See, I am doing a new thing! – Isaiah 43:19

So, 2023 has begun. In February I will turn 70. As in, “seventy years old.”

Seventy years old!? When did that happen? Seems like I was just getting adjusted to the idea that I am a grownup now. Even after having taught for several years, there were still times in my classroom when we were having so much fun learning that things got a little out of hand, I would think, someone should take control here, and I would suddenly remember I was the adult, so I’d better start adulting.

My adult life has been full of “firsts,” but by 2022, I wasn’t expecting many more, at least not positive ones. However, the Lord still had a few “firsts” in store for me – three that I can think of:

1.) Seeing good friends I had never met before.

I had already been surprised at how important and time-consuming blogging had become, and the number of fellow bloggers who would become friends, although I had never met them. In February, when we were spending time in Sanibel Island, Florida, I opened a blog post by “Russlings of the Spirit” to see a photo of a seashell that was very familiar. As I read the post, I realized Russell was, at that moment, about half a mile down the road from us! I let him know we were in (on?) Sanibel, too, and soon after, he, his wife Joan, and I were sitting by their pool, telling stories of our lives and God’s faithfulness.

In December I got an email from Mark Brady, letting me know he and his wife April were coming to Louisville for Christmas. He had told the family there was only one thing he insisted on doing while there, and that was to visit the church I had repeatedly (and apparently effectively) bragged about on my blog. So, on Christmas Day, I met Mark and his wife at the church visitor’s center, worshiped with them, and then talked about God and writing afterwards.

2.) FINALLY! A published song!

The 1980’s was my songwriting phase. Although I received much encouragement and support from friends, it seemed that seeing my songs published was not to be… at least not then.

But more recently, as the Christmas choir at my church was at their first practice of the year and warming up with “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus,” the director commented that he loved that song and wished that there were more than two verses. The songwriter in me was resurrected, and I thought, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! I prayed for inspiration …

I have always loved Christmas carols that tell the whole story of the gospel, not just the part about the cute little Baby in the manger that gets put back in the closet in January and not thought of until the next Christmas season. As I thought about the meaning of “come,” I realized, we’re not waiting for Jesus to be born, that’s happened already. And we’re not waiting for Him to rise from the grave, either – that’s happened, too. Now we’re waiting for His promised return! I wrote two more verses, careful to write in the same style as the first two. I wrote verse 3 about who Jesus is, followed by mention of the Resurrection. All of verse 4 is about the Second Coming and the final destiny of “sinners saved though faith alone.”

The first Sunday in Advent, there it was! All four verses were squeezed between the lines of music, and at the bottom of the page, fine print said, “vs. 1&2 Charles Wesley, vs 3&4 Ann Aschauer.” I smiled at seeing my name right next to Charles Wesley’s. Most of the people didn’t notice, and I got a bang out of that, too. Just my little secret, hidden in plain sight. I later got a note from the pastor saying he hadn’t noticed until someone pointed it out to him. Before that, he had assumed those verses had been there for the past 200 years, like the first two. (I refrained from telling him I’d been there for the past 200 years, too.)

For anyone who’s interested, here are the third and fourth verses:

Vs 3:
Come, Thou whom the prophets promised, Thou of whom the cantors sing;
Come, Emmanuel; God, be with us, Thou, our Prophet, Priest, and King.
Jesus, Thou art all perfection, Thou whose fellowship we crave;
Thou the Life and Resurrection, Come redeem us from the grave.

vs 4:
Come, O King, and claim Thy Kingdom; With the angels split the skies!
With a shout and trumpets sounding, Bid Thy sleeping children rise.
Gather in Thine arms so tender Sinners saved through faith alone;
Lead us in Thy heav'nly splendor Unto our eternal home.

When the “Old Louisville Christmas” was held, that song was again in the program, and again I got a thrill hearing the members and guests singing the words God had given me. At the last verse, when the musicians stopped playing, and 700+ people sang a cappella in 4-part harmony, I got tears in my eyes. Thank You, Jesus!

I’ve shared these verses with friends from other churches and told them the lyrics hadn’t been copyrighted, so they were free to add them to their own singing of that song, if they liked. I love the idea of “my” lyrics being sung all over the country. Maybe all over the world. So, dear readers, feel free, too.

Besides meeting two fellow bloggers face-to-face and seeing “my” lyrics in the church bulletin and hearing them sung by hundreds of people, I had another big “first” in 2022,

… which I’ll share next time.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Prayer: Lord, Thank You for coming that we might have abundant life at any age. Fifty years ago, I would not have imagined having so much fun now, but it shouldn’t surprise me that the Creator of all things always has something interesting and new. Thank You! In Jesus’ name, amen.

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 2

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 3

Mr. Walker’s Miracle, a Christmas Story, Part 4

Mr. Walker’s Miracle, a Christmas Story, Part 5

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 6

And the miracles continued, Beverly Walker had requested a memorial service for her husband on what would have been his sixty-fifth birthday, Since the date fell close to Easter that year, it seemed especially fitting that the service included an encore solo from the Messiah, The Trumpet Shall Sound. Cliff Johnson was more than willing to sing in Charles Walker’s honor, but there was doubt as to whether the trumpet player the church had hired would be willing and available to return for the service.

Providentially, he was free that day and actually excited to take part in such a tribute.

As the multitude of family, friends, and admirers listened, Cliff sang:

"The trumpet shall sound ... and the dead shall be raised, 
Be raised incorruptible ..." .

A joyous atmosphere of victory filled the place. Everyone felt it, and as the trumpet player accompanied triumphantly, one could see in his expression a passion reminiscent of Mr. Walker’s.

