Hopeless?

Joseph could have been the poster child for hopelessness. Rejected by family, sold into slavery, falsely accused, forgotten and left in prison. Yet, Joseph finds his hope in God. He hopes for a day when God will bring into focus all the blurry details of his life. His hope was not easy or perfect. Yet he seems to daily manages to put his hope in the Lord. In Joseph's story we discover that circumstances are never what they appear to be. Your and my circumstances are seldom what we conclude they are. There can be hope in the midst of hopeless circumstances. For God's child there is hope even in the darkest prison. In life, things seldom turn out the way you hope. But when things do not turn out, this does not mean there is no hope. We must make sure our hope is anchored in God and not what we expected.

There are some very dark moments in my life. In the darkness of the prison of my grief I cry out to God. What I find is that hopelessness is the birthplace of hope. Hope does not need perfect circumstances to exist. As a matter of fact, hope is born in the ugly, dirty and painful maternity ward of sorrow, grief and suffering. That is where the first cry of hope is heard at the sound of God's slap, hope grasp for air and hope begins to breath.

While Joseph was there in prison the Bible says in Genesis 39:21, "The Lord was with Joseph..." What exactly does this mean? Speaking of Joseph the Psalmist writes: "...and he sent a man before them - Joseph, sold as a slave. 18 They bruised his feet with shackles, his neck was put in irons, 19 till what he foretold came to pass, till the word of the LORD proved him true." (Psa. 105:17-19) The Hebrew word, translated neck in most translations is the word nefesh or soul. The iron shakels were around his neck but there was a deeper iron shakel on his soul. That is one of the most poinant descriptions of grief I have ever heard. It remained until what was foretold came to pass or until God's promise proved him true. This speaks of the purpose of his testing. God was doing something in Joseph through the painful circumstances of his life. Our hope is not found in perfect circumstances but in the ever present Lord who works all his plans together in and through our lives. (Romans 8:28)

My soul cries for freedom while my God cries for transformation. I feel like I am in a prison of grief. I want freedom. Yet His Spirit says, You might as well embrace what God allows to come your way, because He is transforming you. Iron shakels are on my soul but God is smelting them into iron for my soul. This powerful, painful transformation is the work of God and God alone.

Is. 40:31 but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

Ed Litton

The "All" in His Abounding Grace

It is time for a personal testimony that I pray will become real personal to you. I have often wondered, as I assume you have, what would I do in a dark, terrible moment of sorrow and grief. How would I respond? The question always hung in space, unanswered, twirling before my mind. Well, this is a postcard from the unthinkable. Let me tell you what it is like.

I am not going to focus on the pain today, even though it is still very real. I am going to focus on God's grace. When and I do mean when, you suffer as one of His children, He really is present. He is genuinely drawn to His children and to others when we suffer. I want to add that He is more than just with you, although having Him with you is greater than having anyone else with you. No, he is not just a silent partner in your pain. He, well, how can I say it? I know, I will let the Apostle Paul say it. Paul was a man experienced in grief, struggle and suffering. 2Cor. 9:8 And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.

God is able. This means that the only thing between God's ability and your need is you and what you are willing to surrender to Him. Now, look at all the times Paul uses the word "All." We have access to all of God's grace. Grace is God's powerful working in our lives to do what we are incapable of doing. In Christ you get all grace which means that you get every kind of grace for every kind of impossible situation. Did you notice that it "abounds" to you. This is cornucopia language. This overflows like a basket of beautiful, fresh fruit. "So that in all things," stop there, whatever your painful struggle might be, stop comparing it to someone going through worse trials and miss what God has for you. Whatever you face is covered in "all things." "At all times," is another all inclusive statement. I find his grace saturates my times with him, with others and with God's word. I have "all" that I need. That is a powerful definition of God's grace. I may think I need some things or may intensely want something else but He gives me all I need. Sometimes it is like medicine, bitter to the taste, at other times it is a sweet desert made by a caring friend, but make no mistake it is his grace. Now, here is God's purpose and promise, "you will abound in every good work." God has a good work he is doing in and through this pain. That is more than something I hope or trust is true, it is true! Notice the language again, not the repeated "all" but the repeated use of "abound."

I for one, am glad that our Heavenly Father is a prodigal loving God because I have a prodigal heart. I love the way he receives the penitent sinner with open arms and an open heart. He throws a huge party, a great feast of fatted calf and restores completely and abundantly. He is quick to give responsibility because he has a good work in which he want his sons to abound. Question. What stands between you and God's ability to make all of his grace abound in your life of circumstances? Fear? Guilt and shame? A personal sense of unworthiness? Maybe, like the prodigal son and myself, you have a plan, an agenda for how to get back in his good graces. No, he has grace for you before you outline your plan to him.
I am amazed at the language of this verse. Paul says "God is able to make all grace abound to you." The shortage is not on his end. The failure is with you. James says that we simple do not have because we do not ask. Ask, believe and receive. Just now, stop reading and simply pray. Surrender you heart to him, and receive grace. Ask the Lord to come into your life, your situation and bring his abundant grace. He will. He certainly has in my life. He is able, are you
willing? Pain will drive you. Either it will press you away from him or further into his chest. You get to choose.

Ed Litton

Through Not Over

The reality of an often repeated statement, made to me in the first hours and days of my sorrow, has hit me hard. As it is said, I know that the truth of this statement is undeniable, "you will never get over this." I rejected the concept at first or maybe I just wrestled with the fact that I did not want such a pronouncement made over me. It made me feel so powerless and I was already aware of how powerless I was to prevent this tragedy. As the pain bore down upon my soul and pressed into my heart, I found myself accepting this truth, that I would never get over this. Believe it or not, the hour soon came when I did not want to get over it.

I do not think God wants us to get over loss, sorrow and pain. The
twenty-third Psalm indicates that the Shepherd of our souls does not
lift us up and over the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Psa. 23:4 Even
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
Did you see the key word in that verse? It was the fifth word from the
beginning in this translation. It is the word "through." It is God's
way to lead his people through the hard things in life not over them.

We somehow develop a set of expectations of God. We expect, I suppose,
that if he goes to such sacrificial lengths to save us that keeping us
from all harm, danger and loss would also fit into his job description.
He is by the way, a good shepherd. When we actually do suffer great
loss, we then have the expectation that he will lift us up above it,
twirling in the sky above our pain, seen by all. This is untrue not to
mention unreal and ultimately selfish. We can also contrive that
having suffered great loss and the accompanying pain that we deserve
some sort of break in at least the immediate future. This too is
untrue.

