Ten Years later

The year was 2006 and my mom had cancer. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two weeks before I started my freshman year at Bob Jones University. I was brought home for a week to visit when her condition had gotten particularly bad. I was home for a week when it was decided that it was time to make arrangements for what appeared to be the inevitable.

My older brother, my younger sister, and I went with our dad to the funeral home to make the arrangements. The somber task seemed so premature, but absolutely necessary. After that distasteful task was done, the four of us returned home to be with the rest of the family. After a while, it became apparent that a few members of the family were in need of a few clothing items. Once again, in spite of the apparent crassness of the situation, the four of us loaded into the family van and headed for town.

We milled about the clothing departments, halfheartedly sorting through dress shirts and ties, blouses and skirts. Everyone managed to find what they were looking for, but would have rather not needed. We checked out and made our way to our parking spot. Dad got a phone call on his cell phone just as he put the van in drive. I don't remember what he said, but the message was clear. I looked at my sister who was sitting next to me on the gray bench seat. Her lower lip quivered slightly as her eyes filled with tears. I reached over and rested my arm across her shoulders in a gesture that felt forced and awkward, but I didn't know what else to do. My dad and brother were silent in the front bucket seats.

The ride back to the family farm was a grueling forty-five minutes long. We drove up the long gravel driveway to the farmhouse and parked the van. We walked up the sidewalk towards the house. My youngest brother and sister were standing in the grass in front of the porch. I paused and took in the scene as my dad and older brother walked around me. The sun was bright in the western sky, casting long shadows across the lawn. The shadows across the faces of my family eclipsed all the rest. Looks of confusion, fear, and vulnerability were plastered across the faces of my younger siblings while my older brother and I fought against the expressions of pain and realization that threatened to emerge.

I walked into the house and looked into the room where my mother had been resting. The reality that I had already accepted was confirmed. I turned on my heel and took off towards the north eastern corner of the farm. 

I didn't have a destination or a plan. I just knew that my life, the lives of my siblings and my dad, and the lives of so many others had been changed forever. What were we going to do? How were we every going to be okay? I was nineteen years old and had three siblings that were even younger. How were we supposed to grow up without our mom? There was so much more that we needed from her, but she was gone. The eventual reality that we all knew to expect form an extensive family history of cancer had finally come to fruition and I was at a loss for how to survive this loss.

Eventually, a concerned family friend caught up to me and walked me back to the house. The services were a couple days later and after a week, I was off to college to continue my education.

That was exactly ten years ago. A lot has happened since the untimely passing of Christa Henning. The world is definitely a dimmer place without her. I miss her every day. My family has experienced other losses, but none have stung in quite the same manner. However, when I look at my brothers and sisters, I see two kind and strong men who could take an the world if the need arose and two beautiful and compassionate women who radiate Mom's kindness and compassion. Three of us are married and have children, and the other two are working good jobs and settling into adulthood. Our relationships with our father are stronger than they've ever been and we are better people because of his example.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't see Mom's touch in my life or the lives of those around us. We are better people for having known her.

In short... Ten years later, I can honestly say... I Guess We're Doing Okay.

It's Hard To Be the Clay

In the Christian community we use the illustration of the potter and the clay as a way to discuss the process of going from the lost and imperfect human beings we all were before God saved us to the people that God is working to make us. This illustration has obvious merit. It comes directly from the Bible. There are several passages relating to this illustration that can be found in Jeremiah eighteen, Isaiah sixty-four and Romans nine just to name a few. We as Christians often listen to sermons and songs based on these passages and respond something like this. “Isn't this a great illustration of how God can take my ugly humanity and turn it into something beautiful and useful for his kingdom.” And that's about as far as our thought process goes. 

Here's the thing. There isn't anything inherently wrong with that statement. But, much like most other art forms, there is a process involved in pottery that is extensive and messy. This is the part of the illustration we often gloss over.

