John Stumbo's blog

In the first half of this essay, I rambled my way through some reflections on our longing for family at Christmas, Mary’s “first Christmas” and the grief and/or expectations we bring to Christmas this year. Thanks for checking back into the blog as I finish my thought.

As I said, from all we understand of the story, Mary was more likely surrounded by animals and strangers than family.

I’m convinced that if many of us had been in her position, our response would have been something like this:

“Here I am, after days of miserable travel, holed up in some animal shelter! This stinks. We were forced to come here to pay taxes, of all things. Greedy government! Legalized theft! Here in this crowded town with my husband that I haven’t even slept with yet. I’m carrying your child, God. This is your idea, God. I know I said, ‘May it be to me as you have said.’ It sounded noble—and I meant it—at the time. It was the right answer. But, this isn’t exactly what I signed on for!”

If Mary had any of these responses, I wouldn’t fault her. But the Biblical record doesn’t reveal any such response. The Biblical record, by the way, that is neither reticent nor hesitant to out some of its greatest saints. (David, get down from that roof! Noah, say it isn’t so!)

What the text does tell us is that Mary had an amazingly different response. Do you remember it?

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. Luke 2:19

Oh.

Wow.

No, “why me” or “it’s all about me” attitude.

No, “God, what’s the deal here” complaint.

Instead, Mary captures, embraces…treasures the moment. And, when the moment has passed (the angel-struck shepherds have gone home), she continues to value, cherish…treasure the moment by pondering it in her heart.

Oh, I like Mary. Pretty impressive for a teenage kid. She had a sense of awe and wonder that overshadowed any sense of entitlement. She had a sense of calling that superseded any demands for what she might get out of it herself. She had a certainty—a conviction (this is the Christ child, this child is God sent)—that surpassed the confusion along the way.

God was up to something really big. He didn’t owe a young woman a play-by-play explanation. Rather than chafing, the woman was embracing. She wasn’t going to miss a moment of this.

Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

The teenager had started a collection of treasures: experiences. She had a special place to keep those treasures: her heart. She’d often pull out those treasures one by one and cherish them by reflecting on them, learning from them, re-enjoying them.

In the first half of this essay, I challenged us to be cautious about the expectations we bring to the holidays. We have a terrible ability to destroy “what is” because it isn’t what it is “supposed to be” in our expectation-filled mind.

Our holidays will be better if our expectations are reduced to a little ornament on the back branch of the tree, not the star on the top.

An even bigger and better step at improving our holiday experience is to learn to embrace the moment.

We can plan, bake, invite, open our heart and home, but we can’t control. We can’t make our kids come home. (Sorry, mom! I’m 0 for a bunch of years at Christmas. But, I am scheming to be there for your birthday!) We can’t make the weather cooperate. We can’t make Uncle Whoever cooperate either.

But, we can go to school on Mary. In the midst of tough circumstances, Mary embraces each experience. I think she can do this because she keeps seeing evidences of God in her midst.

Some of you aren’t going to believe what I’m about to say, but I believe that God is no less involved in this Christmas than the first. He’s the God who is no less involved in your life than Mary’s.

Oh, I know, it’s probably a little less sensational. We probably won’t have shepherds crashing our party announcing that angels have been talking to them. (Tell me if you do!) God saves the sensational stuff for times of his choosing.

But the son that was in Mary’s arms would grow up to teach us, My Father is always at his work to this very day. (John 5:17)

Your Father is at work in your life as well. This Christmas. Today. Now.

We’re more likely to recognize his work as we a) lay down our expectations, b) embrace what is before us and c) reflect on what God may be doing or saying.

I believe we honor God when we treasure God moments. And, I believe that there are far more God moments than we realize…at least until we develop the heart of Mary.

Perhaps it’s time to treasure, ponder and have a Mary Christmas.