How terribly hard it is to sit with my adult son, struggling with the
pain of loosing his mother, who believed in him and loved him through
great struggles from birth to manhood. The cry of his heart is like
mine. Why? I hear a loss of confidence in the goodness of God in his
voice. I struggle with that one also. Deep down there is this
expectation that we could live life and escape this kind of pain. We
are not wide-eyed idealist. We have had our share of hard knocks and
pain before. This one, however, caught us blind sided. This is not
what we expected.

I have always believed that my journey in life was a walk with the
Lord. He is my shepherd. I knew that the road was scheduled to endure
some dark and difficult valleys. Loosing her was just too terrible a
thought to entertain in its fullness. So, beyond the shutter it would
bring, my mind would shake it off like unwanted rain and press on to
the immediate. That is what we do when we face the unthinkable. Most
of us have plenty of distractions in the immediacy of life.

Then it happens. We find ourselves standing on the shadows edge
looking into a darkness that is unspeakable. We want to run but where
do we go? Time presses us into the grief. In a confusing swirl of
emotions, most of which are horrible, we step into the unknown. The
canyon walls are steep and straight. They move upward higher than any
building in New York. They rise up and press in. The closest feeling
at this moment would be the most intense homesickness you ever
experienced as a child, multiplied by terror a million times. A
fearful sense of doom surrounds you. You expect to touch it in the
darkness at any moment but you never do. You step one foot forward,
then another. Soon, in the dark you realize that He is with you. His
Spirit wispers encouragement but it is hard to grasp what he just said.
He is patient with our pain and he understands. Often, he repeats
himself without any sense of pevishness or impatience. It is here you
remember that he is the good shepherd. You are his sheep and he is
leading you through no over.

He led the three Hebrew children through not over the fire. He refined them through some of the most intense persecution ever experienced by human beings. Through this he brought an empire to it's knees and taught us about the price of true worship. He led Abraham and Sarah through infertility with encouragement and a promise. He led obstinate Hebrews through desert sands to bitter watering holes, because he had a plan. The Lord is our shepherd. We shall not want.

One word gives me hope in this valley. It is the word "through." Through means I will make it to the other side. What does that world look like? I do not know and I will not speculate even thought it is my nature to so. The confidence I have at this moment is based soley upon a promise. Psa. 23:5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows." That is a different kind of promise that we would contrive for ourselves. It is not the removal of danger of the possibility of future hurt. It is greater. It is the promise of victory in the presence of real enemies. It is the promise of an anointing, a blessing from God, a power to face anything as long as we are walking with our shepherd. It is the promise of an overflowing in my life from the hands of my loving father who killed the fatted calf and hired a band the day I returned to him. He will not withhold any good thing from me. He is good. He is worthy of my life, my praise, my love given back in obediance. He leads me through not over. I do not want to wake up one day in some dreamy place where there is no memory of his greatness, his provision, his power manifested in me. I want to wear this wound as a badge of honor and glory to him. I love him! Beyond words, I return my love in the currency of trust.

Ed Litton

Happy Anniversary

Twenty years ago this coming Sunday God allowed me to become a Pastor. Before that moment, I trained, prayed, dreamed and planned to be a pastor because that is what God called me to be. I did not do this alone. I had the joy of a woman whom God used to love me, refine me, encourage me and help me in the task that He called me to. Like the Apostle Paul in Ephesians 3:7, "I became a servant of this gospel by
the gift of God's grace given me through the working of his power." Also like the Apostle of the heart set free, I am the least of all people to be given such a critical task.

You see, God is full of mystery. In his mysterious way, hidden from the understanding of the wise, God revealed his wisdom through an assembly of his chosen followers, a collection of fools in the eyes of the world, but he calls us his church. Ephesians 3:10 says: "His intent was that now through the church, the manifold wisdom of God should be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly realms, according to his eternal purpose which he accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord." This is the mystery, God has placed his plan of salvation for all mankind in the hands of redeemed sinners who obey
his word by gathering into family like groups called the local church. They gather to worship, pray and believe God together. They gather regularly to renew their loyalty to the gospel and each other. They gather to help, encourage and support one another, only then to be scattered into their culture in order to infect others with the same life-changing gospel of Jesus Christ.

Their purpose in life, their chief end is not personal happiness, but to give him glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! They live for their redeemer. They long for his return. They bring his hope to bear on a broken world. They bind up the wounded, they reach out to the rejected and they love as he loves them. This is his church, glorious as an army with banners. Powerful, in prayer and the hope of a nation. Yet, cursed by the shuttering evil one and despised among cowardly principalities.

I should not wonder that churches struggle. We are under the worst kind of ongoing spiritual attack. Why? Because the evil rulers and authorities in the heavenly places despise what we are. We bring hope because he has made us salt to preserve and light to reveal. We are the glorious church of the living God. With all of our struggles we yet represent God in this generation. His gentle hand lifts up your head and wipes your tears away with a smile that says, I am coming for you, soon. He is the love of your life. He is your kinsman redeemer. He is the Lord of glory, Jesus, our lover and lord!

We must stop going to church and just start being the church.

We must stop acting like Christians and start being Christians.

We must stop just being known as believers and start believing.

We are God's mysterious plan at work in this world, what greater significance could we desire?

We are called, equipped, empowered and deputized to represent our Lord to our neighbors with a love that cannot die. When we love him supremely we will obey him completely. We will never lack for power, never lack for joy and never lack for the fruit of changed lives. We are the church of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I, for one, am glad and exceedingly humbled by God's choice to call me as an under-shepherd of his church. I consider it an honor to give myself to him by caring for, protecting and preparing his bride for her wedding day. Thank you Lord for calling me, equipping me and anointing me to pastor one of your churches.

Happy Anniversary Lord!

Ed Litton

The Badlands of Grief

As a boy the first book outside of scripture that I read was about Robert E. Lee. The second was about Theodore Roosevelt. TR became a hero to me. His overcoming, energetic spirit inspired me. I remember some key events in his life like the fact that he was sickly and exercised his way out of poor health. I remember admiring a young man's determination. I remembered something else about TR. As a young Assemblyman in New York, with a very promising future, his life was suddenly shattered by the death of his young wife, Alice Hathaway Lee at 22 years old.

The thing that made an impression on me was how Theodore responded to his great loss. He simply fled. He left the child born to he and Alice in the care of his sister. He left his elected position in the State Assembly. He left the life of privilege to go to North Dakota and live on a ranch in the Badlands. He hunted, rode, roped and chased horse thieves and in general sought to rid himself of a great grief. He once captured three outlaws and took them to jail enduring forty hours of sleeplessness. Roosevelt was for me the essence of manhood. Physically strong, determined and yet, wholly unprepared to deal with grief.

