In The Hands of the Lord

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This blog is for all those who know the indescribable pain of losing a child.

This blog is for all those whom I pray will never know the indescribable pain of losing a child.

One of these days I’ll probably lose some readers who just can’t handle the dark stuff we often talk about. If you have to go, I get it. What some of us are dealing with is hard. It is unbelievably dark. It is a depth of pain that ebbs and flows but never quite goes away.

Some days the pain recedes into the distance and I am able to experience great joy. Those days I more than manage to live and thrive. In the ebb and flow, there is life and living, with an occasional twinge or reminder out there on the edges ready to make itself known…

This past weekend was not one of those times. I had to fight my way through an incredible obsession. I was consumed with thoughts of driving to Gulfport and digging my son up out of the grave and bringing him home. the

Like I said, dark thoughts. Terrible thoughts. Thoughts no parent should ever have to think.

And yet we do.
Our number is legion and growing every day.
God help us all.

Please don’t try to tell me God understands (although I am sure He does, but that is hardly comforting given what usually comes next). Yes, He went through the loss of His own son in tragic circumstances, but His son came back to life on the third day.

And the rest of us? We are still waiting…

Time does not heal all wounds. These wounds may scab over, but every time we encounter a newly grieving parent–or hear of another tragedy or heartache, the scab is violently ripped off anew. We would like to grieve with you and we try, but our pain once again becomes all we can see and more than we can bear.

The following song was heard at church this past Sunday as the church honored her high school graduates…

See the hands, see the face,
see the miracle of God’s grace.
Now we come as many have before
to place the child in the hands of the Lord.

A child will come into our lives with open hearts, open eyes.
We surround them with a love outpoured
and place the child in the hands of the Lord.

Through every step, the child will grow and change,
there will be joy, there will be pain.
So now we come to join this day
and vow to teach, to guard and pray,
that when they fail and when they soar,
they are held by the hands of the Lord.

And when our hands must let them go,
by faith our hearts will always know
that whatever life may have in store,
we place the child into the hands of the Lord.

There is comfort in those words.
There is unbelievable agony in those words.

It is comforting to know God holds our children’s future secure.
Until He doesn’t. At least in this world.

I am so glad your children/ our children get a chance to thrive. I pray they continue to do so.

But those of us who have lost a child… we know they are safe in the hands of the Lord and mad at the same time that they are.

And like David of old, we cry, my son, my son…

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An Eleanor Rigby Kind of Life

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Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all belong? (Eleanor Rigby, The Beatles)

There are so many tragedies just waiting to happen. Most of them do. Every single day there is news of heartbreak and loss. Of families who wait for the one who will never come home again.

If accidents and evil people weren’t enough, there is always a hodgepodge of sickness and human frailty looking to claim another victim.

Heart Disease
Cancer
Diabetes
There are not enough pages to list all the possible and potential life altering, life ending medical conditions.

It’s a crapshoot and all of those things are sickening when they become our reality.

Personally, I am worn out by heartache, worry, and fear. I am so weary of the constant sense of impending doom. Of wondering what’s next…

But, I digress.

In a world of broken hearts, lives, and dreams, I think there is a greater calamity. I didn’t see it for much of my life. I certainly didn’t understand it. And if the truth be told, I didn’t want to…

If it was painful then; it is doubly, triply painful now.
It’s a condition that happens as a result of brokenness.
It is often hidden behind a slick mask of happiness, a false bravado, or a facade of joy.

It is called loneliness.

But even using that word connotes something that, while hurtful and undesirable, is just a situation you have to get used to or worse, find an answer for… (i.e., fix it!)

And the advice often given?
Get out of yourself…
Make a new friend…
Find a new activity…
Blah, Blah, Blah…

All of that is well and good, but it fails to answer the root cause of loneliness–it makes the lonely seem somehow week for being lonely in the first place. It completely misses, disregards, or denies the loneliness of loss, hurt, pain, and the perceived absence of God.

