Category Archives: Jadon’s fight

Storyteller

God is the Master Storyteller.

He writes good lines, thinks long-term, and fills up our books with chapters unimaginable to us on the front side of their unfolding.

Don’t believe me? Well, let me tell you a story…

There is a memory I am holding today. It’s a bit shadowy around the edges as I was only 5 or 6 years old, but with clarity I recall the scene; in particular, I remember the person – a boy named “K.” K and I attended the same church with our parents and often found ourselves around a table in a Sunday School classroom.

On this particular Sunday morning, I met K for the first time. He was energetic, happy and full of joy. I sensed that he was somehow different from the rest of us, but no one seemed to mind. I would grow in my understanding of K over the years regarding his uniqueness as well as his challenges. As we grew older, I saw him less, understanding that his life and mine would never walk the same path forward – that our childhood connection would remain solidly fixed in my memories with an occasional present-day rumination about his current whereabouts.

I wonder what ever happened to K?

Well, I know what happened to K.

Fast forward through fifty years of living. Through moves – nine relocations in three states. Through marriages. Through babies. Through graduations. Through college drop offs. Through two extraordinary daughters-in-law. Through grandkids. Through disease. Through the trauma of almost losing a child – a son named Jadon. All the way through to this moment, to today.

This is where I hit the pause button, because it is now when the lines of God’s story get really interesting.

Tonight, my son Jadon will walk to K’s house, sit around his table for an evening, break bread with him and begin a journey as companions – a friendship (once removed) that began 50 years ago with K and I in a Sunday school classroom, dancing around in circles.

Six months ago, Billy and I took Jadon to Wilmore, KY, and dropped him off to begin his seminary training at Asbury. Our hearts remain tender with the separation. Our hearts also overflow with joy knowing that Jadon is where he needs to be to continue his journey in a place that holds everlasting significance for me.

My dad was a professor at Asbury Seminary, beginning in 1970 and continuing for over 40 years. My mother? The registrar at Asbury Seminary. My husband? A graduate of Asbury Seminary. I cut my spiritual teeth running the hallways of that hallowed institution, along with the hallways of the Wilmore United Methodist Church (the church where Jadon is now the youth pastor). What was sown and grown inside of me in that season is a history that continues to write the lines of my present-day story. Deeply so.

Not long ago, a college friend who is closely connected to K’s family reached out to me about Jadon’s possible interest in working with K. Throughout the years, she and I have kept in touch through social media; she closely followed along with Jadon’s miraculous recovery from a 2018 traumatic brain injury. After a few conversations with her, an initial meeting with K and some further training, Jadon begins in his new role this evening.

And I am caught in the moment, in the magic and mystery of God’s story-telling skills.

Fifty years ago, I danced around a Sunday school classroom with K. And God looked on. I wondered if he smiled and thought…

Just wait, Elaine, about fifty years from now. Have I got a story to tell you!

Funny how our lives write the witness of God’s faithfulness … glorious really. How what we cannot see now … imagine now … is but the heavenly word bank from which the Master Storyteller chooses the words to write an eternal, best-seller.

God is faithful. He will not leave our stories unfinished without a witness. He’s watching from a far, maybe even smiling because…

He knows what he is doing. He knows how to weave our past into our future in beautiful measure. Maybe there’s strength in that truth for you tonight. Keep rehearsing your history with God and looking for all the ways that your former steps inform your current ones.

Rest alongside the Storyteller. He who began a very good work in you is faithful to complete it. Trust Him for the finish.

Word has it that endings are his specialty. As always…

Peace for the journey,

an unhindered walk in God’s meadow

Jadon called me yesterday afternoon to share some good news. He’s been gone for two weeks now, off to a summer’s worth of adventure at a family campground serving as the Activities Director. This is new territory for us; Jadon’s never been away from home for very long. And while it’s been an adjustment to my mothering heart, it’s been a necessary one. The boy was ready to step away from the nest; to keep him tethered to my side a moment longer would have been unfair to him and to those waiting for him on the other side. For as much as I’ve needed him under my roof all of these years, the world needs him under theirs for the rest of these years … doing what God has ordained him to do. Being what God has ordained him to be.