I remember thinking as a boy, if I ever experienced something like TR did, I would also run to the Badlands. I must admit that, in my hour of grief, I have been tempted to run. I have been tempted to ride, work, and hunt my way through this wilderness of grief. There is something about grief that makes a man want to run to the Badlands. I don't know if it is the sense of injustice that often comes with sorrow. I don't know if the aloneness promises comfort or if you just want to risk your life in some reckless way because it is not as bright and hopeful as it once was.

So why don't I run to the Badlands? I don't have to, it seems like the Badlands have run to me. I do not want you to think I am judging my hero TR. I understand better than ever why he did what he did. I am also strangely comforted by the fact that he returned. He was never the same but TR went on to greater adventures and became the youngest man in history to serve as the President of the United States. The tragedy of his running to the Badlands was that he never bonded to his daughter Alice. She was the daughter of TR and Alice Hathaway Lee. She grew up with a father who would not allow the name of her mother to be mentioned in his presence. Sadly, Alice had the same name as her mother. Rejected, disconnected and terribly alone in life, the beautiful Alice Roosevelt was banished to her own Badlands.

I do not know what all this means. Grief makes us all victims. Our response to grief is as varied as our fingerprints or DNA. It is tempting to do something very self centered. Our response does however, have a profound impact upon us and those whom we love. Great men and women have been marked by such sorrow. God seems to use those who have been broken. Oh, God I am broken. I do not want to withdraw from life or responsibility or my family. I feel deeply wounded and condemned to the Badlands of the soul. In the midst of those powerful feelings, I trust in the Lord to be my help and to strengthen me in my grief.

Please pray for the Litton family. Please pray for strength and grace to endure these days. Less we give you the wrong impression, that all is well and we don't hurt as bad as we did a few weeks ago, we hurt, we weep and we feel lost without her.

Thank You for your prayers!
Ed Litton

Before and After

In my wallet, tucked away for over 27 years is a picture taken in a dollar photo booth. After Tammy and I met, I could not keep a dollar in my wallet. It is a picture of two college kids, all smiles and frankly, no clue. Oh, Tammy and I knew what we wanted in life. We were sure of certain things and the unsure things we trusted to the Lord. We were in love. She did not put her arms around just anyone. She did not sit on just anyones lap in a photobooth. Our love was not yet tested. It was not yet tried and proven but it was joyful, full of life and we had a blast with one another. Our love had not earned wrinkles in this aging photograph.

We dated almost three years before marriage. We talked a lot in that time. We shared dreams and visions. We imagined what our kids would look like. We wondered where we would wind up and Alabama was never mentioned. We dreamed about how God might use us. We teased and played jokes on one another. We were yet to learn one another, accept each other and grow in grace together.

When you compare this picture with more recent ones, you can still see the boyish grin, the sweet smile on Tammy's face but there is more. There is a seasoned love that really did grow stronger with every passing day. I am not suggesting we did not struggle. But somewhere we discovered a secret. The secret is that the struggles are what makes us go deeper into the glorious place called intimacy.

She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I never got over the amazement that she would be seen with me much less fall in love with me. She saw potential in me that others passed over. She saw what Michaelangelo must have seen when he looked at a rough piece of granite and said, there is a David in there somewhere. A woman is a mysterious and glorious creation of God. There are many reasons God made woman but the one I am fixated upon now, is how God shapes a man through a woman. When you look at the image on a $100 bill, if you've not seen enough of them, you will have to trust me on this one, but the image is that of a drolish man, named Benjamin Franklin. That image is taken from a painting commissioned by Madame Brillion de Jouy, while Franklin was a diplomat in Paris. She noted with pleasure that Franklin, whom she considered to be one of the wisest men who ever lived is wise because, "He allows his wisdom to be perpetually broken against the rocks of femininity." Praise the Lord for a woman. Her touch, her tenderness, her sensitivity, her maternal ways, her joy, her total otherness than men. Praise God for the day He created her. His genius amazes me. At the risk of sounding like a college freshman with his first thesaures, I am in awe of what God created when He made her.

It may sound rather ego-centric to say this. I run the risk of making it sound as if I am the sun and she was a surrounding planet. Not at all. I had the joy of her. I was given a great gift in Tammy as my friend. At the end of many great days, surrounded by many great people, it was always my joy to go home with her. I remember standing in a United Nations reception in New York shortly after 9/11, the year I served as First Vice President of the SBC and I looked at her across the room and I thought, she goes home with me. I have been delightlfully broken upon the rocks of her femininity.

God sent Tammy to me as an artist and God took her hand and in the most gentle way I believe He wispered, lets help Ed. I loved loving her but I loved being loved by her even more. No one was more honest with me. No one knew me like Tammy. She captivated me and she completed my broken, raged edges. Many mornings we sat in a quiet room with a cup of Starbucks and talked the morning into day. We respected each other.

So when you look at us in more recent photographs, you see earned wrinkles, my fuller cheeks and less hair, four wiser eyes, some ravages of the aging process but look close, notice the smile. The smiles are undeminished by the pains, undaunted by the terror, and unending in their joy.

I rise to bless an artist, a woman, my beloved wife, Tammy!

Ed Litton

P.S. You can also see our kids.

The Gift No One Wants

Dr. Paul Brand was a medical missionary who dedicated his life to the study of a disease that has struck fear in the heart of humanity for ages, leprosy. His work with leprosy patients gave him a lifetime of insight into pain and suffering. He made an astounding statement: "If I held in my hands the power to eliminate physical pain from the world, I would not exercise it. My work with pain-deprived patients has proved to me that pain protects us from destroying ourselves." Dr. Brand has helped us understand and appreciate the central nervous system which allows us to feel pleasure and pain.

For centuries people believed that leprosy was a flesh eating disease. In fact leprosy is a disease that destroys the central nervous systems ability to register pain. Without pain the body cannot tell when damage is being done. Many foolishly assume that to be without pain is a good thing. North Americans consume 50% of the manufactured drugs in the world. One-third of them work on the central nervous system. We kill pain better than anyone, yet the more we do the more pain strikes back. If leprosy is the inability to feel pain, then alcohol and drug addiction are forms of self-imposed leprosy. We are rendered pain free and thus appendages are broken, damaged and eventually rot away from abuse because there is no pain to warn. Pain is a gift. It is the gift none of us want, but a gift none the less.

