what prohibits them from removing the ventilator, so this is a crucial piece of information. Tomorrow they will use this information to either remove the ventilator altogether or do a tracheotomy. I appreciate your prayers for us tomorrow that God's perfect will be done for her in this matter.

Trish spends a lot of time sleeping. That is to be expected for any sort of neurological illness. However, when Trish briefly wakes, she is usually very aware, thank God. Yesterday, during one of these times, my daughter asked her if she would like to write. She nodded "yes." So Tiffany gave her a marker and the little whiteboard we had purchased for that very purpose. She tried but she could only make a small squiggly line. This evening however, as she was trying to communicate with her sister, Lisa, she suddenly made a writing motion in the air. I got her the little whiteboard. This time she took the marker and in a messy but understandable script, wrote on the whiteboard, "cup of tea!!!!"

You can bet when that tube comes out tomorrow -- I will have good cup of tea ready for her, if the doctors permit.

When I have the presence of mind, I am trying to learn all I can about Subarachnoid Hemorrhage. That is the technical name for what happened to Trish. I have discovered that a very high percentage of people who suffer from this catastrophic illness, die immediately or in the days following the initial rupture of the aneurysm. However, I have also discovered that the chances for survival rise dramatically once the first two weeks have passed. After that, the medical staff focus upon recovery. That is where we are now in Trish's illness.

Doctors assign grades to an aneurysm such as the one Trish experienced (1-4). The grade indicates the level of danger that the aneurysm poses to the life of a pateint and the quality of their health should they recover. The doctors gave Trish's aneurysm a #3, a very serious hemmhorage. When the aneurysm fully ruptured, Trish stopped breathing entirely. Had she not been at the hospital when this happned, she would most certainly not be alive today. When Trish stopped breathing, the hospital personnel moved quickly into action. They gave her oxygen and did other emergency interventions that kept her brain from being much less traumatized that it would have been otherwise. Those emergency procedures have made our hope for a full recovery reasonable. Trish and I are both trained therapists.

We have spent considerable time and energy studying the human brain and nervous system. We have studied the various disorders and the treatments available for them. Lately, I had begun to believe that perhaps I had allowed myself to get diverted from my pastoral calling becasue of my intrest in this field. A few weeks ago, I said to Trish, "Why should I be so interested in issues like stroke rehab and the like, I 'll never work in that field!"

It appears that God, knowing what I did not, has been preparing us for this very moment of our journey.

I read a wonderful book a few years ago called A Prayer For Owen Meany. It was a weird book, in a way. After I read it it haunted me for months. (It was a good haunting though!) Basically, the novel was about how God prepares people their entire lives for important moments to come. It explores why people develop interests, take courses, read books and have conversations that move them toward preparation for things they must face at some point but which they might have never imagined on their own. (This is a real biblical notion, of course. Just think of Joseph in the Old Testament!)

Anyway, I was telling my friend, Mark Buckley the other day that I am one of the few pastors I know who is obsessed about mental health. For years I have been reading literature about brain and psychological studies -- even in my spare time. For a long time now, Trish and I have turned to that subject nearly every day. Now we will experience first hand how God heals brains and what we can do to facilitate that healing.

Well, I conclude with some prayers. One, a prayer of thanksgiving for the beautiful moment today in which Trish wrote a complete thought -- with her characteristic humor and intensity. Another prayer is for tomorrow that Trish be spared the need for a tracheotomy; that she will be able to function fully without the ventilator. And finally, another prayer, this one of gratitude for the powerful support of so many caring people all over this nation.

And a request: please keep praying, this battle is not yet won.

Trish #12

Today we had a setback.

Last night the nurse told me that the respiratory physician was ready to remove Trish's ventilator. Early this morning, her neurologist affirmed his decision. So as I drove to the hospital, I prepared for the experience of hearing Trish speak after two weeks of silence.

It didn't happen this morning, but when I went back to the hospital at 4:00 I discovered they had taken her ventilator out. As I went into the room, Trish was sitting halfway up on her bed. She was raised to a semi-sitting position. She looked good but she was anxious. Her blood pressure was elevated because she was working so hard to breathe. The nurse asked me to leave the room for an hour. They would decide if she would be able to stay off the ventilator.
Trish was able to say a quick "I love you" in a very gruff and battered voice and I left the room.

