He met her online, through her blog, actually … so he never really met her. Never even saw her picture, but it didn’t matter. He was sure she was lovely because she wrote beautiful posts.

She wrote poetry, and music. She put her perspective on history. She told wonderful stories of how things were and could be and should be.

It was obvious that others were enchanted with her, too, from their comments. She had done sweet and thoughtful and sometimes extravagant things for them.

He put some friends onto her blog, just to be sure he wasn’t reading too much into it. They were all quite taken with her, too.

He contacted her by e-mail, and the relationship began. He wanted to meet her, and it would have been fine with her, but he never asked for a date or time or place. Finally, she did. And she offered to drive and meet him where he was.

The promise elated him for days. But the day came … and went … and though he checked his PDA’s e-mail record from her to ensure he was at the right place at the right time, she wasn’t.

Heartbroken, he sent e-mails that were not returned. Her blog entries stopped; she was a consistent – almost daily – blogger. It wasn’t like her. He feared something awful had happened, and his suspicions proved true when a search engine turned up her obituary.

And her story. The article quoted witnesses say that she had seen a semi-tanker rig plummeting driverless down a hill at a truck stop and slammed on her accelerator to interpose her car. It deflected a collision with a busload of elderly tourists, saving them from fiery doom.

He mourned. His friends supported him. They supported each other. They talked about her often. They found other groups online who did the same. They wrote blogs about her. They pored through her archives. They remembered.

Sometimes they wondered whether she had been a teacher, or a doctor or a counselor, because she had written about teaching and healing with obvious experience and passion. Sometimes they wondered if all her entries had been written by her. Because some days she seemed to have been in a different mood and had been writing in a different style. He did a careful language study, counted the characteristic words, and published his controversial findings.

Other times his friends quibbled with her other fan clubs about the blogs they had written about her. She had never mentioned anything but vocalists among her favorite music, and yet some were convinced she must have liked instrumental music too. He became a strong proponent for one of the views.

The quibbles became online slugfests, and more time and pixels were spent arguing than remembering … or doing any of the things she had enjoyed doing … or helping any of the people she had loved to help. He was taking and delivering potshots in the fanblogs and by e-mail and it was just all emptiness to him.

Finally, he decided that he was was wasting his time; he should forget all of his misguided friends and forget her and get a life.

Tomorrow I will not blog.

Tomorrow I will be thinking of my dad.

Twelve years ago tomorrow he breathed his last in this world.

Norman William Brenton was the very definition of meekness. His picture should appear next to the word in illustrated dictionaries. He was the third-most humble person, I believe, to walk in this world. Though he was never tempted to strike a rock rather than speak to it, nor to overturn a moneychanger’s table, he did once get out of the car and scold a drunk driver who had hung up his ride on a high curb after nearly hitting ours as we drove to church. Yet for that instance, there were probably a dozen in which he warmly greeted a tipsy, rheumy-eyed visitor to our inner-city church and escorted them to the benevolent room for a fresh change of clothing.

Dad had some sort of coronary episode on the first day he died. Mistaking it for indigestion, my mom dashed to the store for milk. She found him dead when she returned. EMT medics resuscitated him, but his brain had been starved of oxygen too long.

He remained in a coma on life support as the family gathered. We faced the worst. We prayed for the best. For a miracle. We knew he had a living will and we knew what it said, yet my mom and older sister and her husband could not find it in the safe at home, even after looking several times.

This may have been an instance of that peculiar phenonmenon called “hysterical blindness.” It has little to do with out-of-control emotions; it describes the suppression of visual information due to shock.

(I experienced it once, having happened first on the scene of a single-car accident; an old station wagon driven recklessly by a young woman who had just passed me too close on the expressway then plowed through a guardrail and rolled her car several times down an embankment. When I peered into the upside-down car, I couldn’t see her. Another fellow walked up. “Is she already out of the car?” I asked. “Could she be under the dash?” He looked at me like I was crazy: “Man, she’s all over the place.”)

Though my family didn’t see Dad’s living will in the safe, I found it in moments. It said that he did not wish to have any heroic measures taken to prolong his life in this situation. We prayed again. We asked for him to be removed from artificial ventilation, but to retain intravenous nourishment. We put it in God’s hands.

Dad breathed on his own for a couple of weeks, never stirring from the coma, and at last expired. Twelve years ago tomorrow.

It gave time for all of us in his family to get used to the idea that he would be gone.

I don’t know whether his Lord gave him that choice when coming for him the first time, but I know what Dad would have said.

The very different tragedy currently playing out within the family of Terri Schiavo has brought all of these memories fresh to my mind. (You can read a fine recap of the situation at Believer Blog.)

I’m reminded that I have a responsibility to my family that I need to attend to. I have checked the little box on my Arkansas driver’s license that expresses my desire to be an organ donor. I’ve told my family about it.

But I don’t have a living will, spelling out what I would wish for them to do in catastrophic circumstances.

Yet.

