“When all you see is your pain, you lose sight of God.” The movie The Shack was recommended to me by several Christian friends. Others pointed to its lack of Biblical truth and refused to watch it. I opted to focus on its elements that line up with my personal faith. The quote written above was one of those moments.

A marriage counseling couple from Detroit came to visit my husband and me. Our friendship began in the late ‘70’s and has continued to this day. They shared how difficult it is to reach others for Christ who choose to host a never-ending pity party. Just recently, after eight years of off-and-on meetings with one particular couple, our friends told the husband and wife that they would continue to pray for them but could see them no more.

“Eight years?” I asked. “I wouldn’t last eight sessions. Did you give them homework and ideas for things they were to work on?”

The answer was yes, every meeting, but nothing changed. Our discussion turned to John 5:6 where Jesus approaches a paralytic and asks, “Do you want to get well?” I’ve written articles on this verse before, and our friends said this couple was an example of individuals who do not.

If you are involved in a prayer chain, chances are you have been introduced to these types of people. I’m not trying to be insensitive, but week after week, year after year, their names appear, their symptoms varying from illness to work issues to family disputes. Tom Ehrich, an Episcopal priest and writer for “Religion News Service,” called complainers “narcissistic.” “Whining makes me the center of everything,” he wrote. A little drastic, in my opinion, because at least these people are seeking prayer. What’s wrong with that?

Nothing, until that becomes their identity. I have two friends whose lives are relentless trials and setbacks, yet they never complain and continue to trust in God’s goodness. If they add their names to a prayer list, things are pretty bad. But let’s face it, some people don’t want to do their part to get well.

Do you remember the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead? Lazarus exited the tomb bound with graveclothes and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to the witnesses, “Loose him, and let him go.” Simply being raised from the dead was not enough. Lazarus needed to be unbound. The victim mentality allows Christians to remain in graveclothes that keep them wrapped up in their circumstances. They have made a declaration of faith in Jesus Christ but choose to attach themselves to defeat, refusing to change their focus to 1 John 4:4: He (God) who lives in you is greater than he (Satan) who is in the world.

These grumblers suffer from spiritual amnesia, rarely following up with thankfulness by crediting God for pulling them through their difficulties. That’s because their “rescuer” is people or a prayer chain or, like in my friends’ counseling experience, someone else willing to listen to the wife’s litany of gripes. (And yes, if you are wondering, that marriage ended in divorce.)

My heart aches for people who choose to focus on their misery. Most of the time, my prayers for them have nothing to do with their circumstances but all to do with them seeing how their complaints have become their label. Look again at the quote from The Shack: “When all you see is your pain, you lose sight of God.”

The remedy comes in Colossians 3:2: Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.

Americans and Canadians are now leaving Mexico and heading home for the summer, and with a goal of ending up with no food in our condos, “Refrigerator Clean-Out” parties abound. So, we all congregate in the condominium of the ones leaving, pick what kinds of cheese or meats or canned goods we might use, thank our generous friends, and then, a few days later, have our own departing exodus get-together, many times giving away what we took from those who left before us.

We prepare our condominiums until we return (hopefully) in the fall. Darkened shades protect the furniture from the sun’s damage, fans help with air circulation, underwear is placed in the refrigerator (Not kidding; it saves the elastic), cars are garaged with trickle-charge batteries attached, and we pray for the best. “Best” meaning no hurricane or tsunami or earthquake or saltwater damage.

Yesterday, making up for lost time, I had a massage.

For years I have heard raves about Corina, the gal who comes to our complex and is a master at relieving tension. She is not for wimps. Corina started off gently, rubbing my shoulder blades before pressing some area above my hip that shot me into orbit. Hers was a two-hand approach, one kneading my left shoulder area near my spine and the other on that hip spot. Mine was a “try not to whimper” approach. Occasionally Corina would find some body part not filled with marbles, but that was rare, and trust me, holding my breath instead of squeezing her tonsils as a reflexive response was exhausting. Following our time together, I spent an hour trying to figure out how my kidneys ended up above my lungs.

