It’s Only Real Love When It’s Hard

I possess a doctoral degree in Strategic Leadership, but sometimes I feel like I’m still in Kindergarten when it comes to some areas of life.

One such course of needed study and growth is the biblical quality of love.

Next week my wife, Shirley, and I celebrate forty years of marriage. I would have liked to have taken her on a cruise, a romantic getaway, or even to a nearby Bed ‘n Breakfast.

But yesterday, Shirley had major female surgery (a seven hour procedure), and for the next 6-8 weeks she will be convalescing and I will be her main caregiver at home.

But that’s okay. I know I have a lot to learn about the greatest subject in the world–love.

It’s only real love when it’s hard.

I know I could be writing about a lot of world events today. As I punch the keyboard, Hurricane Matthew is bearing down with ferocity on the US east coast. Two nights ago, Mike Pence proved his worthiness of Donald Trump’s VP pick by easily upping Tim Kaine in the vice presidential debate.

In about thirty days one of the most important presidential elections of our lifetime will take place between Donald Trump–weak on character and good on policies–and Hillary Clinton–who is corrupt in character and disastrous on policies. She would lead the American nation off of a progressive cliff.

But today, I’m thinking about none of those issues because love calls.  My wife is resting comfortably at home while still hooked up to some technology. Her seven hour surgery two days ago was longer than the four surgeries that I have experienced before combined.

While I waited anxiously for her in the waiting room, two hours beyond the scheduled time, I thought about our lifetime of love and countless expressions of it. I pondered the privilege of having six great children–ironically the cause of her female surgery. I also had some tearful moments wondering why it was taking so long while pushing the thought from my mind that maybe something was wrong.

I knew she wasn’t having life threatening surgery, but this was the first time in six decades she’d been under anesthetic–and at our age, anything can happen. I was actually a little surprised at how emotional I was throughout the day. Tears came to my eyes when I saw her smiling face a few hours later.

Our love goes deep, and it’s only real love when it’s hard.

What do I mean by that?

Jesus told us that it’s easy to love people when things are familiar and good: “ If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?  And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? (Matthew 5:46,47).

What’s hard about love is when you are not friends and things are not going well. That applies to two primary situations–loving your enemies and loving sacrificially when times are difficult. Let me focus on the second scenario.

For many years, I’ve defined love this way: Love is doing what’s best for another person from God’s point of view. In difficult circumstances or situations love oftentimes demands great sacrifice and continual death to self to really benefit another. The other person needs you, sometimes desperately. You need to change your schedule, your commitments, your likes and dislikes, and many other self-oriented things.

Right now, that’s what love demands of me in caring for Shirley. For the next week or so I need to carry her through a difficult time–loss of sleep, caring for wounds, dealing with the unpleasantness of restoring bowel movements and cleaning up messes.

For weeks after, I will cook some of the meals, do the grocery shopping, handle the laundry, and care for Shirley’s shut-in parents. For quite a while I need to do all the lifting–even a gallon of milk. Classes must be canceled, appointments postponed.

In the past when I’ve had surgeries or accidents, Shirley was my gracious caregiver and performed it beautifully.

Now it’s my turn to learn true servant-oriented love.

When she came home from the hospital yesterday I needed to make her some dinner. Since moving to a new home three years ago, I’ve never cooked a meal and don’t even known where many of the kitchen utensils reside. I even had trouble turning on the gas stove! Then, I made the only thing that I’m really able to cook–scrambled eggs.

It’ll be a miracle if Shirley nutritionally survives the next month. But I’ve got to rise to it.

It’s only real love when it’s hard.

While I was waiting for Shirley’s surgery to be completed, I read the current number one  bestseller in America–Bill O’Reilly’s Killing the Rising Sun. I strongly recommend it. It shares the horrific story of World War II in the Pacific Theater where the United States defeated the militant Japanese Empire. Twenty-four million people died because of Japanese aggression and savagery.

The book is dedicated to all those who served in the military to defeat Japan. It tells numerous stories of heroism and bravery of those who laid their lives down to free the world from tyranny. They did it because they loved liberty and their own nation more than themselves.

It’s only real love when it’s hard.

While I was waiting in surgery, I needed someone to deliver something to me at the hospital. I called a nearby family friend who had just gotten up. He didn’t seem too interested in helping me and kept trying to find a way out of the errand. Eventually, I did it myself.

His response instructed me. You don’t love if your heart isn’t willing to sacrifice. It’s easy to “love” when it costs you nothing. But that’s not true love–just doing what’s convenient.

It’s only real love when it’s hard.

I’ve seen real love demonstrated by my parents. For a number of years, my mother took care of my aging father as he faced various medical problems. Occasionally the roles were reversed. There were numerous ambulance trips to the hospital and the anxious prayers that accompanied them. There were weeks and months of exhausting care.