After half an hour, the nurse came to the waiting room. She told me that they had decided to put Trish back on the ventilator. Trish was having a difficult time both with breathing and swallowing. The natural secretions that most of us take for granted as we swallow them every few minutes, had no place to go. Trish was in danger of the secretions getting into her lungs.

Tomorrow or the next day, the doctors will either try again to remove Trish's ventilator or they will do a tracheotomy. This is a procedure in which a hole is made in the patient's lower neck to allow him or her to breathe. The doctors don't want to leave the ventilator in much longer. They fear of infection, pneumonia or other complications. With a tracheotomy, Trish will be able to begin physical therapy. Perhaps she may even get up to walk in a few days. However, a tracheotomy will mean that she will have a much longer recovery, at least in terms of breathing naturally through her mouth and nose.

I am hurt and discouraged by this news. I have been reminding myself to cheer up. I tell myself that just a few days ago, Trish's life was in danger. I should be with her delighted progress. After all, the nurse also told me that she had been able to talk to Trish while she was off the ventilator. The nurse said that Trish had used words correctly and constructed sentences normally. Trish was also aware of the month and year, something she could not seem to remember just two days ago. So she is making progress -- good progress. evidently, she has not suffered major cognitive damage. All of this is good -- very good. And yet, tonight I am discouraged.

The proverbs tell us that "a hope deferred makes the heart sick." How many things we hope for in life do not happen as we had wished! We always have occasions to lose heart. Things in real life do not usually match the way our imagination anticipates them. This is one of life's most important lessons, learning to press on through our deferred hopes. No one's spirit can endure long enough to achieve any truly important cause if he or she does not learn how to deal with hopes that get deferred.

For nearly a generation, American Evangelicals have been taught that real faith consists in never taking "no" for an answer. We have been promised that if we only believe we will always achieve, that if we persist we will inevitably obtain. So we have very little patience with deferred hopes. And yet the writer of the Hebrews tells us that many of the great men and women of God "all died having not obtained the promises and yet they nonetheless obtained God's favor because they continued to believe that He was faithful who had promised." Surely some of these heroes of faith experienced the sickness of heart that comes from deferred hopes. Evidently, they learned how to move through this kind of "sickness." They must have learned what that great philosopher and theologian, Dolly Parton, once said a few years ago: "a broken heart won't really kill you unless you let it."

How often I have comforted people in the hospital when they experienced setbacks like the one we experienced today. How often I have smiled and assured people, "this is nothing, really. Things are fine. This is the way healing works; its three steps forward and one step back. Don't lose heart." People are saying those same things to me today. They are right. I should listen tot them. But tonight my heart won't stay soothed. I keep feeling waves of sadness that just won't go away.

Some fears rose up in my heart today. "What if she won't ever be able to breathe on her own? What if I don't have the financial resources required to get her the kind of therapy she will need? What if she goes through the rest of life without a voice? What if, what if ...?"

All of these are unreasonable fears at this point. Trish is actually doing quite well, considering the trauma she has walked through these past two weeks. The sorrow I am feeling tonight is much greater than the situation calls for. It is quite likely that tomorrow I won't feel this anxiety. But I do feel it tonight.

I said goodbye to my parents and my sister tonight. In the morning, they are returning home. They came to stay with us through the worse days, the most dangerous ones and these are now past. They are leaving because things are much improved. Still, the goodbye was hard. I think it is because I almost had to say the great goodbye to Trish last week. Understandably, my feelings are a bit fragile.

I am also impatient. My Pentecostal upbringing makes me think of real healing as "he straightway got upon his feet, leaping and praising God in a loud voice." So I wanted for Trish to speak today so that tomorrow she could walk and the next day she could go home and have a cup of tea with me. In my imagination, Sunday might be the day she could give her testimony while we all wept and shouted for joy. It doesn't look like God wanted to cooperate with my imagination.

Its not the first time!

