If I Should Die Before I Wake

“It has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior, Christ Jesus, who has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (1 Timothy 1:10, NIV).

If I should die before I wake…

by Steven Clark Goad

          Why are some of us afraid of the inevitable? I remember growing up as a kid saying my bedtime prayers. Is it cruel and unusual child abuse to teach a lad to think of dying just before bedtime? I had never thought of it like that until I reached adulthood. I wanted God to take my soul if I died in my sleep. I hadn’t even been baptized yet. I was five. I was eight. Then ten. “Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Even after baptism I fretted and worried about dying in my sleep and maybe God not willing to “take my soul.”

          My wife has a Woody Allen view of death and dying. She can readily say, “I’m not really afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” She thinks dying while in surgery under anesthesia would be one of the best ways to cross over. I suppose that would be one way of not being there when it happens. She, and I, are not so much afraid of dying as of the process it often requires. Biopsies. Invasive surgeries. X-rays. Stiff joints and unremitting pain. Growing old isn’t for sissies. And growing feeble and in constant discomfort and with loss of memory only adds to the disquietude of it all.

Five Stages

          Whether or not one has read Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ classic On Death and Dying, the stages leading finally to acceptance of imminent mortality seem to invade the mind of the dying. The first stage is denial. It is the notion that it can’t be happening to me. Or, that since I don’t feel badly, there must be a mistake in diagnosis. The next stage is anger. Why me, Lord? What did I do to deserve this? The third stage is bargaining. If I can only live to see my grandchildren. Let me live until the house is paid off. The next phase is depression that leaves one with the feeling of helplessness. Why bother. I’ll be dead soon anyway.

            Finally, the terminally ill will accept the inevitable and perhaps even find some satisfying level of peace that says death is just part of the cycle of life. God is in charge and everything will be okay in the long run. This may be the healthiest stage of dealing with terminal illness. It is a coming to terms with something that can’t be avoided.

Transitions

          We live in a world of varying transitions. Death happens to be one of them. One of the most difficult periods in life is when a job change is made—or moving from one location to another, sometimes across the country, leaving family and friends geographically. Birth is also one of those traumatic crossings.

            If a baby in his mother’s womb could talk, he might say, “This is great. I love the warmth and protection of this hidden place where I live. I don’t think life could get any better.” But when the time arrives he is subjected to another existential mode of being that is frightening. Blinding light is forced upon him. The chill of being naked and wet outside the womb. It’s frightening crossing over like that. All one can do is weep. But eventually, nestled in his mother’s arms and feeding from her breast, an entirely new way of living is not only accepted, but embraced.

The Believer’s Hope

          One of the grandest truths from God’s word is that Christians never see each other for the last time. Our angst and sadness at the loss of a loved one is balanced by the knowledge that there is life after death. The resurrection of Christ is testimony to deity’s power over death. When we mortals put on immortality there remains no longer the sting of death (1 Corinthians 15). We die only to be given new bodies and new perspectives, plus the glory of the Lord’s presence.         

Every one of us is just a heartbeat away from stepping into a room full of angels. The very idea of it ought to make us smile. Jesus said he was going to prepare a place for us and then return again to receive us that where he is there we may also reside. The Lord keeps his promises. We need not fear death or when it arrives. Whether we live beyond our threescore and ten, or die in our youth, eternity will grip us and we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Mortality

          Most seem to think it morbid to speak of our temporariness. We are, after all, and in spite of bad theology that says otherwise, mortals (1 Corinthians 15:53). Paul wrote to Timothy that only God is immortal. We have the hope of the resurrection and all the promises that go with it. A new way of living. New bodies. No pain. No heartbreaks. No more dying. Eons of foreverness in close proximity to the River of Life.

          Just trying to imagine the new heaven and new earth in my mind brings joy to my heart. I think of walking with my guardian angel and maybe even asking him where he was that day I almost drowned. Or strolling among the celestial flora and fauna with Moses or Paul or mother. As the song suggests, this world is truly not my home; I’m just passing through. A temporary sojourner am I on this lovely round blue marble spinning through space.