After numerous testimonials regarding Mr. Walker’s character and his influence in people’s lives, the pastor wrapped up the service by asking if there was anyone who had postponed a relationship with Christ, for whatever reason, and invited these procrastinators to make a commitment then and there to the Lord that Mr. Walker had loved so. Several came forward and knelt at the front, and to everyone’s delight, these included the trumpet player. In an outpouring typical of the emotion of an artist, he laid his trumpet on the altar, signifying his commitment to dedicate his music to glorifying God.

Fron then on the instrument was seen every Sunday at the church, where the musician – Charles Walker’s last convert – played it faithfully every week in the worship. His name was Randy Simpson, and in time he became like another son to Beverly.

* * * * * * * * * *

The dream lasted only a moment, but it was one that Li would always remember. As the vision faded and the morning light awakened her fully, she lingered in bed, etching the picture into her memory. She smiled as a wave of peace swept over her.

“Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered.

* * * * * * * * * *

“I think I’ve seen Mr. Walker,” she told Sean over their customary cup of coffee in the church cafe.

“Really? You dreamt about him last night?”

“Well, actually this morning, right before I woke up. It was just for a few seconds, but I saw it so clearly. Two men were standing together. Their backs were to me, but I’m sure one of them was Mr. Walker. The other one was dressed very differently, like from another century, and he had lots of hair. It may have even been a wig …”

“Handel?!”

“I don’t think I ever knew what he looked like, but that was my first thought.”

“What were they doing?”

“They just had their arms around each other’s shoulders, as though they’d been best friends all their lives. They were talking. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they seemed to be speaking almost simultaneously, finishing each other’s sentences, that sort of thing – real kindred spirits. I heard them laugh. Then I woke up.”

Liz could tell by the look in Sean’s eyes that he had caught the vision.

“Sweet…” he sighed.

“Yeah, what a blessing. I can’t wait to tell Beverly about it.”

“Yeah, she’ll like that,” Sean agreed. There was a pause, during which Liz felt a certain lack of satisfaction, almost frustration.

“I just wish I could do more,” she said, her voice beginning to break. “Oh, Sean, I was just getting to know him, and now he’s gone!” A tear rolled down her cheek. Sean reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“Y’know, Liz, the best thing you can do to pay tribute to Mr. Walker is to use your gift the way he encouraged you to do.”

“You mean write?”

“Yes! As he said, you’re a visionary …”

“- an eye in the Body of Christ?”

“If you wanna put it that way, yeah. I mean, think about it, Liz. You look at a special needs student and see the Wonderful Counselor. You look out the window of an airplane and see a mission field. You look at a contest and see battles raging everywhere. – You see angels on the subway!” he laughed. “And while the church is watching for God to heal an injured believer, you’re watching Him heal the Church. As Mr. Walker said, ‘write it down!'”

Liz smiled wistfully. “Sarah once told me that, too.”

“The I guess you’d better do it,” Sean announced with an air of finality.

“Sean, you know how scatterbrained I am.” Sean didn’t argue with her.

“Mm-hm.”

“And a procrastinator …”

“Yep.”

“So, you remind me and nag me, OK?”

“I’ll nag like I’ve never nagged before.”

* * * * * * * * * *

So, from that day on, whenever Liz had a revelation, a dream, and adventure, or an answered prayer, as soon as she had finished telling Sean about it, he would rejoice with her, and then he would repeat the familiar admonition – “Now write it down!” And she would … usually.

Of course, things to write about far outnumbered the opportunities to write, and Liz soon realized what the apostle John meant when he wrote, “Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.”

Liz imagined herself in her old age, when all the adventures had died down, writing and writing about what she had seen the Lord do in her lifetime; she hoped her memory would be good enough to do so. If it wasn’t, or if the adventures never died down (a definite possibility), she’d wait until she got to heaven and tell these stories for all eternity to anyone who wanted to hear.

* * * * * * * * * *

Fellow bloggers and other readers, for those of you who stuck it out and read this story to its conclusion, God bless you! I hope your Christmas is filled with the wonder of the Incarnation – that God Himself loved us enough to come to this messed-up world as one of us, and to give Himself to save us from our sin and death. Jesus is the best gift ever!

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 2

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 3

Mr. Walker’s Miracle, a Christmas Story, Part 4

Mr. Walker’s Miracle, a Christmas Story, Part 5

“King of kings! – Forever and ever! And Lord of lords! – Halleluia! Halleluia!

(“Let God be God!”)

“And He shall reign forever and ever!”

(“If I die tonight, I’m a blessed man.”)

NO! Liz cried in her heart, even as she sang “Halleluia! Halleluia!” Lord You can’t take him now! Please ! Not now!

“King of kings! And Lord of lords!!”

(“Let God be God.”)

“King of kings! And Lord of lords!”

(“If I die tonight …”)

No, Jesus! Please – !

“And He shall reign forever and ever!”

(“If I die tonight, let God be God.”)

Liz was singing as if Mr. Walker’s life depended on it, and it seemed the rest of the choir was doing the same. As the final “halleluia’s” rang out, Liz saw to her horror that Mr. Walker was starting to shake again. His eyes had a look of utter disbelief, and as the choir stopped for the dramatic pause before the final “halleluia,” that pause seemed like an eternity in which the words echoed, “If I die tonight, let God be God.”

The choir was holding its collective breath, waiting for the signal for the closing line, and the audience appeared to be doing the same. The something happened that was totally unexpected.

Mr. Walker’s trembling hands suddenly grasped the armrests as if to steady himself and stop the shaking, and slowly, with a look of intense determination …

He stood up.

The with a look of complete incredulity, he raised his hands in triumph.

Two miracles occurred that night. The first was that Mr. Walker stood before his choir, completely healed. The second was that in their state of shock the choir still managed to sing the final “HALLE – – LU – -IA!” as he directed them.