Last week, our Hopi pastor, Elmer Myron, wrote me the words of a Hopi song: "Ihiksi Kwakwhat an Hinumni" ( My spirit will rest and be at peace in you.) He translated a line from one of the verses, "Even though the evil one will try me; happiness/joy will prevail." Am I up to this? Can happiness/joy prevail in my heart even when things don't work out as I wish or as quickly as I hope? Our Native American friends are better at this, I think. Maybe this is a time I can learn from them.

Deferred hopes are unavoidable, in our current crisis and in life. We all must live with dreams that never quite materialize. We all have plans that never get off the ground. If we build our faith in God on the notion that if we serve Him the right way and know the right things to say, we will always get exactly what we want when we want it, our "faith" will not survive. Faith is not a sprint; it is a marathon. It is "he that endures to the end" that will be saved. Endurance is, among other things, about surviving deferred hopes.

In the past few years, Trish and I have had many opportunities to deal with deferred hopes. Some of these have been extremely difficult to accept without bitterness. Some of our friendships did not turn out as we wished. I never got great books published like I had believed would happen. Trish didn't get her job as a therapist at some prestigious clinic.

The years have gone by as we have struggled to keep a church going for people who didn't have a lot of money and who were often not welcome other places. And yet, in all of this, we have never lost hope that God would somehow use us in the way he wanted. In retrospect, had all the early hopes I carried in my early years materialized, I would probably be a one dimensional person, without depth and without any real meaning. Our marriage would probably not exist. I would very likely be a cynical, lonely and cold person. Instead, I am sitting here tonight pouring out my heart to hundreds of friends who have been listening with great concern and with wonderful compassion.

I am missing my wife because I really love, admire and need her. I have been able to walk this path surrounded by the comfort of people who obviously love us and who have been showing us this love in tangible ways. And isn't this what we wanted? Here is am writing things that are actually being read. Trish's life and ministry is flowing out and touching people in profound ways. We have experienced a genuine oneness of heart in our marriage. We have no doubt about the meaning of life.

We have discovered our life's meaning -- we know that our lives have a purpose and lasting worth -- all because we have been learning for the last many years to deal with our deferred hopes. So yes, deferred hopes do make our hearts sick. But, over time, how we deal with those deferred hopes seem to have the power to make our souls well.

"The word of the Lord tested Joseph until the day appointed for his vision to come to pass," the Psalm says.

I wonder if Joseph experienced any nights of despair in that prison? Surely he must have! Somehow though, he learned how to make his despair temporary and his hopes permanent. That's how he finally come to fill the place that God had been preparing for him to fill all along.

Tonight, that's a comforting thought!

Trish #11

Trish sat in a chair today!

It was a neat gadget that can be folded down flat. The nurse rolls the patient from the bed onto the "chair." The apparatus can then be moved into a vertical position. She sat in the chair for nearly an hour, though she slept most of that time. She was exhausted from the work. Nonetheless, she kept her eyes open for longer periods than any day up until now.

Trish shakes her head "yes" or "no" to communicate. (She is still on the ventilator for a few more days.) She seems to know where she is. She has some general idea about what has happened to her. She remains confused, however. Tonight I just told her not to try to stay awake. I told her to rest, that I would stay with her for a while as she slept. She held my hand. She would open her eyes every few minutes to look at me. Then she would sleep again.

I will probably not send a daily update after tonight. I will write from time to time to let you know how things are going. I deeply appreciate your patience with my use of these e-mails to process my own feelings and fears these last eleven days. Many of you have written very helpful remarks to me and these have been a source of great encouragement. It helped get me through.

Keep praying. The journey ahead is long and there is much to learn. Trish must go through extensive therapy in coming months. But I am joyful that she gets the opportunity to do the work of recovery. Most in her situation do not get that opportunity.

In my sermon tomorrow, I will focus on our journey these past two weeks. I will try to express what I believe I have learned. If you want a copy, just open the attachment that I include with this e-mail. (It is a first draft, simply a rough general outline of what I intend to say.)