A kingdom-bringer.

His journey to get to this moment has been rigorous at times. The accident that nearly cost him his life physically has, instead, become the hinge moment that cost him his life spiritually. Jadon’s all-in with Jesus; he’s a solid, unwavering disciple of Christ who has prepared himself both practically and spiritually for bringing the good news of the Gospel to the pavement of everyday life.

Like yesterday.

With a day off from camp responsibilities, Jadon decided to get a hair-cut. He called around to a few places before landing an appointment at a salon not far from the campground. Inevitably, the scar on his scalp opens up the door for lively discussion. Yesterday was no different. The stylist’s curiosity was ripe soil for the sowing of Jadon’s story. He’s perfected the details and, depending on the situation, is ready to deliver either the short version or the long one. She got the long one.

In return, Jadon received a bit of her story as well. She grew up as a Jehovah’s Witness but left the group several years ago. In hearing Jadon’s testimony, she marveled at his words, even commenting, “No one has ever told me this before.” One question led to another, and a dynamic biblical discussion ensued. The excitement in Jadon’s voice in the re-telling to me was evident.

“Mom, it was like something came over me; there was a power there, and the words kept flowing like I have never known.”

Fast-forward to the closing moments of Jadon’s appointment. Once he had ascertained that the stylist didn’t have a real Bible, he made his way to his car where he keeps an extra one (just in case). He brought it back to her and asked her if her heart was inclined to make a decision for Jesus.

It was. And right there, in that not-so-random-pick of a salon, a stylist met her Savior for the very first time in her life.

From Jadon’s scars to her scars and, then, ultimately, to Jesus’ scars. A full circle kind of moment. The Gospel on the pavement of everyday life.

That’s everything. That’s it … the sum total of what we should be doing. The finest version of what we should be being.

Of all the million little things that happened in the world yesterday, nothing was more significant than the revelation of Jesus Christ to a lost soul in Asheboro, NC. Nothing. No thing. Just a girl coming to the realization that, until this single moment of her thirty-something years on this planet, no one had ever told her the truth. In hearing Jadon’s words, she heard her Father’s invitation to step boldly and confidently onto his solid ground – his Way, his Truth, and his Life – his Son, Jesus Christ.

As Jadon made ready to leave, he pointed to John’s Gospel and told her to start there. And as only God could orchestrate this holy moment, another customer in the shop overheard their entire exchange. She, too, was a believer and invited the stylist to come to church with her.

The Father’s love for the lost is so full, so complete … so generous and so kind.

And you know what gets all over me the most? It’s the thought that yesterday morning, a stylist went to work not knowing who would sit in her chair. She was oblivious to the fact that the soil of her soul was being plowed up to receive the Gospel seed of my son’s witness. That yesterday afternoon around 3:00 PM was the day … the moment of her salvation and that, for the first time in her life, she would take an unhindered walk in God’s meadow of grace, freedom, forgiveness, and truth.

Good news, indeed.

Yes, the world needs Jadon under its roof now. It needs all of us who are willing to surrender our lives accordingly. Our wills, our passions, our pursuits, our understandings, our scars – all given to the One who can make them count for his kingdom eternally.

May the hearing of this story encourage and strengthen you in your faith, and may you, like this new daughter of the King, walk unhindered in God’s meadow of grace today. May you be protected in that place of renewal and rebirth. May the beauty of his blossoms touch your feet and fill your senses with the reality of his unwavering presence alongside you. May you know, to the depths of your being, that the kingdom of God lives inside of you. It’s really that close.

And finally, may this holy ordination from God be your solid ground in the coming days, bringing you the clarity, strength, sweetness, and peace for the journey that lies ahead.