Imagine a garden where there was no sin, no sorrow and yes, no suffering. Imagine a place where the central nervous system of Adam and Eve was fully functional for pleasures and delights but not pain. There were no thorns. Then sin came and with sin, death and with death, pain. Reality hit the human race like a speeding locomotive. We have been hurting, bleeding, and suffering in pain ever since. Yet, God gave grace in the midst of our fall.

Grace is God's power when we have no power. Grace is God's ability when we have no ability. Grace is God's provision when we have no provision. Grace, if you can grasp it, was built into our central nervous system, waiting for the need. The central nervous system was designed by God and so well designed that even the fall could not keep it from providing a powerful function. The ability to feel pain is God's gracious gift to keep us from doing worse damage to ourselves.

My central nervous system is fully functional. I am in great pain. I am not pretending. This pain reminds me that I loved deeply and was loved greatly. This pain reminds me that I am alive and that I survived, even as I fight a strong wish to the contrary. This pain reminds me that greater damage can come if I do not carefully heal. This pain reminds me that there are deeper truths I have been skipping over in my exuberance. This pain reminds me of what God actually did promise and some things I falsely assumed He promised.

What He actually promised was His presence and the clarity of His voice. Most importantly, He promised that He is enough. Ps. 68:19 says: "Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens." This pain, I grudge the thought, is a gift.

Ed Litton

God's Help In the Shadow-lands

I am often asked, "How are you doing?” Those who ask, pause as if they had asked a dumb question. It is not a dumb question. It is a caring question, a comforting question, a great question. It is a question that shows someone cares.

So how am I doing? I am filled with a strange mixture of overwhelming sorrow and perfect peace. I have an odd combination of pain and joy; both bring me to tears. I have discovered that I can weep both tears of sorrow and tears of joy simultaneously. This must be what it feels like for the Lord to be my help.

People have said they want to do more than “just” pray for me; I am convinced that prayer is the greatest thing anyone can do for me. I have no strength of my own. However, through prayer, God's sustaining grace gives me strength and is sufficient for every need. This must be what it feels like for the Lord to be my help.

At this moment in my life, though I have a very weird, strange, and odd mixture of deep loss and great gain, God’s powerful presence is not shy. Temptations are real. At times, I am tempted to give in to bitterness, anger, questioning, and resentment. Yet, in the presence of those enemies, He makes me to settle down. He restores my soul. My cup overflows. Surely, His goodness and mercy follow me this day and everyday. This must be what it feels like for the Lord to be my help.

While walking through this valley of the shadow-lands, I hear terrifying howls. At first they seem to come from distant dark places. Then I realize they are coming from within my own soul; loneliness and grief are crying out. But I am not alone, for He is with me. I am comforted by His rod and staff. This must be what it feels like for the Lord to be my help.

When evening falls, it falls quicker in the shadow-lands. It seems darker in the shadow-lands. Yet, He is with me. Though death is still threatening, I don’t dread it as before. Though death is still a mighty foe, its victory was vanquished when my Shepherd conquered the grave. Though we all deserve death, the grace of God gives us eternal life in Christ alone. Sin has lost its power. The power of death is now gone. The sting has been removed. This must be what it feels like for the Lord to be my help.

Ed Litton

Satan does not respect your grief

When it comes to my relationship with Tammy I have no regrets. I said this the night of her visitation to several people. As the hours turn now into days and days into weeks, I have challenged that thought. I certainly do not have regrets about our relationship. It was rewarding beyond my ability to describe. It was joyful and full of laughter. It was amazing how we fit and how God shaped us to each other. But that word regret has been on my mind. Until last week. Do I regret anything now? I do.

In adjusting to our new normal, I have been cleaning, doing laundry, cooking (please understand what I mean by that word), paying bills, managing accounts, schedules, on top of our own unique ways of grieving. I do not know how Tammy did all that she did. I knew she made the lives of her husband and children easy and wonderful. I know that her gifted servants heart was enclined by God's design to serve us but I do not even know she could track all that she did. At first as this thought crept over me, I began to feel real regret. Did I tell her enough, did I show her how much I appreciated her? Cause I really did, not just now in my new and lonesome awareness of her. Then it happened. The Accuser wispered. "No, Ed you did not appreciate her enough!" A deep sadness crawled on me. I wept regret all over myself.

Yesterday I opened her drawer. You know, the draw a woman has where very personal things are kept. Beneath some clothes, resting quietly was a stack of letters, cards and notes. There are letters from our kids to their mom. There was a note of encouragement from a dear friend. On top of all of them was a note from me. I do not remember writing it. It has no date. It was a note that expressed my deep appreciation for everything she does to make my life worth living. I told her how I could not do ministry or function without her. I told her how I cherish her. An awareness came over me. A joy filled me. Satan, I said, I just remembered something. You are a liar! I just want to remind you that your going to Hell forever and ever. Get out! You have no right or authority over me because I'm under the blood of Jesus.

We all need to stop listening to him.

Ed Litton

Life is Daily

Tammy and I met while attending the University of Arizona. We were blessed to be a part of a move of God in a college ministry at First Southern Baptist Church of Tucson. Our pastor, Ron Hart was a young radical pastor whom God used to spark a revival among us and our fellow students. We were so full of passion for the Lord that we would witness to anything, anywhere at anytime. Our love and passion for Jesus seemed to explode at times. We did things that today make us blush.

Believe it or not a group of five of us were so bold, that we drove
eight hours to Fullerton, California to meet Chuck Swindoll. Swindoll
had just began a national radio broadcast called Insight for Living.
It was a different style of preaching than we were accustomed but there
was depth and practical application and we loved it. In case you are
wondering, yes, we made an appointment. What we did not take into
consideration was Los Angeles traffic, and we arrived for our
appointment thirty minutes late, and Chuck had already left for his
next appointment. His secretary felt sorry for us, so she whispered
the name of the restaurant in which Chuck was meeting someone for
lunch. Today, I can't believe she did that or that we did what I am
admitting to now. Grief must makes men more honest.