Today concluded 11 full days since Trish's aneurysm hemorrhaged. She has come through the most dangerous phase of her trial. Two days from now she will likely be out of the most serious danger to her survival. From then on, the doctors and hospital staff will focus on her rehabilitation and restoration. After that, we will focus upon her testimony and how to share it!

I am glad to have been able these past two weeks to share with you the remarkable woman that is my wife. On her behalf, and on behalf of my children and grandchildren, I thank you for your prayers. Your love and concern kept us from going under.

You are the family of God and I honor you. Despite the aggravation we often experience with the Lord's church, I can testify that in time of great need, it does its work amazingly well.

Trish #10

Today, for about five minutes, Trish and I just looked into one another's eyes.

I didn't say anything. She can't say anything. Since she can't keep her eyes open for very long yet, just looking at one another was a real gift. It was the first time she has really looked at me since June 3.

Finally I said, "do I look funny?" She shook her head no.

We were experiencing real love through that look. At so many levels, we have become one and the brain trauma hasnot destroyed that oneness. It wasn't always that way. We had to fight for it. If you have a bit of patience, I would like to tell you about how this happened to us.
Maybe it would help if I begin with an example of what commitment is.

Trish and I both belong to a spiritual community called by different names, depending on the denomination involved. The Methodists call it Walk To Emmaus. Roman Catholics and Episcopalians call it Cursillo, or "little course" (in the beliefs of Christianity.) Charismatics and Pentecostal Christians call it Tres Dias. Whatever you call it, the movement began in Spain many years ago. It still carries a bit of that culture, using a number of Spanish words for many of the disciplines and teachings that it attempts to impart to its members. The essence of the movement is a personal commitment to live out the teachings of Jesus in practical and daily ways. Last night, the women's Tres Dias weekend for Central Arizona began. If Trish were not in the hospital she might be serving at this weekend retreat, as many of her friends are doing.

I don't want to bore you with a part of our life that may be of little interest to you. I just want to say that belonging to our central Arizona chapter has helped many of us work through the aftermath of some extremely difficult church troubles that we experienced here in Phoenix a few years ago. Staying connected through this community, even in the days when we were still hurt at one another, provided us a way to keep talking. For a while, we kept serving Jesus together simply because we had made commitments to do so. That commitment kept us together long enough for healing to begin in our city.

This is the essence of what Christians call "covenant." Its about sticking together when you really want to run. We don't maintain commitment simply to satisfy some legalistic requirement. YUCK! That sick kind of commitment turns companionship into an endurance contest. Real commitement is simply about giving a relationship some parameters and the foundation it requires so love and trust can go deeper. Nearly everyone wants a quality relationship. Few seem to know how much work it takes to form one. The idea for many is that real realtionship just happens or it doesn't. Few seem to know that it is the outcome of intentional work. Covenant makes it possible to get through the phases of relationship when surface connections wear thin and that initial electricity manufactured by novelty begins to wane and then disappear. The deep connections people hunger for can only happen after these natural rhythms of life have run their course.

Marriage is like that. In the first years of our marriage, Trish and I found it very difficult to connect to one another. Our temperaments and ways of "being in the world" make for a rather drastic contrast. A few years ago, we even begin to think that our marriage might not make it. We had to put our marriage into an "intensive care unit." We went through two forty hour weeks of therapy. Gosh, how difficult those weeks were! After those two weeks, we began working in earnest on our marriage. Wonderful marriage counselors worked with us every week for three years. We each went to inividual counseling and to groups as well. We didn't experience any instant miracle. No scripture suddenly flamed into a glorious "hallelujah breakthrough." The work was slow. It was hard. It was painful. It almost didn't work.

And then it did work.

We slowly went deeper. The hurtful truth-telling slowly turned into mutual support. Then, at some point, we turned a corner. We began to allow each to enter the private space of our individual dreams, ambitions, shame, hurt and love. We began to learn how to cherish one another. We connected.