And that my friends is the loneliest place on earth…

Loneliness, the great calamity? Absolutely. You betcha. Yes, sir, don’t say maybe…
And that’s often found within the church–of any denomination or stripe. Can you imagine how lonely the lonely are without even a church family to call on?

This is for all the lonely people
Thinking that life has passed them by
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
And ride that highway in the sky

This is for all the single people
Thinking that love has left them dry
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
You never know until you try

Well, I’m on my way yes, I’m back to stay
Well, I’m on my way back home, hit it

This is for all the lonely people
Thinking that life has passed them by
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
And never take you down or never give you up
You never know until you try (Lonely People–America)

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Alienated

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I often feel very alienated. It is almost like I have the plague. And it is visible–you can see the distance happen.

More on that in a moment.

But first, it is obvious some of my experience is fairly common. If you want to make people uncomfortable, suffer unexplainable loss.

  • Face a tragedy outside the imagination of most.
  • Live through horror.
  • Grieve.

Seriously.

We don’t know how to handle the grief, heartache, and pain of those who have suffered or are suffering loss. Add in unspeakable evil, and most are left with their mouths opening and closing like some kind of mechanized Big Mouth Billy Bass singing from a plaque on the wall.

Bass

And I understand.

But here’s where it really hurts. When the funeral is over and all the mourners depart, the real grieving begins.

  • The bed is empty.
  • The chair is empty.
  • There is a hole in the very fabric of life.
  • Add in being a victim of depravity and murder, and the hole is made of harsh jagged edges that are all the harder to mend.

Maybe the best two words we can use to describe how the mourner feels are empty and lonely. The emptiness and loneliness is a bottomless pit of despair especially when it feels as if God has abandoned you.

I was once accused in the aftermath of our tragedy of pushing people away. Sure. If you judged me or tried to fix me, I couldn’t cope with that then or now. But if you will be honest, you’ll also realize that what some might call pushing away could have been the sound of people running the opposite direction.

It is easier to run away than be dragged into all the pain. It’s a lot more comfortable too. And the fact is, we want people to get back to normal so we can be normal.

I experienced that in spades. Earlier readers may remember I was asked three weeks after the funerals “if I was about to get over all this and get back to preaching.” At the sixth month mark, I had to make a decision. “Preach or step down. The church was ready to get back to normal…”

Normal? I understand the church couldn’t be allowed to fall apart. But I never really needed the guilt that came with hearing, “We are losing members and contributions because you aren’t preaching.” I understand we were all in unknown territory. I get that others needed to get on with their lives. But normal? I had no idea then what normal would ever look like.

So here I am. Trying as hard as I can to build a new life. I am so very thankful for my family’s support and love. For friends who stick closer than a brother. For a wife who is as determined as I am to build and thrive and live.

Do I want more? You betcha! I want a speaking and writing ministry. I am working as hard at developing that as I am our real estate careers (My Becki, the Interior Designer, is now a licensed real estate agent and we are marketing our selves as The Home Team).

But the truth is still hard. I often feel like an alien. Like I don’t belong here. Like a fish out of water. In a world of so called normal folks, my life and situation is anything but. And whether you see it, believe it, or not… it sets me apart. It sets me apart in spite of however hard I work to keep it from happening.

At times it feels like I have the plague. Especially around preachers and church folk. I am an unwanted reminder. Because if it could happen to my family, then it could happen to yours… and nobody wants to be reminded of that.

So do me a favor, call me to speak. Ask me to write. That would be great. But more importantly, try to remember that those who grieve still need you to help them pick up the pieces–and that’s a ministry that may take a lifetime to complete.

Chances are, you know somebody who hurts and feels all alone in the process. It is often a very painful world. Find a way to help them know they are not alone.

Words by themselves will not do it, but love converted into action will…

Thanks!

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I Want To Punch Somebody

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I guess you might read the title of this blog and think somebody might have anger management issues.