Since the whole audience was standing, most were unaware at first of what they were witnessing, except those in the first few rows and those in the balcony. Members of the church who knew Mr. Walker’s story were awestruck. Strangers were puzzled, and a few cynics thought it was in poor taste for such a prominent church to resort to such a corny publicity stunt.

Beverly, of course, knew better. She stood reverently as the applause thundered, tears glistening on her cheeks. Her husband was gazing beyond the audience, oblivious to the ovation.

Ordinarily at that point the orchestra, choir, and soloists would each take a turn at accepting the applause, but somehow individual bows seemed out of place that night. The only One worthy of praise was receiving it all.

No one wanted to go home that night. Why would anyone who had tasted heaven want to return to earth? Liz, of course, responded as she did to any profound event in her life; she cried profusely. Sean wrapped his arms around her and shook his head in affectionate amusement, but his eyes were glistening, too. All around there were tears and hugs, and one of Mr. Walker’s grandchildren expressed the feelings of most as she jumped up and down with glee, clapping her chubby hands and squealing with delight. Seeing her, “Grampa Chuck” crouched down and opened his arm wide. The toddler ran to him and was lifted, giggling into the air. “Gamma Bebberly” looked on, her face beaming with pleasure.

* * * * * * * *

The following day, Christmas Day, the church received word that Charles Walker has gone to be with his Lord, sometime after midnight Christmas Eve. He had slipped away quietly in his sleep, leaving this life the same way in which he had walked it, with a look of profound joy on his face.

* * * * * * * *

(to be continued …)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 2

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 3

Mr. Walker’s Miracle, a Christmas Story, Part 4

The sights and sounds of the sanctuary were exciting and new, yet somehow familiar to Liz: the noise of the growing crowd, the butterflies in the stomach, the impatience to get started. Sean had been right in predicting a packed house; with the believers who had come to worship, the music lovers that had come to hear Handel, and the curious who had come to see the new sanctuary, it was obvious that every seat would be taken. The excited conversation, blended with the orchestra’s tuning up, gave an air of expectancy. In the dim light a myriad of candles flickered. The smell of wax mingled with that of fresh pine and perfume. Spruced up youth, some in their fathers’ suits and ties, stood at each doorway, giving out programs, searching the balcony for empty seats, and asking parties if they could please move down to make room for a few more.

As the choir came in single file and began filling the platform, voices were hushed, and houselights faded. Orchestra members ceased their warmups, and a few audience members cleared their throats. Beverly wheeled her husband to the music stand at the front, and a low murmur rippled through the crowd. As she positioned the wheelchair, something seemed to make her hesitate. For a moment the two of them looked into each other’s eyes, smiling as if to say, “We made it!” There was visible love between them that made them almost enviable, in spite of the obvious troubles they had been through. Before taking her place with the coir, Beverly kissed her husband, and though it wasn’t a long, drawn-out kiss, it seemed somehow sacred, like the culmination of a wedding ceremony. Liz felt a twinge of fear. Was she kissing him good-bye?

From the first note there was something about the way Mr. Walker conducted that night that was different. The fire and passion was still there, and he seemed to be drinking in every moment as though savoring a rare delicacy. This was to be expected, of course. Everyone involved felt the same way; how much more the one for whom it had been a life-long dream?

Yet there was something else about him that Liz noticed, and she wondered whether anyone else could see it. Mr. Walker seemed to know something that the others didn’t, and Liz didn’t want to think about what that might be.

Gordon’s Comfort Ye My People was more exquisite than ever, and though half the choir held its breath, nothing went awry this time.

For Unto Us a Child is Born was for Liz was like finding the door of heaven ajar and peering in.

And His name shall be called … Wonderful … Counselor … The Might God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace!”

She felt as if she had sprouted wings and could take off at any moment. Mr. Walker’s face reflected the same ecstasy; his eyes seemed to behold some unspoken wonders, and at times they had an unexplained intensity.

When Beverly sang I Know that My Redeemer Liveth, there a profound sense of peace and sacredness that was felt by every soul in the place. Liz marveled that Beverly could continue to sing with such a steady, clear voice; she knew that had she herself been the one singing, she would have been blubbering through most of it.

A few songs later, Liz felt a thrill rush through her as she realized the Hallelujah Chorus was next. This was the part where the composer had seen “all of Heaven … and the great God!” She had no doubt that it was possible for that entire congregation of thousands – believer and unbeliever alike – to gaze upon God’s face if He willed it. And why wouldn’t He?

She was almost too breathless to sing when the orchestra began the famous melody, and the mass of people stood to their feet according to the royal tradition. It seemed cruelly ironic that the only one not standing was the one for whom it meant the most.

The choir had never sounded so magnificent; they were singing their hearts out for their Messiah, and for Mr. Walker. They were giving him his Christmas gift, and one could tell by his face that it was the finest he had ever received.

HAA -- LLELUIA! HAA -- LELUIA!!
HALLELUIA! HALLELUIA! HALLE -- LUIA!"

The words echoed like a blessing on the new sanctuary and everyone in it.

"For the Lord God Ominpotent reigneth!"

The words seemed to echo Mr. Walker’s words, “Let God be God!” And the “Halleluiah’s” that followed thundered through the hall, the kettledrums booming for emphasis. The intensity in Mr. Walker’s face increased, and he conducted as though fighting some kind of battle that raged within him. Liz couldn’t tell whether he was winning or losing. When they sang

“And He shall reign forever and ever!”

there was a look of victory on his face, and the words “Let God be God” echoed in her heart. Liz was so busy watching Mr. Walker’s expressions that she nearly forgot to turn the pages of her score, and she found it difficult to keep up.

Mr. Walker didn’t have to try to keep up; he didn’t need a score. The music was in his blood, and he pursued it relentlessly, with a look of fervent determination on his face.