Corina’s hands were weapons, a gift from God to torture those of us willing to hand over 500 pesos ($25.00) to be woman-handled.

Yesterday, the day before Dave and I left Mazatlán, I took my friend Saundra’s advice and made an appointment with Diana, the lady across the street who gives facials. My face, it seems, required about 16 steps to repair its damage, the fifth of which was preempted with these words. “This might make you feel like your face is on fire, but it’s necessary because of the sun’s harm to your skin.” At that point, Diana threw kerosene on my face and lit it with a blow torch. By the 10^th step when she “exfoliated” the dirt lurking in the skin of my nose, I was sure I would be faceless for the rest of my life.

Driving across the mountains of Mexico today was a piece of tres-leches cake compared to the pain endured on body parts I had ignored for far too long but had spent hours of the two previous days repairing. Experts were able to see problems under the surface of my skin that I had no idea were there. Instead of a maintenance program, I had allowed things to get out of hand…or back…or face…or wherever. And I paid a price for ignoring what I needed to do.

Don’t we all do that with our spiritual lives? We go through the motions of daily happenings and ignore the warning signs of what our faith requires until jolted awake by our expert Creator, the One who sees danger below the surface. We are shocked by the damage done when our sins get out of control and question why we did not do a maintenance check on our spiritual life.

When did I stop talking to Jesus throughout the day? How did it become so easy not to attend church? What happened to my New Years’ oath that I would study my Bible on a regular basis? If those questions represent you, perhaps it is time for some spiritual kneading or burning or exfoliating…you know, a maintenance program none of us can fail to ignore.

He appeared to be no older than six or seven. Dave and I were on a four-lane road at a stop light in Mazatlán, Mexico, when he walked in front of all of the cars, carrying two plastic balls. The young juggler was going to perform for tips. The only problem was that he couldn’t juggle. He spent more time chasing his errant ball between cars than he did catching it mid-air. Plus, one cannot call transferring two balls from hand to hand “juggling.” Still, many drivers saw beyond his lack of talent and tipped the youngster. Here in Mexico, it is not uncommon for “entertainers” to camp out at busy intersections. From stilt-walkers to break dancers to fire jugglers to acrobats to musicians, all distract bored drivers and passengers, hoping for a few pesos of gratitude. Occasionally entrepreneurs walk up and down the rows of stopped cars, selling strawberries, trash bags or some yellow drink in a water bottle (which I have no plans to ever try). Groups wash windshields for tips, firemen hold out their helmets for handouts, amputees sit on corners, hoping to earn a living, and blind people are led by a helping friend through the rows of cars. You get the picture. There is no shortage of diversions while waiting for a light to turn green. The other day, however, I saw something disturbing. Across the busy street, standing in front of stopped cars coming the opposite direction, was a woman with a child—a child, not an infant– strapped horizontally on her back, while she attempted to juggle. Just as I noticed her, the light changed, and she hustled to the sidewalk area. I determined that when we returned and would be on her side of the street, I would give her more than the usual amount we donate. Our errand was a short one, but when we drove to her spot, she was gone. I was sick. How desperate this mother had to be to traverse through stopped cars in the hot sun doing whatever it took to make a little money! Had I been intentional, I could have had Dave stop in the parking lot after we crossed the intersection and run the money over to her. Instead, I opted to wait until it was convenient. Convenient. Probably not a word in this woman’s vocabulary. What can be convenient about spending my day begging, having no one to watch my toddler while being a side- show for the travelers too inconvenienced to help out? 2 Timothy 4:2 tells us to keep a sense of urgency, whether the situation is convenient or inconvenient, and Proverbs 3:27-28 reinforces Timothy’s writing: Never walk away from someone who deserves help; your hand is God’s hand for that person. Don’t tell your neighbor “Maybe some other time” or “Try me tomorrow. The intersection where that occurred is about 20 minutes from our house. I have returned there a few times, but the woman has been replaced by political supporters working for the upcoming election. Not only did this begging woman lose, but so did I. Pastor Jonathan Del Turco reminds us of who benefits from being put out: “Life teaches us that all too often the best things in life – its greatest breakthroughs, miracles and memories – seem to be deliberately placed just beyond our convenient reach.” I wish I would have thought of that when I had the chance.

