An Anchor for the Soul

Shortly after 9:00 p.m. on July 24, 2002, miners working in the Quecreek Mine just south of Pittsburgh broke through the mine wall into Saxman Mine which operators abandoned in 1950 and had since filled with water. Though they made it to higher ground, nine miners remain trapped and standing in four feet of 50-degree water. The men huddled together to keep warm. Later, they wrote last words to family members on scraps of paper and placed them in a pail. Then, the men tethered themselves together so all would be found if they drowned.

This account paints a pretty bleak picture and left alone the miners would have had no hope. However, working tirelessly for over three days, rescuers using water pumps, air pumps, and mining equipment retrieved each of the nine miners.

You can bet that the view from the stretcher as rescuers carried each miner to a waiting ambulance differed radically from the view they shared of a flooded mine shaft 240 feet below the surface. From one vantage point they rested in the knowledge of rescue and from the other they were surrounded by dark, dirt, water, and the inevitable.

If you’ve followed this blog, you know that our family recently lost our youngest daughter to an auto accident that tragically took the lives of three people. The place where I now live is just about as cold and dark and potentially as hopeless as the flooded Quecreek Mine.

Left to my own devices, my loss, my emotions, my inability to see beyond my catastrophic grief, I see no way out, no future. There is a pain in my soul that makes the rest of my life seem like the watery liquid at the bottom of a glass of soda after the ice has melted. Everything that gave me pleasure has lost its appeal. On some days, the best I can hope for is getting to evening and a couple of Tylenol PM tabs and closing my eyes. But, even then, my sleep is distorted with uneasy dreams. My grief is impossible to adequately describe and equally impossible for someone who has not experienced it to imagine. None of this is unusual, but shouldn’t my faith in Jesus somehow mitigate the pain?

The short answer is “no.” Nothing in Scripture suggests that my faith will make the experience of my loss any easier. Believers and those outside the faith alike are created as emotional beings and equally lack the ability to make sense of some emotions. The depth of the pain does not differentiate my experience from outsiders, but my knowledge of rescue does – the difference is hope.

In this mortal existence, I will never be the same. My daughter is gone and while I breathe with this body, I’ll never see her. Nothing can fix that injury and I will always bear that scar. Even as time wears away on my grief, things will never be the same.

But I know the rest of the story. Even though my grief at this point does not allow me to feel the love that Jesus has for me, I know that nothing can separate me from His love. I cannot fathom the reason for my loss, but I know that God is sovereign and this train-wreck somehow works towards His glory and my good. Despite the fact that these eyes will never again set their gaze on my daughter’s face, I will see her again. I have hope.

Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf.

[Hebrews 6:17-20a]

This is not just any kind of hope, rather it is hope in the Living God – the God who infinite and unfettered by any limitation of His creation, the God who is personal and desires to have a relationship with me, the God who is unchangeable, the God who is eternal, the God who is present everywhere. He is all knowing, wise, truthful, good, loving, merciful, holy, orderly, righteous, just, beautiful, and much more.

While this hope does not alleviate the intensity of my grief and even though I’m still free-falling through the dark, I know my circumstance is not bottomless. How one could face my grief without a firm and secure anchor for their soul, without the hope of my God, eludes me.

Don't Waste Your Pearls

The following is Part 2 of my comments at Leah's Memorial Service at Skyline Wesleyan Church on May 29, 2010.

But, that’s not the end of the story. Speaking to His followers in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said that we should not cast our pearls before swine. A curious statement, but with some thought, it makes sense. What would a pig do with pearls? A pig would be happy with some food, but pearls don’t make a good pig meal. Pearls are no help to a pig. Likewise, the person who owns the pearls and uses them on pigs misuses them – they could be sold, or made into jewelry or wonderful gifts, but when thrown to the pigs, they are lost.

I imagine that between here and the presence of Jesus, Leah let go of handfuls of pearls. Take your right hand and close it in a fist. Imagine with me that in your hand, you hold one of Leah’s pearls. Here is my challenge to you – don’t waste Leah’s pearl.

The composition of that pearl is different for each of us, but I suppose we fall into some general groups. For all of us, that pearl is the memory of Leah and how she touched our lives. Our responsibility is to take the memories of Leah and let them point us towards whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—things that are excellent and praiseworthy.