As the song built to its climax, there was suddenly something different about his expression. It had a wide-eyed quality about it, a look of acute surprise that seemed to overwhelm him. Liz couldn’t tell if it was a good surprise or a bad one, and that frightened her, especially considering the man’s words to his singers earlier.

(to be continued…)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 2

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story) Part 3

On December 24, the youth group gathered in the new sanctuary in their work clothes, amid stepladders, strings of lights, garlands, and massive rolls of velvet ribbon. For the next few hours, the church reverberated with laughter, chatter, and boom boxes between Christmas carols and “contemporary” music that caused the floorboards to vibrate with the beat. The youth transformed the newly built sanctuary into a Christmas spectacle that was festive without being frivolous. Liz was struck by how enormous the place was and tried to imagine it filled with people.

“Do you really think it’ll be a full house tomorrow night?” she asked Sean as she rolled up the remainder of the ribbon. Sean was sweeping pine needles into a dustpan.

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” he replied. “We get over thousand people every week anyway, and it’s been well publicized.”

“True,” said Liz. How well she remembered the stacks of posters they had run off in the office and seeing them all over town the next day; the youth had done their job admirably. They had been sure to post the announcements in the music departments of the local colleges and universities, so that not only the faithful but also classical music enthusiasts would know about the concert. She felt an excitement similar to what she had felt before the musical production of The Sound of Music at the U. of I., where she had played a major role. Yet there was a difference this time. It was less fear, more thrill. Liz had no solos, no dances, no spotlight on herself to anticipate, yet she was no less excited. It had more the feeling of being enormously privileged to be a part – even a small part – of something so magnificent. When the curtain had gone down on the last performance of The Sound of Music, it had been over and done with, leaving an empty space of sorts in her heart and life. But this – this was timeless, eternal, and who could tell? There could very well be eternal results. God could bring anyone through that door, and who could hear the Messiah without being moved in one way or another, especially with someone like Mr. Walker at the helm?

Christmas Eve, an hour before the service was to start, the choir and orchestra members assembled in the choir room. The soloists were walking about in separate corners, doing vocal warm-ups. A few women still had random curlers in their hair. The chatter was low in volume, high in excitement. But all the noise died down altogether when Beverly appeared with her husband. There was a reverent hush throughout the room as she wheeled him down the aisle to the front of the room, and all members of the company gravitated toward them.

Mr. Walker gazed affectionately over the gathering with moist eyes that had the look of one seeing beyond this world into another dimension. For a moment he said nothing, Then he began.

“Thank you. Thank you all for coming. As you know, this is the fulfillment of a life-long dream of mine to perform the complete Messiah. And you have helped make it possible – this magnificent work, dedicated to a magnificent God,” (His face fairly glowed.) “with such people,” he added, smiling appreciatively. “Every one of you has a gift – is a gift from God.” For a moment his eyes met those of Liz, the youngest and newest member of the choir. “Every one of you. Don’t ever forget that.” He winked, and Liz felt as though she had been personally commended by a king. Was it wrong to feel pride at such a moment?

Mr. Walker’s voice grew a little stronger as he went on addressing the company.

“I want you to know how much I appreciate your kind words, your concern, the help you’ve given my wife …” He reached up and patted her hand; Beverly never took her eyes off her husband as he spoke. “And most of all, your prayers. Prayer is so important, even if we don’t know how or what to pray … and so often we don’t. It’s not so much what we pray, prayer is in the heart. Prayer changes us. It may or may not change the situation, but it changes us. It’s letting God be God.”

He paused, then went on, softly yet passionately, “Let God be God. He has blessed us – blessed me – so much …

“If I had only my salvation, I’d be a blessed man, but He’s given me more, so much more. A dear wife and soulmate … ” He squeezed Beverly’s hand, and her eyes glowed with love. ” …beautiful children and grandchildren who love Him and are here tonight. And now … ” (His face broke into a broad smile.) ” … the fulfillment of a dream. If I die tonight, I would still be of all men most blessed.”

Liz was troubled by this last statement. She wished he wouldn’t talk that way! But Mr. Walker and his wife both had a look about them that was not of this world, and they seemed untouched by fear or trouble.

“We don’t know what the future holds,” he added with a confident smile, “but we know Who holds the future. I never would have guessed two months ago, out walking with my wife …” His voice trailed off, and a few choir members awkwardly looked at the floor.

He took a deep breath and added with finality, “But let God be God. ‘ All things work together for good for them that love God.’ So, love God and let Him be God. He knows best. If I live another fifty years, if I die tonight, I’m a blessed man.” He looked up into the face of his wife, who smiled back with the same serene joy. “I’m a blessed man,” he whispered fervently, his eyes gazing into hers.

(to be continued …)

The saga of Mr. Walker continues. In case you missed parts 1 and 2, here they are:

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story)

Mr. Walker’s Miracle, a Christmas Story, Part 2

There was much rejoicing when four weeks later Mr. Walker showed up for rehearsal. He was in a wheelchair and looked pale and haggard, but his spirit shone through. And though some members boldly insisted that “God’s not finished yet!” he was deeply grateful for the use of his arms and declared that, God willing, he would be conducting the Messiah on Christmas Eve. The announcement brought a standing ovation, whether for Mr. Walker, God, or both, and among the sopranos there were a few tears shed.

He proceeded to carry on the rehearsal as though he had never been away, and soon Liz could see the fire in his eyes as he led them in Handel’s magnificent tribute to his God. She could imagine the composer smiling to see such dedication and oneness with his music. There were moments when it seemed the director would rise right out of the wheelchair -indeed, everyone hoped that he would – yet the conducting continued from the humble position of the paraplegic, and to Liz, the chair seemed to mock his name.