“Friends are the family you choose.” Jess C. Scott

Barry, my husband’s longtime baseball buddy, once told him that if you have five close friends when you die, you are lucky. I thought that sad, but the older I get, I realize the blessing—and rarity–that close friends really are. This morning I was examining the friendship between David and King Saul’s son, Jonathan. The chapters in 1 Samuel I find tragic, largely because of Saul’s schizophrenic behavior. One day the king hums along as David accompanies him on the harp, and the next day he throws a javelin at the musician’s head. Into that royal family, Jonathan was born. (I hope you can’t relate.) Scripture says that Jonathan, the King apparent and himself a courageous warrior, was caught in the middle. On days when Saul was in a “Today I’m going to murder David” mood, Jonathan defended Goliath’s slayer, convincing his father to honor David’s bravery and deliverance of Israel from the hands of the Philistines. Sometimes Saul listened; sometimes, not. Jonathan, recognizing his father’s cruel, unforgiving nature as well as God’s desire for David to one day rule as Israel’s king, made a covenant with David, forgoing his own right to step into the king’s role to which he was entitled by giving David his robe, armor, sword, bow and belt. He easily could have despised David for taking his (Jonathan’s) rightful position. Instead, according to Chapter 18 v. 3, Jonathan loved David “as his own soul.” Their bond of friendship was to last forever. Am I that kind of friend? I mean, I care deeply for my friends, but if I’m in line to be King (or in my case, Queen), I question if I would act so unselfishly. Especially when it means I betray my parent (although that’s probably not so difficult since Saul even tried to murder Jonathan). Especially when it means I put my life in danger. Especially when it means my friendship is pretty one-sided. Especially when it means I will become a casualty instead of wearing the crown. It’s a kind of friendship concerned only with what I give and not what I get. Professor of psychology Robin Dunbar’s research survey concluded that the average number of Facebook friends possessed by most people is around 150. Out of those, 28 might be recognized as low-level “friends.” But when participants were asked how many of those friends would help out in a time of need, emotional distress, or other crisis, the average answer was four. Maybe my husband’s friend was right. Scripture tells us that Jonathan was married and had children and that both he and his father were killed in battle. When news of their death came, the nurse of Jonathan’s son Mephibosheth dropped the young lad when fleeing their home, causing him to be lame. This, years later, gave David an opportunity to repay Jonathan for saving his life multiple times as he offered to help “someone” in his former friend’s family. Mephibosheth was suggested, so David had the boy brought to him. From then on, Jonathan’s son was treated like one of David’s children. It’s a sweet ending to a friendship—and a rarity of Old Testament happy news– that appeared so one-sided for so many years, a payback for Jonathan who loved David unconditionally. It’s the kind of friend I hope to be. A forever friendship…forever.

If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap.

If you want happiness for a day, go fishing.

If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune.

If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody else.

A friend sent me that advice, and I agree. Most of my best memories involve me doing something for someone else, probably because the blessings are endless. Author/physician E. Dorinda Shelley wrote that doing for others helps us replace negative thoughts with happy feelings of gratitude and optimism. Last month, I helped make 250 sandwiches for the workers at the dump here in Mazatlán. My U.S. relatives and friends had donated hotel lotions, shampoos, etc., so I divided them up into 80 Ziploc bags and took them with me, as they are a highlight for the dump workers who spend 14 hours a day in the hot sun, scrounging for cardboard or plastic or metal. The bus was full of volunteers—ranging in age from six to…well, my age– wanting to be a part of the giving. I sat next to Lea, a petite 11-year-old who was vying for the “Snottiest Preteen in the World” contest. She gave new meaning to “making small talk” by responding to my attempt at conversation with one-word answers before turning her body to look out the bus window. Unlike me who has participated enough times that I have no need to be involved in the handouts, most people love to distribute a sandwich or an orange or a bottled water or my bags of goodies. The young gal in charge (her first time in this role) asked that everyone be given a chance to help. Greedy Greg had other plans. As soon as the bus stopped, G.G. bounded from the bus, blocking the doorway while playing hero to the workers. He and he alone would pass out the sandwiches. I was becoming more and more frustrated and finally spoke up to our guide. “Can’t some other people have a turn? I bet all these kids would love to hand out a sandwich” (meaning, of course, except for Lea who probably would hiss at or bite the workers). Our leader said nothing and let G.G. have his time to shine until, finally, a dad yelled out the bus window at G.G. to let others have a turn. By then there were about 25 sandwiches left. When the volunteers re-boarded the bus, Lea chose a different seat. Can I tell you how much fun I was NOT having? What happened to my “happy feelings of gratitude and optimism” replacing my “negative thoughts”?

