“Because someday all you’re going to care about is telling Jesus stories.” Dallas Jenkins

Thursday, September 17, 2020

 Am I too early to unpack that evacuation bag I put together as we watched Hurricane Laura grow in the Gulf last month? I’ve already snatched out my camera to capture Lucas’s first birthday. As I dug through the mess of essentials this morning,  I picked up this marriage journal I kept for Rob as a gift on our 25th anniversary.


If you know anything about me, you know few books remain closed; before long, I was reading entries. One struck me in particular. Written shortly after we lost both of Rob’s parents, I wrote of his emotional care for his parents during his mother's terminal cancer and then, his father’s deep grief. Long distance care of aging parents, laden with guilt, is a very difficult beast. Rob’s sister and brother-in-law lived much closer and assumed most of the physical care; we were so grateful, yet, aware of it's toll on them.  It truly grieved Rob. Yet, I fondly remember, as I noted in this particular journal page, his almost nightly calls to them as he drove home in heavy Katy Freeway traffic. Even after a long business day, he’d make his love known via a speaker phone. Then, he would report to me. It was often hard to read Rob’s emotions, but usually not after a particularly hard call.  
Much like so many of us who are isolated from our loved ones during this pandemic, Rob struggled with the desire to communicate with his parents and the demands of work and family. It took great effort to stay connected. I so admired him for his faithfulness.
I urge each one of us to invest in our senior adults during this difficult time. Even a five minute call changes the landscape of their week. 
Recently, my small group discussed what ‘true religion’ looks like in 2020; it’s taken on a whole new look as we worship outside of our comfortable church walls. Weeks of hunkering down in our homes often shrink our ability to see and reach a hurting, lonely world. 
Pure religion... looking after the marginal, the grieving, the lonely and isolated. 
My dear Rob, you understood James’s weighty words. I love you for that.

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