Rehearsals with full orchestra began in mid-December, and the choir was treated to the solos that had been practiced separately up to that point. Undoubtedly Beverly’s was the most moving. Although she had a score in front of her, she never so much as glanced at the notes; likewise, her husband conducted by heart, sometimes with eyes closed in near ecstasy, other times looking deeply and passionately into his wife’s eyes as she sang:

“I know that my Redeemer liveth…”

Their faces reflected the peace of undaunted faith. To watch and listen to this couple was an inspiration. One could sense the many years they had spent growing together in knowledge and trust of God, and that they fully expected to continue doing so right into eternity.

I hope Sean and I will be like them someday, Liz thought.

When Beverly finished her solo, the silence that followed was profound. Every soul in the room had been elevated to a higher level. Such is the effect of true faith on those around it.

Almost equally moving was Gordon Mayfield’s singing of “Comfort Ye My People.” The young man had an excellent, well-trained voice, and of course the solo exuded peace, a rare commodity as the Christmas season approached with all the secular distractions the world had created to pollute it. With the added stress of the recent accident, a moment of serenity was a welcome relief.

It was during the second rehearsal after Mr. Walker had returned that Liz was enjoying Gordon’s singing with her eyes closed and a peaceful smile on her face.

Suddenly she was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a collective gasp from the other choir members. Gordon stopped singing, and Liz opened her eyes to see a disturbing sight.

Mr. Walker was slumped back in his chair, his body shaking convulsively, his eyes rolling back in his head. Dr. Peterson had already leapt off the platform and ordered for someone to call 911. Beverly flew to her husband’s side, musicians began moving their instruments to clear a space, and most of the choir sat in shocked silence. Liz felt as though she were going to be sick.

The next few moments were a blur; Dr. Peterson’s orders were mingled with Beverly’s soothing words of encouragement, others’ sobs, and eventually the wail of sirens. In spite of the rapid dialogue between the doctor and the paramedics, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, until Mr. Walker was finally taken away, with Beverly and a few close friends following. As the flashing lights of the ambulance flickered through the windows, and the siren’s melancholy cry faded into the night, Liz dreaded the heated controversy that she expected to follow.

But there was no theological debate, no arguing, no proud declarations. There were prayers, and there were tears, and people who had recently barely spoken to one another now sat quietly, nonjudgmental, heads bowed and hands clasped in unity. Beside the cluster of music stands, a group of musicians stood in a huddle, arms around one another, and one was softly leading in a prayer. A few others pretended to busy themselves with cleaning and putting away their instruments, but Liz noticed the awkward looks on their faces. These were people she did not recognize; they were not members of the church, but professional musicians that had been hired to fill in the gaps. Liz couldn’t help wondering what was going on in their minds. Did they know the Lord at all? If not, what opinions were they forming about how He took care of His own? She found that she herself was unsure what she believed, and sitting in the midst of the emotional chaos, she suddenly felt confused and vulnerable. Looking down, she fidgeted with the pages of the musical score in her lap. One large tear splashed onto the cover. A moment later she felt a strong, warm hand on her shoulder, and a familiar voice gently asked, “You OK, Liz?”

“…I’m not sure …” she stammered in a choked voice, not looking up. Sean knelt beside her chair, lifted her chin, and looked into her eyes.

“He’s going to be OK … either way. We know that, don’t we?”

Liz nodded, then gratefully accepted her fiancé’s embrace and sobbed on his shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * *

For the next few days the prayer chain kept the phone lines busy, keeping one another updated on Mr. Walker’s progress. After just two days in the hospital, he was sent home with medication to control the seizures, Although there were those who believed that “perfect healing” was on its way and that medication was an unnecessary distraction, they had the decency not to be too vocal in their opinions, and most were grateful for any kind of answer to their prayers.

It looked as though Mr. Walker would be conducting the Christmas Eve service after all.

(to be continued …)

Today’s post continues the story. In case you missed part 1, here it is:

Mr. Walker’s Miracle (A Christmas Story)

“Pray for Mr. Walker, Liz. There’s been an accident.”

“What?!” she gasped.

“He and Beverly were walking Ludwig, and he was hit by a drunk driver.” Liz clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Oh no!” she cried. “Where is he?”

“Cook County Hospital, intensive care.”

“But what…? How badly …?” she stammered.

“They don’t know yet. The car struck him in the back, and when he hit the pavement … Closed head injury, possible brain damage. There seems to be some paralysis. Right now they’re just hoping he makes it through the night. Just pray, OK?”

“OK,” said Liz in a voice that was barely audible. There was a pause as she waited for Sean to say something more, more news, an encouraging word, anything. But all he said was,

“Look, I gotta go call the rest of the prayer team…”

“OK, I’ll talk to you in the morning,” Liz replied, choking on her tears.

She hung up the phone, then buried her face in her pillow.

“Oh Jesus! Not Mr. Walker! Please don’t take him …” She thought of the logic of praying for someone not to go to heaven. “I mean, not yet! O Lord, this was his dream, to do the Messiah for You – Christmas Eve in the new sanctuary! Please let him do it! It would bless so many people, it would glorify You so much … And she went on for the next hour or more, praying as though the Almighty needed to have everything explained to Him, begging, reasoning, bribing, until she came to the end of herself, and her soul, exhausted, collapsed into submission.

“‘Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done,'” she quoted half-heartedly, then cried herself back to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Rehearsals went on with the assistant director in charge, but they were more like prayer meetings than practices. Everyone was praying for Mr. Walker, and everyone, it seemed, had a different opinion of what God was going to do. The age-old controversy of faith and healing grew. Being a non-denominational church, Faith Chapel had persons of many religious backgrounds – or no religious background at all. Some prayed with childlike simplicity that God would just touch and heal Mr. Walker; some secretly worried that if God didn’t heal him, such childlike faith would evaporate like a morning mist, and then what would such tender believers do? Some tried to explain that God always answers prayer, but the answer is sometimes “yes,” sometimes “no,” sometimes “wait.” This was not much comfort, and some, frustrated to the brink of tears, questioned, why pray at all then?