We arrived at the restaurant. Now, please understand, not one of us
had ever seen Mr. Swindoll. His voice was so handsome we assumed he
was tall, sun tanned and blonde. Getting out of the car Tammy had the
presence of mind to ask the obvious question; "How will we know him?"
No one thought of that before. I said, "Come on we will figure it
out!" This has been a repeated theme in my life. I led this gaggle of
naive, Swindoll groupies into the Hungry Tiger restaurant, wide eyed
and expectant. After asking the greeter where Chuck Swindoll was
seated and receiving a blank stare I looked around the room for the man
I imagined him to be. It was at this point, I realized how impossible
it is to identify someone's looks by their voice. So I did what any
stupid, bold young neo-radical would do, I spoke out loud his name in
the entire restaurant. "Chuck Swindoll! Is Mr. Swindoll here?" Every
eye turned toward me as silence fell on the crowded dining area. From
a booth across the room, a timid and reluctant hand rose. Now, I was
thrilled to identify him but now I encountered another dilemma. This
somewhat portly, middle aged man who frankly, looked nothing like he
does on radio, was red faced and understandably annoyed by our
interruption. Who could blame him? All five of us gushed all over
him. In less than a minute we poured our gratitude out on the table
for his faithful preaching of God's word. We assured him that it was
making a huge difference in our lives. In the awkward silence that
followed we knew it was time to leave. We left and drove back to
Tucson.

Our passion, misguided at times, was a powerful fuel in our lives. God
shaped us however, through a willingness to go anywhere and do just
about anything for Him. However, it takes more than raw passion in
life. It takes wisdom, courage and grace. We wanted to grow in Christ
more than anything in life and we did grow. We grew as fast as weeds
but as strong and fruitful as trees. One phrase that Tammy and I heard
Chuck Swindoll say was; "The hard thing about life is that it is so
daily." That one phrase captured us as an insight, simple and
real. It is amazing how many times over twenty-five years you will
repeat an insight that impacted you. The truth of that statement even
comforts me today. Paul in his second letter to the Corinthians, yet
another group of passionate followers of Christ who were in need of
maturity said: "But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal
procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of
the knowledge of him." (2Cor. 2:14)

Through the years one thing has proven itself true to me. Passion can
be misguided at times, however, a passion for Christ even one that
bleeds over onto others, is a powerful and wonderful thing. It is life
itself and many mature saints long to regain passion. Regardless of
what you face today, God leads us in triumphal procession in Christ.
When we follow Him, He leads us ultimately to a throne of Grace. We
tend to live for major events in life, but the truth is life is daily.
Each day has trouble of its own. Each day has grace sufficient. Each
day is an opportunity to fuel our passion and walk in simple daily
obedience. We are to be the aroma of Christ wherever this day leads us.

Now that I dwell upon the thought of Tammy's life, it is like planting
my nose in a beautiful flower and breathing in the aroma. She was a
servant like Jesus, tireless and joyful. She was honest about who she
was and comfortable with that. She loved broken and honest people
because she knew that you must be broken before the aroma can come out.


Her sweet aroma lingers!
Ed Litton

The Future

The future seems incredibly daunting. To be honest, it is terrifying. When I allow my mind to dwell on the future, panic invades my heart. I am confident this will not always be the case. However, it is reality at this point. My mind wants to return to that place where dread dwells. My thoughts run to the dark shadows of a very undesirable place in time.

So, what can I do with all the uncertainties and “what-ifs” of life? My dear friend, Billy Graham encouraged me from his own experience with grief. He did what a good friend should do. He reminded me of what I already know, in order for me to apply the truth to my hurting heart.

According to scripture—the truth, how are we to handle an uncertain, scary, and dark future? First, remember God is present. Psalm 46:1 tells us, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” When Moses saw the burning bush and asked God what His name was, God simply replied "I Am." Jesus affirmed that He was the same "I Am" God. Why would God reveal Himself in this odd present tense? Most people introduce themselves with the things done in the past, or their dreams for the future. Not God; He is present. However, because He is the God of the present--this moment, does not suggest He cannot see the future. The future is as clear to Him as our past is clear to us. Actually, it is clearer. In Matt. 6:34 Jesus said, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” In these verses, He reminded us that He gives us bite size chunks of life, to be lived out daily--one breath at a time, while trusting in His sovereign plan for all our tomorrows.

Second, realize why the future is so frightening. The future frightens us because we cannot see God in the future. All we see is the ominous unknown and we imagine the worst case scenario. Praise God! He is with us in our present pain, sorrow, or suffering. Psalm 34:18 says, “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” There is a problem when we look toward the future: we cannot see what God will do, if the worst case scenario happens. We tend to see only that which causes us fear. If the worst possible dread becomes reality in our life, His presence becomes the difference between despair and hope.

Third, trust Him for tomorrow. Nothing intimidates God; however, we are intimated. In Ephesians, Paul reminded us that we are not unaware of the methods of Satan. Satan plays upon our fears to manipulate us into actions that ultimately do us harm. He does not respect our grief and pain; he delights in our suffering. He is a pervert! 1Peter 5:8 warns us, “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”

I have purposed to pray and seek the prayers of friends so that I may not fall prey to Satan’s evil schemes. I struggle to focus and look to the future; when I do, I rest my fears upon the Lord. I trust my future to Him. He is not unfaithful. He is LORD! I find with grief, grace is abundant and obvious.

Thank you for Praying!
Ed Litton

To See His Face

The seventeenth Psalm is simply titled a prayer of David. It is a prayer not unlike the prayers you and I would pray when we face pressure and danger in life. David asks for God's favor in dealing with real and perceived enemies. The prayer of David here is beautiful but it is how he ends the prayer that arrest my heart this day. Psalm 17:15 And I—in righteousness I will see your face; when I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness.

When Tammy slipped through the painful bonds of life into eternity, the first things she observed in that moment of awakening was His face. His face. What an amazing thought. To see the one who knows everything about you and yet His utter knowledge does not deminish His utter love for you, is overwhelming in thought. To look into the face of the one who gave His all for the joy of this moment. His joy is to see His beloved redeemed finally and completely. I can imagine that in that moment for Tammy, there was a warm, deeply intense, purifying warmth that swiftly erased the childbirth pain of dying. Then in that moment I imagine her eyes widening, pupils dialating and her tender lips seperating in awe. She saw Him, Jesus. The corners of his lips now turning upward. His embrace so utterly enveloping and satisfying like mighty wings wraping her in His love. In that moment, Tammy knew what David imagined. "I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness."

I must tell you a secret. Our love was intense but it grew to be like that. We were able to share a great love because of Him. You see Tammy had a love before me and I before her. The love of her life is Jesus. I got more love out of Tammy by her keeping first things first. It was tempting to put her in the first place but I knew not to do that. He must be first and when He is my love for wife, children and friends is greater than it could have been consuming all of me. I lost Tammy a long time ago to another man. The God-man, Jesus. I am glad I did.

In my good grief I receive comfort in this. Grief becomes so self-centered. It becomes all about my pain and sadness and loss. God's word reminds me through David's prayer that it is about something more, something greater. It is about Him. When I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing Him! Then I will go looking for her.
Ed Litton

HELP!

