"Joe died when I was 45. I’m 70 now. Joe and I used to listen to mix tapes I made while we worked on my construction jobs. One song was Simon and Garfunkel’s “Old Friends”. We used to talk about being 65, retired and sitting on a park bench, or the shore of Saguaro Lake, with fishing poles, and watching the sun set, wordlessly, but in love with each other.
He abandoned me. I know he loved me. But I know Who he loved more."
I could substitute "Jeff" for "Joe" and "71" for "70", the names of the songs on the mixed tapes, and sitting on a porch in rocking chairs for sitting on a park bench or with fishing poles. Those last paragraphs are about my brother and me. He died from too much alcohol used to dull the pain inside from things that happened in his adult life.
We were 10 years apart in age and I looked forward to a time when he would retire at 65 and we could celebrate my 75th birthday together because then he could come to my party. I no longer want a party. But I do expect to see him again because I know he loved me and God, who is infinite unbounded Love, will not allow the love that exists between his creatures to perish.
Sad and beautiful—two things that often go together. I grew up in the Charismatic Movement and sat through several of those healing services in the 1980s. I’m not cynical and know most of those involved were earnest, but little of it seemed as advertised.
I "grew up" in high school in the Jesus Movement in the '60's/early '70's. There was no lack of sincerity and hopefulness and faith in God, but also an undeniable naivete and willingness to ignore "signs and lack of wonders".... I've always found there's a fine line between cynicism, faith, and reason and that line moves depending on who you're asking.
Very beautiful and poignant. Sad, but also in a strange way life affirming. I like the sound of Joe and his spiritual BS detector: very much needed, I fear
May the Lord grant him mercy on that day. I could very well have been Joe in my own battles with addiction. The cycle of sobriety and back into terrible collapse is one I was intimately acquainted with up until my mid 20s. Having come out the other side by sheer Grace, I don't feel like I have any answers or solutions. It's an individual battle with unique challenges for each person. And some seem ultimately unwilling, or unable to take the hand of God offered in every moment to rescue us from the mire.
My sister-in-law took her own life the day after our first child's first birthday. I remember keenly the moment my wife got the call. Normally one who keeps her emotional cards close to her chest, she doubled over and cried out in anguish. Some people wrestle with a darkness that seems almost impossible to drive out. I think (and pray) often that line from the Akathist for the Departed:
"O Father of all consolation and comfort, Thou brightenest
with the sun, delightest with fruits, and gladdenest with the
beauty of the world both Thy friends and enemies.
And we believe that even beyond the grave Thy loving
kindness, which is merciful even to all rejected sinners, does not fail.
We grieve for hardened and wicked blasphemers of Thy Holiness.
May Thy saving and gracious will be over them.
Forgive, O Lord, those who have died without repentance.
Save those who have committed suicide in the darkness of their mind,
that the flame of their sinfulness may be extinguished in the
ocean of Thy grace. O Lord of unutterable Love, remember Thy servants who
My prayers for your friend, his mother and all who love them. I know God understands that level of desperation and I believe He is compassionate and merciful to those who can only see darkness because that is where God abides. Memory eternal to your friend too.
"Joe died when I was 45. I’m 70 now. Joe and I used to listen to mix tapes I made while we worked on my construction jobs. One song was Simon and Garfunkel’s “Old Friends”. We used to talk about being 65, retired and sitting on a park bench, or the shore of Saguaro Lake, with fishing poles, and watching the sun set, wordlessly, but in love with each other.
He abandoned me. I know he loved me. But I know Who he loved more."
I could substitute "Jeff" for "Joe" and "71" for "70", the names of the songs on the mixed tapes, and sitting on a porch in rocking chairs for sitting on a park bench or with fishing poles. Those last paragraphs are about my brother and me. He died from too much alcohol used to dull the pain inside from things that happened in his adult life.
We were 10 years apart in age and I looked forward to a time when he would retire at 65 and we could celebrate my 75th birthday together because then he could come to my party. I no longer want a party. But I do expect to see him again because I know he loved me and God, who is infinite unbounded Love, will not allow the love that exists between his creatures to perish.
May God grant your brother the peace he was seeking and peace to you and your family.
Sad and beautiful—two things that often go together. I grew up in the Charismatic Movement and sat through several of those healing services in the 1980s. I’m not cynical and know most of those involved were earnest, but little of it seemed as advertised.
I "grew up" in high school in the Jesus Movement in the '60's/early '70's. There was no lack of sincerity and hopefulness and faith in God, but also an undeniable naivete and willingness to ignore "signs and lack of wonders".... I've always found there's a fine line between cynicism, faith, and reason and that line moves depending on who you're asking.
Beautiful. I read the Story of Joe a few years ago on your blog. It's a powerful story/testimony. Thank you for sharing about him again.
and may we all find our peace in Him.
Very beautiful and poignant. Sad, but also in a strange way life affirming. I like the sound of Joe and his spiritual BS detector: very much needed, I fear
May the Lord grant him mercy on that day. I could very well have been Joe in my own battles with addiction. The cycle of sobriety and back into terrible collapse is one I was intimately acquainted with up until my mid 20s. Having come out the other side by sheer Grace, I don't feel like I have any answers or solutions. It's an individual battle with unique challenges for each person. And some seem ultimately unwilling, or unable to take the hand of God offered in every moment to rescue us from the mire.
My sister-in-law took her own life the day after our first child's first birthday. I remember keenly the moment my wife got the call. Normally one who keeps her emotional cards close to her chest, she doubled over and cried out in anguish. Some people wrestle with a darkness that seems almost impossible to drive out. I think (and pray) often that line from the Akathist for the Departed:
"O Father of all consolation and comfort, Thou brightenest
with the sun, delightest with fruits, and gladdenest with the
beauty of the world both Thy friends and enemies.
And we believe that even beyond the grave Thy loving
kindness, which is merciful even to all rejected sinners, does not fail.
We grieve for hardened and wicked blasphemers of Thy Holiness.
May Thy saving and gracious will be over them.
Forgive, O Lord, those who have died without repentance.
Save those who have committed suicide in the darkness of their mind,
that the flame of their sinfulness may be extinguished in the
ocean of Thy grace. O Lord of unutterable Love, remember Thy servants who
have fallen asleep."
My prayers for your friend, his mother and all who love them. I know God understands that level of desperation and I believe He is compassionate and merciful to those who can only see darkness because that is where God abides. Memory eternal to your friend too.