Grace and peace to you,
John Stumbo

It’s Wednesday night, December 14, 2011. I’m in Phoenix. Southwest Airline has taken good care of me today as I’m en route from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin to Manhattan Beach, CA. I’ll spend the next dozen days with the great congregation of Cornerstone Christian Fellowship. I’m delighted to live and minister among these easy-to-like, eager-to-grow disciples. I’m truly honored to serve there.

However, it’s not home.

I’m not complaining. I’ve just spent a few days at home with my wife, delightfully celebrating our anniversary a few days early and eagerly (desperately) re-entering the infusion chair.

I’m not complaining, but I am observing. There is something about this season that creates a yearning for family. I think the crowded roads and flights would evidence this.

What I’m wondering tonight…and feeling tonight…is: Why this seasonal longing for family? I love my family and love to be with my family anytime, any day of any year. However, Christmas seems to intensify the desire. When January 25 comes, I’d love to have our kids come home, but I’m not feeling deprived on that day if they don’t. December 25 is a completely different day.

I’m not sure of all the dynamics involved. I’d love to hear your opinion on the matter. Why is our longing for family intensified this time of year? Maybe it’s just the nostalgia of our childhood that we’ve never grown out of. Maybe it’s got something to do with mother’s candy—divinity being my personal childhood Christmas favorite. It was like infusing sugar and food coloring straight into my veins. What more could a nine year old boy want? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we’re celebrating a birth—a divine, holy birth. The Christmas story is, after all, a story of family: The Father sending His Son to be reared by a young, tender couple…a Son who shows the way for us to become part of the heavenly family. Maybe our longing for family at Christmas is a distant echo of our Father’s call to all of us to “Come home.”

Whatever the reason, Christmas makes many of us nostalgic for family. So do births of babies. I know it’s not true for all women, but I’ve watched many women have a special longing for “mom” as they become one themselves.

Mary didn’t know it was “the first Christmas.” However, she did know very well that a baby was on the way. And, from all we understand of the story, it is more likely that Mary was surrounded by animals and strangers (the shepherds, for example) than family.

It is very possible that the first Christmas was accompanied by a deep loneliness in the heart of the mother of our Christ.

And, it’s very possible that a sense of loneliness wafts its way through your heart’s caverns as well. It is a reasonable response for many of us.

I grieve with those of you who will feel the Christmas loneliness as great distances—either physical or emotional, too many miles or too great of hurts—separate you from those you love. For others it has been death itself that has separated you from one you love this year. (Specific names of blog community friends come to mind as I type that sentence…and a lump comes to my throat.)

I also grieve with those who will be with family but whose family dynamics are well, dynamic! You walk into the gathering just watching to see who will light the match, who will explode and who will leave hurt. Maybe you can find it entertaining; but likely you’ll find it quite painful. And, then of course there are those families who strain so hard to have no such dynamism that they’ve become monotone. Their fear of addressing real issues has reduced them to such superficiality, you leave the event not sure that anyone ever really said anything. Hearts were more carefully wrapped than any present under the tree.

We probably don’t do ourselves any favor by adding unrealistic expectations to the season or family gathering. That family member who has never affirmed you in twenty years probably won’t this year either. The child who hasn’t come home for the last five years probably won’t this year either. The world’s worst gift giver probably didn’t have a Christmas Makeover. If I’m wrong, and a miracle did happen over the course of the year and these people show up to your gathering in new form, embrace the miracle. Just don’t tie your Christmas hopes to that star.

Laying down our expectations isn’t a complete solution for your Christmas woes, but it is a great proactive step in the right direction.

Well, Southwest finished its job before I finished mine. I’m back in my apartment. I have a men’s Bible Study at 6AM. I’m calling it a night.

But, I’ve got more stirring in my heart on family, Mary, Christmas, you and me. Stop back in again on Saturday and I should be able to finish this thought.

Peace to you,
John

You may have noticed that johnstumbo.com is out of commission for a few days. We’ve had some issues with the site and some new friends in California have taken it upon themselves to assist me…techo first grader that I am. Hopefully we’ll be back up and running soon.