We have enjoyed one another for a number of years now. We found common ground. Trish went back to school. She earned a bachelors, then a masters and then a specialization in trauma and abuse work. She did all of this with a 4.0 average, this amazing woman. She was working at the Salvation Army in drug rehab when her aneurysm hemmoraged. If you had known Trish a few years ao, you would realize that this has represented a real change of life for her. As we both studied, we talked constantly about what we were reading and learning. (Believe it or not, lately we have both been interested in stroke rehabilitation and how the brain heals. That will sure come in handy now!) We have so enjoyed one another these past four years. And to think, we could have walked away from each other had we not been willing to do the hard work it takes to have a quality mariage. Without the concept of covenant, Trish and I would npot have had the resources to keep going. We would have gone our seperate ways.

When Trish went into the coma, I grieved and hurt. These past ten days, I have had many times of weeping and even fear. However, I have not been burdened with any unresolved anger or unforgiven insults. The air between us was clear before this current battle began.

Tonight she did not interact much. She had been happy earlier when I told her that Tyson, our soldier son-in-law was coming to see her and she did know that he was there. But mostly she wanted to sleep. The nurse said that she is just extreemly tired. "Given the extent of her trauma and the time that has past since, the only way it would be better is if she had never had to come here at all," he said.

Encouraging words. However, they do not remove the fact that Trish's recovery will be long and difficult. We will have to learn new skills, become more informed about her condition, and release life as it has been in order to accept this new phase that life has brought to us. But of course, we have already gone through that process. It was worth it then. It will be worth it now.

This crisis is up against covenant, which will, by God's grace, turn the trauma into nurishment and work it into news ways to make our love deeper.

Trish #9

Tonight before I went to the hospital, I called and asked the ICU nurse how Trish was doing. She said, "Trish is doing OK. She wanted to watch Dr. Phil."

"WHAT?" I asked.

"I just asked her if she wanted to watch television -- Dr. Phil was on --a nd she shook her head yes. So, I turned the TV on. She kept her eyes focused on it for a few minutes."
Amazing, isn't it? Dr. Phil puts me INTO a deep sleep. Today, Trish watched him to come OUT of a deep sleep.

Trish was not quite that responsive when I got to her room. She had gone back into her state of twighlight sleep. But she did squeeze my hand. She also squeezed my daughter's hand with her LEFT hand. It is obvious that she has regained more control over her left side today.

She is still very ill. She continues to need much prayer. The next four days should move her out of the most dangerous period though, and we will start focusing upon recovery.

I am becoming aware that there are hundreds, perhaps a few thousand now, reading these e-mails. I regret that I have nothing profound to say tonight. Well, except for maybe one thing: that sometimes the most spiritual thing that can happen to us is to receive the grace to rejoice in some ordinary, natural thing. "Natural" is good. We are made to be natural. Divine fireworks are not the norm in either time or in eternity.

God reveals his character through creation. When we look at creation, we see that he made the tides to rise and fall every day. He made birds fly North and then south again, every year. These and thousands of other parts of creation shows our Creator to be a God of patterns and rhythms. So he is a God of "natural" and "ordinary." We never get truly healthy (spiritually speaking,) until we stop craving "big" and "spectacular." We begin to find peace for our souls on the day we first see the grace shinning through ordinary things.

Think about this: God only made three kinds of creatures. He made angels, which are spiritual beings. He made animals, which are material beings. And he made humans, which are incarnational beings, that is to say creatures who are both spiritual and material. That is the way God made us; that is the way he intends for us to be. When forget our spiritual nature and try to be animals, we get into real trouble. Most people realize that this is true. However, many people don't realize that we get into just as much trouble when we try to be angels. God does not intend for us to be angels, in this world or in the next. He made us to be embodied creatures. He made us to desire to touch the stars. But he also made us to touch the earth. He made us to give and receive love. But he made us to express that love through material means. We never really understand spiritual reality unless and until we learn to see the spiritual significance in ordinary and material things. Otherwise, we live in abstraction and fantasy. Ordinary things root us to the realm we were made to live in and to enjoy -- the earth.

