Angie, (my wife) pre-stroke (this past May), loved taking showers and hot baths. That's not the case at all today. Due to her disability (primarily the limited mobility within her left arm, but also the weakness in her legs), she has to take her showers seated on a plastic bench with a shower wand in her right hand (which is her fully capable arm).
Therefore, when she's gearing up to bathe, as she was yesterday evening, her mood darkens. For she knows she's about to experience firsthand the ramifications of her physical suffering as it restricts her from doing what she once loved with ease.
To emotionally complicate matters for her, our house has a jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom. It was one of the primary features that drew us in whilst house hunting two decades ago. Since May, that tub has sat empty most days, and this serves as a reminder of what once was a better quality of life.
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A few years back, I had a catholic friend (originally from Iowa) who'd relocated his family to Birmingham by way of Houston, TX. Anthony was a very sharp, very handsome Italian guy who also just happened to be an exercise addict. I'd never met someone addicted to exercise, though I'd had friends prior who'd been married to such, therefore I knew of it from a distance. Nonetheless, Anthony relished being "the fittest guy in the room" by his standards, and I'll have to admit, he was head & shoulders above most guys relative to being the ideal BMI. Each day, Anthony obsessed over what his scales decried relative to his weight while he inspected his reflected physique for flaws in tone and shape. All of this personal posturing grew out of his ritualistic exercise routine which for him consisted of P90X-type sessions, day in & day out.
In contrast to this, Anthony's dad (a retired schoolteacher), who was back home in Iowa, was by far not "the fittest man in the room", having been stricken by an illness (many years prior) which left him in tremendous physical pain and subsequently very overweight. The only remedy to this acute pain were pharmaceuticals, that whilst ushering in some relief to his dad, also brought about a number of difficult to manage side effects - one of which was weight gain. As such, Anthony's dad was more or less unable to enjoy life as he once did during his earlier years.
It was apparent to me as Anthony's friend that son loved his dad. I was privy to pieces of his story, part of which detailed how his parents had sacrificed tremendously to rear he and his siblings there in small town, Iowa on two meager schoolteacher's incomes. I can remember Anthony telling me that never during his growing up years did his family eat at a restaurant - under any circumstances - due to their restricted budget, yet in his eyes, his childhood was idyllic.
When I'd talk to Anthony about Christianity, the conversation would often turn to his father's poor health and the suffering therein. Anthony's dad was by no means devout, but his Catholicism was intact (at Xmas and Easter). Anthony couldn't reconcile what was impossible for him to rationalize or seemingly find a resolution for relative to someone (his dad) he loved immensely suffering so tremendously.
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My sexual preference for the same sex served as a sizable alarm for me as a young man. This preference was due (at least partially) to the environment I'd grown up in. An environment which had made me quite susceptible to the prospect of living out a depraved, abnormal orientation (out of line with God's will).
Now, there's a lot of wordplay there. Which seems to always be the case these days when it comes to the topic of homosexual behavior (as evidenced by the embedded video. They remind me so much of Click & Clack).
Let me be clear.
I was intensely attracted to the same sex as a teenage boy, and this scared me. But what scared me far more was how intrinsically this proved my own spiritual brokenness and personal misdirection relative to these attractions. And it wasn't like I needed 5 or 6 gay couples living out their affluent, normalized lives near me to demonstrate what-might-be for Rob. It wasn't that at all.
I'd read Scripture. I knew what it said in Genesis regarding creation, and within Paul's letters regarding homosexuality. Plus, I was well versed in the tale of Sodom & Gomorrah, with the primary theme being homosexual lust.
I also understood how outlandish the notion of homosexual relationships really was, but primarily, how destructively influential that kind of behavior would be were I to choose to participate in it.
Nonetheless, I absolutely, positively wanted to participate in it, therefore I felt cursed. Or maybe a better word is stricken. And this grew out of me not being able to relate to guys like the above "Click & Clack".
And as such, I found that my faith grew as the gospel became more and more profoundly urgent to me, with each and every homosexual fantasy played out within my mind's eye.
Fast way forward a number of decades, and I would argue today that I'm a far more useful soldier for Christ due to my sexual preference and how it's bound me exclusively to God's mercifully redemptive love.
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The verse for 2020 that my wife clung to was one shared with her via a dear client (& long-time friend). It is Exodus 14:14. Here's the verse: "The Lord will fight for you, and you only have to be silent."
When I look at all the people I've known throughout my life who've represented Christianity for me, there are only two that sit at the zenith in terms of faith. Okay, maybe three. Those are, my late grandfather, Bud Hampton, my childhood pastor at First Baptist Church, Dr. Frank Pollard, and Angie, my sweet wife.
Yet, 7 or 8 months out from her May 29 stroke, some of her days are still quite dark as she grieves the loss of some of her physicality.
Despite those dark days, her faith is not only intact but ever maturing forward. Just today, she asked about stepping back into church (worship and women's Bible study) at Lakeside Pres if her soon-to-be-executed COVID-19 antibody test comes back positive.
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If you study Scripture, you'll see / understand clearly the role of suffering within the Christian's / God's people's life. And that is to grow faith whilst spotlighting God and his glory in spite of what initially may look / seem like his abandonment (to the faithless).
Within this fallen pre-death state, we as Christians need to expect to suffer, but remember the hope we also have within the next life where they'll be no suffering whatsoever. It represents eternity, and that's no doubt a very long, very exuberant time. A time where we'll no longer be subject to the ramifications of sin and ultimately death, freed from the trials of this world, ever embracing our reward.
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