That somebody being me.

Hi, my name is Les and I am angry.

Except, I am really not. I try to be angry at God and sometimes it flares up a little, but mostly? Mostly I am just hurt and frustrated. I constantly hear people giving God credit for all these incredible things they accomplish or acquire.

And I wonder… What are they doing different?

I am trying to write a book. If I could find a way to write for a big hunk of each day, I think it wouldn’t take long. But the reality is that often days/ weeks go by where life too easily gets in the way. That makes me angry at myself…

Anyway, I’m on the third title for this thing and at this point I have settled quite nicely on A Jacob Life.

But the last couple of days, I have felt more like Esau calling out to and begging his father, Isaac with a loud and bitter cry, “Oh my father, what about me? Bless me, too!”

And He has in some incredibly amazing ways. I am thankful for them. But (there’s always a but, isn’t there?), is it wrong to want more? Is it wrong to want a new ministry, stability, and peace? Is it wrong to want my children’s pain to be taken away? Is it wrong to want others to be a little more understanding of the difficulties we still face?

Some of those difficulties are people and their attitudes/ judgments about what we did, what I did, or, better yet, didn’t do. Some of those judgmental attitudes are enough to make me go postal… or at least write a blog about wanting to punch somebody.

Here’s an anonymous comment I received the other day:

Hey Les,
A man raped your son multiple times and you did what? File a police report? If you had been a real man and eliminated the piece of trash, guess who’d still be alive today? Quit blaming others and situations. You failed to protect your family. Next time your kids ask for answers on why mommy isn’t around…tell them the truth.

I have to admit that hurt.
Badly.

It made me sick to my stomach.

It also tapped into one of my biggest fears… could I have kept that from happening?

Believe me, I have wanted to kill Paul Buckman. And bring him back to life to kill him again. And again.
And again.
And Again.

But I can’t no matter how badly I night want to.

What he did to my family was horrific.
What we do to each other with our words, attitudes, and judgments is pretty horrible too.

Remember the old childhood ditty? Sticks and stones may break my bones but words may never hurt me…

It’s a lie.
They hurt.
Deeply.

And the pain stays with you longer than you might imagine.

“Oh my father, what about me? Bless me, too!”

Les Ferguson, Jr.

Mother’s Day 2013

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For years and years, I preached a Mother’s Day sermon. For most of those years, I always read the same little book, Love You Forever by Robert Munsch.

During the last couple of years, it got a bit harder to read without choking up.

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

Even before the events of October 10, 2011, we knew Cole’s lifespan was not as long as it once was. The last few years were hard on him and us. Add in the drama and trauma of being victimized by a sexual predator, well, it was very hard in every facet of life.

But, we tried hard to find normalcy even where none was really possible.

At any rate, those last few Mother’s Day sermons were harder than all the earlier ones. I was fairly self-absorbed for many of those years and sort of knew that some people had a hard time on Mother’s Day. As much as I didn’t want to get it, I slowly became aware of the difficulty Mother’s Day presented for some.

At this point in my life, I get it in spades.
Some had bad childhoods.
Some desired to be a Mom.
Some were missing their Mom…

Today I was one of those people looked down upon by the smugly self-righteous. I was planning to go to church. I was going to put a brave face on. And if there was a Mother’s Day sermon, I was going to lean into the pain–experience it, overcome it, and be stronger because of it.

But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t subject myself or my kids to all the happy faces celebrating good old mom.

Don’t misunderstand.

I wasn’t being selfish by staying home. I am thankful for Moms everywhere. I have been blessed with a great Mom and two Mother-in-laws who each mean the world to me.

I have sisters and sister-in-laws who are great Mom’s as well.

I was married to a great Mom.
I am married to a great Mom.