For most of these days of trial, I have focused upon spiritual reality. I have pondered unseen things. But tonight, I am mostly happy about Trish wanting to watch Dr. Phil! Hopefully, her taste will improve with therapy! She has had a brain trauma after all. But if she insists, it will be my joy to watch Dr. Phil with her if that is what she wants to do. I am quite ready to accept doing nothing more spectacular than sitting on the couch with Trish, watching Dr. Phil. ( I can't believe I am saying this!!) Sitting on the couch with my wife, holding her hand and just being grateful that she is here, is an ordinary thing that I have failed to appreciate enough. I have always been driven to "make time count," to be productive -- all that nonsense. Tonight, I just hunger for "ordinary" and "mundane."

Well, my friends, that's my thought for the day. It is night. It is time for rest. He who never sleeps and never slumbers will watch over us all, saint and sinner alike, as our physical bodies enjoy their daily Sabbath. So let us give thanks to our God who "gives his beloved sleep." Though most of the time, sleep is nothing to "write home about," just one of those natural and ordinary things that happen, the scriptures tell us that our Heavenly Father gives us the gift of sleep each night. It is a most extraordinary, ordinary thing.

Holy God, give MY beloved sleep tonight. Keep her safe until the night that I can hold her once again in my arms. I know that someday you will call for one of us. When you do, we will submit in peace to your will.

But not yet, Lord. Not yet.

Trish #8

It is possible that I experienced the sweetest moment of my life this evening. It happened as my daughters and I surrounded Trish's bed and sang hymns. I could hardly continue singing because I wanted to listen to my children minister to their mother. For they were singing with such a love and tenderness that I can only describe it as a "foretaste of glory divine."

My daughters are strong, like the women of my mountain home. They know how to sing and pray in that certain way that opens the soul. As I listened to them, I kept wondering, "when did they learned to do that?" I heard their mother, their grandmothers and even great grandmother's voices pouring through them. My children's voices were carrying that aching sense of longing that reminds a person that they have a home far away in another world. It is the most piercing, marvelous and mysterious sound one can experience in this life.

My great grandmother had that voice. She was born in the mountains of West Virginia in the 1880's and carried the name Utalka. She was already old when I was a little boy but I was old enough to witness her spirit and her connection to God. I can see her even now, with those long braids hanging down her back. She had eyes that were sunk so deeply into her head that it was almost frightening. They pierced out at whoever she was looking at. And her skin! It was so wrinkled. But every fold of her skin was a glory and a grace. My daughters, born 100 years after her own birth, are her children. Though they live in the desert of the American Southwest, they have mountain souls. Somewhere and somehow, they have learned how to open their souls to God. That's what they did tonight. I don't know when they learned to do this. I don't know if one can learn to do it.

I watched Trish's face began to glow in spite of the agony and weariness of her trial. The tubes in her head and mouth; the bruises on her arms, red and brown from the now countless needles; the indignity of her appearance-- all of this was overcome for those magical moments as my daughters sang so their mother could find her way home. I could almost see her spirit straining to connect, trying to allow their voices to attach to her soul. Like one who is in waters over her head might grab a rope to get pulled to the shore by loved ones, Trish was grasping at the voices of her children.

Trish knows how to follow the voices. She had a grandmother who knew the way home. She knows what it is like to feel on her shoulder the weathered hand of a strong woman who has known wind and rain. She knows what it is like to hear the wail of wisdom pierce the morning air in songs as ancient as the earth. As the chores were getting done and life was being lived, mountain women wove their melodies into my wife's being. Tonight, when Trish heard the voices of her children calling out to God, she knew how to follow them. She knows that sound.

This sounds so weird to people now. To speak of soul and song, of spirit and longing, of wailing and wonder -- how can I possibly expect people make sense of such things? And yet, they are the deepest hungers of the human heart. We are not made to be machines. We are not made to be statistics and categories. We are created for awe. We are created for God. When we forget the way to our soul we lose every reason to live. That is why my children sang to their mother -- to remind her feel for her soul, to open up her being to life and to health. They sang to create a sacred space in which Trish could sense the presence of God. They know if she can do that, she will come home to them.

There are times in life that one cannot do that for himself or herself. In such times, we must have family to do it for us.