For some of us, Leah’s pearl encompasses the whole spectrum of events with her death and is preparation for things you will encounter in your own lives. Our family is buoyed by the prayers of the saints. Many of you know that I’m at the end of a campaign to be elected as a Superior Court Judge in San Diego County. This is a challenge that can only be carried by the power of God. I and the other candidates endorsed by Better Courts Now do not have the resources to prevail over the incumbents. That will happen only if God acts. Many people have been praying through all hours of the day and night for this campaign and the candidates. I tried to describe to Vicky the sense I had of the effect of those prayers but could never put it into words. I know that I have been kept from temptation and evil wished upon me by the enemy, that our cause has been supernaturally advanced, and that I have been preserved by these prayers during times of tremendous pressure. The same is true for Vicky, Hannah, Simon, Cindy, and me and the rest of the family now. This ministry of the Lord to us is a faith building block for you who will soon encounter hard times of your own. You can see that God loves and that God acts and that He will love and act for you, too. Hang onto that pearl.

For others, Leah’s pearl represents your faith in Christ – faith that may have faltered over time, or maybe never got a healthy start. Now is the time to cash in her pearl and turn your heart fully to Jesus. I’m not talking about the lip service on Sunday or even at other gatherings during the week that our faith can degenerate into. I’m talking about the vibrant, “follow Jesus wherever He leads because it will always be better than the place I’ll pick” kind of faith. The kind of faith that no longer needs control of our lives, but is willing to give control to the Lord. This is the kind where supernatural power is free to act, where miracles happen and the boundaries of the kingdom of God among us are pushed outward. I urge those of you in this group, now is the time to use Leah’s pearl.

Finally, for some of you, Leah’s pearl represents the biggest opportunity you will ever have – the opportunity to meet Jesus. The shock of this event has forced you to consider not only your own mortality, but the ultimate questions of life – where did we come from, what’s wrong with the world, how do we fix it, and what is life intended to be? For you, Leah’s pearl may have the greatest value. Don’t waste what she left you.

God as presented in the Bible gives us the only fully rational, fully defensible explanation for who we are and where we came from. We are His creations which bear His image. All that we are: persons capable of relationships, able to understand and communicate truth, moral beings, self-aware and able to choose - are each reflections of who God is. He made us like Him to be in relationship with Him.

But something is wrong – we all know it. That’s why the question “what’s wrong with the world” sounds so reasonable – everyone agrees something is wrong. But what is it? In biblical terms we call it sin – the effects of living out of relationship with God. It’s a life that falls short of what it could be, that strays from the best path, that misses the mark that it is intended to hit. We all start in that place apart from God. What’s the solution? Restoring a relationship with God. Whether you understand the theological implications of this point right now is not as important as understanding it is the fix. A holy God could not enter a relationship with sinful men and women. The sin needed a cure – someone had to pay the price. Each of us could pay our own price but that would cost us eternity separated from God. Instead, God’s own Son, Jesus, with an infinite capacity to bear the punishment for our sin took it on Himself – that’s why He had to die, that’s what the cross is all about. Since the price is paid, if you so choose, you can claim your redemption. By acknowledging your sin, that your life by itself strays from the path, falls short of righteousness, misses the bulls eye, and acknowledging the cure, the price that Jesus paid in your place, and telling God that you indeed rely upon Him to save you from your current condition and having to pay the price yourself, God can remove the barrier of sin and you enter into the relationship with God that He intended from the beginning.

This is how God intends life to be – life with Him from this point forward.

Whatever you circumstances, you have a pearl from Leah in your hand. Don’t let the gift from my precious daughter get misused on pigs, she left it for you.

Leah [To Kansas and Back]

The following is Part 1 of my comments at Leah's Memorial Service at Skyline Wesleyan Church on May 29, 2010.

Leah had a good childhood. She had a mom and a dad, a brother and a sister, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, and lots of the things that families do together. But, the best story of Leah’s life is more recent. It’s about a trip to Kansas and back.

Volleyball is a Trask family sport. Vicky played in college, I played sand, Simon, Hannah and Leah played in high school, Hannah and Leah played club ball and went on to play in college – Leah played one season at Grossmont College with her sister-in-law. Somehow, Bethany College in Lindsborg Kansas recruited Leah to finish out her college eligibility with their team. So, after a visit to the school, a liking to their art department, and a scholarship offer, Leah was Kansas bound.