I am thankful for all of them–and your Mom too.
Today, Casey is missing his Mom in heaven so much. He has said how he wished she could be here several times. It rips me to pieces at every mention of it. In a little while we are going to walk up to the front pasture and let go a Happy Mother’s Day helium balloon to his Mom in heaven. I will chew on my bottom lip the entire time to maintain some semblance of composure. I don’t think there is anything more sucky than a little boy using a balloon to communicate with his mother.

And Becki? She is blessing us in more ways than most could even think of comprehending. Her compassion and love is overwhelming. I don’t know what we did to deserve it. She has cried multiple times today over the pain in little Casey’s heart. She has a mother’s strength and will hold our hands every step of the way.

“God, I am sorry we couldn’t make it to worship this morning… I am angrier with you today than normal, but I believe you understand.”

To all my Moms and the past and present mothers of my children, Happy Mother’s Day.

A Doormat Christianity

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Matthew 22:34-40, Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Loving God and loving others. The two greatest commands. The heart and soul of what it means to live a Christian life.

In an old newspaper column somewhere back in time, I once wrote about God’s response when looking at his children and all of the theological drama we have created. In my imagination, I saw Him shaking His head and saying, “No, no, no. That isn’t it all.”

I suspect there are lots of ideas, beliefs, and dogmas that satisfy our human nature but miss entirely the ideal of God.

You might be an arm chair or a classically trained theologian and think me arrogant to even suggest such thing. In return, I think it pretty arrogant to ever imagine even for a minute that we have gotten it all right.

Along the way of developing and defending our doctrinal beliefs, it sometimes feels as if we have lost the main thing. I often tell the sixteen year old in our house, you can be right and still be wrong. If you are right, but mouthy and snotty in the process, all the right doesn’t undo what the attitude got wrong.

The same is true of Christianity. If your doctrine of _________ is exactly what God intended, but you fail to be loving toward your follow man, what good does it do?

You can be right and still be wrong.
Can I get an Amen?

I will probably not make any friends with this post. I suspect some will disagree vehemently. And that’s ok.

I keep being told that one day I will be back in full time ministry. I agree.

I am trying hard to find my voice, to discover my niche, or for lack of a better term, create my own ministry role. But, if you mean being a full time pulpit minister/ preacher/ pastor for a local congregation… I just can’t do that.

One reason is I am a long way from an everyday hey-God-I-can-do-this kind of thing. God and I are still wrestling. I am still limping. And like it or not, most churches wouldn’t handle very well a preacher who openly limps. I am sure there are exceptions, but I wouldn’t know them.

More importantly, another reason is my inability to practice a Doormat Christianity.
Go ahead and ask… you know you want to… What is Doormat Christianity?

As a preacher, my greatest desire was to see the kingdom of God grow. To do that, I strived hard to love God by loving others. In the process, I often allowed myself to become a doormat to those I served.

What about Jesus’ commands to turn the other cheek or to go the extra mile? I fully believe those words at work in our lives would go an awful long way to bringing us peace in our relationships.

Loving God by loving others even when they are unloveable is not the issue. On the other hand, we are often motivated by something less than love in going the extra mile or turning the other cheek.

It’s not a pretty picture, but in my life as a preacher, it was often more about self-preservation. In order to not rock the boat, I welcomed the opportunity to be a doormat to keep my job or provide for my family.

I am kidding right? Not one little bit.

Spiritual abuse? Bring it on.
Power trips? Learn to roll with the punches.
Maintaining the status quo at the cost of your own spiritual growth and creativity? You betcha.

I probably sound bitter. I am. But, I am not content to stay there and so God and I are having to wrestle with that as well.

In the meantime, can I ask a favor? Love your ministers lavishly. Chances are you have no idea what they are sacrificing–sometimes even their own self-esteem. If you like to make jokes at the preacher’s expense about only working one day a week or keeping his moving boxes close to hand or how much money he makes, Stop!

Stop now. He may laugh with you, but it takes a toil.

Eventually he becomes a doormat whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. Even when he can’t or won’t see it for what it is, his spouse sees it and suffers too.