The world is a big place; the kingdom of God even bigger. What a blessing to rest under his roof tonight.

Amen.

gathering information

I watched the faint blip of light hop through the night sky. It was barely noticeable set against the clear, brilliant backdrop of the crisp January evening. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have noticed it during my walk; ordinarily I’m not looking up.

But two nights ago, I did – look up. Some nights require it.

Accordingly, I took to my back-porch stoop and quieted my heart before God.

Look up, child.

After an agonizing couple of days of looking around, I was more than willing to look up.

It was then that I saw it – a dim light passing through the heavenlies. I spoke my heart out loud with a chuckle:

“Probably not a plane; probably just another drone gathering information on me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth when God let a few of his own words leak into my heart:

“Me too, Elaine. I’m out here gathering information … on you.”

Tears began to flow, and I was deeply comforted by that singular thought.

God is gathering information on me; my God is an evening-gathering God.

I don’t know what it is about the darkening of night that seems to reveal more clearly the whispers of the Father. Perhaps the slowing down of a hard day’s laboring better hosts his inclinations. Our days are mostly cluttered, overstuffed with noise. But when the sun steps off the daily stage, the hours open up a bit more. And in that widening space, our souls begin to breathe … begin to look up and behold the heart of the Father.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus took an afternoon walk with two strangers. As the sun began its descent, the strangers made a simple invitation to Jesus:

“… they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them.” (Luke 24:29)

And in those evening hours, Jesus did something that Jesus does willingly for all those who urge him to stay – 

He revealed himself to them while breaking bread with them.

He wrapped up their hard day’s laboring with a soul-breathing, life-giving revelation of just how far he was willing to walk on behalf of kingdom expansion.

Jesus was willing to walk to their table. And two nights ago, he was willing to walk to my back-porch stoop and break bread with me as well.

What a moment of tender grace … to look up and then to look in and sense the assurance of my Father. The lights above me were no match for the Light within me. God was there, gathering information on me. Checking on me. Surveying my heart and allowing me to survey his.

It is the same for you.

Jesus sees you; he loves you; he’s with you. Even now, he’s gathering information on you.

Jesus wants to know how you’re doing. He has some tender moments of grace and time reserved just for you. This is your privilege as children of the one true God.

No other god sees you; no other god loves you. No other god is gathering information on you because no other god is real.

Only Jesus. Simply and profoundly, holy Jesus.

So tonight … look up, child.

Give your soul some room to breathe in these coming hours.

For it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.

Let us strongly urge the Christ to linger around our tables for a few moments longer.

Revelations await our hungering souls.

Revelation comes to lead us home.

Peace for the journey,

the face of an angel

photo courtesy of Dawn Parker Photography

“When Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the two tablets of the Testimony in his hands, he was not aware that his face was radiant because he had spoken with the LORD.” (Exodus 34:29)

I want to tell you a story today before time takes it away from me. Only a few have been privy to the details thus far, but you need to know them as well. The moment is now because this is the moment God has ordained for such a telling. It’s a story about the face of an angel.

My angel. His face.

On May 31st, Jadon will graduate from Scotland Christian Academy. Nearly eight months ago, Jadon’s graduation wasn’t even on our radar. His survival was. On September 14, 2018, Jadon suffered a traumatic brain injury when a tree fell on him during Hurricane Florence. His skull was fractured, the crack stretching from the top of one ear, across his head to the top of his other ear. In addition, he had two brain bleeds that, without immediate intervention, would cause him to bleed out within a couple of hours. If you’ve been following along, then you know the rest of the story. Jadon’s survival is nothing short of a miracle. You can read more about it here.

What I’m about to tell you brings additional texture and layers to his miracle. I cannot explain it otherwise except to say that I trust fully in the details, in the way they arrived to my heart, and in the witness of the Holy Spirit to my spirit as they were being spoken to me.

