Questions: With Answers from Saints,Poets, Philosophers, and Old Men

Stories

THERE is a difference between saying, This is the truth and This is my truth. Understanding that some truths can only be conveyed by mathematical equations, I have tried to convey how I strengthened my faith by wisdom and story. I have complete faith in my stories as they are told here. Others may not have as much faith in my narrative, but I believe that the most vivid personal stories have the most universal reach. The vividness of a story depends not only upon what happened but also on the words we choose to describe the event. Often in conversations we are asked, What do you mean by that? and usually we then use stories to present a point in a more understandable form. Expressing one’s relationship with a personal God sometimes requires music, art, and poetry. In this world that has become accustomed to instant visual messages I believe that story and metaphor still reach a deeper part of our mind and connect with souls in a more permanent way. I have chosen to use stories and a little poetry to describe the indescribable, just as our savior Jesus Christ used parables.

God’s Love

QUESTION: Can you remember a time in your life when you felt lonely—so alone and helpless?

There is a Kris Kristofferson song called, Sunday Morning Coming Down that reminds me of my first few months of college. I was in a big city, and my roommate, who was a great guy, would go to his hometown on Friday night and would not return until late Sunday. I had a job on Saturdays and Sundays that was way out in the county. I had to ride a bus transfer to a street car and then to another bus to reach work. The community in which I worked was pretty much all Jewish. My boss looked like Walter Cronkite and was a sweet man. However, it was the nature of a lot of city people to not be personal, and I thought the Jewish customers of the drug store ignored me because I was not of their faith. I was closer to the two girls who worked at the fountain and the delivery boy, all of whom were African Americans. They would sometimes give me a ride back to my house, but most of the time I would ride the bus and street car back home. I discovered that, because it was so far out in the county, if I missed the bus at 10:00 p.m., I would have to wait two hours for the next bus. During my adjustment to all this, I at times really felt lonely. There was one place where I found comfort, and that was at church. I discovered that you always have a friend in Jesus, and nothing can separate you from that love and security.

One morning I was up early, and I was going out for coffee by myself when I ran into a fellow student who lived on the third floor. I asked him where he was going so early, and he said to church.

I said, In the middle of the week?

He said, Yes at the Catholic church they have Mass every day.

Why are you going? I asked.

I need help in that chemistry class, he responded.

I started going to Mass with him sometimes because I needed a friend in Chemistry, Math, Botany, and English. My friend Jesus helped me make it through the tough times. My Mass buddy, Joe, would become my God Father and roommate later that year.

I have discovered that anytime I have needed a friend all through my life, Jesus has been there to talk to me and see me through my pain and tribulations. What a wonderful feeling of security and freedom from fear and excess worry! As someone recently reminded me, Jesus can move mountains, but he expects you to bring a shovel.

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love, Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8:28)

1. Do you think that you have to wait for some formal situation to talk to Jesus? How about just conversing with him all through the day?

2. When you feel all alone, why don’t you just have a little talk with Jesus?

3. When you feel sad, why don’t you ask your friend Jesus for help and then listen to his answer?

4. When you feel a loss for the proper words for a prayer, just listen for his words.

5. When you think you can’t stand anymore, why not remember the pain and suffering Jesus and his followers experienced?

6. Isn’t it wonderful that Jesus can speak to us through our minds and hearts?

Why I Believe There Is a God

 (Who Cares about Me Personally) 

QUESTION: What makes you think there is a God?

On one summer day in 1945, I was busy studying ants on the sidewalk from our home to the road in front. They were all busy carrying on their duties of bringing little bits of dirt to the surface from a crack in the concrete. I wondered if they knew I was watching them and if so, if they cared. Each ant seemed to know what his job was and was carrying out his duties without complaint. I wondered if there was a boss ant down there that made them all work like they did and if so, who made him the boss.

My fascination with the ants ceased when Margaret Bonner drove up in her truck, delivering the two quarts of fresh milk her cows had provided for our family that day. Mrs. Bonner was a somewhat assertive woman with a reputation of dominating her husband, Roy. I didn’t want to get in her way or interfere with her duties since I was not quite eight years old and not nearly as strong as Roy Bonner. I therefore gave up my reclining position on the sidewalk so Margaret could pass with her wares. As she passed, she told me some shocking news. Jimmy, did you know that President Roosevelt died? This was the most shocking news those young ears had ever heard. Roosevelt dead! He was the only president I had ever known. It was as if someone had told me that God had died!