Doormat Christianity is hurtful, destructive, and ultimately damaging to the spirit within.

Loving others means saying this is wrong!

Thanks for reading.
Anything in particular you would like me to address?
How can I help you?

Les Ferguson, Jr.
DWTBA

Judging Fixing Helping Loving

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The following was written earlier today for my first speaking opportunity tonight with a small group from Cross View Church…

But before you read, check out a brand new endorsement at http://www.lesfergusonjr.com/endorsements/

When People hurt…

I suspect you know at least some of my story.

  • It is graphic, horrific, shocking, disgusting… well, you can come up with your own words too.
  • It involved abuse, betrayal, drugs, rape, and four bullets–two murders execution style.
  • We will deal with the implications of what culminated on October 10, 2011 for the rest of our lives.

It’s not just the death of a wife, daughter, mother, and sister… It’s not just the death of a son, brother, grandson, nephew and cousin.

  • Those things happened. And they are far worse than you can imagine.
  • The hardest part is not exactly dealing with the loss. Don’t get me wrong. The loss is hard. I feel it every day. Yesterday was my birthday. And nobody anywhere could have given me what I really truly wanted… to spend the day with my boy. To laugh and aggravate and tease…

Loss is hard. But living with the aftermath is hardest still.

  • The easiest thing to do would have been to check out… to end the pain.
  • The road forward is difficult. And for me, the ripples just don’t ever seem to end.

We lost emotionally, mentally, spiritually, relationally–those are things you expect.

But what do you do when the loss becomes so much more?

  • When your financial stability goes away?
  • When your health is affected?
  • When your credit is destroyed?
  • When your job and career are lost?
  • When you realize people don’t care as much about you as what you do for them?

Even worse, what do you do when your children are rewired by tragedy and you have no ability to undo the damage?

And finally, what do you do when the very fabric of who you are is ripped away and you have to rediscover, recreate, reinvent a whole new life?

Welcome to my world. I sincerely hope you never have to join it.

As I walk this sometimes lonely path–please don’t get me wrong–I am very happy with my wife, with our family, with the life we are trying to build… But, I am in great need of patience. Because I can’t yet be where I once was, it sometimes feels very lonely outside the success I used to enjoy. I need to learn patience with myself–the rebuilding is not happening overnight. And I need others to be patient with me as I constantly try to keep my footing and find my way.

As much as I would like to believe I am the only person struggling, the truth is there are people in every direction who are hurting, struggling, and maybe even at the point of giving up.

You know people like that. You know people who are afraid to reveal just how much they hurt and struggle.

Chances are, you may be that person too…

What can you do? What can we do to help?

I thought you’d never ask…

Matthew 22:34-40, Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

In my past life as a preacher, I always taught this passage in a simplified version: Love God; love others.

Loving God could only really be expressed appropriately by loving others.

How do you do that? Love isn’t a feeling, it’s an action. So in any situation, you give, help, recognize, and meet the needs of others before yourself..

But what about when someone is hurting? When life has stuck a blow almost too hard to comprehend? What do you do when the pain is self-inflicted through bad decisions and wrong priorities?

Maybe we should also ask, if somebody is hurting, does it really matter whose fault it is?

No. The answer is no. Pain doesn’t differentiate and neither should we.

So what do you do?

For the most part, we have four choices.

  • Judgment
  • Fixing
  • Loving
  • Helping

The easiest to do is judging. And when we judge, guess what we try to do next? Fix it (because the person in pain obviously is incapable of doing it themselves). Guys, ask yourself how many times you tried to fix a problem for your significant other and judged them in the process?

Judging is easy until we find ourselves in the same place–and discover for ourselves that some things cannot be fixed.

So that leaves us with loving and helping. Loving may not mean anything else but sitting quietly and being available. If you put yourself in the position of loving, then a way to help ease the burden, not fix it, will make itself known.