They were right where they were last year when I didn’t help a young couple at the Walmart auto service department. They came in, dirty and needing to replace a shredded tire so they could continue on their trip. When they were heard the cost–$88.00—they told the lady behind the desk that they didn’t have that much money. And they left. And I watched them go. I had $88.00, but I did nothing. I just sat there, rationalizing my lack of charity, and I now can’t get that couple out of my unempathetic head.

Philippians 2:3: Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves…

Jesus said that it is more blessed to give than to receive, and Paul writes in Hebrews that our sacrifices are pleasing to God. But God doesn’t stop by simply being “pleased.” He wants us to put others first, for then we end up being blessed, many times more than the recipient of our well-doing. (You know, that “happy feelings of gratitude and optimism” thing.) It’s a win-win undertaking, and one with eternal rewards.

Or so I’ve been told.

Easter season has passed. Colorful baskets are bubble-wrapped and stored in plastic containers, chocolate marshmallows have done their diet damage, and pastel, church clothes are washed and hung for the next dress-up event. Ham and scalloped potato leftovers have been devoured, the Easter bunny has started his/her 12-month hibernation, and soon 4^th of July gizmos will begin appearing in store windows. We move on. Jesus did too. Three days after his death he joined two faith-shaken men—one named Cleopas and one unnamed– in their walk home after witnessing the crucifixion of the one they trusted would save them from the Romans. Seven miles outside of Jerusalem a stranger joined them and questioned their grief. Stopping in their tracks, one said to the outsider, “You must be a visitor to Jerusalem. If you lived there, you would know the things that have happened there in the last few days.” After all, anybody who was anybody had heard of the crucifixion… anybody, it appeared, except this man. So, they filled him in on the details of the empty tomb. As one pastor preached this past Sunday, “Nobody saw no body in the tomb.” What they didn’t know was the stranger walking alongside them was the very one about whom they spoke. I love the irony: “Are you the only one who does not know…?” when they are addressing the only one who really does know! (Filling Jesus in on his death is sort of like me explaining electrons to Albert Einstein.) The stranger confronted them. “How foolish you are! How long it takes you to believe all that the prophets said! Didn’t the Christ have to suffer these things and then receive His glory?” Beginning with Moses, he explained to them how the one crucified fulfilled death and resurrection prophecies made thousands of years before. (Since there are over 300 such prophecies in the Old Testament, I assume Jesus shared only the most relevant ones.) Wanting to hear more, the men begged this learned man to join them at their home for dinner. It was there Jesus broke bread, and the pair’s eyes were open to recognize their Savior, very much alive and reclining at their kitchen table. Once Jesus left, they couldn’t wait to share the good news (Is it any wonder that “Gospel” means “Good News”?) with Jesus’ closest followers, the disciples, so they sprinted back to Jerusalem to relive their encounter with their Risen Lord. So, let’s backtrack to look at a few hidden nuggets in this scripture. Did you ever question why only one of the traveler’s names is given? Some speculate that this was intentional so that we would put ourselves in the place of the nameless journeyman. If so, we should imagine the joy experienced when the once-downtrodden men realize that they have witnessed the unthinkable. The story in which they are partnering has a new beginning. The grave is empty because Jesus is alive! And they are in the elite group to witness the miracle first-hand. I wonder how many of us, like the two men, “miss” Jesus. We expect him to show up at a Sunday morning church service or a trip to a mission field, but not right beside us as a fellow sojourner. If we’re not alert and ready, we won’t take the time to invite him into our lives, and we will keep hopelessly strolling down the road without recognizing his presence. Instead, let us keep Easter season alive. Let us expect Jesus to join us in our daily walk so that we never miss an opportunity to spread the “Good News.”

