What?

"It's a healthy idea, now and then to hang a question mark on things you have long taken for granted." --Voltaire I've never seen the unknown as a healthy thing before in my lifetime. I enjoy security and the visible next steps across the ripples of living as I see the stones upon which I hop to cross a rushing river. I rather prefer carrying my pack filled with what I deem necessities across while traversing the obstacles that lie in the path of my desired destinations. Life doesn't allow a stone or a bridge to cross a divide and we're called to dive into the cold realities that carry us to new, unknown, and perhaps undesired locations. I've spent some time very recently in my rocking chair positioned on my porch thinking of the words of Voltaire and his, "healthy idea." I don't want to hang a question mark on my life or the lives of the ones that are so embedded in my heart that I couldn't shake them loose with all the tiny might I have within me. With the sound of the breeze blowing through the nearly barren field a block from my house and the sound of birds singing their songs of praise to the day I wrote four hand-written pages of those emotion filled treasures upon which that question mark was not welcome in my estimation. Then a new portion of that short statement took hold of my mind. Who and what have I taken for granted? I looked back through the list and with pen still in hand I made a mark beside each thing scrolled on that pad of paper representing all that has been, is, and hopefully will be dear to me. When I finished, I noticed that each line possessed its own check mark. Only by losing my footing on that slippery stepping stone and baptizing myself into a cold reality that robs one of his the breath within did I realize the power of Voltaire's wisdom. Hanging question marks was not only warranted, but necessary. The list, those four pages that seemed to be my possessions turned instead into a list of selfish entitlement that I did not deserve. Those words were now representatives of blessings that I am not promised, they were and are gifts if only for short times, and in Gods time. The last year of my family's life has been inarguably the most difficult one for the Stephenson team to endure. My wife Chrissy's father Lynn passed from this life after a long illness and much suffering and while bittersweet for the family, we knew he was restored to the perfection God created in him. Only a few months later a telephone call to our home on a Friday evening sent shockwaves through an already grieving family as Chrissy's mother passed away suddenly and without warning at her home. It didn't make sense to us. Helen and her husband Richard had just been with us for Christmas just weeks before. She had just beaten breast cancer, she was a survivor, and in an instant she was gone. I drove Chrissy to the airport and Caitlin and Connor and I flew to Kansas City a day later. The memorial was joyful because of her strong belief in Christ, but filled with tears and the knowledge that we didn't get to say, "goodbye." Just weeks later, Chrissy's Grandma called from Colorado to say that her Grandpa had passed away after a long and healthy life spent mostly on his farm in northeastern Colorado. It just seemed as if life was coming too fast and the bridge to the next steps in life was crumbling as we stood in the middle of it. For some reason, I took for granted that I'd see each of them again, and by faith we will. We were snowed in at home one day during a particularly uncharacteristic cold spell for our area in Texas when our ceiling collapsed and flooded our house. Fortunately I was the only one downstairs at the time and when the ceiling crashed down on me I heard Connor shout downstairs, "Dad! What did you do?" I didn't answer, instead I climbed from beneath a mound of soggy sheetrock and began to quickly assess the situation. Although not tragic in any sense of the word, I remembered muttering quietly, "seriously God? Seriously?" Although I knew God wasn't playing a cosmic game with us While moving furniture, filling buckets of showering water from the sky into our living room and bedroom I felt a sense of helplessness. I had always thought that life was supposed to be filled with the conclusions that I chose. Stanford psychologist Lee Cronbach wrote, "when we give proper weight to local conditions, any generalization is a working hypothesis, not a conclusion." My conclusions were not givens they were only the hypotheses that I hoped would end desirably for me and those for whom I care, or rather took for granted. The poet Alexander Pope once wrote a well known saying, "to err is human," and through the crucible of loss and trial, new places and new faces, I was learning to recognize my errors and have my hubris squeezed from me to make room for humility that was so greatly lacking in my life. I had control over many of my poor choices and errant steps, still there were those things beyond my control to which the only choice I had was my reaction and faith. A week ago I walked into the conference room at the church in which I was serving as the Senior Pastor. I had walked through those doors many times in the past year to sit in my seat at the head of the table as we conducted executive board meetings, committee meetings, interviews, and a variety of other activities. This time as I opened the door I knew it would be different. The same attractive conference table sat in the middle of the room surrounded by the comfortable and tasteful chairs surrounded it. I took my new seat and awaited what I knew would be the short agenda to commence. A few minutes later I handed to the those gathered a signed copy of my letter of resignation. An hour later my office was packed into boxes and ready to drive away from my parking spot in the lot for the last time. I had taken for granted that my spot at the table, in my office, and in the parking lot would be there until I created my new conclusion. I only had a hypothesis, ignoring some of the conditions, and missed yet another of the stepping stones I thought I owned. A new conclusion plunged me into the frigid waters of life. Perhaps I should've hung a question mark on that year of ministry that I had taken for granted. Something strange happened as I drove home in stunned silence along the route that took me home each evening, it began to rain. It wasn't a funny time for me, but I began to laugh quietly as my wife looked at me as if she needed to check me into an asylum. "What's so funny?" Chrissy asked with a more than quizical look on her face and tears in her eyes. "Every time I have ever moved anything during our time in the last year in my pick-up truck, it's always rained. Without fail, every time. I guess one thing is consistent lately," I said with what my wife calls my crooked grin. Pulling into the driveway the kids ran out the front door and saw the boxes and immediately knew what the meeting was about. Without words each of us unloaded the boxes into our garage and went inside to sit down to a family meeting about what was next and how everything was going to be alright. After all, God was, is, and always will be in charge. The meeting ended with a family hug, a hug I didn't take for granted. I had already begun to hang a question mark on those that I took for granted. I sat alone that night in a dark and silent house after everyone had gone to bed and pondered the rain that fell on my each and every move. Only God makes rain, and I had to think that God was showering me with the waters to remind me that even when His plan isn't the same as mine He still provides always. If those showers would nourish the land that provides our needs, my needs were, are, and always will be provided. My loving and gracious God is the only One upon whom I need not hang a question mark. Rather I must always examine the faith that I often take for granted, especially in the best of times. I pray now daily for the church staff, leaders, and members that I still love and miss already, that she will find the one who will lead them in a way that I couldn't and continue to flourish for many years ahead. I pray that God will show me the way across this next chasm to His destination for me and my treasures named Chrissy, Cait-Bug, and Connor (Rufus, as he likes to be called). And I echo the words of Brennan Manning that we all become ones that behold, "The dream of Jesus Christ which is the Kingdom of God, and the committed Christian buys into his dream." I'm now saving to buy plastic sealable rain-proof boxes for the next time I move. If you know of any bargains don't hesitate to let me know. I'm hanging a question mark on dry weather for the next time I load up boxes in the back of my truck. In the love of Christ. Amen and Amen.