The Good Shepherd and Good Shepherding
Conversation #7 - Our Winter of Reflection
Ministering to a world of grief while immersed in our own pain and loss.
OUR WINTER OF REFLECTION
“All of humanity's problems,” Blaise Pascal said in 1654, “stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”
Have we embraced the alone season? We shouldn’t put it off. We shouldn’t try to circumvent it. We have things to learn here that we will not learn elsewhere. The object of the exercise is to make the journey from alone to “swallowed up in an ocean of love.” I’m referring, of course, to the presence and fullness of God in our innermost being. The only way to deal with the aloneness is to stare it in the face in quiet solitude. We seek a dynamic, living experience of Jesus in our souls. We need to know we will survive without props or people to shore us up.
The Alone Season begins with reeling from the loss.
When Linda died, I was surprised by part of what I felt. Every life-altering decision had been made together, including coming to Christ and ending up in ministry in Latin America for 40 years. So now, Who is Greg without Linda? It was an unsettling moment of an unknown future combined with all options back on the table. It wasn’t a lengthy struggle, but it did take time to sort it out. I came away reassured that I still loved Jesus like I always had… even without Linda by my side. This was key to pulling my options back into a proper framework of Christ-centeredness that had always been integral to my life.
When Carol died, I was able to skip that step. However, I still reeled from the loss. I loved Carol, and, unbelievably, she loved me. It was true friendship… a level of camaraderie and genuine spiritual fellowship we never took for granted. She loved reading out loud. She was my cheerleader when I was writing or out running. Six years… it was a fantastic gift. What do I do without all of that now? The answer came back to me in words Carol spoke more than once when she shared our testimony:
“A man is not a solution. No man can fill the space in your soul. Only a solid relationship with God will do it.”
And for men, I would chime in with, “A woman is not a solution—for the same reason.”
The Alone Season comes with a silver lining.
A season of rest and recovery is almost forced upon us. In my case, the debilitating fatigue decided for me. We learn what too many refuse to know until they’re forced into a corner with no other option. It’s time to let go of some things. It’s time to delegate… something we should have thought of long before now, anyway. It’s time to back off, at least for a while. It might even be an excellent opportunity for a sabbatical. Who will not understand our need for a season of recovery and refreshing? We might discover joy in unexpected ventures through the providential hand of the “God of all Detail,”… even in old age.
Not many of us have the right to criticize an octogenarian in the White House for resisting the idea of stepping away at an appropriate time, in a dignified manner, whether for a season of recovery or permanently.
What… are we afraid we won’t be missed? As my granddaughter might say, “Get over yourself.” We’re not indispensable. We had our season, such as it was. They will get on fine without us—or they won’t. Either way, our time to correct mistakes, redesign our vision, or change their direction will be over. We’ll be a picture in the foyer and a pleasant memory… until those who knew us are gone, too.
The Alone Season can bear precious fruit.
Carol's funeral was in October of last year. In the Pacific Northwest, our November days are short and dark. My early morning hours were in the dark, watching Molly the Cat next to the fireplace and wondering when spontaneous combustion might kick in. It was also where I got well acquainted with the aloneness again.
There is a crucial journey that starts here. The starting point was loss… which led to sitting by a fireplace in the dark with “ALONE” screaming in my ears (you see, alone is not the same as quiet… usually not even close)… I needed to move somehow from alone to alone and quiet (the hard step for me was getting quiet). It was worth the stretch, though, because now I was positioned to move from alone and quiet to quiet and not alone… discovering quiet communion with the Lord… just him and me, in the dark corner of a dark house. This is the dynamic, living experience of Jesus we all desperately need. It’s the only real relief and source of restoration for our souls. This restoring and deep refreshing will be the most valuable commodity we will have to offer as under-shepherds of Jesus’ flock.