Growing Old Gracefully

          One couple I know [is anyone looking this way?] has been acquainted with many physicians in their area. With Parkinsons, diabetes, acid reflux, diverticulitis, cancer, arthritis, tinnitus, and a few other maladies, this couple is dealing with the rigors of growing older. I have a theory about old age. I believe our aches and pains remind us to get ready for the crossing over. One elder I sat with at his dying bedside told me he was so eager to make the journey to the other side that he was hoping for release that very night I was with him.

          Losing my mother at the age of 43 [I was 16] played havoc for a while with my sense of security. It upset my apple cart. I had a lover’s quarrel with my heavenly Father for a while after that. She didn’t have the privilege of growing older gracefully. Cancer took her before she could see her grandchildren. It didn’t seem right. It surely wasn’t fair. But looking back on it now I see that mother was relieved of the burdens of this life early on. Do only the good die young? I really don’t know. It’s doubtful.

Let Them Go

          My wife was the doting mother. She was hands-on in every way with our daughter. Did she spoil her darling girl? She denies it. She says, “Caitlin wasn’t spoiled; she was privileged.” No way will I argue the point. But as the perfect little darling matured and got into her teen years, guess what happened? Yes. There was a time when it was acceptable for her to leave home. College. Marriage. The only weeping involved tears of joy. How can a clinging mother let a child she would have died for move away from home? It was time.

          Not only do we let them go [friends, children, careers, homes, hobbies, life], but we learn along the pathway of living to let go ourselves. It’s okay. Letting go is part of embracing the gifts of God. As the baby discovered an entirely new perspective on life outside his mother’s womb, so we will regal in the joy of eternal bliss in a life with the Lord that was meant to be from the very beginning.

Don’t Be Afraid

          I admit it. For much of my adult life I was fearful of death. It may have been more the fear of the unknown than the fear of dying itself. But one thing I know now—God is true to his word. In my Father’s house are many rooms. And one of those rooms must have my name on the door. I look forward my homecoming. I have great expectations. Eternity is just ahead. Hallelujah anyway!

Bibliography:

A Death of Ones Own, Gertha Lerner, Harper Collins, 1996

Beyond Endurance: When A Child Dies, Ronald Knapp, Schocken, 1986

On Death and Dying, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross,  Macmillan, 1991

The Denial of Death, Ernest Becker, Free Press, 1997

Healing Into Life and Death, Stephen Levine, Anchor Books, 1987

How We Die, Sherwin Nuland, Knopf, 1994

Letting Go, Morrie Schwartz, Dell, 1997

The Psychology of Death, Robert Kastenbaum, Springer, 2000

     

Who Will Hear My Confession?

“I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the LORD’—and you forgave the guilt of my sin” (Psalm 32:5).

Who Will Hear My Confession?

by Steven Clark Goad

            The Catholic Church encourages auricular confession to a priest. Though many other churches have not formalized confession into such a ritual as baring one’s soul to a clergyman in some confined quarters, some forms of confession within the church have been little different than with the confessional box. In many congregations an invitation is offered for those who need to come to Christ, or confess sins, or be restored. Someone may typically walk the aisle and share with the preacher or elder his sin. Often it is shared (minus the details) with the congregation by someone other than the one confessing. Is this not a form of auricular confession? Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote, “People think the confessional is unknown in Protestant churches. It is a great mistake. The principal change is, that there is no screen between the penitent and the father confessor.”

            Confession takes on many expressions. To those who trust in the Lord confession of faith in Christ is a constant profession and lifestyle. Jesus taught that those who confess him before others will be confessed by Christ to the Father. This is comforting to all disciples. In law enforcement the obtaining of a confession by someone who has broken the law is considered weighty evidence in a court of law. Lovers confess their undying devotion to each other. But, more importantly, those burdened by sin must have somewhere to turn with contrite hearts. Acknowledgment of sinful behavior is primary for the penitent soul. “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective” (James 5:16).

Lifestyle Confession

            Those who walk in God’s will and grace are eager to confess failures and shortsightedness. Those of us who have been born again are aware of our innate human natures. Selfishness seems to be a part of our spiritual DNA. We tend to do what makes us feel good, and often feel-good matters aren’t very spiritual. So in our “un-goodness” we struggle to be good and in so doing we acknowledge our blunders and outright disobedience. Knowing that God sees all and is aware of what we think as well as what we do, it is rather silly to think that somehow we can keep God in the dark regarding our carnal natures.