The death of President Roosevelt was the first time I had to question my simple belief system. I had figured out by then that Santa was a fable, but it was a fable I wanted to keep for a while because it was comforting and made me happy. I was able to separate the untruths told to me about Santa Clause from those greater things I held in my mind that also brought comfort and security. FDR was our president, and everyone loved him. God was in heaven with his Son, Jesus, and everyone loved him. My mom and dad were in the kitchen, and everyone loved them. All of these truths were undeniable, and I assumed that at least all Americans agreed with me. I was shocked later that day when my dad informed me that Roy Bonner was a Republican and had probably voted against President Roosevelt. You mean some people didn’t love President Roosevelt? I asked.

Wow! I wondered how many of the other things I believed in were not exactly as I thought they were.

It was not until I was in college that I began to debate what I thought were religious truths and was presented with the possibility that God did not exist. I began to search for something that would shore up my belief in a loving, personal God. Most of my time was spent studying organic chemistry and pharmacology, but I still sought a confirmation that there was a God.

There was a professor in pharmacy studies at St. Louis College of Pharmacy named Dr. McGowan who seemed to want to prevent me from graduating. He had a complaint about the way I preformed in his lab one day, and he raced in with his grade book to show me the F he was giving me for assisting my neighbor in the lab against the rules. Later that week, Dr. McGowan interrupted his lecture to accuse me of sleeping in his class. He pointed out that he remembered me as the cheater in lab that week, and he told me he would remember me at final grade time. I had just been given the gift of twin babies to help me enjoy my last semester, and that was the reason for my inability to stay awake. I was terrified! I had to graduate in June. If not, my entire family would starve. After class I explained all my problems to Dr. McGowan, begging for mercy. He didn’t seem too interested.

The night before final exam for that class, I was really hitting the books when a couple of friends dropped by. Hey, Dille, let’s go down to the Ranch for a beer.

Man, I can’t do that. I have to study for an exam I have at eight o’clock in the morning!

Somewhere around 2:00 a.m., I got back from an evening with friends at our favorite watering hole. The false comfort provided by Busch beer allowed me to go to bed thinking I would get up at 6:00 a.m. to study before the exam. I awoke in just enough time to get to class. As I rushed in, thinking I was late, I noticed there a more relaxed atmosphere in the class than should have been displayed.

What is going on? I asked a classmate.

McGowan is not here yet, he said.

We all sat there waiting while I was busy praying. Please, God, help me, I pleaded.

An hour or so later, I was still praying while others were mumbling to each other. In charged Dr. McGowan. Is the Pharmacy 404 exam scheduled for today? he asked the shocked class. I have to admit that I forgot that it was this morning. I will give everyone a passing grade for the exam, and whatever your grade is up until now will be your semester grade.

There is a loving God, I thought. I had enough good grades to outweigh the F I had gotten in lab for helping another student, so I passed the course and did graduate in June. After I told this story a while back, a friend questioned the likelihood of God answering the prayers of an undisciplined beer drinker.

In 1964, I was still looking for God when our friends across the street told my family that their son had leukemia. Our kids all played together every day, the boys climbing trees while the girls played with dolls. How could a loving God do this to a child? I thought. In my prayerful mind, I made a secret pact with God. If you are there, you can prove to me that you exist and care by healing this young child, I offered. I will make whatever sacrifice you ask to show my sincerity and love for you. If Marty is healed, I will know you are real, and I will tell the world! I kept my promise to do all I felt God was asking me to do for the next several years. Eventually Marty and three other children were declared to be the first four children at Danny Thomas Hospital to be cured of this formerly fatal disease.

Thanksgiving morning in 1998, I was doing my daily exercise walk, and I was praying and thanking God for allowing me to climb from the hole I had dug for myself while trying to hide from him. I was also praying for the repose of the soul of my dearest friend who had died that previous June. I was missing him terribly and asking God for one more sign of God’s presence in my life.

I had prayed for proof that my friend was with God a few months earlier while on a plane flying deep into the wilderness of Canada for a week of fishing. I had asked God if there was any way I could know my friend was with him when I seemed to get my answer: I guess I will have to bring you up here to see him in person, Dille. I then asked God to postpone my prayer request until our plane had landed safely.

However, on this morning as I walked, God gave me a more direct gift of his loving care for me. It was as if God told me as I walked to hold my head down and keep walking. He told me in my mind that when I got to the top of a hill ahead, to look to my left, and there would be a piece of paper on the grass. Upon reaching the top of the hill, I did look to my left, and there in the grass was something white. I walked about ten feet off the road and retrieved the item. It was a ribbon put out by a funeral home in a distant town that asked the question, Are you depressed because you have lost a loved one? It then gave me a Bible verse to read for comfort. Among other Scriptures, the flyer said that when in sorrow, I should read John 14, if I had the blues, to read Psalm 34, and when God seemed far away, I should read Psalm 139. The ribbon also encouraged me to read Isaiah 40 if I was discouraged and Psalm 23 if lonely or fearful. If I felt down and out, I was to read Romans 8:39, and if I got bitter or critical, I was to read 1 Corinthians 13.

I have shared these little stories many times over the years, and I have told them again here because I feel these are just a few of the many times my God has tried to reveal himself to me, unworthy as I am. I do try to pay attention when these personal things happen, and by writing about them today, I am trying in my small way to yell to the world. He lives, he walks with me, he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own. Even when I am in the depths of sin, he cares for me.

Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you so that you will always be with me where I am. And you know the way to where I am going. No, we don’t know, Lord, Thomas said. We have no idea where you are going, so how can we know the way? Jesus told him. I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me. If you had really known me you would know who my Father is. From now on, you do know him and have seen him. Phillip said. Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied. Jesus replied. Have I been with you all this time, Phillip, and yet you still don’t know who I am? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father! So why are you asking me to show him to you? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? Or at least believe because of the work you have seen me do; I tell you the truth, anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works, because I am going to be with the Father. You can ask for anything in my name, and I will do it, so that the Son can bring glory to the Father. Yes, ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it! (John 14:1–14)

1. If Thomas and Phillip lacked faith, how can we have faith? We say, Well, they saw Jesus and walked with him and still lacked faith. Will he walk with us if we let him and open our hearts?

2. How can we know the way to God?

3. Will Jesus give anyone a sign of his presence if he or she asks?

4. How can we tell when God is talking to us?

5. Is Jesus the only way to the Father because he is both God and man?

6. When Jesus says we can ask for anything, we should remember that our asking must be in his name. That is, it must be according to God’s character and will. What does this mean?

Lost Faith

QUESTION: Can you think of an event that caused you to lose or question your faith for a while?

There are constant assaults, especially upon Christians, in our contemporary media. We are probably immune to most of these attacks on our faith, but on occasion, a particularly articulate person might cause any of us to stop and at least say, Hmm! Fortified by our youthful Sunday school lessons and our loving parents’ counsel, we are able to keep our faith alive but perhaps somewhat dormant. The real tests come to us not so much in these small insults to our faith but when tragedy envelops us. It is easier to believe in a loving God when everything is going well and we are healthy; however, accidents, serious illnesses, and financial crises can place pretty serious stumbling blocks in front of our Christian walk. Most of us can recall events of tragedy that involved children that allowed our faith to falter a little. I have a friend who claims that he lost faith in God because of events he witnessed during World War II, and he has never returned to the faith. Most of us stumble for words of comfort when we visit friends or family members after a loss of a loved one taken before his or her time. From the perspective of mourning parents of a dead child, words are sometimes just unwelcome, sanctimonious verbiage.

Encouragement often comes to us faltering Christians when a person gives us the example of a strengthened faith, even after being struck by tragedy or illness. My dear friend Dr. Mike Laseter, probably the smartest physician we ever had in our town, was struck by what seemed to be a fatal illness about fifteen years ago. Mike had been pushing God aside for many years and taking pleasure in worldly things he thought he had missed out on as he grew up and during his medical training years. He was always looking for a better world and was frustrated when the world didn’t respond. When faced with a probable eminent death, he prayed for a strong boost to his faith, and he got it.