I’m hoping to add a video message on johnstumbo.com from time to time. Another new friend has volunteered to assist me with this. I’m hoping to produce an occasional 5 minute devotional thought…uncut, unedited…just a few minutes of a Stumbo ramble or rant. We’ll see how it goes, but it’s been on my heart to try, and if it resonates with your heart to pray for it, I’d welcome those prayers.

Our first book, An Honest Look at a Mysterious Journey, is a month old now and we’re encouraged by its initial reception. Joanna and I are getting a response or two virtually every day from someone who has been touched by the message. We love hearing of people who were impacted by their reading of it and now have passed the book along to someone else. Thank you to those who are spreading the news about the book. Word of mouth promotion is our favorite kind.

For those who haven’t heard, our book is available for purchase online. Eventually I may give into the mega-industry and make the book available on Amazon. But for right now I’m having far more fun sending all the online business to a start-up website that arises out of my niece and nephew’s family owned Bible bookstore in northern Minnesota. They have great prices not only on our book but (literally) on a half million other titles. You can find most anything you are looking for there. They have prompt service and great shipping rates as well. Their website is BooksnBibles.com.

Even if you already have a copy of our book, check out BooksnBibles.com for your Christmas shopping.

And yes, I am working on a couple more writing projects. Since, for this odd season, I’m in California as an interim pastor and Joanna is in Wisconsin as a bank teller, I have more spare time on my hands than normal. Other than the occasional realization that, “Oh, I don’t have any clean shirts left”, most evenings have been spent working on books two and three.

On the health front, it hasn’t been the greatest month as I’ve suffered, what I’m calling, “a self-imposed setback.” My efforts to wean myself … okay, more like go cold turkey … off the infusion treatments led me right to the place the doctor thought it would. Drat! I hate it when he’s right. I did receive a min-treatment when I was back in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving that stopped the downhill slide, but I’ve definitely got some ground to regain and am working towards getting a monthly regime back into place. And, at this, my wife, mother and sisters all breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t say it to my face, but I know what they’re thinking, “When will he ever learn?”

Which perhaps brings me to my comment for the day: Few of us change (i.e. “ever learn”) until we either have 1) significant pain irritating us or 2) a greater value inspiring us. Few of us make true life change until either our current situation is absolutely so painful that we know we can’t continue in it or we are captured by a picture of a preferable future. Without deep pain driving us or a greater good inspiring us, most of us just keep doing what we’re doing whether it is effective or not.

We can change. We can learn. We can break old patterns. But we need some motivation to do so.

Isn’t this, in part, what Jesus was saying when he stated that “it’s not the healthy who need a doctor”? Those who don’t recognize their brokenness don’t go in search of a Savior. The rest of us have declared it, “I need outside intervention in my life. I have no interest or ability to do life on my own. I, for one, need a Savior…and I choose Jesus.”

So, the infusion needle may seem like an intrusion needling my pride, but for 2012 I’m waving the flag of surrender and admitting my need for help.

Maybe some of you want to join me … kicking and whining all the way to the “infusion chair” (i.e. the place of change) available to you. Your “chair” might be a sincere apology, admitting that your current practices aren’t working very well, welcoming someone’s offer to assist, seeking the aid of a professional, checking yourself into a rehab unit, scheduling an appointment you’ve avoided, selling a luxury item (i.e. something you can live without) to pay off a debt, owning up to a negative behavior or attitude you’ve attempted to ignore, getting back into community at your church, bowing your head and confessing your need for a Savior…

I don’t know what your chair looks like, and I didn’t say you have to like it, but if it’s going to make you a better person, maybe it’s time to take a seat.

On the journey with you,
John

It had to be the oddest memorial service I ever conducted.

The widow did not want the service to be “heavy”.

“My husband would not have wanted us to be sad,” she claimed.

I encouraged her that tears were appropriate in such a setting, but I agreed that we’d form a service that would celebrate her husband’s life and have plenty of joy in it.