Some prayed for wisdom for the doctors and for healing to come through them. Others prayed that the Lord would bypass the medical profession completely and so glorify Himself only. Some prayed for God’s perfect will, not merely His permissive will; others wondered what in the world that was supposed to mean. Some even prayed “warfare prayers,” using voices full of authority, quoting the Bible as though waving a sword, and telling the devil in no uncertain terms that he could not have Chuck Walker! Others not only prayed for healing, they claimed it, quoting Scriptures that God would prove true, and becoming annoyed to no end with those who insisted upon adding “… if it be Thy will” at the end of their prayers. Of course it was God’s will – He said so right there!

Relatively inexperienced believers felt intimidated by those who could quote a staggering number of Scripture verses; however, the latter were outdone by the ones who professed to know what the words meant in the original Hebrew, Greek, and Aramaic and volunteered to interpret for everyone.

“But we don’t really know what Paul’s ‘thorn in the flesh’ was,” one member of the group protested, while another added,

“What about Job? He was a righteous man, and God let him suffer for a time…”

“Satan tormented him, not God,” yet another joined in the debate.

“But he had to get permission from God to do it!”

“And he got permission!”

“Exactly! He petitioned God. That’s why we have to counter-petition…”

As Liz tried to sort out what “counter-petition” meant, someone else changed the subject.

“Did you know that the word in Revelation for ‘witchcraft’ is ‘pharmacea’? We get the word ‘pharmacy’ from it.”

“Meaning…?”

“It means literally ‘communing with the devil through the use of drugs.'”

“Are you saying …?”

“I don’t trust doctors!”

“We need to stop talking about paralysis and brain damage. We need to say, ‘he’s whole!'”

“Isn’t that lying?”

“No. He’s actually already healed. The Word says, ‘By his stripes we were healed.’ The symptoms are the ‘messenger of Satan.’ Satan’s the liar! Chuck just needs to stand on the Word of God.”

“So you’re saying that Chuck’s problem is that he just doesn’t know the Bible well enough and needs to have more faith?”

“Well, the Word does say…”

“That godly man!? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

There was even talk of some alternative treatments, which was met with righteous indignation that anyone would suggest the use of a New Age method, which everyone knew was from the pit of hell.

A few tempers flared, and some days it seemed certain people had nothing in common except their concern for Mr. Walker.

His wife Beverly bore it all patiently. At first she did not show up for rehearsals, and everyone knew she was at her husband’s side, no doubt comforting him with her encouraging words and sweetness of spirit. Later she would come in and seem awkwardly self-conscious, no wanting to create a distraction. Everyone knew that so much wanted to be said, yet very little was, verbally. Still, there was the touch of a hand, a gentle smile, a hug that said so much, and Beverly accepted with tearful gratitude every expression of support.

For Liz, there was the impatience that came from praying everything she could think of to pray and praying it again and again, until she thought surely the Lord was sick of the whole thing, and why didn’t He just heal Mr. Walker and get it over with, so we can get on with the Messiah? Then with the realization that she was not God and could do nothing more, her soul settled into a kind of numbness.

(to be continued…)

The following Christmas story is an excerpt from my novel, Vision, the second book in the Awakening trilogy. It’s my Christmas present to my readers.

“Sing in the choir?” asked Liz. Since she had found her own apartment and joined the church in September, she had thought she was participating in just about every activity the church had to offer; she even had a part-time job helping in the office. “I haven’t done that since high school.”

“So, it’s high time you did it again,” Sean reasoned. Liz hadn’t seen him this excited since she had accepted his marriage proposal. “They’re doing Handel’s Messiah this Christmas! The whole thing – with a full orchestra! The new sanctuary will be ready by then, and they’re going to make Christmas Eve the first service there. It’s going to be awesome! And,” he added with a tone of profound veneration, “you’ll get to experience Charles Walker.“

Oh yeah, Liz thought, Mr. Walker. She had met him when she had first come to Faith Chapel and had seen him direct the choir almost every Sunday since. Sean’s parents had related the story of the Christmas Eve when ten-year-old Sean had announced, “When I grow up, I want to be Mr. Walker.” As a child, Sean had sometimes been seen in his bedroom playing music on his tape player and conducting an invisible company of singers and musicians. Although Sean’s aspirations had changed somewhat, Charles Walker was still, and probably always would be, a role model for him. Almost every adult in the church called him “Chuck,” but Sean, who was not yet feeling quite like an adult, and never feeling anywhere close to the man’s equal, continued to call him “Mr. Walker” with the utmost reverence. Liz, being relatively new to the church, did the same.

Charles Walker was not a large man, or in any way one who could be spotted easily in a crowd. His gray hair was thinning, and glasses obscured the brightness of his eyes. His dress and his movements were about what one would expect of a man in his early sixties. Someone Sean and Liz’s age might easily pass him by without a second glance.

But when he spoke, one was suddenly struck by the passion in his voice – a passion for his music, a passion for life and family, and above all, a passion for his God. This was a man who had an intimate knowledge of Christ that was obvious to anyone who knew him. It was a deep friendship that had been cultivated for decades, a relationship with both warm sweetness and fiery zeal to do His will. To watch Mr. Walker conduct the choir was like watching a master craftsman molding an exquisite instrument, whether they were singing a centuries-old hymn, or the most popular new worship song on the Christian charts. He did not merely direct the music; he brought it to life, embraced it, and offered it up to God as a sacrifice of love. From the first time she had heard the choir Liz had observed the affection and respect that every singer had for this man of God. It seemed the easiest thing in the world for him to direct them; it was as if every singer were an extension of the man himself.