They both needed to look past the beauty of youth and deal with sagging skin, no privacy, clipping aged toenails, and cleaning up errant bed-pans. This sacrifice usually fell to my mom and she did a superb job of serving my dad until he drew his last breath. I learned much by watching them.

It’s only real love when it’s hard.

I also know that I haven’t come near to experiencing what some people have faced in the “exam” of real love, such as:

  • Caring for a dying child who passed away at a young age.
  • Dealing with a handicapped relative over a lifetime–putting another’s greater needs ahead of your own.
  • Serving in a war zone or caring for the destitute after some terrible natural disaster.
  • Enduring sex slavery, being abducted to fight as a child soldier, being raped and abused by evil aggressors–and having the opportunity to help. 

Many people in our world daily face terror and difficulty that can only be eased or erased by those who reach out with true love.

Jesus is, of course, our greatest example of true self-sacrificing love. He left the comforts of heaven to walk the dusty streets of earth. He healed the sick and raised the dead, and most didn’t respond favorably to his compassion and concern.

He ultimately laid his life down on a barbaric cross to make atonement for the entire world–and this after they’d spit on him, whipped him and yelled “Crucify him!”

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13).

It’s only real love when it’s hard.

Our 40th anniversary arrives on Monday. Between now and then I will be at home, caring for Shirley and trying to nurse her back to health. When our special day arrives, the only thing on the calendar is a trip to the doctor to have some technology removed. Then we will return home to keep healing, loving, remembering that we made a pledge four decades ago to stand by one another “in sickness and in health.”

It might be easy to feel sorry for ourselves. Wouldn’t our love be greater if accompanied by the blessings of health and excitement or luxury and travel?

No. Absolutely not.

This year we get the privilege of experiencing the true heart of love which is intimate sacrificial caring for another. The fluff will be gone, the dross burned away, and the real deal left to sparkle and shine. This is going to be the most loving anniversary we’ve ever known or experienced.

It’s only true love when it’s hard.

And… very precious to God.

 



Leaving a Legacy Through Journaling

A wise man named Blythe Harper told me at nineteen that one of the smartest things I could do in my life was to keep a personal spiritual journal or diary.

I started practicing his advice on October 30, 1972. I’ve been doing it ever since–for the past forty-four years.

At the moment, I’m looking down at the yellowed first page of that record when my hand-writing was still young and vibrant, and the thoughts flowed like water!

I’m sure glad I heeded his advice.

You can also leave a legacy through journaling.

To the left of my desk is a shelf that contains more than four feet worth of those journals, painstakingly kept over four decades. The early years were written on college-ruled paper and filed in notebooks; the middle segment were penned into the pages of a Youth With A Mission Prayer Diary; the last ten years have been complied and stored on computer with a paper copy back up.

I’m really glad that I did it. These precious journals contain many things that are irreplaceable to me:

  • They share the story of my growth as a young believer to a forty-plus year career missionary with YWAM.
  • They contain my thoughts on many subjects, personal, theological, practical, and relational.
  • They tell all the stories of my travels, ministry, and spiritual highlights over a lifetime.
  • They record the details and records of all the people I’ve met during my life on all the continents of the world and in sixty nations–what a treasure!
  • They expose my personal failures and struggles, and how God made a way out of them for me.
  • They help me remember the many things that God has taught me and spoken to me over forty plus years of walking with him.

It’s amazing how much you forget in a single day, let alone a year or a lifetime. One of my current practices with the journal is to print it out at the end of every year and then use the month of January to read it through again and remind myself of the things God has showed me and what he’s doing in my life. I’m always amazed at how much I forget–if it weren’t for the discipline of writing.

That’s why they say writing is 20/20 memory.

Yes–I’m like everyone else–not always faithful to record in the journal. When I started out in 1972, I wrote something down everyday. But for years now, I don’t write daily, just regularly to record the highlights of life and keep the thread of continuity going. Sometimes I get way behind and have to catch up on a trip or long flight across the ocean.

But I always catch up and keep the tale building. It’s a tremendous benefit to my own life–even if no one else ever sees it.

One thing I use the journal for is to organize my time wisely–what the Bible calls “numbering our days” (Psalm 90:12).  About thirty years ago I prayed about the possible length of my lifetime based on the ages of parents, grandparents and other factors–and settled on eighty-five years. There’s no guarantee, but that’s what I’m aiming for.

Then I decided to “number my days”–literally–and place the number of days that I’ve already lived and the number of days I could possibly live (up to age 85) on each entry page of my journal. The purpose was to remind me that life is short, there’s no time to waste. 