Could it be that – when it comes to the matter of my own demise – I have a case of hysterical blindness?

i’ve got one of those miserable garzonguous headaches again and i’ve just woken up from a nap where i dreamed i was my friend david u getting back from arizona or maybe one of my other met-or-unmet friends getting back from abilene later this week or from winterfest in gatlinburg and i’m catching up on the blog entries i’ve missed while i’ve been gone and finding myself permanently three days behind in this nightmarish twilightzonish separation where there are people with ideas and heartaches and joys that i can’t share because i’m always going to be three days apart out-of-sync from them in this unreachacrossable great gulf of discontinuity and i wonder is this how god felt when he went for broke in the fullness of time and there was no alternative but to send his only son because he had lost it all every precious soul he had created and loved and cherished and wept over since the beginning of time and he’d promised them he’d get them back no matter what they did and he set the deadline and there was no getting around it and that son had to die so he could have just a few of his children back so he went for broke and rolled the dice and his son said please father now send me it can’t wait and he did and the entire universe came to a screeching squealing fishtailing halt when the nails went in and the veil of the temple tore and then he waited and waited and waited an eternity three days a glimmer of hope forty days and some words by peter and the rush of his spirit and then the results started trickling in like election returns here are some back! one, twelve, three thousand a tiny fraction a drop in the bucket and the days crept on while he watched and waited from the edge of his throne a few more turning their faces homeward here and there until years have past and decades and centuries and he still waits as if nothing else matters in the cosmos but reaching across that almost unbridgeable three day chasm to the ones he has loved and lost my head hurts my head hurts my heart hurts

Just a few moments ago, I was working on some materials for a class I’m planning to teach this summer on eschatology … thinking about how the resurrection of Jesus guarantees our own … about how that incorruptible body might be different from the corruptible … and reading John 20:19-20:

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.

… and I wondered how He got through those doors (or passed through a wall) with a resurrected body that Dr. Luke (24:39) says had “flesh and bones …”

“Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.”

… when the thought suddenly hit me: Maybe because Jesus was more real than a wall or a door.

A wall or a door – to Him – is only as “real” as smoke or fog seems to us. Insubstantial. Impermanent. Inconsequential. Walk right through it.

Remember how Paul said it in II Corinthians 4:18 – 5:3:

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.

Tent vs. mansion. Naked vs. clothed. Temporary vs. eternal. Seen vs. unseen.

Unreal vs. real.

Or maybe I just read too much C.S. Lewis.

(Is it possible to read too much C.S. Lewis?)

More wonderful faith cannot be
than the fact that God believes in me …
His plan is to reach
everyone that I teach
and the fact is, there is no “Plan B!”

It’s not a potion to cure colds. It’s a choice of the way to catch flies. According to the old saying, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

I’ve encountered a church here in my hometown that studied last summer the question of homosexuality, a topic I only touched on lightly in a recent blog post. Since I was off work all day yesterday with a migraine that wouldn’t let me think, work, or focus my eyes easily, I listened to the entire series of messages.

After my vision improved, I posted the links to them last night on Brandon Scott Thomas‘s blog, where a discussion with several folks – including a couple of gay Christians – took place in the Comments recently.

How can I say “gay Christians”? The same way I can say “divorced Christians” or “stumbling Christians” or “greedy Christians” or “exclusionary Christians.” I don’t mean it as a label, just a descriptor. We have in common a belief in Christ. We have different temptations.

The series followed by Little Rock Church – which has a “Church of Christ” heritage – was called “Full of Grace and Truth: A Christ-Like Response to Homosexuality.” Most are MP3s you can listen to; the last one is a page listing/linked to resources:

• Part 1: Attitude Adjustment
• Interlude: Parable of the Good Samaritan Revisited
• Part 2: What the Bible Says and Doesn’t Say About Homosexuality
• Part 3: Building Bridges to Homosexual Friends and Relatives
• Interlude: Story Changing Grace
• Part 4: A Christ-Like Response (Panel Discussion)
• List of Resources

I’d encourage you to listen to the messages in the order presented, and be blessed. I really appreciate the candor and spirit with which this church looked into the matter, with plenty of grace but without playing fast and loose with the truth.

They’ve chosen honey, because they want to catch more (souls, not flies). But the whole of the message is not sweet. As the saying implies, there are some that can be caught with vinegar. So there is a taste of it in these messages, because homosexuality is sin.

Just a taste for a person crucified by the perpendicular beams of his/her passion for Christ and attraction to the same sex.

Just enough.

You get all kinds of comments on an open blog – and this one is. Today I received this comment to an archived post:

“I think you misunderstand the Scriptures, the Restoration Movement, and the Church of Christ.”

That was almost all it said.

Not specific, to be sure. But gentle, tempered by the words “I think” and “misunderstand.” Just the kind of rebuke I would want to receive, and rebuke is a scriptural concept too frequently abused and infrequently done well.

I would have to agree that I often do not understand the Scriptures, the Restoration Movement, or the Church of Christ.

I don’t claim to have answers – possible answers, maybe – but I have a lot of questions.

I respect mystery as a key aspect of God’s nature, and therefore His Word.

I think everyone should study and come up with his/her own answers and possible answers, because the struggle with some issues is sometimes more important than the answers we perceive.

My initial reaction has been tempered by a recent post by fellow blogger David U. Though I share the skepticism of another fellow blogger, Fred Peatross, that “that blogs will ever become a link/connection to those Jesus misses most”, my commenter is making an honest effort at it.

I know, because the rest of the comment I received from him yesterday was a name, and a URL to a blog. In fairness to the points of view expressed there – whether I agree with all of them as crucial items in a relationship with God through Christ is immaterial – I’d like to post a link to it:

http://clearcutbiblestudies.blogspot.com/

It may help someone passing through this blog to come up with answers that draw him or her to Christ – or closer to Him – and I am all for that!