Thursday, January 21, 2016

Letter to God - A Light Shines

Dear God,

On Monday You surprised me.  For the first time in a long time it felt like the light of the sun shone into my soul. At that moment I realized how dark and overcast life had become.

God, I’m just now recognizing the challenges of living with a spouse with cancer. Overall Shannon and I did well, living our lives and not allowing cancer to define things.  We had spent time together, went on walks together, talked together, had fun together.  I felt like life was just fine (and in many ways it was), but cancer cast a shadow over my whole being.  We spent so much time obsessing about pain, bowel function, and exhaustion. Mayo Clinic consumed countless hours with treatments, tests, and doctor appointments dominating the schedule.  We feared for what might come next, that the treatments might not work.  At home I spent so much time alone, cooking and cleaning while Shannon rested. I had little time to get out and do fun things with friends (even though Shannon constantly badgered me to do it).  We enjoyed life as best we could but we struggled to find much joy in the midst of all that.

Then came the utter darkness of hospice and death.  There’s no other way to describe it.   I intellectually knew that You walked with me through that valley but I sure didn’t feel it.

God, you surprised me with how quickly a new day dawned in my life.  I expected the darkness to overwhelm me for a long time (months or years), but before long I found myself getting together with friends and doing things I enjoyed.  I got to travel, to plan, to relax and have free time. Life moved to a new normal and things seemed just fine.  It’s only now, after experiencing the bright sunshine of Monday, that I realize how overcast life remained.  Emotions remained blunted.  Little things frustrated me.  I lacked my usual passion for life.

On Monday You provided me a glimpse of Your sunshine. An overwhelming love for my son Ben, an excitement for the work that I do for the Synod, a sense of love and support that I have from those around me, it all flooded over me. In that moment I felt truly alive for the first time in a very, very long time. It led me, strangely, to bust out an epic air guitar solo in the midst of supper (much to Ben’s chagrin). I’d forgotten what it felt like to live in joy.  I became giddy with excitement for life.


God, You have walked with me, not only through the valley of the shadow of death, but also through the gloom and dreariness that surrounded that valley. I know that cloudy days lay ahead.  I will not get to bask in the glow of Your light at all times, but thank You for allowing me that moment.  It brought me great hope!

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

An Open Letter to Death

Dear Death,

We’ve had a lot of time together over the years.  I met you for the first time that I can remember in 1979 when you took my mom, Edee Reuss.  Because of you I never had a chance to get to know her. 

I’ve been with you at the funerals for all but one of my grandparents.   In fact, you took my Grandpa Dodd in WWII France before my mom was even born.

As a pastor I’ve faced you many times.  One of the first times was one of the hardest as you claimed Licahan Kennell, only 8 years old, in a grain bin accident.

Last fall we met again as my wife Shannon breathed her last here in our home.  I can vividly picture her gasping for breath, the death rattle shaking her body.  I will never forget holding her still body for the last time.

Death, I have every reason to be bitter.  I have every reason to rage against you, against the injustice of losing a mother and a wife at such young ages.  I have every reason to want to check out of life and be miserable. 

But let’s face the facts, death.  You’ve wreaked your share of havoc in my life, but you have not won.  You will never win.  Ever.  You have been utterly and completely conquered by Jesus.  I know those words may seem trite and rote, something that I heard from a Sunday School teacher once upon a time.  For me they are the foundation of my existence.  My faith has always centered around God’s victory over you.  Always.  It started when you took my mom.  I heard words of hope in a God who conquered death.  I grabbed onto those words and have never let them go.  God’s Scriptures abound in stories of God’s victory over death. I could sit here and type chapter and verse over and over again, but you know them as well as I do.  Just go to the book of Revelation and read about the God who has taken you behind the woodshed once and for all.  God wins every time.  You do not.  I have boldly proclaimed those words at funeral after funeral. 

Recently I’ve found tears as I sing in worship.  When the words turn to themes of eternal life and the saints giving God praise I’ve struggled to keep singing as I imagine Shannon with those saints.  It hurts me in deep ways.  Throughout my life these words have sustained my faith in powerful ways.  Death, I’m not about to let you rip them away from me!  I’m not going to avoid those songs or those words.  I’m going to revel in them even as tears flow.   I’ll let others sing them for me if I must.  God has won.  You have lost.

Death, I have a life to live and I’m not going to let you define it for me.  The almighty God and I will walk through this life together.  The day will come when you will come and take me.  I know that, but even then you will not hold me.  The God who sustained me as you took my mother and wife is the same God who claims me as God’s own, now and forever.

Death, you have not won.  You bring pain, but you will never win.  Never!

A claimed son of the living God,

Pete