If you know my wife Vicky, you know she’s quite expressive. If you know me, you know I’m, well, not. One of us was going to drive out to Kansas with Leah and she expressed the choice this way – “I can go with Mom who won’t stop talking or I can go with dad and ride in silence” – she chose Mom.

Vicky and Leah had a playful relationship. It was filled with all the tender and explosive moments characteristic of mother-daughter relationships, but it had a unique quality. When Leah would visit home, she and Vicky would engage in taunting that you’d expect from a couple of 10 year old boys and it would invariably escalate to full scale chases through the house with locked bathroom doors and in one case, a broken door. I’ll spare you the details, but the stories from the drive to Kansas are on the same “maturity” level as the antics at the house.

Leah started her art studies with an artistic sense, but like any budding artist had coarse skills. In time her skills began to develop, but her art had a dark or heavy feel to it. Through her body of work, you can see a struggle to find her way of viewing the world and then expressing it. Through a series of events, she was to find that narrow path that would uniquely define her art.

Leah had friends everywhere she went. Lindsborg is a very small college town with a very small college and there is a natural divide between the Bethany kids and the “townies,” the kids who lived in the town of Lindsborg. Leah was one of those unique people who could cross that divide and started strong friendships with members of her student body and folks from her town alike. When we were cleaning out Leah’s apartment, four different girls stopped by, each to tell us that Leah was her best friend.

Last fall, Leah’s connection with Kansas began to deepen. One of her good friends set her up on a blind date with his roommate, John Blasenhauer. Vicky was visiting Leah at the time and Leah wouldn’t let her meet John because she was afraid Vicky would do something nutty to embarrass her. Apparently that date went pretty well because they went out again the next night (Vicky still was not allowed to meet him).

The relationship between Leah and John blossomed into a full-fledged romance. Blossom is a good word for what happened. John’s parents Virginia and Tom describe the 180 degree change in John’s perspective on life and general attitude – from pretty subdued to the happiest they’d ever seen him. Vicky and I saw the same change in Leah – she was truly the happiest we’d ever known.

Just as important, Leah’s art blossomed. Her connection to the community and the region through John and his family had a profound effect on how she viewed the world around her and how she expressed it. Gone were the darker images of her earlier work. They were replaced with more thoughtful and expressive images that reflected the look and feel of Kansas landscape. We’ve brought back a small collection of Leah’s work including prints of rose flowers that are a far cry from her early pieces. Not only in her art, but in her life, Leah had found her place. She was a Kansas girl born in San Diego and planned to stay in Kansas.

Leah and John had planned a trip to San Diego this July and Vicky and I would meet John for the first time. We’d heard from friends and later from John’s parents that there were marriage suspicions, but neither Leah nor John would give any indication. Vicky and I spoke with John’s roommate Garrett and he put those suspicions to rest – John had asked him several times if Garrett thought it was foolish for him to go all the way to San Diego to ask Leah’s dad if he could marry her. That’s the way it’s done in Kansas, but he wondered if it would be OK in California. Let me be very clear: I would be proud to have my daughter marry a man who had enough respect for her to ask before he took.

Leah’s death was sudden, tragic, and heart-wrenching, but our God is merciful. Vicky and I talked with proprietors of the “The Seasons of the Fox” bed and breakfast where Leah worked, the last people we know to see Leah and John before the accident. John picked her up at work and they were headed out to a farm in John’s family where he and Leah kept dogs. They loved to go out to the farm to see their dogs and the animals and were excited when they left. On the way, Leah called Vicky and they talked for some time about how well life was going. Leah had just sent off Vicky’s mother’s day present and was so excited about it she just had to tell her what it was – a “Forever Rose,” a real rose treated in some way to always to appear fresh and alive. Twenty minutes after that conversation ended Leah was standing in front of Jesus, probably wondering how she got there. The next morning a handwritten letter and a Forever Rose arrived on our doorstep.

You might know that Pastor Jim is from the part of Kansas where Leah lived. You also might know of the tragic death of his college age nephew last August. While in Kansas, Pastor Jim’s sister-in-law spent some time with us. Laurie Garlow gave Vicky a necklace that she had worn since her son died and said that it had helped her through the past ten months – a beautiful rose cast in silver. Laurie proclaimed through our collective grief that “our kids made it home.”

The last memory I have of Leah is when I dropped her at the San Diego airport in January. I hugged her, kissed her, prayed over her, and told her that I loved her.

And now, Leah our blossoming rose dances with Jesus.