The very first thing that a potter does with his clay is to cut it of the communal mass. He chooses a section and removes it from its comfort zone. Once we decide to follow Christ, we can expect to feel separated from our community. The reason for this is that we are separated from our community. There is a certain amount of discomfort that can be expected in response to this disconnection.

The next thing that the potter does is this. He takes his chosen chunk of clay and slams it down on the potters wheel with a substantial amount of force. He has taken the chunk of clay from its comfort zone and has placed it, not gently, in an environment that will make it possible to affect it in the way that he desires.

The next step is to center the clay. The potter spins the wheel and leans into the clay using his hands and his weight to push it into the center of the wheel. The potter will not stop this until the clay stops pushing back. Only when the clay is centered in the potters wheel can he continue his work.

Next, the potter has to knead the clay. This process involves working the clay on the wheel. He'll push his finger into the center of the clay and pull out a ring and then push it all back together. To the casual observer, and probably the clay, this seems pointless, like the potter is just messing with the clay. However, there is a point to this process. The goal is to find and remove impurities that can be detrimental to the process later on. All foreign matter and air bubbles must be removed. This will continue until the potter is convinced that he is working with a 'clean' chunk of clay.

Finally, after all this, the potter can begin to shape the clay. He'll find the center and plunge his finger deep into the clay. Then he'll pull out to the width he desires and begin pulling up the walls. This process can take a while. Clay can be difficult to work with. Sometimes, the potter will push it all down and start over. After a while, the clay will take on the shape that the potter desires but that's not the end.

The finished piece will sit on the shelf for a day or two and will return to the wheel. The potter will center it, attach it, and begin cutting. There's only so much that can be done with wet clay. Once the clay gets to the 'leather hard' stage, more can be done. The potter will use a variety of knives to refine the shape and style of the vessel and engrave various types of designs. This means that not all the parts of the vessel will make it to the final product. The clay has to be willing to let some parts of itself go.

Finally, the vessel goes to the kiln. For the first time. This is why the kneading stage is so important. During the bisque firing, the kiln temperature can range anywhere from 1300 degrees Fahrenheit to 2100 degrees Fahrenheit. At this temperature, the low levels of moisture in any stones left in the clay will cause the stones to explode. This will shatter the vessel. It's important not to rush through the purifying process because impurities won't make it through the firing.

After all this, the final vessel is dipped in a glaze and fired again. This firing goes up to 2300 degrees Fahrenheit. Finally it is removed from the kiln, the beautiful vessel the potter envisioned when he started.

By now, you're probably wondering why I've dragged you through this whole process. I wanted to make a point. It's not easy being the clay. The clay gets cut from its comfort zone and slammed down, worked, kneaded, pulled, stretched, cut, carved, fired, dipped and fired again. It takes a lot for the clay to go from ugly to beautiful. There's a reason that God chose this illustration to describe the process of achieving His vision for us. Why are we so surprised when life is hard? Why do we look at God like He's a brute when we feel life pushing and pulling us. Why do we think He's abandoned us when we feel like we're going through the fire? It's hard to be the clay, but here are some points to help us get trough the process. Let God center you in his will. Let Him work you until the impurities are gone. Let Him shape you into the vessel He has envisioned. Let Him cut away the parts of you that aren't useful to Him. And always remember that the clay doesn't get to decide whether it's going to be a cup, a mug, a plate, or a bowl. That is always up to the Potter. He is the perfect craftsman. We are so fortunate that He has placed us on his wheel.

Why Would We Ever Go Back?

We are born into the world with a sin nature. We are plucked from this worldly setting by the grace of God alone. We are offered an eternity of blissful communion with our Lord and Savior and a helping hand though the wilderness of this life. We are to walk away from the perks of the world as we are offered so much more in comparison. However, we so often we want to return to the worldly wasteland from which we were rescued. How can we not see that there is nothing worthwhile to which to return?

By way of example, let us consider the Israelites. God miraculously plucked them from the chains of the Egyptians with show of force that has never been rivaled. However, every time the Israelites felt things were a little tough, they wanted to go back to Egypt.