Thirty years ago those numbers stood at 10,952 days lived with 20,067 to go. Today those numbers stand at 22,968 days lived, and 7,963 left. Looking at those stats almost daily places a great motivation in my heart and conscience to make my life count for eternity. At this stage in my career, the hands of the clock are turning faster and faster.

But besides the personal benefits of journaling, I figured out a long time ago that recording my journey might be a blessing to my family, my children and grand children, or anybody else who might be interested. Years ago God impressed me that journaling was a great way to leave a legacy to those who come after you–so that they can learn from your mistakes and be inspired by your victories.

That’s a great motivation to keep writing–for the help and encouragement of others–especially those who are your own flesh and blood. (Nobody else may be interested!)

Sometime in the future I’m going to put those journals into a book form that can be passed down to my ancestors. I want them to learn how I survived the death of my mother, the imprisonment of my father, how I found God at fifteen and was called into his service at nineteen. I want them to read of all of God’s miracles in my life and how he carried me through the trials and stressed that we all face. I want them to know that I loved God with all my heart and want them to love him too.

Even if I don’t get around to the book, the journals are there. They’re a permanent record that I’m sure someone will enjoy.

They won’t know much about the real me unless I tell them–and write it down for them to read. The cool thing about today’s world is that it’s pretty easy to put your thoughts in a book form. Computers make that process easy and it doesn’t cost much to self-publish. You can print ten copies for your grandkids or 100,000 if your life is a block-buster. By the time I reach eighty-five in 2038, they’ll probably have figured out a way to take my old written journals, and scan them straight into type!

It gets easier every year.

Journaling is one of the simplest and most long-lasting ways to leave a legacy to your family and friends– one they can hold onto and cherish for the rest of their lives–and pass on to others. As Francis Bacon once said, “Reading makes a full man…writing an exact man.” I want to “fill up” my descendants with the great news of God’s grace in my life–and the only way I can be “exact” about it is to write it down.

It’s that simple.

So how about you? You say you’re older and it’s too late to start journaling? How about doing a “recap” of your life that can be a blessing for generations to come. If you’re closer to mid-stream, why not get started with that wealth of life experience that can be a help to those that follow you.

And if you’re young, this is the time to begin. Take the wise advice I was given over forty years ago:

Keep a personal, spiritual journal. 

It’s your legacy to pass on for the glory of God.

What the Western World Can Learn From Mongol Families

It’s been heart-breaking for me to watch the disintegration of the family in the West over the past six decades. The family is the bedrock of any society, and in our culture, it is on life support.

Recently a political convention in the United States highlighted that disintegration, and a trip to the nation of Mongolia showed me a better way.

What can the Western World learn from Mongol families?

First, let’s take a look at the satanic strategy in the Western World to annihilate the family unit.

Gary Randall of the Faith & Freedom Network alerted us recently to an LGBT Global Summit that was held within the Democrat Convention in late July. You can read his article here.

One of the leaders, activist Kevin Jennings, formerly with the Obama Administration’s Education Department, said at the gathering, “The future of the LGBT movement hinges largely on the out come of this election.” Another leader, the director of GLAD, told the global gathering, “Let’s dream bigger for a second and let’s think about all students–all students, not just LGBT students.”

That means aiming at all families. 

They left their summit with four goals for 2017—all of them aimed at children and the American family.

  • Passing the Equality Act (adding LBGT fully to the anti-discrimination laws).
  • Defeating state and local laws designed to protect the religious freedom of believing families.
  • Going to court relentlessly to mainstream immorality.
  • Partnering with other groups such as Black Lives Matter to de-stabilize the United States. 

I was stunned when I heard that a major political party–the Democrats–would host such a gathering during their political convention. Both the political parties used to be pro-family and pro-kids.

Now, the Democratic party wants all American children and families to be indoctrinated in sexual atheism. Similar movements are happening all across Europe and the West.

It’s important to re-emphasize that “the Alphabet Community” (they just keep adding letters) is nothing less than a diabolical scheme to confuse and destroy families and children.

This demonic delusion has different aspects to it, including 1) Making fornication, adultery, homosexuality, pedophilia and bestiality “normal” and basic “sexual rights,” 2) Destroying the identity of God’s creation of male and female via feminism, masculine impotence and transgenderism (did you know that New York State now has 31 offerings for a person’s gender–not just male and female), and 3) Destroying male and female roles, and with it, the family structure.

This movement to destroy the family began in the 1950s, picked up speed in the 70s when abortion began killing millions of babies, and now has exploded in the Obama years with his relentless pursuit of destroying biblical morality in every form.

Immorality hurts families and kids the most.

A few weeks ago, I was in the nation of Mongolia. It is a land-locked country between Russia and China with a population of about 3 million (another six million Mongols live in northern China and one million in Russia–a consequence of the spoils of World War II).

