HEELCATCHER

Driving down the dirt road, I knew that I had entered a different world. Not that I haven’t been on a dirt road before. I grew up in a small town with plenty of them. But I had never been on one that was the main thoroughfare through town. And never on one that was in such poor shape, surrounded by small, simple houses that were equally in poor shape.

I was about to meet a pastor that our church has supported for 20 years. It would be a meeting that I would never forget.

When I became the pastor of Community Bible Church in 2010, I quickly learned about the missionaries the church supported. One of them was Valentin Sandu, a national pastor in Moldova. To be honest, I didn’t even know where Moldova was at the time. And I definitely couldn’t have imagined being in Moldova just a few years later. But here I was…

Walking toward the house, I had flashbacks to my grandmother’s house in Illinois. She lived in a different era with a small house, a little garden, and farm animals all around. I remember pumping water up from her well, looking at her outhouse as an odd relic, smelling the odors of her chicken coop, and sleeping on the pillow she made me out of 100% goose down. (A pillow I still sleep on today by the way.)

But this was not a memory of a previous generation…this was a present reality. And I was walking into it.

The house was simple but the welcome was warm. I took off my shoes and stepped over the threshold into a home of simplicity and activity. In the kitchen, Valentin’s wife and his daughter were busy preparing food. I ducked into a smaller room off the kitchen where two sons, one of their wives, and a small daughter greeted me. Soon Valentin and two more sons also joined us.

We ate in another small room with a makeshift table surrounded by chairs and couches. The room was probably big enough for a couch and a few chairs. But today it would serve as a dining room for nine people (our group of four, Valentin, and four of his sons).

The men would eat in one room. The ladies in another.

I was nervous about lunch. I am a picky eater. Picky to a fault. And I knew that this meal would probably be a “feast” and a sacrifice for them to prepare. To not eat it would be an offense to their generosity. To eat it, I feared, might be an offense to my finicky taste buds.

But to my delight…and in answer to my very real prayers…the meal was chicken broth soup, lamb, mashed potatoes, and a vegetable salad. I politely skipped the vegetable salad and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the meal. It was 100% “organic.” The chicken and the lamb slaughtered that week, the potatoes and vegetables freshly picked. Even the grape juice we drank was from local grapes. I was glad that my picky palate allowed me to partake of their sacrificial provision.

The sharing of a meal was the heart of fellowship in biblical times. And I experienced that on this day.

Before the meal I knew Valentin, his family, and his ministry in my head, now they were in my heart.

Valentin is a relatively short man. Distinct facial features. Gap between his front teeth. Rough, strong hands. He bears the marks of a hard life. Recently he had back surgery from which he is still recovering. Meanwhile his family has faced one trial after another. The wife of one of his sons was in a serious car accident and is still unable to speak and walk. Valentin and his wife emotionally care for their son, and physically care for their son’s one year old daughter, as he cares for his stricken young bride. On top of that, one of his daughters was recently diagnosed with a serious vascular disease. The only “good news” from the diagnosis was that it was not the cancer which they had originally feared. And if that wasn’t enough, recently their cow had died, the cow that provided milk for their family. It was no small loss but rather a heavy blow to their daily livelihood.

Hearing his trials humbled me. Looking around at his meager belongings and the harsh realities of his life, I realized how small my own problems were.

Then tears welled up in his eyes as he explained how our church’s faithful support has enabled him to stay in ministry and often enabled his family to survive. A small amount of money in America is producing a mountain of blessings in Moldova.

After lunch, I needed to use the bathroom. I was escorted outside of the house and directed down the walkway to a small, wooden hut. Inside was a makeshift toilet seat (actually an advance from the holes in the floor that most places have) over an open latrine. The warped wooden door would not close all the way. Perhaps a blessing in disguise as the smell hit me in the face. No lights. No water. No heat. I wondered what that trip to the outhouse was like in the middle of winter when Moldova (at the same latitude as Boston) is under a blanket of snow.

I won’t complain about a cold toilet seat again.

Leaving the outhouse, I took a look around at the sheep, chicken, and goats gathered in their own individual pens. I started to reflect on the difficulty of such a rustic life when a dog took a charge at me out of nowhere. Thankfully the chain kept him from chewing my leg off. I quickly went back inside.