Let's consider that option for a moment. Before they left Egypt, there were a number of significant events that not only pushed Pharaoh to practically throw them out, but also undoubtedly left lasting scars an their land of captivity. I'm referring, of course, to the plagues.

The water of the Nile turned into blood. I'm fairly certain that there aren't a whole lot of freshwater, aquatic life forms that can survive when their environment is switched out for blood. Exodus 7:21 says that the fish of the Nile all died and the river began to stink. I'm not a scientist, but I am fairly certain that it would have taken some time for the fish to replenish after the Nile was returned to it's natural state. The river Nile was more or less the life source of the Egyptian culture. It's yearly floods irrigated the farmland and it was also a source of freshwater fish. Even a temporary removal of this natural resource would have had a devastating effect on the Egyptian economy.

Next came the frogs. Frogs swarmed all of Egypt until Pharaoh begged Moses to make them go away. The Lord ended the plague of the frogs, but he didn't really make them go away. They all died. They were piled up all over the countryside in sticky, stinky, rotting heaps. Eww.

Then came the gnats, followed closely by the flies. I bet Pharaoh was wishing he hadn't begged those frogs away. The list goes on. The Egyptian livestock died. The Egyptians got boils. Then came the hail. Hail, as we know, can be devastating. This hail was so bad it killed people in addition to destroying the crops. (I wonder if this plague might be the reason that the sphinx is missing it's nose?)

The eighth plague was locust. We're not talking about a couple of insects here. Exodus 10:14 describes the swarm as one having never been seen before and one never to be seen again. And these bugs brought their appetites. Verse fifteen says that not a green thing was left in the land of Egypt. (This may be the first recorded incident of what eventually became 'Russian scorched earth warfare.')

This plague was followed by darkness throughout the land. I imagine this left many an Egyptian child with a special brand of night terrors. Total darkness would be extremely unnerving for both children and adults. And Thomas Edison wouldn't make his appearance for some thousands of years later.

The final blow was the death of the firstborns. This was the gigantic straw that finally broke Pharaoh camel's back. Exodus 12:39 says the Israelites were thrust from the land of Egypt, and for good reason. I would have chased them out to, had I lost my firstborn because of the God of Israel. (Of course we know that the plagues were a direct result of Pharaoh’s stubbornness.)

Israel left is such haste that they didn't even let their dough rise. But on the way out, they plundered the Egyptians, but not by force. Exodus 12:36 says that the Lord gave them favor in the sight of the Egyptians so that they gave the people of Israel pretty much anything they asked for.

It didn't take long for Pharaoh to have second thoughts, however. He woke up a some time later with some serious regrets. He gathered his army of men, chariots, and horses and chased after God's chosen people. This is where we first hear the Israelites claim that they would have been better off as slaves in a foreign land. In Exodus 14:11-12 the people of Israel ask “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt? Is not this what we said to you in Egypt: ‘Leave us alone that we may serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” (Of course, with the death of the firstborns, the grave situation may have been an actual issue.) Then, God parted the Dead Sea, allowing His people to cross through on dry land. Then, he closed the sea on the Egyptians and destroyed a huge portion of the Egyptian army.

The reason that I have told you this whole story is to make a point. They left a country whose economy was crippled by an interruption of their main resource, the death of their cattle, and the destruction of their crops (every green thing, remember?). They left a people group who had been troubled by boils, prolonged darkness, and intense grief at the simultaneous loss of every firstborn child in the nation and the subsequent loss of the chief bread winners of thousands of families. And there were piles of rotting frogs everywhere, to boot. First of all, why would they ever want to go back to that? Second, why would they ever think for a moment that the Egyptians would let them back in?

Once we leave the world, we don't belong in it anymore. We belong in the Promised Land. We may have to spend a lot of time traveling through the wilderness to get there, but going back to Egypt is not an option. There is nothing worthwhile for us there.