If I knew that I had only a few breaths left before I died, I would pick my words carefully. Whatever I said would hopefully have an impact and be a lasting memory for those within earshot. Conversation about my favorite food (lobster) or television show (Songland) or movie (The Greatest Showman) or vacation spot (Mazatlán) would not be important. Jesus’ last words demonstrates such importance. As he hung on the cross, his body torn to shreds from the torturous flogging, he fought desperately to take air into his lungs. Words were precious. So, what did he say? Seven memorable things, listed here in chronological order:

1. “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” Luke 23:34

2. “Truly I say to you, today you shall be with Me in Paradise.” Luke 23: 43

3. “Woman, behold, your son!” Then He said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” John 19:26-27

4. “ELI, ELI, LAMA SABACHTHANI?” that is, “MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?” Mt. 27:46

5. “I am thirsty.” John 19:28

6. “It is finished!” John 19:30

7. “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Luke 23:46

Jesus chose his words with eternal implications. The first three demonstrated merciful compassion. Let’s revisit them. 1. He offered forgiveness to his persecutors. He could have called for their eternal damnation (and who could blame him), but he chose instead to show them both grace and a second chance to get it right.

2. He offered eternity (with no works attached) to the criminal hanging on the cross next to him after the thief said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom!” 

3. He offered concern and love for his mother, Mary, that she be taken care of for the rest of her life by his best friend, John.

Three statements, each demonstrating Jesus’ unfailing love for others.

The next two phrases show Jesus’ relentless, human struggle.

4. He felt abandoned, alone, forsaken by his Father. Many theologians believe that this was when God saw Jesus covered with the sins of mankind and could look on His son no longer. At this moment our Savior felt the weight of humanity’s evil and could take no more.

5. Jesus was fully human and fully divine, yet his divinity did not allow him to sidestep the realness of the anguish he was feeling, thus his thirst came from a parched mouth. He needed the ability to say two more things.

6. Jesus’ work on earth was done (a Hallelujah moment).

7. And then, finally, finally, the horrific cruelty was over. Jesus took his last breath and went Home to Heaven, thirty-three years after he came to earth.

Seven statements, some showing the humanity, some showing the divinity, of our crucified Savior. Fortunately, Jesus had more to say. Starting three days after he was buried, he appeared to offer encouragement at least 10 more times to his followers. And then again, he ascended into Heaven, once and for all. Jesus left the cross and the grave empty.

What does that mean for us?

Jesus is alive!!! (I cannot add enough exclamation marks!)

Today he sits at the right hand of the Heavenly Father where he intercedes for you and me. May we all remember that as we celebrate Resurrection Sunday!

A spider and a centipede are having tea. The centipede gets up and offers to go buy snacks. He goes out the door and hours pass. The spider is so hungry, wondering what happened, and opens the door, only to find the centipede sitting on the doormat, still putting on his shoes.

Sometimes I am that centipede. It takes me F.O.R.E.V.E.R. to tie my hundred shoes, to get going…in a spiritual sense, I mean. In real world activities, I am the Energizer Bunny.

Francis Chan’s “New York Times” best seller, Crazy Love, makes me wonder if I am taking my own sweet time in becoming what God desires for me, even after 43 years of being a Christian. Chan writes much about “lukewarm Christians” (in other words, not Christians at all). They love God for what He can do for them (like eternity in Heaven) and not for who He is.

The test is simple, using the question John Piper wrote in God In the Gospel: “If you could have heaven, with no sickness, and with all the friends you ever had on earth, and all the food you ever liked, and all the leisure activities you ever enjoyed, and all the natural beauties you ever saw, all the physical pleasures you ever tasted, and no human conflict or any natural disasters, could you be satisfied with heaven, if Christ was not there?” Spend some time before answering.