I sometimes hear people say they aren’t very compassionate… I don’t believe it for a minute. However, if they could tamp down their inclination to judge and fix, they (we) might be surprised at just how compassionate they (we) can be…

I am trying to listen to my own advice… How can I help you?

Doritos, Blue Skies, Boys, & Graduation

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Congratulation to my oldest son, Kyle! He graduated today from Lipscomb University with an MA in Theology. I am proud of him and hate we couldn’t make the trip.

As I write this, I am eating Doritos underneath a cloudless blue sky. Temps are around 70 degrees and it is an absolutely gorgeous day.

There are more boys around here than you can shake a stick at today. Good boys. Kind boys. Polite, respectful boys.

Most of them are Boy Scouts.

That’s something I never had any real experience with. I was a Webelos scout once for a short time. The only thing I really remember is getting introduced to dry ice. You can do some pretty cool things with dry ice.

But I digress.

I look at these kids and I am thankful that somebody has been a good influence. Somebody has infused them with good qualities. Obviously God has done His work, but others have developed, mentored, guided, disciplined, and corrected.

Like I said, good boys. I am glad some of them live under my roof.

Unfortunately, they come into contact with some kids in the school system who are not nearly so good. Or nice. Or polite. Or respectful.

I feel sorry for those kids.
And fearful too.

So far this school year our district has lost six children. I have grieved anew at each loss. For the parents especially. For our community. For the pain and anguish felt. For the salt each death has poured into my own wounds.

Some of those have been tragic horrible stupid accidents. But not all. At least one was a murder quite possibly committed by six other young people.

Bad kids that weren’t born that way.

I wonder what went wrong in their lives. Was it parents who were inattentive? Was it outside influences that could have been prevented?

I don’t know and I don’t presume to judge.

But I wonder and I worry.

And God help me, I can’t help but wonder what went wrong in Paul Buckman’s life. Was he influenced as a little boy? Did he get introduced to perversion as a teenager? Was he himself the victim of a sexual predator?

Those are questions to which no answers will be found. But still I wonder who or what could have made a difference. That difference just may have saved my family from a world of hurt and pain.

But it didn’t happen. Horror invaded. And we are left to pick up the pieces and move on.

And as we do, I am thankful for all who do strive to make a difference in young people’s lives. Your work is seen, noted, and appreciated.

And Boy Scouts? You guys are the bomb! Thanks for the hope you instill in those of us who are watching!

Les Ferguson, Jr.

Burdened

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“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30 NIV)

I depended on those words for a long time. They were my touchstone during times of heartache, despair, anguish, or loss.

When life became difficult, when being a preacher/ elder, husband or father became overwhelming, I drew great comfort from believing that Jesus would give me rest.

And maybe He did.
Maybe it was friends or family being the hands of Jesus to me when some of the burdens were lifted.
Maybe, when my nerves were at the breaking point, it was the Comforter, whom Jesus promised, soothing my spirit, calming my fears, and easing my anxiety.

Stress? I wasn’t always the first person to recognize how stressed and up tight I could become.

There was once a time in the U.S. Navy when my neck hurt–I couldn’t turn my head at all. If I needed to look in a certain direction, I had to turn my body to see. Finally I went to a base physician. After a thorough examination where nothing physical was found wrong, he asked if I had any stress in my life.

Me? Stress? Absolutely not. Stress was for wimps. I was the Man of Steel. Or at least Batman.

So he asked me to talk about my life at that point…

So I told him… I was home on emergency leave because of Cole’s initial diagnosis of Cerebral Palsy. While there, my beloved grandfather died. On the way to the funeral, the motor on our four year old car burned up, one month after the warranty expired. After taking out a loan, the motor was replaced. We made the trip back to Norfolk, Va. and settled down for this new life with a handicapped child. A month later, Cole’s diagnosis was changed to Leukodystrophy, a fatal brain disease that would slowly turn Cole incommunicative, a bedridden boy who only had an early death to look forward to.