In the midst of grief there is something else. I can only describe as help. Psalm 121:1-2 "I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth."

Help comes to make practical decisions. Help comes to face difficult truths. Help comes to hang up a garment of your loved one, now ten times more valuable, returned from the cleaners. Help comes to look at a picture that reminds you of just how much you've lost. Help comes when you walk into Target and are flooded with a memory. Help comes when a horrible fear climbs on you at sunset. Help comes when you reach for the phone to call her and share a joyful or funny story, only to remember. Help comes when the tear damn breaks, again. Help comes.

Where does the help come from? David was right, it comes from the Lord. Psalm 121 is a song pilgrims sang as they went to worship at the Temple in Jerusalem. As they made their way up the hill to the city, filled with expectation, they would sing. Called a song of ascent, it was the act of worship before you arrived at the place of worship. It was a reminder of the price of worship, ascending upward when you may not feel like it. I am struck by the reality that in order to ascend you must first descend through the Kidron valley. It is a song fitting for those who grieve.

The Lord helps. When you read the eight verses of this song you will agree that the Lord watches over you also. He shades you with His right hand. "The sun will not harm you by day or the moon by night." The Lord is faithful to help. Make no mistake, His help comes in the midst of pain, sorrow, suffering, loss, grief, and danger. The Lord is there in the crowd of problems, hurt emotions and anger, standing out in the midst of these things, bringing His help. He does not remove
these painful realities but He does not seem intimidated by them either. We wish He would just zap them but He does something better, He comes to us when they arrive. The look on His face tells me that He has a plan. "My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth." It took quite a plan to make heaven and earth, I can rest assured He has a plan for me.

When precious hurting people ask to help me in practical ways, I cannot fully describe to you what it does to me. It comforts me. Their love warms me and reminds me of the love of Jesus in the flesh. Many have expressed what I have often felt in comforting another. I felt like I needed to show my love and concern in some practical way. I would say: "I am praying for you but I want to do something more!" Regardless of the cost, I want to help my hurting friend. I have come to depend on such help and I see it joyfully as the hands of God moving through His body, the church.

Friend, thank you for your love but I want you to listen to me, You can not do more than pray! Pray as the Spirit of God prompts you in the night. Pray for God to move. Pray for the Lord to be my help and the help of my family. Where you not praying, I cannot imagine what I would do.

My help comes from the Lord!
Ed

We Fly Away

Psalm 90:10 The length of our days is seventy years— or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

One week ago my life changed. In one swift moment the unthinkable became reality.

The afternoon of Thursday, August 16, 2007, I was in another office at the church meeting with a friend from out of town. Tammy and Kayla were traveling after school to Hattiesburg, Mississippi for Kayla to audition with a cello professor. An hour, or so, after they left me at the office, I heard my cell phone ringing on my assistant’s desk. I let it ring thinking Judy would pick it up. Then my private phone began ringing, followed by my cell phone again. Suddenly, I remembered Judy had left the office early for an out of town trip. Immediately, I left the meeting to answer my cell phone. My precious daughter’s voice was on the other end. "Daddy! Oh, Daddy!" "Kayla, what's wrong?" I asked, as my heart rose to meet my throat. "Mommy is asleep and a man just pulled me out of the car." I knew what that meant: tragedy had intruded into our everyday existence. Instantly, I knew I needed to be with my daughter. The man who pulled Kayla from the wreckage then got on the phone. "Is my wife okay?" I asked urgently. "Sir, you need to get here as soon as possible."

I don't know how, but in approximately thirty minutes Dr. Mike Cook, my longtime friend and colleague, drove me to the halfway point between Mobile and Hattiesburg—the scene of the accident. Traffic was backed up almost a mile. We drove on the shoulder of the road until a policeman directed us to take the opposite lane. An ambulance was parked at the top of a slight hill; Kayla was lying on a stretcher inside. An eighteen wheeler sat facing west, in the right lane a few hundred yards from where our truck stopped. As Mike navigated to the ambulance, I saw a group of men standing around.

As a pastor, I’ve been present at the site of many gut-wrenching tragedies. I cannot tell you how many times I have been at the scene of horrible traffic accidents, suicides, and other such tragedies. In every case, the severity of the tragedy that has just occurred can be readily judged by the manner in which people stand around awkwardly shuffling their feet with their heads down, avoiding eye contact. As we came upon the scene and I observed those present, I said "Mike, Tammy is gone!" Though he sought to reassure me that may be a premature estimation, I knew otherwise.

I stepped into the ambulance to comfort my terrified daughter. At that time, we thought Kayla’s arm may have been broken. Medical personal would not tell Kayla or me anything about Tammy. Once assured that Kayla was in good hands, I stepped out into the humid sunshine to go and see about my precious wife. I was stopped by a medic. I pulled away and continued on my way to her. A patrolman motioned for me to step back, because I was standing where the helicopter was about to land. I went back into the ambulance. At this point, Kayla was crying for me not to make her fly in the helicopter. I assured her that it was safe and that I would be with her.

Mike and a highway patrolman motioned for my attention. "Mr. Litton, you need to sit down." "No,” I said, “shoot straight with me." My dear and courageous friend Mike said, "Pastor, Tammy did not make it. I am so sorry!" I do not know how to express what I felt; it was shock and I knew it was shock. I was numb, yet fully aware that what I had just been told was true. The helicopter landed and a tall medic, in a blue flight suit, said to me. "Mr. Litton, come this way." He escorted me to the passenger side of the helicopter. The seat-belt was trapped and snapped in place. I shook hands with the pilot and thanked him for his help. I heard noise in the back and felt the cabin pressurize, as the back door was closed. "Stand by." The pilot announced to the crew. "Ready!" was their response. As the helicopter lifted upward, I took note of my emotions. No tears yet, no panic, but I wouldn't call it peace. It was peaceful, but it was simply a still moment. The kind of moment God has used in my life many times when He was about to punctuate a truth in me. As we lifted, I could see those men--those sweet helpless helpers who had come to my wife and daughter’s rescue. They stood awkwardly around Tammy's body, now covered with a blanket. Two men attempted to shield my view of her with a blue tarp. I remember thinking, "Don't do that. It's okay."

As the helicopter lifted swiftly up, I could not take my eyes off of her petite frame lying beneath that blanket. Then suddenly, clearly the Spirit of God spoke to my shocked and wounded heart. He said, "This is the path Tammy just took just a few minutes ago." Peace flooded my soul and for the next fifteen minutes, as we made our way to the trauma center in Mobile. I knew God had sent His holy angels and they had lifted her up on wings like eagles and she rose, as if raptured, into His holy presence.

