I Hate Suicide

Hate is a strong word, but I have chosen it intentionally.

The Loftin family has been connected with the Zambetti family (Memphis) for over two decades. Wade Zambetti (27) has been fighting mental illness for years. The struggle ended yesterday. I am hurting with and praying for the Zambetti family and all Wade’s friends.

Fourteen months ago I lost my friend Randy Russell. In the hours after I learned of Randy’s death I wrote the following words, as parting of my grieving process. I am posting this now as a way to honor and remember both Randy and Wade.

My longest friendship has been with Randy Russell. We met when I moved into the Garden Parks neighborhood in Jackson, MS at age 5. I have always admired, respected and looked up to Randy. Sadly, I have not always stayed in touch with him, but I have never stopped loving him. He is a successful physician, a loving and faithful husband and father, a passionate Christ follower, and someone who has invested huge amounts of time in ministry to disadvantaged children.

But today I will try to focus not on what I hate, but what I love. I love faithful and merciful Jesus. I love Randy. Today, I choose to focus on the Light instead of the darkness. One day at a time.

Hasta Luego vs. Goodbye

Life is full of farewells. A child goes off to college, gets married, heads off to a new job, joins the military or goes to the mission field. Friends move to another church or relocate to another city. A spiritual mentor takes a different position. Or a loved one passes away.

Next Monday my sweet mother will have surgery for colon cancer. The prognosis is actually great. As long as she survives the shock of surgery itself, she should not have to face chemo or radiation. Sarah Loftin is 85 years old.

I fully expect Mama to survive the ordeal of surgery, by the grace of God. So my ramblings here are not about death, but rather about the farewells of life.

Consider two phrases used for farewell. Goodbye is a rather dismal although well-intentioned parting. A few months ago our daughter Meme was packing up her car in order to head back to Mississippi State. In a moment of fatherly tenderness, I whispered to her, “Goodbye, baby.” To which Meme responded, “Daddy! Don’t be so….. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” She had the right perspective.

That’s why I like the Spanish farewell. Hasta luego is full of hope and faith - “I will see you later.” Hasta luego reminds me of the certainty of sunrise no matter how dark the night. I think of the new heaven and new earth made possible by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ (Rev. 21:1-4).

No matter what shakes our world – earthquakes or surgery – Christians never have to say goodbye. On Monday January 18 I will kiss my mother and tell her, “See you later.” And I will.

Thank you for praying for Sarah Loftin, and her four children, Beverly, Pat, Kathy and James. God is faithful.

How can I be praying for you?

Raining in Georgia

Atlanta got hammered by storms last weekend.

My family had gathered there to celebrate the fourth birthday of my grandson George. It was raining when we arrived, and it was raining harder when we left on Sunday. Although the joy and laughter of my grandchildren were life-giving, infectious and hope-building, the storms and clouds were relentless. Quite a contrast.

Record-setting rain, lightening, flooding, shock, loss of property, loss of life, fear, pain and loneliness. In mansions and in shacks, people are dealing with the thoughts and emotions of the song written by Tony Joe White in 1962, Rainy Night in Georgia.

As I drove south out of Atlanta, I contemplated the pain and loneliness in much of human experience. I also thought through the raw life experiences recorded in the Bible – especially in Job and the Psalms. It may even be raining in your life right now.

Although my life has been blessed – free from much of the trauma that is familiar to many – I do know about loss, broken relationships, unfulfilled dreams, betrayal, grief and fear.

Tony Joe White includes an interesting phrase near the end of his romantic poem. Perhaps these words hint at how he made it through the storms of life, or perhaps they were only meant to impress the current object of his affection. “When it’s hard to rest I hold your picture to my chest and I feel fine.”

So here is the question. In times of pain, what is it that you hold to your chest in the hope of getting the power, direction and hope that are beyond your abilities?

Pain is universal. But knowledge of the love and mercy of our resurrected Savior is not universal. Billions of priceless souls must face the storms of life without a picture of the only One that can transform darkness into light, hopelessness into hope, and brokenness into wholeness.

Hold Jesus close this week. It may be raining, but there is a Rainbow of promise. Jesus is the hope of the world. Share that Good News.