By Western standards, Mongolia is a poor nation where half the people live as nomads tending their animals and moving their gers (tents). The other half are being urbanized and brought into the modern world. The capital city of Ulaanbaatar now houses half of the nation’s population, some living in apartments and modern dwellings while others reside in ger slums with a hope of upward mobility.

Mongolia is historically a Buddhist nation that saw communism forced down its throat during the Bolshevik Revolution. Today it is a free nation with a small-but-growing Christian population.

During my visit to the land of the Khans (Ghengis Khan is their ancestral hero who created the world’s largest land empire in history during the Middle Ages), I enjoyed three days of Mongol family gatherings during their independence celebration–called Nadaam. During Nadaam, all Mongol families gather with their extended families–much like American do on the 4th of July–to eat and celebrate.

I enjoyed two such gatherings on a mountainside on the outskirts of UB (Ulaanbaatar) and another closer to the Russia border in the countryside. The second gathering was a wild five hour drive across the Mongolia steppe that reminded me of a 300 minute Indiana Jones ride! Much of Mongolia has no roads–just paths across the prairie, around mountains and through streams. There are no street signs or lights–just trails that go in every direction.

On the way home from the remote family gathering, my host showed me an amazing intersection of old and new. I couldn’t figure how he was navigating from the middle of nowhere back to the capital city of UB. He whipped out his phone and said he was just “following my GPS.” The robotic voice kept telling him, “Turn left at this mountain.” “Angle right here.” “Cross the stream there and go straight.”

What an incredible blend of old and new!

Even, more incredible: the beauty and orderliness of the Mongolian family.

When we arrived at the first family “barbeque” on a mountainside near UB, I noticed that the thirty-odd family members, most of whom were children and teenagers, all knew what to do without anyone giving directions. They understood their roles:

  • The younger children began gathering sticks and branches for the fire.
  • The older teenagers and men began making the fire and set up the camp.
  • The younger girls and women began unloading the vehicles and preparing the food.
  • The older women arranged and prepared the meat (which would be boiled in a large pot among hot rocks, potatoes, and carrots)–kind of a large, outdoor pressure cooker.

After the basic food preparations, the children played games and adults sat on blankets and talked among themselves (I was the only person there who spoke English as a first language–and few spoke it at all). Teenagers constantly helped the younger kids, and all the children wanted to hold the babies and take them everywhere.

It was a beautiful display of the love of family and children.

At one point the entire clan gathered around a one-year old boy (who had never had a haircut), and the men in the family took turns cutting a lock of hair (Mongol tradition–non-religious), blessing the child and giving him money. Once the child saw that each hair trim was bringing him some dough, he gladly went around to all the men and held out his head and his basket!

After this wonderful celebration of the first haircut, they asked me to pray a blessing over the young boy. All thirty participated with enthusiasm.

After the meal was cooked, I was amazed at how everyone knew their roles in serving and eating the meal. The younger girls served the food, the boys the drinks, the older women prepared the metal plates, the oldest in the group (including me) were honored with canvas chairs to sit on–and everyone enjoyed each other’s presence for hours–passing the babies and younger kids from lap to lap.

The Mongol families not only seemed to love each other deeply–they knew their roles in the family structure. It was a magnificent relational symphony to watch.

After three days of enjoying this interaction, twice near Ulaanbaatar and once in the northern countryside, I was smitten with the beauty of Mongol families living up to their God-given design:

1.  The men did the hard, dirty work and protected and cherished the women.

2.  The women used their grace and skill in cooking and providing for the their families with an amazing flair for hospitality and encouragement.

3.  Teenagers respected the adults and served in their appropriate roles–the boys knowing their jobs and the girls flourishing in theirs.

4.  All of them loved and doted over the little ones. Children were their greatest gift.

5. Nobody needed to be told what to do. For generations, first from a Buddhist background and now growing into a Bible-centered one, they clearly understood the difference between male and female, older and younger, the importance of teamwork, and the gift of new life.

It brings great sadness to my heart when I ponder that the Western World once knew these same basics of family and is foolishly throwing it away:

  • We’ve changed the 5000 definition of marriage and are lost in gender confusion.
  • We kill a million babies a year, and prefer pets to newborn lives.
  • Our teenagers prefer machines to younger brothers and sisters.
  • We don’t understand God-given roles and responsibilities and instead just demand rights.

We may be the most powerful civilization in history, but right now we’re also the most foolish.

The loss of family cohesion has happened in our lifetime. We’re listening to the satanic voice, following its lead and losing the power and beauty of family.

Let’s learn from the Mongols.

And let’s work hard for a revival of healthy families in every corner of God’s world.