After singing some hymns together with his family, talking together about God’s faithfulness, and enjoying more fellowship, we headed off to church for the evening service.

We parked outside the gate and entered into the nicest building in the village. We were the only car there. Every one else walked. A trough outside the church doors was used for people to wash the mud off their shoes. The story of Jesus washing His disciples’ feet suddenly became relevant again.

It was during the worship service that I started to feel less sorry for Moldova and more sorry for the U.S.

We have lost something.

In our prosperity, we have taken the simple blessings of life for granted. In our independence, we have lost community. In our pride, we have forgotten God.

I preached on thankfulness that night. And I was the foremost one who needed to hear it.

Yet when I was done, the people responded with prayer after prayer of thankfulness. In the midst of their adversity, their hearts rejoiced in the abundant provision of God. Their songs filled with passion and joy.

After the service, Valentin and I hugged each other, wept together, and prayed together for each other’s congregations.

A bond was created. Between two churches. Between two pastors. 5000 miles away yet joined in ministry. Joined in Christ. One poor. One rich.

But thankfully, on this day, he shared some of his spiritual prosperity with me.

I am not 20 any more.

That is a hard lesson to learn. At 44, I wouldn’t call myself “ancient.” But I am at that transitional stage when your mind still thinks you’re in your 20’s or 30’s and your body frequently reminds you that you’re not.

My most recent reminder came two weeks ago after a round of golf.

That’s right, golf. The most strenuous of exercises…and most glorious of games ;>).

I played 18 holes and carried my bag for the first time in a few years. I stretched my typical amount on the first tee and played a great round. Hit the ball well. Hit my drives far. Made some key putts. Beat my dad.

But the next morning a shooting pain started pulsating in my left shoulder. It was the most intense pain I could ever remember feeling. And it wouldn’t let up. It felt like a doctor gave me a shot and instead of taking out the needle, he decided to keep twisting it around in my shoulder.

I needed relief so I started popping ibuprofen like it was candy. The pain was dulled but quickly came back.

Soon I added a rotation of aspirin and Alleve, which made the pain bearable but still uncomfortable. Icy Hot just made my shoulder feel hotter. Tiger Balm made my shoulder stink.

Nights were the worst. I am typically a belly sleeper but that wouldn’t work. I couldn’t move on my left side either. The only mildly comfortable position was on my right side with my left arm extended over my head. That got me a few hours of sleep…and a bunch of weird dreams about trying to ask a teacher a question in class.

Over the course of two weeks, the pain refused to subside. My regiment of ibuprofen, Alleve, and aspirin continued while my sleep worsened. I was desperate for some relief so I called a chiropractor who could see me that day.

After asking a few diagnostic questions, this chiropractor proceeded to lie me on a table and take a small jackhammer to my neck and back. I have been to a chiropractor before but I never remember the jackhammer. This man told me prior to the procedure that he did things differently than the typical chiropractor. I quickly realized that I wanted the typical chiropractor.

So still in pain, I called another chiropractor who could see me the next day. This one asked a few more questions and sounded more…chiropractorly. Based on an old MRI and my symptoms (which now included numbness in my left hand), the culprit of my pain seemed to be in my spinal cord not my shoulder. So the chiropractor recommended a number of visits and procedures.

It started with electroshock treatment to my shoulder which made my neck feel like it was doing jelly rolls. Next was massage therapy. Hey, that sounded like a relief! Until the therapist said, “This isn’t going to be pleasant.” She proceeded to jab her thumb repeatedly into my neck to try to loosen my tightened neck muscles. She was right. It wasn’t pleasant. She ended the session by saying that the chiropractor probably wouldn’t be as gentle.

Again she was right.

A few pounding adjustments on my shoulder blades, sending funny bone like shocks down my left arm, were followed by the infamous “rip the man’s head off while rotating it to make all kinds of bone cracks” chiropractor move.

The session was done and I felt like I had been mugged in the back alley…sore, in pain, and with less money in my wallet.

Finally I got an appointment with an orthopedic doctor. I hesitated to go this route because with a ultra high insurance deductible, I knew I would basically be paying out of pocket. But I quickly realized that I should have started here. The doctor did extensive tests to rule out a shoulder injury or carpal tunnel issues. Yes, all indications were that the problem was located in C5-C6 of my spine–a pinched nerve which I had suffered five years earlier. But back then I only had the numbness…not the shooting pain.