On the night of Jadon’s accident, a group of alumni from Asbury University were meeting at their annual board meeting in Wilmore, KY. I grew up in Wilmore and graduated from Asbury. Both Wilmore and Asbury have a wide stretch across the globe. One of my friends, Sarah, is on the board. On Friday night, she was scrolling through her Facebook feed when she came across my urgent request for prayer. We were on our way to Charlotte through the turbulent storm, and, over the course of that three-hour drive, I would periodically give my readers an update of our progress. I asked them to, “… pray us in to Charlotte.” Sensing the urgency of my request, Sarah asked those gathered at the meeting if they could pray. They did so on a couple of different occasions.

Fast forward to Sunday when I received a Facebook message from a complete stranger, a woman who knew Sarah and who was in attendance at that same alumni meeting. She asked me if I could give her a call at my earliest convenience. At this point, Jadon had made it to Charlotte, made it through surgery, but was currently in a coma. The response we had received from friends, family, and strangers was overwhelming, so much so that I quickly had to install some parameters around my time. Accordingly, I wasn’t able to give everyone access to my heart in the way I would have desired. However, there was something about this particular Facebook message that led me to make that call to a complete stranger on Monday, September 17th.

During our conversation, my new friend comforted me by sharing with me a vision she had during the alumni group’s prayer time on Friday night as Jadon was being transported to Charlotte. She told me that, on occasion, God speaks to her through visions and that he wouldn’t let her rest until she shared this particular one with me. I’m thankful for God’s insistence in the matter. Her witness changed the trajectory of my thinking.

In her vision, she saw Jadon surrounded by a myriad of angels who had completely encircled his body. In particular, one angel stood out; he was cradling Jadon’s head. No one could touch Jadon without going through the angels’ presence. She also could see Billy and me crying over our son. She asked the Lord about the meaning of her vision … about if these angels were coming to take Jadon home to heaven or were they there to escort him to the hospital? After her conversation with me on Monday, she had her answer; she understood the significance of the angel cradling Jadon’s head, and I understood the significance of her sharing her vision with me.

Jadon was being protected and preserved by a heavenly dispatch of angels. My fears were relieved, and I knew that God had his hands all over my son’s body and my son’s future.

One of the most earnest prayers my husband and I prayed over Jadon while he was “asleep” was that God would whisper words of healing comfort to him, that Jadon would know deep in his spirit that he belonged to God and that God was, indeed, his closest and best companion. That in the days to come, Jadon would awaken with a heart bursting forth with a testimony of his Father’s grace and mercy … that the words spoken “in quiet” would become an eventual out loud witness to the world. That, going forward, everyone who spends even a moment with Jadon would see his radiance and know that he has, like Moses, been in the presence of God.

Eight months later, God is answering our prayers. Jadon’s story no longer belongs to just us. It belongs to the world … to you. And while Jadon doesn’t have any memory of those “quiet” days in the hospital, he has been radically changed because of them. His radiance is blinding and his testimony is life-giving to anyone willing to listen.

Jadon has the face of an angel because Jadon has been next to Jesus. Close proximity to the Divine is just that powerful, friends. When we spend time with God, we radiate the witness of his glory. Perhaps this is the closest we’ll come to catching a glimpse of heaven on earth, and who of us couldn’t use a little more of that … a little more of the sacred spilling onto the scenes of our lives?

The face of an angel. Jadon’s. Yours. Mine.

Find the “quiet” this week. Allow God to do what only he can do in that silent space reserved for just you and him. What will emerge is what this world needs.

A radiant people who hold the testimony of a glorious God! Indeed, a little bit of heaven on earth. As always…

Peace for the journey,

a little more time on the court…

Jadon looked at me from across the court. He was sitting with his teammates on the bench. It was “senior night,” and with about three minutes to go in the game, our boys had a significant lead. I was sitting in the bleachers. I knew what he wanted. I’d been expecting his glance all night. Accordingly, I had my eyes fixed on him for most of the last quarter of the game. As soon as he caught my eye, his face said it all. And even though I heard no words from his lips, I knew what he was asking of me.