Trish and I were both raised in Appalachian families. In that context, "family" does not mean a Dad and Mom, two kids and a great dane. For us, family is a village. When I was a child, the word "family" meant great uncles and great aunts, great-grandfathers and grandmothers, a gazillion cousins and waves and waves of "kin" who identified their blood connection to me by the way the family tree had forked through the generations of its history. Trish and I share that experience of family. We have a people.

In this current trial, Trish and I have heard from "our people." One group sent a quilt, each square meaning something different and each stitch made with prayer. The woman sent the quilt with deep affection, to carry hope to my wife. Many wrote to tell us that their church is praying, or that their family is interceding for us. It is astounding just how vibrant this network of "kin" became within days. I had nearly forgotten how deeply connected we are with so many.

A few years ago, Hillary Clinton wrote a book: It takes a Village (to raise a child). We conservative types tended to ridicule the title of the book and the concept that it represents. We shouldn't have. The concept is right. It is biblical. The individualistic approach to life we have been taking for a long time in our country is poverty stricken and soul-sick. It leaves us exposed. It leaves us unprotected. It leaves us without a people. No amount of church crowds or slick programs can replace not having a people.

This week, Trish has been protected and nursed to health not only by the wonderful hospital staff at St. Josephs -- the nurses, doctors, specialists, therapists, cleaning people, cooks -- all of them -- but by the hundreds of people who love us. The notes, the cards, the gifts, the fervent prayer, the practical help with cleaning our home; cooking for us; people just trying to take up the slack -- we have survived this week because we have a family, a clan, a village. For over a week, we have witnessed the earthly side of the "communion of saints" in action.

Beside Trish's bed are two items -- a cross given to us by Don Montgomery and a little blue bear, sent by the Salvation Army. They represent the people of God in all their variety and variation. They represent all those who surrounded us, who have built a wall to protect and defend us. They represent our kin.

Tonight, two voices rang out from among our people. Those voices collected the hopes and faith of our "kin" in heaven and earth and sang them into the awakening spirit of my wife. Jesus walked into her room on a royal road formed by their song.

The struggle continues. Trish is moving, ever so slightly, her left hand and left foot. By God's grace, the ventilator may be removed tomorrow. We keep moving through this dangerous time, sustained by the voices of God's people. Tonight, two of these voices were those of my own children.

Life really is beautiful.

Blessed be God!

Trish #7

This morning I went to the Salvation Army in South Phoenix. I took a tour of that wonderful ministry, that like so many precious works of God, operates on a shoestring. Trish has a secret life there. They didn't know me. I had to tell them that I am Trish's husband to get in. Then I got the royal treatment! I met several of Trish's clients. They told me that they are praying for Trish.

How precious the body of Christ is when it is in motion. We seem to be at our best when we are ministering to those in need. I have certainly witnessed the beauty and glory of the Lord's Church this week. I am humbled and moved.

Because I am very tired tonight, this will be a brief note.

Trish was tired today and slept a lot. But she did open her eyes several times and squeeze my hand. She knows everyone. Tonight before I left the hospital, she was able to squeeze with her left hand ever so slightly.

I end with a prayer that my friend, Kris Jenson sent me:

"Keep watch dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous, and all for your love's sake. Amen"

" O God, your unfailing providence sustains the world we live in and the life we live: Watch over those, both night and day, who work while others sleep, and grant that we may never forget that our common life depends upon each other's toil; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen."

Trish #6

Trish made progress today. For one thing, she opened her eyes.

This time, instead of the spaced-out, unfocused glaze we have been seeing, the light of her person shined through, at least for brief moments. She repeatedly stroked my arm. She squeezed my hand. I tell you, no touch has ever passed between us that was more intimate or more precious than this. Nor has any private moment between us ever been more ecstatic or full of bliss for me.

Talitha, Tiffany and I sang Blessed Assurance and Amazing Grace as she nodded her head. Two or three were gathered and our Lord was there, just as He promised.

Trish once pointed to the tubes in her mouth and nose. She was asking me for an explanation for her discomfort. She did not seem to be afraid. She seemed to be at peace.