            God knows we aren’t perfect. The Law of Moses made it abundantly clear that humankind was unable to live up to the perfect standard of Father God. This is why our Savior took our place at the cross. The only perfection we might obtain is vicariously through Christ. Thus the conditional “if” is provided, perhaps the biggest two-letter word in the English dictionary. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). This verse is a powerful affirmation from God that continual confession is purging and conciliatory.

A Sign of True Faith

            The early believers were confronted with the teaching of the apostle and the working of the Holy Spirit among the people. They observed the power of God with their own senses and were instilled with faith in the gospel that was being taught. “Many of those who believed now came and openly confessed their evil deeds” (Acts 19:18). To accept Jesus as Lord meant one had to divest himself of his excuses for sin. One living for Jesus could not longer continue in sin that grace might abound. He is no longer in the sinning business.

            Sam had been unfaithful to his wife for three years. He had an ongoing relationship with his secretary. Both Sam and his wife were Christians. Sue trusted Sam in every area of his life. He was devoted to the children. He was a good breadwinner and generous to a fault. His deaconship with the church allowed him to supervise the benevolence committee. The marriage looked like a storybook love story. But Sam and God knew better. A revival meeting got Sam’s attention. One of the lessons seems aimed directly at him. He repented of his infidelity at that meeting, but had other matters that needed attending to. Though it required great determination, he confessed his affair to Sue not knowing whether it would destroy his family or not.

            Sometimes confession isn’t easy. It exposes to others how very selfish we can be. To allow our worse behavior to be made known to those we harm calls for tremendous soul-searching. To acknowledge embezzlement might send one to prison. To confess an adulterous affair could easily destroy a marriage. But what is the alternative for a Christian? There is none. Living with deceit is not walking in the light. Thus, confession is good for the soul.

Confession & Salvation

            Every Christian is a sin confessor. One cannot become a child of God, born of the water and the Spirit, apart from penitent confession. At Pentecost Peter required confession from those who were pricked in their hearts by the good news of Savior Jesus. He told the believers that day to “repent and be baptized” (Acts 2:38). Confession of sins is a prerequisite to repentance. One cannot repent without confessing the need for redemption. And that need involves sin and its consequences. “Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River” (Matthew 3:6).

            From the moment we accept the mercy of God in the story of our risen Lord, we become confessors of our failings and sinful ways. Not only do we confess to God who knows of our sins even before we think of them, but we also confess to those we betray and abuse by our selfishness. Parents must learn to confess to their children when they are unduly harsh or make glaring mistakes in their presence. Children should be in an environment whereby they may eagerly confess disobedience to parents. Mate to mate. Brother to brother. Sister to sister. Living with the guilt of sin is a painful lifestyle and takes it toll on body and spirit. Divesting ourselves of the yoke of sin is refreshing and enables us to walk in the light and know our salvation is sure. “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8).

The Missing Snickers

            It was warm and humid that July summer day in Indianapolis. Mikey O’Conner, the good Catholic kid from across the street, and I were playing basketball. I invited him into the house. Dad has just purchased a package of twelve Snicker candy bars. He put them in the freezer. Why he did that I didn’t analyze, but on a sweltering day it seemed wise and I shared my bounty with Mikey. He enjoyed his candy bar. I enjoyed mine. Mikey finally went home. I got another Snicker and devoured it in record time, in spite of it being frozen.

            Supper is finished. Sis and I are doing the dishes. Dad goes to get a Snicker for dessert and finds them all missing. “Stevie, where are the Snickers?” Silence. Total, heart-stopping silence. At the time I was enjoying my treats I wasn’t fully aware of the consequences that would ensue. Dad asked again. I stuttered a bit and finally said, “Mikey was over today and ate them all.” Silly! Stupid!! Parents know when kids are lying. God knows. Father Goad knew. Had it not been for mother I think my father would have whipped me senseless that evening. He could probably smell peanuts on my breath.

            Confession. It came quickly and completely. Full disclosure was my only hope. “I ate them, dad. Mikey only had one. I had two, then four, then the rest. I’m sorry. They just tasted so good. I couldn’t help it.” Oops! