What I Would Have Said by Tami Cinquemani

I’m writing this blog on United #1028 from Chicago to Orlando.  The red eye left at 10 pm and will arrive in Orlando around 2 am.  That’s a lot of time to think, and right now I’m having one of those “shoulda-woulda-coulda” moments.

The purpose of my visit to Chicago was to spend time with my family and attend a celebration of my father’s life, who died a couple of weeks ago.  This wasn’t your typical bereavement occasion.  There was no time of viewing in a funeral home or service conducted in a church.  We had what is called an “Irish wake” . . . basically a party where everyone eats, drinks, and shares memories of the lost relative.  This is what my family does.

As our guests were arriving, my brother told me that he and my mother planned to say a few words before the meal began.  He asked if I would like to do the same.  Though I appreciated the invitation, I panicked.  You see, I’m a writer—not a speaker.  Don’t get me wrong, I can get up in front of people and talk . . . but never without a great deal of preparation.  Needless to say, in hindsight, my words—though nice—were not sufficient.  As soon as I sat down, I began to think of what I should have said.

One of the reasons my family mourns in this unique way is because of the diversity of belief and unbelief we represent.  Atheist, Agnostic, lifelong believer, cynical ex-believer, curious seeker, or combinations of any of the above.  Faith is not a common topic of conversation, and for the most part we respectfully accept everyone’s personal conviction or lack thereof.

However, I believe my dad’s death, and the reality of what that means opened a door to a conversation I would have liked to begin.  Death can be very frightening if you’re not sure what follows.  Just a few short weeks before my dad died, my uncle passed away.  The death of two very wonderful and very loved men in such a short period of time begs the question, “Is that all there is?” 

As someone who believes there is so much more after this life, I wish I had carefully shared the hope I have in seeing my father and my uncle again.  I don’t want to beat myself up over this, but I now realize that, though my relatives may not share my faith, they may be willing to share my hope.  

Tami Cinquemani

Raw and Connected by John Monday

Boddie Miller skied what will probably be the last Olympic competition of his life in Sochi. When he finished his run, he was first in the standings, but the best in the world were yet to ski. He knew that his run had been flawed and would likely not hold up. 

The world watched as skier after after skier came down the mountain. The first two to follow Boddie finished just hundredths of a second behind his time. The tension was palpable as he stood there with his wife - watching.  The next few skiers made mistakes that removed them from the competition, and we continued to watch.  Finally, the inevitable happened, and Kjetil Jansrud of Norway beat Boddie’s time, and Boddie was moved into the silver medal position. Moments later in a remarkable finish, Jan Hudec of Canada finished in a dead heat with Boddie, and they now shared the silver slot.  Finally the last skier, Boddie’s teammate, Andrew Weibrecht, took his turn finishing ahead of Boddie’s time and moving Boddie and Jan into a shared Bronze medal.

After a career that has spanned more than 16 years and included six olympic medals, Boddie Miller had an unusually emotional response to this shared bronze.  Throughout his career he has maintained a consistently cavalier attitude toward medals and awards but this time it mattered.

His path to this year’s games was a tough one. It included the death of his brother, a custody battle for his son, recovery from surgery, and a new marriage.  In short, this year’s olympics was not a certainty, and the arrogance of the past has been replaced with humility that comes from understanding your humanity. 

In post event interviews Boddie’s emotions barely allowed him to speak. When he was able to speak, he uttered words that I think we could all relate to: "It all feels so raw and connected.”  In that one short phrase, Boddie Miller capsulized what I believe describes life with God, “raw and connected.”

Raw - Unpretentious, unfiltered, exposed, vulnerable, trusting. When you're living raw, everything is on the line all the time.

Connected - Everything matters, everything touches, everything counts, nothing is irrelevant or unimportant.

Raw and connected, what a great way to live. The phrase reminds me of the opening words in the gospel of John.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.  Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.  In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.

Raw and connected. It’s a reality that we often can’t see. Everything is connected.  As Christians, we believe that not only are all things connected, but all things are connected through Jesus. Yet we try constantly to put things in boxes, to establish silos, to separate, to disconnect.

There are Christian businessmen who, when questioned about their business ethics and activities, will say, "church is church, and business is business” - Disconnected.  But this disconnection is not relegated to businessmen. We too often believe that we can pick and choose the things we want to share with God or the things with which we need his help.