The MRI results reveal that Trish has probably suffered at least one small stroke since last Tuesday. However, the doctor says that there is no significant tissue damage. So there is every reason to believe that the current paralysis on her left side will not be permanent.

All of this is good news. Trish remains at a at high risk for vasospasms, however. These frightening episodes occur 3 -10 days after an aneurysm. I have learned -- and I hope I explain this correctly -- the outside of the arteries are allergic to blood. This is a good thing if you cut your arm off in some field. You have a fair chance of not bleeding to death. The arteries will clamp shut and stop the bleeding. In the brain, this same life-saving feature can be disastrous. Since an aneurysm soaks the brain in blood, arteries and veins become very irritated and agitated. So the arteries tend to clamp shut, just as they are programmed to do. Please, pray hard and specifically that Trish will be delivered from these vasospasms.

It is so hard to sleep at night while Trish goes through this dangerous time frame. It is good to know that God was mindful of this. Lat night, a young nurse introduced herself to me. She said her name was Amanda Evans. Tonight, that same nurse said, "I go to your church. I have worked here at this hospital a long time but this is the first time I have ever been assigned to this particular unit. God has placed me here for tonight. So go home and rest tonight, pastor. The Lord has me here to watch your wife. I promise that I will give her my undivided attention."

More of God's secret agents. This week, I have run into them everywhere. This is so appropriate because my Trish is one of these secret agents herself . She works quietly. She prays behind the scenes. She just does what needs to be done. She pushes the darkness back a bit and gives witness to the light in whatever situation she finds herself. She does not mind high things. She condescends to men of low estate.

This week I have watched doctors and nurses, cleaning people and interns and all kinds of other people at work, all busy saving lives. They comfort hurting people. They bring hope to hopeless situations. They stand guard while we sleep. They keep watch over the walls of the city because evil is always trying to sneak in to kill, to steal and to destroy. These hospital workers have made me think of our policeman, mental health workers, sanitation workers and other kinds of workers who each in their own way contribute to the ceaseless struggle against chaos and evil that continually works to overcome humanity's health. And here I though that the church was the main place where good confronts evil! As it turns out, the work of the church, though vital, is hardly solitary in doing the work of redemption and warring against the darkness.

This week, dozens have worked hard to give me and my family space to grieve and care for ourselves. Talitha's mother-in-law stayed home from work to keep the newborn baby safe so my daughter could be with her mother as much as possible. Our pastors and church staff doubled up on work that I have not been there to do. Then there is my son in law: he cannot be here because he is a soldier. He is busy guarding us all from any possible attack. Such people form the structure that holds the world together. Through such people the kingdom of God makes itself visible to the world. Tonight, I honor these real heroes, the people who really make the work work. They humble me. They make me want to be certain that what I am doing is really of eternal significance and is not just some sick ego trip done in Christ's name for my own aggrandizement.

We live in a day of superstar religious figures. They are too often plastic people made for the stage who have no real mission in life other than strutting before a camera or a congregation. They master the moves and words of piety and prayer. they never hold a grieving mother. They never listen to the sobs of an addict who is crushed in spirit and who has lost all hope of redemption. My wife, Trish, is the essence of the kind of people who really advance the kingdom of God. She breaths concern for people who are lost. She seeks out those who are in need of help. She has never cared for fame. She has never sought to be recognized. She has always been slightly uncomfortable even with the reasonable amount of protocol that public work requires. She has always looked for a way to get to the periphery of the crowd in order to find the one person who may be left out and unnoticed. She finds struggling people, uncool people, ignored people, poor and minority people, sinner people -- she makes the unwanted people of the world feel included.

So it is altogether fitting that these should be the kind of people who now care for Trish. Of course, sooner or later, they are the kind of people who care for all of us. The "cool" folk rarely make it to needy places or to needy people. When it comes their time for care, it is people like Trish who are there, dispensing grace and doing good.

Trish is now sleeping through the most dangerous week of her life. But an angel stays awake all night to keep her safe, a woman who was embarrassed to introduce herself to me; a woman who apologized for her presumptuousness. The writer to the Hebrews refers to such people as "those of whom the world was not worthy." Tonight, I learned what that phrase meant.