Suddenly she felt the honor and privilege that was being offered to her, and she somehow knew that if she turned it down, she would end up regretting it.

“OK,” said Liz. “If you’re doing it, I will, too.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

Rehearsals were both interesting and satisfying. Mr. Walker made no allowances for newcomers but seemed to assume that they were experienced vocalists. This approach was both flattering and challenging. In writing about the experience in her journal, Liz could think of many words to describe rehearsals with Mr. Walker, but “boring” was never one of them. He always began with a few words to put their work into perspective; they were not practicing to worship God, they were worshiping Him, with every act, every repetition, every corrected mistake. He had instilled in every choir member, and soon had instilled in Liz, that every note one sings, even the off-key ones, could be an act of worship, if one’s heart belonged to Jesus. Moreover, every act or deed – changing a tire, washing a dish, cleaning a toilet – could be worship, if offered up to God. (Liz tried to remember this when she didn’t feel like doing her laundry.)

Although at the beginning there was much practice of separate parts, Mr. Walker made sure that every rehearsal contained at least one portion of the oratorio that was sung with the complete choir. The sound of the beautiful music coming together in its fullness was inspiring and left each choir member excited and looking forward to meeting again.

Liz particularly loved “For Unto Us a Child Is Born,” one she had heard sung in her church in St, Louis. It always brought back the feelings of Christmas past, and whenever she sang the words, “And His Name shall be called Wonderful Counselor…” her heart glowed with the warmth of a wonderful secret, known only to a select few: that she had first met Christ through a dream, where He was her Advisor, Confidant, and Best Friend. To hear a full choir sing such apt praises to the One she knew so intimately brought her chills and made her feel somehow connected across the centuries to the composer himself.

George Friedrich Handel. Charles Walker. What a privilege to sing in the company of such giants in the faith!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The call came at 1:15 A.M. Awakened from a deep sleep, Liz fumbled for the phone, knocking the radio onto the floor. She immediately recognized Sean’s voice and was wide awake at once when she heard what he had to say.

“Pray for Mr. Walker, Liz. There’s been an accident.”

(to be continued…)

Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. – Colossians 3:2

I read the prayer request, marked “URGENT!” A little girl was missing. Immediately my heart went out to the parents who didn’t know where their daughter was. I have experienced that panic on occasion, but never for more than an hour. I prayed for “peace that surpasses understanding” for them, protection and rescue for their little girl, and for the angels of heaven to surround her.

That night, waking up every couple of hours, my mind went back to the situation … “Lord, please protect her … Surround her with Your angels … Rescue her…” before drifting back to sleep.

The next day I got another email from the church. The little girl’s body had been found.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it – What went wrong? Were we not praying hard enough? Was there something else that could have been done? How —?

But no answers came.

———————————————————————————————————————————

That night we went with our daughter’s family to a Christmas festival, part of which was music being performed all evening in one of the old churches.

The huge sanctuary has a massive dome overhead that resembles an expanse of sky as much as anything can without being actual sky. Painted everywhere against the backdrop of blue are angels holding out scrolls with words of Scripture on them. A tier of them encircling the dome hold the names of the fruits of the Spirit and other biblical virtues, another tier holding scrolls with the Beatitudes (“Blessed are the poor in spirit,” etc.) Stained glass windows depict scenes from the life of Christ, and the entire decor is more ornate than any other church I’ve ever seen in this country.

If the purpose of all this is to turn our thoughts toward heaven – mission accomplished. The moment one steps into this house of worship, the visual is overwhelming enough. But we arrived just as the choir and full orchestra were performing the Halleluia Chorus from Handel’s Messiah in the balcony, and the effect was breathtaking. We were too close to the back to see them, so it was easy to imagine that the song was coming from heaven itself as it bounced off the painted angels. As I sang along, gazing at the celestial scenery surrounding us, I felt as though we were getting a small taste of what it must be like in heaven itself – in the presence of God in all His glory.

“King of kings! And Lord of lords!” we sang. “And He shall reign forever and ever!“

Then suddenly my mind turned to darker things, and since He knows my thoughts anyway, I asked the Lord a blunt question.

If You’re the King of kings and Lord of lords, WHY did You let that happen to that little girl?

He didn’t strike me dead with lightning for questioning His ways. He knew I wasn’t trying to be a brat. I recognized His greatness and knew that if anyone had the answer, He did. I just wanted so desperately to understand and to know that He can still be trusted.

The man Job, who possibly went through more pain and loss than any other human being, asked the LORD similar questions and waited a long time before God finally showed up. And the answer came in a long series of questions, starting with, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” (Job 38:4)

I think I got a similar answer, although I didn’t hear specific words. I only heard the singing get more magnificent, the sense of His presence more overwhelming. … I knew He was reminding me: He’s God. I’m not.

But I still wondered, WHY??? …

Then, it struck me.

She’s there.

While this brief moment in time was a taste of heaven for us – that little girl is experiencing the real thing. She’s in the presence of God – forever. And from there she is seeing things far differently from the way we see them.

We prayed she’d be rescued – She was.

We prayed she’d be surrounded by angels – She is.

We prayed she’d be protected – She is. No evil person or thing will ever be able to touch her again.

Whatever she went through, she’s not going through it now. As horrific as it was, and though it was pure evil that we may never understand it in this life, it’s over. She’s home free. And although we will weep for her family in the agonizing days and years ahead, we shouldn’t weep for her. She is better off than any of us who are here.

She won’t ever have her teenaged heart broken, or feel the stress of being unemployed, injured or diseased. She’ll never suffer widowhood, natural disasters, betrayals of friends, miserable consequences of bad choices, watching her aging body deteriorate, and every other experience that makes us long for heaven while we’re in these finite bodies. She’s skipped all that. (I could almost envy her.)