The family was to come into the worship center as the congregation sang, “How Great Thou Art”. I opened the service by announcing the song, but rather than hearing the opening notes coming from the keyboard, I heard the rustling of papers.

“I had it just a minute ago,” the guest pianist called out for all to hear. “Where could it have gone?”

I walked over to help him sort through his music. Finally found, the service began. This should have been my clue that this wasn’t to be a normal service.

The family had requested that a friend’s jazz ensemble play a couple selections. I had agreed, knowing the deceased’s love for music. What I wasn’t prepared for was the lead trombonist’s five-minute music history lessons introducing each song. Nor was I prepared for the length of some of the jazz selections, complete with solo rifts by the various instrumentalists.

“Ricky Smith on the bass fiddle”, our host announced as if we were relaxing in a local lounge.

Somewhere between Baby Shoe blues and someone’s groove, I found myself being pulled right into a nightclub mood. The music told my spirit,

“Life’s fine. We’re all here enjoying the tunes. Kick back and take it easy.”

It happens everyday, but rarely have I felt it so keenly – the world is wired to convince us that all we need to be concerned about is the here and now.

“Don’t worry about that death stuff. Just live today, make sure you have enough money so you can have more fun tomorrow and enjoy the ride.”

But here I was, at a funeral of all places, feeling the pull of the culture. A voice within me said,

“Tell the people what a good guy he was, but don’t give the eternity talk. Go with the flow of the music. Enjoy the moment. Don’t spoil it by talking about what happens after people die.”

Immediately a countering thought suggested,

“What would the deceased want me to do? Wherever his eternal destiny is, wouldn’t he want me to warn them? Must I not, as a minister of the Gospel, be the one to stand up and say the awkward but awesome truth?”

I only spoke for ten minutes, but it had been a long time since I felt so confident in what I had to say. I knew at that moment that the one thing I must say was what the deceased would want me to say,

“This world is not all there is. Another life awaits us after this. We must prepare in this world for the next. The story is true. Jesus actually left heaven to show us the way to God and purchase our souls for heaven.”

I share this with you today as a simple reminder that if in our grief we don’t reflect on the eternal; when will we? If our tragedy or crisis has not brought us to a vivid awareness of our mortality, what will?

Solomon told us, “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting” (Ecc. 7:2). Better to go to a funeral than a wedding? Strange counsel … unless, of course, the funeral causes me to think of the world to come.

Grief is a friend – a friend to whom we’ll be eternally grateful – if it causes us to reflect on what really matters.

Some of you will remember the story, but I woke up thinking about it this morning and thought I’d share it with you again.

I had just received the miracle of having my swallow restored and shared the joy at the Salem Alliance Church weekend services. The congregation that had supported us so consistently stood in applause and in thanks to God.

After the service, a friend of mine approached me at the front of the church. He’s a professing agnostic. With genuine pleasure he celebrated my progress. But, with a measure of awkwardness, he acknowledged at that moment,

“The trouble with believing as I do is that at a time like this, I have no one to thank.”

I felt sorry for my friend. I still do. As I confessed yesterday, I’m not always the most grateful guy around, but one thing I’m grateful for today is a true sense of faith. At least on those moments when I am grateful, I know who I can thank.

And today, I have much more to be grateful for. I’m in Wisconsin back at the table where I sat two Thanksgivings ago unable to swallow. Embarrassed, but embraced, that year I did a little “recreational eating”, chewing on a few of my favorites and, as discreetly as possible, spitting it out. This year I was a “full participant.” The meal was fabulous and the leftovers are looking just as good for Round Two. Our two married children came home to be with us and the in-laws are becoming a sweet and genuine part of the family. The weather was unseasonably warm and we welcomed nightfall with an hour of tennis. (My performance was ugly, but ugly never felt so good.) The Packers went to 11-0 and the park Christmas lights are shining brightly. The locals are happy.

Gratitude is a foundation for prayer. Prayer is central to our relationship with Him. Based on my gratitude for the day, I think I owe Him a few. Maybe Whining Wednesday and Thanksgiving Thursday should lead to a Prayerful Friday (or if you must finish the alliteration, a Worshipful Weekend.)