“Mom, can I go in the game?”

I was ready with my reply. I’d been working up to it all day; a mothering nervousness had needled me from the early morning hours, wreaking havoc on my digestive track. This was a big deal. Four months ago, the “big deal” was my son surviving the ambulance ride to Charlotte. Four months ago, I would have been happy with my son waking up and (on command) giving me his thumbs up. But last night, what was needed wasn’t his thumb’s up. What was needed, instead, was one of mine.

And so, across that ball-court, I gave him one … a thumbs up indicating my approval for him to enter the basketball game to play a little bit longer than his initial first-quarter, obligatory “start of the game” hoorah. Mind you, that would have been enough for him; it would have been enough for all of us, but something inside of me moved me to risk allowing him to have a little more time on the court.

A little more time on the court.

Another moment or two to bask in the gloriousness of it all. My dad would call it a Hoosiers’ moment (you remember that movie, right?). You know the kind–the glory that comes around once in a lifetime that celebrates a great accomplishment, a milestone that collects as a stone of remembrance and serves as dinner-table conversation for generations to come.

No, it wasn’t the closing moments of the NCAA Final Four. It wasn’t even the closing moments of Scotland Christian Academy’s basketball season. But for Jadon (and for us) it was a moment that felt just as weighty and significant. The miraculous work that God began in Jadon on the night of September 14, 2018, was on display and in full measure as Jadon was able to score his only basket of the season. His name and his two points are now forever recorded in the annals of SCA basketball history. They are forever etched on our hearts as well.

And today, nearly twenty-four hours removed from that gloriousness, the memory that most beautifully resonates within me is not when Billy and I were standing next to Jadon on the court when his name and senior status were announced. It’s not his dramatic and certain entrance onto the court, leading the team out from the locker room (although that was magical!). It isn’t even his scoring a bucket (and the gracious gift of an opposing team making the way for him to do so – thank you Antioch coach and team!). No, the moment that stirs my heart this morning and that forces the tears to flow gently down my cheeks, is the memory of the look shared between a mother and a son–an understanding that gave my boy…

A little more time on the court.

In these past four months, there have been many times when I’ve had to give my “yes” even though I would have rather given my “no.” Last night was not one of them. I didn’t have to give my “yes” but in not doing so, I would have missed the joy of watching my son playing alongside his teammates and of honoring the Father’s mighty work in Jadon’s recovery.

Some moments are worth the risk. Some moments are worth …

A little more time on the court.

Who of us doesn’t want the same … more time on the court? A moment or two longer to get in the game, to feel the court beneath our feet, the ball within our grasp, and the hammer of feet pounding alongside us as we inch our way closer to the goal? Who of us doesn’t want to feel the glory of a senior night that plays itself out in an arena before a home crowd hungry for a win? To suit up, wear the number, lace the shoes, and charge on to the court with adoring fans championing our every step? Who of us doesn’t want to look across the court, see our Father in the bleachers, and get his holy nod of approval for a little more time on the court?

There is something eternally beautiful about that picture, a truth that should both enliven and encourage our spirits today. It’s a comfort that sows deeply in mine, so much so that I don’t want to overstate the moment for you … to project too many of my own thoughts into what your heart might already be considering. But I do hope you’ll consider this:

Your Father is in the bleachers and he has given you a little more time on the court.

Is there risk involved? Well, all of life seems to call for it at some point. But with our Father in the stands, there is no game we will play, no risk we can take, where we’re not without his watchful eye and within reach of his loving arms. So, suit up. Get in the game, and go forth in his power and his love. Apparently, God has given us all …

A little more time on the court.

Peace for the journey,

Thanks to Nick Tippett for this video footage!

And here’s Jadon’s mighty entrance onto the court…

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