We not only believe that we can separate ourselves from him, but we believe we can do things that will cause God to turn his back on us: Listen to the wrong music, eat the wrong food, drink the wrong drink, read the wrong book, or enjoy the wrong party, and you won’t see God, right?

Not according to the Bible:

I look behind me and you’re there,

    then up ahead and you’re there, too—

    your reassuring presence, coming and going.

This is too much, too wonderful—

    I can’t take it all in!

Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit?

    to be out of your sight?

If I climb to the sky, you’re there!

    If I go underground, you’re there!

If I flew on morning’s wings

    to the far western horizon,

You’d find me in a minute—

    you’re already there waiting!

Then I said to myself, “Oh, he even sees me in the dark!

    At night I’m immersed in the light!”

It’s a fact: darkness isn’t dark to you;

    night and day, darkness and light, they’re all the same to you.

Psalm 139:5-12

Raw and connected. That is the way of God.  Boddie saw a raw connection between his custody battle and his bronze medal - between his brother's death and his olympic performance.  It may not seem to make sense but in that moment, that raw moment, he perceived the connection. Raw and connected.

I am a Christian.  That means everything is raw and connected.  Listening to a gregorian chant or Led Zepplin, Christ is there to be heard.  Building a church in Guatemala or watching a Transformers movie, God is there to be seen.  Worshiping in a church or having coffee with a friend, Christ is there.  Christ is everywhere, in everything, suffering every pain, celebrating every joy, holding every hand and heart through every decision and mistake, and guiding us to a better country.

Raw and connected.

John Monday

A Hidden Gem by Chad Hess

Let me confess something: the book of Revelation confuses me.  There are so many symbols that, at times, it reads more like an algebra problem than a letter of hope.  I have studied it, I have taken classes on it, and I have been to "Revelation seminars," but I still find it rather confusing at times. 

Last night, I was reading books to my children at bedtime, and my four-year-old wanted to read a story from his Kids Bible.  He turned to the last one titled "Jesus is Coming," which summarizes Revelation.  Along with lots of colorful images, this is what it said:

Many years later, the disciple John lived on an island.  While he was there, an angel came to him in a vision.  In the vision, a bright light surrounded Jesus.  He spoke to John, "Do not be afraid.  Write a book about what you see and send it to the churches."  In the vision, John saw God sitting on his throne.  A rainbow sparkled all around him.  John saw that everything bad on the earth had come to an end.  Then John saw a new heaven and a new earth.  God said, "There will be no more death or sadness or crying or pain.  I will live with my people forever."  Then Jesus promised, "I am coming back soon."

Everything wrong will be made right, Jesus will come back, and we will live with him forever.  Beneath all of the beasts and dragons and confusion, that is the message John was writing.  There are a lot of wonderful things in the book of Revelation, but sometimes they can get hidden.  All I needed was a kids’ Bible to let this gem of hope shine through.

Chad Hess

A Secret New Name by Todd Chobotar

I’ve been called a lot of names over the years. Some good, some bad, and some I can’t repeat.  But of all the names, two are among my favorites.  One comes from family and one from friends.  They’re nicknames.  Names given out of affection and friendship.

I know my parents meant well when they named me, but honestly I’ve never much cared for the name Todd.  Mostly because it’s rather common–and who likes to think of themselves as common?  I know dozens of guys named Todd.  Nice guys really.  But it always feels a bit strange meeting someone else who shares your name.  You think, Wait a minute.  That’s MY name.  I’ve had it my whole life.  It’s unique to me.  You can’t have my name.

Then there’s the uncomfortable feeling that comes with mistaken identity.  You’re in a public place and someone calls your name.  You turn around to respond only to discover with a flush of embarrassment that the greeting was meant for someone else.

Maybe that’s why I like my two nicknames so much.  They’re unique.  Different.  And they’re all mine.

The first nickname came from my family: Fuds (pronounced FUDZ).  Ever since I was a kid this has been my family name.  To the rest of the world I may have been plain old Todd, but to Mom and Dad I was Fuds–the baby of the family.  To my two older sisters, Sandy and Debbie, I’ve always been their little brother Fuds.