Grateful for you as well,
John Stumbo

I’m back in the infusion chair.

For those who know my story, you realize that this is a familiar place to me now. For the last 2 years, most every month I’ve found myself attached to an IV pole for a two or three day treatment that is drawn from people’s plasma. It has been the primary medical solution that I’m certain has benefited my body.

To all of you blood and plasma donors, I thank you. Your selfless act of generosity is benefiting real people with real issues. I’m one of them. I bless you today. A needle in your arm leads to a needle in mine. You give. I receive. Thank you.

But, that doesn’t mean that I can’t complain a bit.

I know what tomorrow is. I’ll be grateful then. But I figure tomorrow’s holiday gives me all the more reason to whine today. Tomorrow grumbling is illegal or at least in poor form. But today it just feels right. Today should be National Whiner’s Day. This way we can get the whining out of our system before the nation gets to tomorrow’s real work of watching football and getting ready for Black Friday shopping…and eating of course. Leave it to Americans to combine gratitude and gluttony.

I’m whining today because I don’t like to be on the receiving end. I want to have the needle in my arm giving the blood, not being the recipient of it. “Donor” has such a noble sound to it (and rightfully so.) They call the rest of us “patients.” I don’t like the sound of that so much.

Doesn’t the holy book itself tell us, “It is more blessed to give than to receive?” Giving makes us feel larger, better, nobler. Receiving makes us feel…well, smaller.

I remember laying in ICU three years ago without the ability to do absolutely anything for myself. I laid there motionless thinking, “Look at all these people. Their lives are dedicated to taking care of people like me.” It impacted me that some people give their lives to care for people who can’t care for themselves. It’s a good calling. I admire it.

I just don’t like to have to be on the receiving end of it.

Let me defend my whine for a moment. I think it is a sign of health that someone doesn’t want to have to be on the receiving end. Healthy independence calls us to want to take care of ourselves if at all possible.

But this week I had to wave the white flag of surrender.

With our move to Washington and my interim pastorate in California, I hadn’t connected with a local doctor to provide the monthly infusion. I saw this as a good opportunity to see if I was well enough to be done with the treatment. Sixty days in to my “experiment” I concluded that it wasn’t a great idea.

My body has been on a couple month decline. My muscle pain has increased as my enzyme count has tripled the normal range. Swallowing is more difficult as is daily life. Stamina has declined, as has strength. I’m not in crisis mode. But, I had to get off the slope.

So, I got back in the chair…the infusion chair. I long for my recovery/healing to reach the place where such aid is no longer needed. But that day has not yet come.

I’m grateful for those whose lives revolve around helping others. I’m grateful that at times I’ve been able to be one of these people. I’m grateful for all those who continue to pray for me. And, I’m grateful for the privilege of prayer—a divine invitation to access the throne room (see Hebrews 4:16). I’m grateful for health insurance and for the assurance that my health will someday be perfect. I’m grateful for medical advances and for second chances.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. All that gratitude stuff can wait until tomorrow. For today, let’s get all the whine out…and the plasma in.

Until next time,
John Stumbo

The beauty of Thursdays, who bagged the deer, the impact of the book…those commenting on this blog were in rare form last week. Thanks to those who join in the banter and for those who feel more comfortable just watching from afar. We read every comment and appreciate all of you.

Today I write for those who find themselves in a place that is less than ideal. You’ve suffered a setback of some type. The specifics vary, but the condition is similar: You aren’t where you thought you’d be at this stage of life.

My mentor today is the Apostle Paul as he writes the New Testament Epistle to the Philippians from a prison cell. As I understand the scene, chains hang from his body but not from his spirit. His physical presence is confined but his spiritual influence is not. With a tender heart for a church he’s been praying for, he dictates this powerful and joyful letter. His partner, Timothy, records it. Couriers deliver it. The church is strengthened by it. Scribes preserve it. Church fathers canonize it. You and I benefit from it.