You may call me a mystic. Perhaps I am that, but I believe God graces us with moments of insight. I believe He occasionally allows us to stand so close to the edge that we see His glory and hear the fluttering of angel’s wings. I cling not to my experience that day; I cling to the Word of God, by which I judge my experience and I find nothing inconsistent with God's Word in my experience. I believe and long for the coming of the Lord, either in my life or in the Second Coming of Christ.

Psalm 90:10 tells us, The length of our days is seventy years— or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away. My sweet wife did not get seventy or eighty years in this life. From my earthbound and sorrowful perspective, my bride of twenty-five years of marriage and over twenty-eight years of friendship, suffered a sudden and tragic death. At the same time, I am confident that because of the grace of God through the shed blood of Jesus Christ, in whom she trusted, Tammy did fly away.

Regrets are usually created by the things we delay, or put off, until such a moment that we become aware that we cannot now do what was needed. Psalm 90:12 teaches us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. There is a joy that comes from knowing you have numbered your days and prepared in advance by trusting Christ as Savior and Lord. Be ready. For in an hour when you may least expect it, the Lord may say, "Quickly, come home." Then you too will fly away.

Ed Litton

HOPE

Tammy and I have so much we wish to teach our children but in this hour I find myself learning from them. Kayla and I hugged and wept together the other day and she opened her heart to me. Amazingly, every thing she said, I was feeling. Even how she said it was how I would have chosen to say it. Today she shared a poem with me that she wrote less than two weeks ago. We were on our way to visit Josh in Orlando. The amazing part of this poem it how fitting it is for where we are two weeks later.

Hope
by Kayla Litton

What do you do
When hope seems so far away
That you think you won't last another day
When you are afraid of your own thoughts
Afraid that they will make you remember what you lost
Every minute you keep yourself occupied
Trying to avoid the times where you could not stop and cry
The times themselves were not all bad
But all you can dwell on is what you used to have
But as hard as you try
Gone is the only word that occupies your time
Try as you may, but the memories won't go away
What is the one thing that can gets you through
Hope
Hope is what makes you carry on
Hope is what will make you strong
Strong so that someday, you can realize you were wrong
Hopes that you will see her again
Hopes to be forgiven for your sin
But hope is the thing that makes you pick yourself up
And not to eventually forget the times that were hard
But hopes that those times will not scar
As hopes of focusing on the good times
Memories that make you smile when they come to mind
Memories of the good times
Times when you saw her smile
When you sat and laughed for a while
When she stroked your head ,and said I love you
The thought that you will see her someday new

I am proud of a thirteen year old girl with wisdom, wit and insight to
the human soul. I know Tammy is proud.

I am also proud of my dear wife's choice to stay home and invest in the lives of our three children. Schooling at home is not for the faint of heart. Tammy had many misgivings but conquored them all like the champion she was. She was the greatest teacher they will ever know. Tyler told me while we were selecting books for his new college courses that many of the required readings he already read. In his freshman year of high school Tammy had him read over 70 books. The typical way I left for work on most school days was to find them all sitting in the living room reading out loud some classic.

I am proud of Joshua for his leadership at this hour. I know from history that great leaders are often born in the midst of great crisis. He bears the marks of both parents but his servant heart is clearly learned and modeled by his mother.

I was not expecting God's grace to come to me in this manner. It is coming from so many places but the most rewarding is from the hearts, hands and lips of my beloved chlldren.

It is well with our souls!
Ed Litton

She Tuned the Orchestra of Our Lives

I cry tears of joy for the one who tuned the orchestra of my life…

Before the gift of Kayla came to us, I remember that Tammy had a "gig" as she called it. She had been asked to play principle oboe for a classical concert in Tucson. By some strange arrangement of our lives, it happened to fall on "Take Your Daughter to Work Day." That was the Feminist movement's way of glorifying a woman's role far away from home.

That night at the concert, I held a squirmy little Josh on one knee (well, you can imagine how difficult that would have been) and Tyler on the other. As the oboe began to tune the orchestra, I whispered, "Boys, listen."

They both stopped squirming. Simultaneously they looked up at me. It was the sound they'd heard in our house so many times as Tammy made reeds and practiced.

"Mom!" They knew who was playing the oboe. It was their mother.

As the symphony tuned to Tammy, I pulled the boys closer to me. "Your mother could tune the greatest orchestras in the world,” I whispered into their little ears, “but she chose to stay at home and raise two boys for the glory of God."

I don't know if that memory or my ambitious words have a place in their minds today. But I will never forget how she tuned our lives. How she played in perfect pitch the melody that made life worth living.

Ed

Love Your Neighbor

There are 6.5 billion people who inhabit planet earth. More than two billion of them, or one out of every three persons, claim to be Christians. According to the latest research from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, most non-Christians have never met a real Christian. It is estimated that as many as 86 percent of Buddhists, Hindus, and Muslims have never known a Christian. Globally, more than 80 percent of all non-Christians do not personally know a Christian.

This reveals a serious crisis for Christians. It appears that we have assigned ourselves to a gospel ghetto, in which we move only among those who share like faith and values. Our lives have been robbed of daily contact with non-Christians. Like His first disciples, we modern day followers of Jesus Christ have allowed our personal needs, likes, and dislikes to become superior to His command to love unsaved people. Isn’t it just like Jesus to disturb our comfort zone and lead us into some “Samaritan” city we would rather avoid, in order for people to come in contact with Christ? It is critical that we do not confuse our occasional journey out of our ghettos on a "mission" trip to be sufficient. We encounter people daily who have not yet met a "real" Christian. We need to pray expectantly: "Lord, open my eyes to see those you would have me love in your name."

Many of us confuse our emotions with our love; but, love is not primarily an emotion. It is a command. Love often requires that we put aside our personal likes, dislikes, and prejudices and see people the way Jesus does. We don't have to understand their ways, or like what entertains them, in order to reach out to them. Ultimately, we will all have to give an account to the Lord for exactly why we withheld love from people He called us to love. When Christ commanded us to love our enemies, He commanded action--not emotion.

During World War II, C.S. Lewis was asked to do a special radio series for the British people, describing the doctrines of Christianity. It originally aired on the BBC. These lectures were later compiled into a book called Mere Christianity. In discussing the Christian command to love your neighbor, Lewis declared that sometimes this comes easy and at other times it does not. “But though natural likings should normally be encouraged, it would be quite wrong to think that the way to become charitable is to sit trying to manufacture affectionate feelings. Some people are 'cold' by temperament; that may be a misfortune for them, but it is no more a sin than having a bad digestion is a sin; and it does not cut them out from the chance, or excuse them from the duty, of learning charity. The rule for all of us is perfectly simple: do not waste time bothering whether you 'love' your neighbor; act as if you did.”