The author is concerned about the unfaithfulness of Christians. Referring to the question “Can I go to heaven without truly and faithfully loving Jesus?”, Chan’s response comes as no surprise. “I don’t see anywhere in Scripture how the answer to that question could be yes.”

We know that Jesus’ sacrifice to die on the cross for our sins benefits us eternally, but have we ever considered the emotional pain well before the crucifixion, like how it had to grieve God to say farewell to His son and send him to earth to live with sinners who would reject him, abandon him, deny him and kill him? (If you are a parent, put yourself in God’s shoes.) Leading up to that Heavenly good-bye, I wonder if the angels were huddled in panic. Were there lingering hugs and tears? Surely Jesus knew what was ahead, that he would be grieved, tempted, exhausted, frustrated and would agonize over his impending death. Still, he volunteered to come, to offer to die in our place.

How much love he has for you and me, that he made that choice!

Jesus wasn’t finished. He returned to Heaven but did not leave us without help: the Holy Spirit. Jesus told His followers and therefore us, “… it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go the Helper will not come …” (John 16:7). Get that? Better than Jesus remaining with the disciples is that we can be gifted with his Spirit. And what a gift he is! In John 14, we learn much about what we Christians have living inside of us, thank you, Jesus, waiting to be used. A helper. A comforter. A teacher. A guide. A prophet. A convicter. An intercessor.

Christians, we have been given everything we need to faithfully follow Jesus. It is time we lace up our spiritual shoes and get moving. Luke 10:2 reminds us of Jesus’ words, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;…”

Last week, I wrote about the horrific death of Jacque, a friend of close friends, but one with whom I had spent time on several occasions when we talked about politics, charities in Mazatlán, the increasing traffic and our families. I just never got around to putting on the Jesus shoe to tell her what mattered most.

I have to wonder, Would Chan use that as a definition of “lukewarm”?

About once a month I receive a “Mexico Alert” from Jacque, an American friend living in Mazatlán, in order to keep me abreast of the happenings in our beach town. Updates about Covid or travel are typically the lead topics. It was she who, years ago, began a philanthropic activity (“Friends of Mexico”) after seeing the impoverished needs of the Mazatlán community. Until this year, a gala at a local hotel was held annually where money raised helped the down-and-out. Jacque was the Mistress of Ceremonies for the event and has been labeled the “Ambassador of Mazatlán.” She was all about helping others.

Bill, a tall, white-haired gentleman-attorney with an engaging grin, and Jacque, a stately, classy, beautiful woman who has a way of making everyone feel special, are known all over Mazatlán. If Dave and I ran into them at the Organic Market, it was not uncommon to find several locals engaging them in conversation. We would take our turn.

Every Sunday for several years, Jacque and Bill met up with our mutual friends Howard and Joyce for Sunday lunch. Same time, same restaurant, same food. Occasionally we all would go to dinner, or they would come to our condominium development where they knew several of the owners.

Dave and I had been invited to their home at the top of Icebox Hill the last time we were in Mazatlán. Built high on a cliff overlooking the beach and ocean, I was terrified to appreciate the landscape from one of their many balconies. Straight down to the bottom were only sharp rocks to break the view.

Last Monday night, Jacque fell to her death from that hill. Her body was found at its bottom. On Tuesday, Howard and Dave drove to Bill’s home and heard the horrific details. The couple had retired for the evening, but their dog—who had not been “put down” only because Jacque couldn’t agree–needed to go outside Jacque volunteered to take him for a walk. When too much time passed, Bill went to the front door and found their dog still on a leash, but without his owner.

Bill said that he spent the next hour searching the three stories of their home, closet by closet. Soon, the police arrived, and Bill was asked to go to the hospital to identify his wife’s body. Bill speculated that her fall might have been caused by the loose gravel next door to their hillside home where a condominium complex was under construction. No one knows if Jacque stepped on it in the dark and slipped or if the dog pulled her that direction. It doesn’t matter. She fell 207’ (20 stories) to her death.

