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Come Back
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Come Back
Rev 7:17
For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. NIV
Have you ever been lost? I’m often lost and I don’t like the feeling. I’ve been lost on the highway more times than I can count. Now that I have Tom Tom, my fancy GPS, that problem has improved but even Tom Tom occasionally gets lost.
I’ve been lost on hiking trails, in campgrounds, in state and national parks, in parking lots, and even occasionally in my neighborhood. When I got lost at Hovenweep National Monument in 105-degree heat I noticed buzzards circling overhead, waiting. I get lost in campgrounds almost every day. All rows look alike and most of their numbering systems and signs defy explanation. State parks are my favorite places to camp but the only night light they usually offer is the stars. Making the nightly trek to the restroom often results in minutes, and once, hours of uncertainty.
When I’m lost, the first thing I do is look for someone to ask directions. If there is no one to ask, I try to use logic to find my way out. Having been born without a sense of direction, logic is usually useless. Eventually, I start wandering and wondering if I’ll ever be able to come back home. Sometimes when I’m lost, I call Bob to tell him goodbye. The poor man must want me to find my way home because he can be counted on to start quizzing me about landmarks, site numbers, street signs, and what I remember seeing last.
Many I meet on the road have lost their spiritual way. At some point, they had faith but they simply lost it. Some weren’t prepared for the horrors life brought and became members of the walking dead. Some withdraw in anger or a pout because life didn’t go their way. I’ve met countless young adults who had faith as a child and/or teenager but, when they went out into the world, new choices, theologies, or philosophies sucked them in like a powerful vacuum cleaner sucks up dirt. Some considered themselves enlightened and saw their former faith as weakness. Some just grew spiritually lazy and when they needed their faith, they found it had quietly tiptoed way. When I meet these people, I can usually see the same look in their eyes that I have when I’m wandering around lost at night on a lonely footpath in a state park. I may be acting brave and whistling in the dark, but on the inside, my heart is pounding. I have only one message for these lonely confused and often stiff-upper-lipped wandering brothers and sisters. The message is an invitation to Come Back.
I received a question a few weeks ago that has haunted me ever since. A terminally ill woman asked, “Why does faith leave you when you need it the most?”
I first noticed Maryanne when the hotel van stopped in front of where I was staying. The driver got out, got a walker out of the back, and helped Maryanne slowly climb out of the van. I was unpacking my own van and had to wait as the driver helped Maryanne methodically make her way through the two heavy double doors into the hotel.
As I waited for Maryanne to walk inside, I noticed she was strikingly beautiful. Her short straight sandy hair framed beautiful sad brown eyes. She was petite and trim in her simple tan slacks and loose colored blouse. I guessed she was about my age but her clear pale translucent skin defied age.
Bob and I were staying at an extended stay Marriott near a downtown hospital. Many of the hotel residents were long timers making a daily trip back and forth to the hospital for treatments of some kind. It wasn’t unusual to drive up and find someone sitting on the lawn smoking a cigarette and sobbing dire medical updates into a cell phone. I talked with many of these troubled patients or family members of patients while walking Belle each morning and night.
The second day I was there, I decided to do laundry. Walking back from the laundry room, carrying a large clothes bag stuffed with clean clothes, I ran into Maryanne again. This time she was taking a slow walk down the hall, lifting and moving the walker with each step. The hall was narrow and between my bulging bag of clothes and her walker, we had to negotiate space. Just as I squeezed by her, she leaned on her walker to steady herself and catch her breath. She looked like she was going to faint.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I was just getting my daily exercise. I’m on my way back to my room and I’m tired.”
“I saw you yesterday, getting out of the van,” I said. “I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful you were.”
Maryanne looked shocked. “Really?” she asked. “I don’t feel beautiful. I don’t even bother to wear makeup anymore. The medicine I take has my weight up and my face round. I feel worn out and ugly.”
I smiled. “I don’t know a female who is happy with her body size but I do know that you aren’t overweight and are beautiful. You don’t need makeup. Go look in the mirror and really look at yourself. You are beautiful. You have perfect features and beautiful skin. It was the first thing I noticed when I saw you getting out of that van yesterday.”
“I was coming back from my chemo treatment,” she explained. “There wasn’t a hospital near my home so I had to come here for treatment. The hotel drives me to the hospital every day.”
“You don’t have a car?” I asked.
“No,” she said quietly. “I can’t drive anymore.”
“Do you have family with you?” I questioned.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m single and my children have jobs. They can’t take time off. I was in the hospital a month in December and they did visit but they had go home.” She sighed and blinked back tears.
“You’re lonely,” I said. “Have you connected with a local church?”
“No,” she sadly shook her head. “I don’t go to church anymore.”
“It sounds like what you are going through is serious,” I said. “I wouldn’t know how to go through something like that without the support of my church.”
“The doctors and nurses have been real supportive,” she said, “But it’s not like having family around.”
“What about your relationship with God. Is that bringing you any peace?” I probed.
“No,” she said. “I used to think I was close to God. Now I’m not even sure what I believe.”
“God will comfort you if you ask Him to. He doesn’t mind your doubts,” I said gently. “Doubts are normal when you’re going through something traumatic.”
She looked wistful. “They say you are dying from the day you are born but when you are faced with it happening sooner than you expect, it’s hard to deal with. They don’t even know the long term effects of these chemo treatments or if they will even help me. I don’t have cancer but they decided to try chemo anyway. This all may be for nothing.” She didn’t say what her illness was and I didn’t feel led to ask.
“Death is scary,” I agreed. “I lost my oldest son. When he died, I had to either develop an eternal view of life or lose my mind. I’m a Christian and I think of my life eternally. That means my time on earth is just a blink of my total existence. If you think of time framed in the length of eternity, it doesn’t much matter whether we live on earth 25 or 90 years. It is all short. It’s just a blink of our eternity with God. The Bible says that in heaven, God will wipe away our tears. It’s a good thing because we have plenty of tears on earth. I look forward to a place with no more tears. My son is already there.”
“That is beautiful,” she said. “I used to feel that way. Why does faith leave you when you need it the most?”
“Because we get scared or weren’t spiritually prepared,” I said. “Some things are so terrible that they rock our foundation. What I do know is that God is there waiting for you to come come back to Him. When you go to your room tonight, I want you to get on your knees and tell God your doubts. Picture yourself climbing in His lap and feel His arms around you. Let Him love you. Ask Him to take your doubts and to prove Himself to you.”
She looked tired. My bag of clothes felt like it weighed a ton so I knew standing that long had to be hard for her. “I can tell you need to go to your room,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“No,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“I’m free tomorrow. If you want someone to go to the hospital with you, I’ll be glad to go. God sends me across the country to help where I’m needed and all you have to do is ask. Here is my card and it has my name on it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I probably won’t ask you to go to the hospital but maybe we can have coffee or something later. I’ll call you if I’m up to it.”
I never heard from her or saw her again but I pray that she will come back. I pray she will come back to God, to Jesus, and to church. I pray she will come home to faith.
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