Ed Litton

America's Secret Weapon

If you live or grew up in or around the town of McKeesport Pennsylvania you probably did not pay much attention to an aging owner of a local air conditioning and plumbing business. He looked pretty much like other men of his generation. Working a lot, loving his family and attending the Lutheran church down the street. A pleasant man who talked little about his past. Like so many World War II veterans who do not consider themselves heros just lucky to have survived. Yet, Glenn Rojohn has a story and amazing story you need to hear.


Captain Glenn Rojohn flew a B-17G Flying Fortress bomber in the 8th Air Force's 100th Bomb Group. On December 31, 1944 he was flying in formation to bomb targets in Hamburg, Germany. They braved heavy flak to reach their target and released their payload. They then turned 180 degrees to head out over the North Sea to their base in England. That is when they were attacked by a squad of German Messerschmitt's. At 22,000 feet mayhem was the order of the day. The Germans were so close, Glenn could see the faces of the pilots. Suddenly the A B-17 ahead of him burst into flames and drooped off toward the earth. Rojohn gunned it to move into the position of the fallen plane. That is when he felt the impact. The entire plan shuttered as Rojohn realized that he had collided with another plane below him also moving to take the lead.


The other plane was piloted by Lt. William G. McNab. It slammed into
Rojohn's A B-17 in such a way that neither planes wings or tail was
damaged. The strange part of the story was that the ball turret broke
through the fuselage of McNapp's plane and his top turret was now
locked in the belly of Rojohn's plane. They were stuck together
piggybacking across the sky. Glenn could feel the massive weight of
both planes begin to pull him out of the air. Three of McNapp's
engines continued to run while all four of Rojohn's engines continued
running although fire is now breaking out onboard both planes.


The the next few panic filled seconds men on board fought to free their friends stuck in the gun turrets. Pilots and copilots fought with their controls. Men who had just months before been farm-boys, soda jerks, students and lifeguards were not falling from 20,000 feet in the midst of explosions, confusion and certain death. Rojohn ordered his crew to jump. McNapps plane was already jumping out. As the two planes, mated together lumber toward the German countryside, Rojohn and his copilot stay at the controls. The earth is moving fast toward them. All of this does not escape the notice of people on the ground. One German manning an anti-aircraft gun stopped firing as he watched in amazement only to record the event in his report for the day. On the ground many wondered if this was a new American secret weapon.


The crew watched while floating to the earth as the two planes
separated just above the ground. Rojohn's plane pushes slightly upward
and crash lands hitting a wooden structure. His cockpit breaks away
and amazingly he and his copilot survive with little injury. Bill Leek
was Glenn's copilot. He unstraps his safely harness and steps out of
the broken plane, takes out a cigarette and starts to light up with a
shaky hand, when he saw a rather frustrated German soldier with a gun
pointed at him. The soldier was yelling at him to stop. Bill lifted
his hands with cigarette in one and lighter in the other. The excited
soldier motioned downward and Bill could see that he was standing in a pool of aviation fuel.


Amazingly only two of the six men who jumped from Rojohn's plane did
not survive. Four men from the other plane did survive including the
turret gunners. They were all taken prisoners and interrogated at
length by the Germans until they were satisfied that they were not
flying a new American secret weapon. Glenn Rojohn did not talk much
about his Distinguished Flying Cross or his Purple Heart he received
for that day. Nor would he ever take credit for the amazing events of
that day. Instead like so many other veterans he credited his comrades
and the bravery of those who did not get to come home.


The Germans got it right, we had a secret weapon flying over the snowy
hillsides of Germany that day. It was not an eight engine double
hulled A B-17. It was the secret weapon of American men, forced into
service by a war not of their own making, toughened by a childhood of
want, strengthened by a terrible resolve and filled with a longing to
go home. Our secret weapon was and still is the heart of the American
soldier.


Captain Glenn Rojohn, AAF, died a few years ago. Let us give thanks
for men like this.

The Civil War: Honorable Manhood

Ken Burns documentary, The Civil War, does a masterful job of presenting the deep emotion and meaning of Sullivan's letter to Sarah.

Honorable Manhood

In the spring of 1861, Sullivan Ballou was a 32 year Major of the Second Regiment, Rhode Island Volunteers. He was a man who had overcome his own family's poverty and had achieved significant status as a lawyer and state representative in his young life. He married his wife, Sarah, and they had two young boys, Edgar and Willie. When the war between the states became unavoidable, Sullivan volunteered out of a deep sense of love for his country and a unique conviction of honorable manhood.

We know about Sullivan Ballou today because of a letter he wrote to his wife Sarah. He, like many other soldiers, wrote a letter in the event of his death. It was never mailed home but it was found among his things and faithfully and sadly delivered. Soldiers still write these letters. They express his deepest values and his deepest love with the hope, dim as it may be, that it would never need to be read. From the date of its writing, we know that Sullivan penned it just days before the first major engagement of the Civil War, the battle of Bull Run.

The letter, when read, has a haunting beauty. There is a sense that you are reading something ultimately personal and that you should not be reading it. Yet, there is something gloriously inspiring about a man's love for his wife, children and country. People don't speak or write that way anymore, but after reading it, you will wish it was still a practice. Sullivan Ballou could be dismissed as a mere romantic, the product of his gilded age. I rather believe that, hidden in the dusty stack of history, he is an example of honorable manhood and thus worth reading.

Sullivan Ballou wrote this letter on July 14, 1861, waiting for orders to move out to the Virginia town of Manassas, where he and twenty-seven of his men would die one week later. The letter was retrieved from his things by the Governor of Rhode Island and delivered to his wife Sarah.

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

If Sullivan's letter is an example of honorable manhood, and it is, then we can benefit from his heartfelt expression. Honorable manhood has these elements: a profound and well nurtured faith in almighty God who is sovereign over the affairs of men, a deep love for a woman that is seen as God's gift to a man, and an overwhelming love for a man's children welded to a profound sense of responsibility to pass honorable manhood on to them. Honorable manhood finds it roots in the soil of God's eternal truth, the Bible. Honorable manhood believes and acts out of conviction. Sullivan Ballou lived what he believed. Honorable men are willing to fight for what is right and die, if need be, for the cause of liberty. Let living men strive to such heights and let us be willing to live what we believe.

Ed Litton