And my neck hurt. But I had no stress. And the doctor laughed.

After he explained the effects of stress on the body, my neck returned to normal almost just by acknowledging what we were experiencing.

Over the years, I grieved and mourned Cole’s condition. At times I was full of hope. At other times, I was more accepting, not quite resigned, but with a kind of contentment that things would be ok.

But I never completely understood why God didn’t step in. For Cole. For the boy who wanted to do everything everybody else did. For the boy who when he hit the ball for the first time in a T-ball game fell over backwards and layed in the dirt laughing like a crazy child for the sheer joy of it.

In all this, somewhere I thought if I could just be the kind of man God wanted, my prayer would be answered. My burden, Cole’s burden would be lifted.

But that would never be the case this side of eternity.

As it was, not only would those prayers go unanswered (or at least answered the way I wanted), I was also unable to protect him from an evil that wanted to do even more harm.

Turns out some burdens are for life. Some burdens are a part of your journey. Some burdens just are.

And Jesus’s words? They were my favorite verses in the Bible. I guess they still are, but they mean something totally different.

In the context of Jesus life and ministry, they were not a promise to ease every difficulty, struggle, or heartache.

Instead, Jesus offered to lift the burden, to ease the pressure of religion.

Religion? Yes religion.

After years of preaching, teaching, baptizing, and ministering to people, I needed something more than the theological framework of my life. Like the Jews of Jesus’ day, I had a religion, but what I needed most was a relationship.

These days, the things that mattered so much to me… the doctrines I had built my life around… the knowledge I had accumulated through multiple degrees and years of study… those things have their place, but they are of little comfort without a relationship with the One who made me.

I don’t know where I fit these days in the religious world. At this point I don’t really care. There are bigger fish to fry.

But Jesus promised to ease my burden.

So I will keep wrestling with Him until He (through our relationship) does…

I am burdened, how about you?

Les Ferguson, Jr.

Way-Way

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If Cole were still alive, he would look at me today and say, “Dad, you’re a big way-way, straighten up.”

Can you guess what a way-way is?

In Cole’s particular way of speaking, a way-way is a big fat baby.
A whiney butt.
Anybody caught up in a pitiful woe-is-me pity party.

I can be a way-way.

Most of us can.

It turns out, pity party’s are pretty easy, inexpensive, and easy to throw.

As far as today is concerned, it’s just been a day.
Nothing bad happened.
On the other hand nothing majorly good happened either.

In the grand scheme of things, you might say I don’t have much to complain about, and you would be right.
I have good health.
I have a great family.
I have a super fantastic wife.
In more ways than I would have, could have ever imagined or dreamed, my life is good.

Considering it all, it’s pretty amazing.

But the truth is, it’s just been one of those days my heart hurts.
One of those days where the reminders of loss come in ways you don’t expect.

So where am I going with all of this?

Life is often extremely hard and tragic. And for some, normal will never be the same. After hurricane Katrina, those of us on the Mississippi Gulf Coast got quit tired of hearing about our new normal.

But that was the reality then and the reality for many even this moment.

Life eventually mends in some fashion. Broken hearts are healed at best; at worst, they grow a pretty thick layer of scar issue that at least allows new functionality.

For many, a new reality is born through a long hard birth process of grieving and pain. Coming out on the other side and being able to live, is a tremendous blessing and worth rejoicing over.

Today?

Today I have struggled with feelings of low self-esteem. Today I have been angry, hurt, and fretful for the hardships yet to be overcome. But I intend to live! And be joyful. And not so fearful of the future.

I am strong. I will get stronger.

This day is drawing to a close.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow is a new day and as my sweet Becki likes to remind me, I will push through and forward.

How about you?
Headed in the same direction?

Let’s travel together, you and I…

Forever thankful for the blessing of being called a way-way by my son,

Les Ferguson, Jr.