All of us realize that whether you are reading an email, an essay like this one or the Scripture itself, it’s important to hear the tone of the author. The tone of Philippians is one of grateful rejoicing. Philippians should be read with an upbeat, confident energy. A warmth of fond memories and rich relationships wraps this letter like an afghan on a cold night. Trumped up charges, imprisonment and chains only serve as the chilly backdrop for the warm fire that burns through Paul’s heart.

As I read the letter, I look for clues as to why Paul could be so “alive” in a place so “dead”. How can his spirit stay above his circumstances? How does one authentically write an upbeat letter from a prison cell?

It’s no secret why I would be on a search for such clues. I need encouragement—new winds of courage—to face my daily challenges. And, I care about others whose daily pain (emotional and/or physical) surpasses my own. Some of you are reading these words right now. And, so I search Paul’s message for insight.

Gratefully, I find the clues I’m looking for in the opening chapter. How could Paul thrive in a painful place?

1. He sensed that his trial had a positive purpose. He could see that something good was coming out of it. (Read 1:12-18) “What has happened to me has served…” he testifies. There is good arising from this negative situation. The event of his imprisonment wasn’t an end in itself but a springboard for greater good. One example of good that Paul witnessed was that “the brothers…speak the word of God more courageously.”

I’ll confess that throughout 2009, as people tried to tell me this very thing about my illness, I wasn’t encouraged by it. I hated my suffering so badly I could hardly care what good was coming out of it; I just wanted to be done with it. Only now am I beginning to feel some of the encouragement that arises from this truth.

For those who have eyes to see and a heart to receive, one key to being “alive” in a “dead” place is a rich awareness that our trial has purpose. Good fruit grows out of this dark soil.

2. Paul was convinced that his trial had an end and that the end would be good. (Read 1:19-24) Paul was confident that “what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance.” He knew he wouldn’t be in this condition forever.

As you read carefully, you discover that Paul knew that one possible method of “deliverance” was death. He knew that one scenario was that he wouldn’t get out of that prison alive…and he was perfectly okay with that fact. Actually, it seems to have been his preferable choice. Dead or alive, he knew he would be delivered.

This may feel like odd encouragement, but it is helpful to be reminded that we won’t always be in the situation we are in today. It does have an end point.

3. Paul sensed that his life still had purpose. (Read 1:25-26) Paul knew that he still had ministry to do with people he loved. He knew his life mattered. He believed that his life and presence would enhance the joy of the Philippian church.

This is a rare perspective for someone in prison…any type of “prison.” Our life tends to be defined by our crisis and our personal pain preoccupies our thoughts.

Every person needs to know that their life matters to other people. Those in pain have extra need for this assurance.

4. Paul believed that suffering was the norm, not the exception. (Read 1:27-30)

I won’t get invited to speak at certain American Christian conferences with this kind of teaching, but I would argue that an authentic Christian life must lead to suffering. For example, authentic Christianity compels us to love people we would otherwise write off. We stay invested in the lives of people who disappoint, hurt or even betray us. We show up when it would be far easier to stay away. This hurts! But it is a godly, looks-a-lot-like-Jesus-on-the-cross kind of hurt. This is just one example of many we could think of.

I believe Paul faced suffering from a healthy place because he wasn’t surprised by it.

5. Ultimately, Paul believed that all of this—his suffering, his ministry, his life—was “for Christ”. Over and over throughout this chapter and all of Paul’s writings there is this continuous theme: Paul’s life was bound up in Christ.

I confess that pain has a way of making me even more self-centered than I already am. I want the world to revolve around me and my comfort. Paul’s life reminds me of whose I am and who I am to live for.

I’m happy for you to add to this list of why Paul was able to write a letter of joy from a dark place, but these are my thoughts today. I make no claim to be living these principles consistently, but I place them before us as a model.

Grace and peace to you as you walk above your circumstances today.
John Stumbo