Of course, life doesn’t consist of just pain. It also contains many joys and pleasures – friends, music, good food, the beauty of nature, marriage, and having children and grandchildren. We tend to weep for those who will miss out on those things. And yet every good thing in this life is a mere shadow of what awaits us in heaven, which they’re already enjoying.

If you’ve lost someone you love, especially if it was in horrific circumstances, I don’t expect these words to change your feelings. And I know I can’t begin to know what you’re going through. I do know pain has a way of screaming at us at full volume, threatening to drown out the truth. But we must hold onto that truth. If we don’t, nothing will make sense, our lives will be hopeless, and the enemy will have won.

But in the end, he loses. GOD WINS.

Prayer: O Lord, I don’t know why You showed me what You did the other night. I am not the one who needed it. I haven’t lost a child, and I have no way of truly knowing how it feels. I feel presumptuous even speaking of such things. Please comfort those who are experiencing excruciating, unspeakable grief. The rest of us want to help, but You are the only One who has the power to cure the incurable. We can only offer our prayers, and for what it’s worth, we do that now. In Jesus’ name, amen.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. – John 1:1

But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let him be eternally condemned! – Galatians 1:8

“Discernment is not knowing the difference between right and wrong. It is knowing the difference between right and almost right.” – Charles Spurgeon

Baby Jesus: It’s that time of year when even the staunchest atheist might hum along with songs about Mary’s baby Boy, the cuddly little Babe in the manger. And when the Christmas season is over and the manger scenes are put away, so are any further thoughts about Jesus until His birthday next year. But Christ-followers know there is much more to this “Babe” than the songs playing in the mall tell us.

Are we so caught up in the sweetness and the sentimentality of the season that we fail to stop and ponder the wonder of the Incarnation – “Emmanuel’ – “God with us“?

I for one appreciate the Christmas carols that tell the whole story – that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son to die in our place, as the atoning sacrifice to pay for our sins, so we can be restored to fellowship with the Father and live forever. – “God and sinners reconciled!”

That Baby in the manger was born for one purpose, to die so that we could live.

And yet, if you ask the simple question, “Who is Jesus?” you will get varying responses.

The illogical Jesus: Many say Jesus was a good man, a great moral teacher, like Buddha, Mohammed, and Confucius. But as C. S. Lewis famously pointed out, this is not an option. Jesus claimed to be God, and this claim was one of the reasons His enemies set out to kill Him. Such a radical claim must be either true or false. He couldn’t have been “sort of God.” If Jesus isn’t God, then He was lying, and moral people don’t lie about something as basic as who they are. The other option is that He was mistaken – He only thought He was God. And that, as Lewis said, puts Him on the level of a man who thinks he’s a poached egg. Great teachers know who they are. The only other option is that He was and is who He said He was. So, to say Jesus was a great moral teacher but not God incarnate is not a logical option.

The liberal Jesus: To many church goers, especially in America, Jesus is our Big Brother, the example we want to follow to live good, moral lives. But to stop there and fail to see Him as our Lord and Savior, the God who created us and to whom we owe everything, is to miss the point. And the point is, we can’t follow His example. Jesus was perfect, and to try to live as He lived for one day – one hour – is to see how woefully short we fall. This is the very reason we need Him as Savior. Nothing we do or say can pay for one sin we’ve committed. Even sacrificing our own lives would be insufficient, since God requires a perfect sacrifice, and we are far from perfect! To presume that we could follow His example is pure arrogance.

One of many “gods.” This Hindu belief has the same problem as the “illogical Jesus.” Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except by Me.“ Jesus claimed exclusivity; therefore, He is either the only true God, or not a god at all.

The Muslim Jesus was a prophet, but not divine. Again, can someone be a true prophet and miss the mark on something as basic as his own identity?

The Mormon Jesus: Mormons call Jesus “the Christ,” but their view of Him is not in line with mainstream Christian teaching. To a Mormon, Jesus is not the second Person of the Trinity but the half-brother of Satan. (Doctrines and Covenants 76:25-27)

The Jehovah’s Witness Jesus was created, not begotten. He is inferior to Jehovah but superior to the angels. After His death He was resurrected as a spirit creature.

Partial Savior: Several religions belief systems recognize Jesus’ atoning death on the Cross but don’t believe His sacrifice is enough to pay fully for our salvation. Works must be added, and life becomes a feverish race to do enough good deeds to cover the bad. Some believe that Judgment Day will have a giant scale to weigh every person’s good works on one side and sins on the other, and if the good deeds don’t outweigh the bad, that person is not saved. Sadly, believers in this system never know the peace of being secure in their Savior’s love.

The true Jesus of the Bible: As Jesus died on the cross, He declared, “It is finished!” meaning, “Mission accomplished!” or “Paid in full!” We can rest in the assurance that our sins are paid for. Good works will follow, but they’re done with joy, out of gratitude for our salvation, not an attempt to earn it. And the biblical Jesus rose bodily from the grave on the third day to seal the promise of eternal life. He specifically said to His disciples that He was not a ghost: “Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.” (Luke 24:39)

It’s not enough to say we believe in Jesus. The question is, which Jesus? It’s not necessary to study all the different versions of Him, just the Bible. The Jesus you find there is the true Savior. If you haven’t turned your life over to Him, do it today. Then, as you celebrate His birth this year, know that you have given Him the one gift He wants most from you – yourself.

Prayer: Dear Jesus, as the world celebrates Your birth with activities and trappings that really have nothing to do with You, help us to stay focused on the wonder of Your love, that You would leave Your home in glory and come to earth to be one of us and die for us, so we can be Yours forever. In Your name, amen.