The doctor advised physical therapy, gave me some increased doses of Alleve, and then gave me a shot of cortisone in the hip. I had never received a cortisone shot before but in a few hours I became a big fan. For the first time in two weeks, the pain was gone…and I felt like jogging around the block for fun.

Today began physical therapy. And though the numbness is still there, the pain has subsided and I feel like I am on the right track with exercises and specialized treatment. My wallet will be lighter, but I guess that will take even more pressure off my spine.

So what have I learned these past two weeks?

1. Don’t take normal health for granted. It is amazing how good “no pain” feels when you are in constant pain. Last night I was thankful for painless sleep. Today I am thankful for a painless shoulder. Every body part that is not in pain is a cause for thanksgiving. A normally functioning body is so easily taken for granted.

2. Pain is hard to ignore. I tried to work through the pain and continue my normal routine…and for the most part I did. But it was hard to focus on anything but the pain. And lack of sleep added to my grumpiness and depression. I gained a whole new appreciation for those in chronic pain. And I can see why people in pain look for any and all remedies that promise relief.

3.  The best solution to pain requires the right diagnosis, compassionate care, temporary relief, and lasting life change. Maybe I am drawing too many applications, especially since I am not out of the woods yet, but I can’t help but see the parallel between physical and spiritual/emotional health. The solution to my physical pain only came when someone properly diagnosed it, listened to my symptoms and concerns, provided some avenue of temporary relief, and put me on the path to exercises that can alleviate the problem in the future.

I think the same can be said when dealing with spiritual/emotional pain. I need truth coupled with compassion…relief accompanied with responsibility. Or put another way… I need courage to face my problem. A companion to help me though it. Comfort to take the edge off. Conviction to make a change.

Maybe with the aches of age also comes a little wisdom.

²⁴He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed. ²⁵For you were like sheep going astray, but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls. (1 Peter 2:24-25)

When Jesus was on the cross, He bore my sins. He carried them. Every stubborn, foolish, stupid, selfish thought, decision, and action I have every made was placed on Jesus. He bore them all…all mine, all yours. It is a wild thought. I wasn’t even born yet. My great-great-great-great grandfather wasn’t even thought of yet. But Jesus bore my sins. They are paid for. They are covered. There is, therefore, now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1). Wow. I no longer have to live in guilt or fear. My sins…all of them…are forgiven.

Why did Jesus do this? Out of love. To save us from eternal condemnation. And Peter says, “…So that we might die to sins and live for righteousness.” Jesus saved us from sin…not only to give us eternal life but also to free us from the bondage and deception of sin in this life and enable us to live in righteousness.

We are so deceived. Deep down we still think that sin has some good elements to it. It is fun, enticing, exciting. Let the eyes linger a little longer. What’s the harm? Let the thought circulate in the mind a little longer. It doesn’t hurt anyone. We flirt with sin all the time because we have no idea how ugly it is, how deceptive it is, how destructive it is. Jesus says, “Look at my beaten body. Look at my stripes. Look at my pain. Look at my disfigurement. This is what sin does to your soul. Look at me and then live for righteousness.”

Imagine it this way…we were in massive debt. We had creditors everywhere. We had people knocking on our door ready to take everything from us. Every wage we had ever earned or would ever earn was going into a bottomless bucket of debt. We had no hope of escaping the hole. In fact, with every day, the hole got deeper and deeper. We were stressed, depressed, and hopeless. Death seemed like a better option than life. Then a relative came to our house one day and, out of love, offered to pay everything off. He sacrificed all he had to pay every one of our creditors off. When he was done, he turned to us and said, “You are totally free from debt. Now go live in freedom.”

Only a fool would turn around and go right back to spending recklessly. Only someone who had no idea of the bondage of debt or no sense of the love of the sacrificing relative would take advantage of this situation to selfishly spend more. Instead a wise person, a truly grateful person, a humbled person would deeply love and appreciate the sacrifice of the relative, celebrate the freedom, and live responsibly (avoiding debt) and generously (sharing the blessings that they had received).

That is what Jesus has done for us.

Now that we have returned to the Shepherd, to the Lover and Guardian of our souls, we should no longer seek to go astray.

Thank You, Lord, for the freedom of forgiveness! May I live in gratitude, joy, and generosity today.