Over the past few days, as friends grieve Jacque’s loss, they all share one thought: Every day counts. None of us know the time nor the hour when our time on earth is up. I can guarantee that when Jacque stepped outside with her dog, the idea that she would fall off that cliff never entered her mind.

Frederick Buechner writes, “Intellectually we all know that we will die, but we do not really know it in the sense that the knowledge becomes a part of us. We do not really know it in the sense of living as though it were true. On the contrary, we tend to live as though our lives would go on forever.”

We must be prepared for eternity. Please, Readers, this is my “Mexico Alert” to you. Take the time to stop whatever you are doing and ask Jesus to be your Lord, to forgive you of your sins, and to draw you close to him. Start reading your Bible, God’s Word of how much He loves you and how much He wants you to love Him back. Ask yourself, if this is your last day on earth, what is the most important thing you need to do. Before it’s too late.

My girlfriend “Jean” and her husband allowed their grandson, “Gabe,” to move in with them (for the third time) when he began failing in school and at his job. Their daughter and divorced son-in-law had partied rather than parented and were negligent in their care of this son from the time he was a youngster. Jean did everything physically, emotionally and spiritually to help Gabe, but the emotional roller coaster ride was overwhelming.

When Gabe decided to become a professional guitarist, his grandmother bought him a guitar and paid for lessons. She noticed an improvement in her grandson’s attitude and confidence and thanked God for the change. But when his “band” dis-banded, Gabe lost interest and opted to go to tech school to learn to work on computers. His family celebrated that he had a focus and purpose. His grandmother bought him an old car so that he had transportation to and from school. He worked as a dishwasher to pay for gas and personal expenses.

When test time came and credentials were awarded, Gabe could not pass the exam. His grandmother hired a tutor, but Gabe had test-fright and failed again…and again. He became lethargic, got fired from his job, and the roller coaster ride continued.

Time was up. My girlfriend knew that she and her husband no longer could babysit their twenty-year old. He had to go. Empathetically, Jean sat Gabe down and shared how much she loved him and prayed for him, but that it was not fair to him to be enabled to the point that he had no chance at success by living off his grandparents. She just could not do that to him.

Jean called me to share what happened next. Gabe was stunned. “Oh, Grandma, I am just fine. You don’t have to worry a thing about me. I could stay here forever and be perfectly okay. But thank you for thinking of me. That’s why I love you so much.”

My friend and I laughed hysterically. Her “loving” approach had back-fired.

If you’ve lived past the age of…oh, say, five, chances are your best intentions have—at one point or another–gone awry. Your ministry failed. Your children, whom you raised to love Jesus, now follow the ways of Buddha. Speaking up to your boss awarded you a pink slip instead of a promotion.

Moses knew what that was like. Bravely, he had entered Pharaoh’s presence and insisted on the Israelites being released from their positions in slavery. Moses had been raised in Pharaoh’s palace but saw the injustice done to the Jews (his people) and spoke up.

Pharaoh was ticked. Freedom? Ha. Instead, the Israelites’ work load would double. Too, they would gather their own straw to make their bricks, so it was impossible for their quota to be filled. Should it not be, they were beaten. They asked for a meeting with Pharaoh who blamed Moses. Since he had insisted that the people go, it was all his fault.

Poor guy. His admirable goals had backfired…big time.

Thomas Myers writes about this in his sermon “What Do You Do When Things Go from Bad to Worse?” “They (the Israelites) now believe it is all Moses’s fault! Moses is going to go from hero to zero. He is going to go from the penthouse to the outhouse.”

If you’re like me, you can empathize with Moses. We are tithing, praying, reading our Bibles, attending ZOOM Bible studies… and our child turns to drugs. Our car transmission fails. Our savings account is eaten up with the pandemic. Our aging parents move in with us. And, like Moses, our tendency is to blame God. An easy target. (Yes, that is what Moses did.)

In next week’s article, we will delve further into a more appropriate response.