Mike was given a reprieve from his death sentence. He didn’t know how long it would last, but he realized God was giving him a chance to be a better father, physician, husband, and Christian. He took his gift of faith and life with a thankful heart and tried to use it in a way that would glorify God. Anytime Mike thought he saw a person of lesser means struggling, he tried to help in any way he could. He taught Sunday school and a high school class in anatomy and physiology for free for several years. There were many young lives encouraged by this gifted man. With each person he helped, he also gave a testament of a loving God. All these things were done while he suffered from constant headaches and impaired vision. My friend was not perfect, and he didn’t pretend to be, but his strong faith and loving personality allowed most of us to overlook his few flaws.

The following narrative is in Dr. Laseter’s own words, describing his epiphany. Even though my friend was taken from this life two years ago, his love and faith will ripple through all who loved him and hopefully through those who read this. Mike helped me to understand that the road to God is paved with bricks made of small acts of kindness.

My Story

A Visit; My Request; My Sign; Angels;

A Windy Night; The Night the Angels Came

ABOVE are titles for my description of what happened in early December of 1995 at approximately 7:00 p.m. My dates and times are not exact. I was totally caught off guard.

I have a strong religious background. My mother was staunch in her faith and was kind to everything and everyone. I was in church usually three times per week—twice on Sunday and once on Wednesday night. I had a routine—go to church, come home, and get a whippin’. My pew-mate, Ronnie Bloemer, suffered a similar fate. I was not abused; I deserved it. Occasionally I would listen in church, but everything sounded the same. I still had serious doubts and questions. I was baptized in a ditch at age nine, along with Peggy Woods. I went to Bible school under protest, and somewhere around age twelve, Ronnie and I were asked to go home by Reverend Cecil King. My mother was not pleased.

My teen years were filled with mischief, fun, and a lot of daydreaming. I decided to go to college on a whim when one of my buddies asked me to go with him. On a late August day in 1963, my dad handed me twenty twenty-dollar bills. They were all new and borrowed from the cotton gin. It was at that moment I decided to do something with my life as I saw it.

I drifted through a scattered first-year curriculum and decided I would go into pre-med (something I thought was just a dream). Four years later, I carried my envelope with my acceptance letter from the University of Missouri School of Medicine in my pocket for what seemed like forever. I received a distinguished education (from the University of Missouri, Duke, and Vanderbilt University) and graduated with honors. I knew everything had a scientific and explainable reason. By this time, I had four children and was very busy providing. In private practice I would work very long, hard hours. I managed to keep some sense of spirituality, but for the most part, I abandoned church.

As time passed, the job of being a doctor, husband, and father got tougher; my marriage ended in July 1993. Around this time, I did not feel well. I attended church fairly regularly, looking for the answer, but I would leave with the same feeling as my childhood self, still doubting and lacking the faith my mother and Aunt Minnie had. However, I always felt a closeness to nature and anything outside. I admired the American Indians and their spirituality.

In late 1994, I began to have severe headaches, along with some clumsiness. I sought medical help and was told I under stress. I took a vacation, yet the headaches were worse, and I had large gaps in my vision. On March 23, 1995, my doctor told me I had a brain tumor, and I had an operation to remove it the following day. The tissue report was not very comforting, and I knew in all likelihood I would die soon.

I was married on April 22, 1995, to the person who was responsible for dragging me back to church for two years. In church I had the same questions as I did as a boy. The answer was always the same: faith—a word I was somewhat tired of.

During my postoperative and post-irradiation period, I was surrounded with good friends and family. My wife was very supportive, and she was an angel in her own right. I experienced depression and an altered self-image (with the loss of my hair), and I feared the loss of life. Good, humble, faith-filled people called, came by, sent cards, and prayed. They prayed with such faith and honesty that I am convinced saved my life, regardless if I live or die from this illness. After this short history and rambling, I will share the events that changed my life.

John Griffin is a simple man—simple in