The name was derived from the famous Warner Bros. cartoon character Elmer Fudd.  You may remember Elmer Fudd as the intrepid rabbit hunter forever trying to bag Bugs Bunny.  His trademarks were his oversized bald head, his legendary nervous laughter and his mispronunciation of the letters r and l to sound like w.  As Bugs Bunny’s arch nemesis, Elmer Fudd spent countless cartoon capers stalking but never catching that “Wascawwy wabbit”.

I loved those animated adventures as a boy.  I could especially relate to Elmer Fudd because I shared the same embarrassing speech impediment as him.  Cruel kids often called me Elmer Fudd and mocked my mangled r’s and l’s.  Though I went to speech therapy to correct the problem, the taunts lived on long beyond the cure.  Knowing this, my family took the name used for my embarrassment and transformed it to a nickname of endearment.  Thus Elmer Fudd became Fuds.  Far from making me feel inferior, this new name made me feel special.  Special because I knew my family loved me despite any impediment I might ever have.  I will always be grateful to them for turning a term of belittling to a name of belonging.  For that’s what it is to me.  A name that shows I belong.

The second nickname came from friends:  Chobi (pronounced CHŌ-bee).  In high school and college it was not unusual for guys to call each other by their last names.  This was especially true if you had a common first name like mine that several other guys shared.  So among the boys I was called Chobotar.  But that’s a bit long and cumbersome to pronounce.  So with good friends, the name got shortened to Chobi.  My good friends still use that name today.  I like it.  It’s easier than my last name and more unique than my first name.  For me, it’s another name of belonging.

One of the quickest ways to put a smile on my face is to pick up the phone and hear the words “Hi Fuds” or “Hey Chobi”.  Because I know whoever is at the other end is either family or friends.  And I love talking to both.

Want to know something exciting about heaven?  Something that may put a smile on your face?  Each of us will have our own unique name there.  Look at this verse from Revelation 2:17:

“Everyone who is victorious will eat of the manna that has been hidden away in heaven.  And I will give to each one a white stone, and on the stone will be engraved a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it.”  (NLT)

In my Bible, those words are printed in red ink.  That means they are the words of Jesus.  They were spoken in a vision to the Apostle John about the rewards awaiting God’s people in paradise.  For those who are victorious over sin, Jesus promises to give Manna—the bread of heaven.  To those who overcome the struggles of this life, Jesus promises to give a white stone with a new name.  A different name.  A unique name.  A secret name.  Does this mean I will someday bid the common name of Todd goodbye?  I don’t know.  Maybe we will keep our earth-born names in heaven, and maybe we won’t.  But one thing for sure is that we will be given new names known only to our Savior and us.

I like the way Eugene Peterson paraphrases this same verse:

“I’ll give the sacred manna to every conqueror;  I’ll also give a clear, smooth stone inscribed with your new name, your secret new name.”

A secret new name.  Will it be a name of power?  A name of mystery?  A name of victory?  A name of affection?  We don’t know for sure.  What we do know is the God who made you, will someday rename you.  How will it happen?  No one knows for sure.  But I imagine it will be something special.

Perhaps it will happen after you’ve been in heaven for a few days.  You’ve walked the golden streets, splashed in the river of life and chatted with Esther, Adam or Moses.  You’re just about to head off on a sight-seeing trip to the Horse-Head Nebula when you see God approaching.  He asks if you have few minutes to spare.  “I have all eternity,” you reply.  With spreading smiles you steal away together to a quiet place.  There you sit and talk about trials and triumphs of life on earth.  You blush slightly when your maker calls you a conqueror.  But then your eyes pop open as he pulls a blazing white stone from his robe and places it in your hand.  There in letters shining with the colors of a rainbow is a name.  A secret name.  A private name that only you and your maker will know.  A special bond that cannot be broken.

Why would God go through the extravagant gesture of giving you a new name?  Because you are unique.  Because you are special.  Because you are his.

“…The Lord who created you says: ‘Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.  I have called you by name; you are mine.’”  Isaiah 43:1 NLT

Question: Do you have a favorite nickname that only your family or friends call you?  Are you willing to share it?  What do you like about it?  (Share your thoughts in the comments)

Guest Blogger and Member of FHC, Todd Chobotar

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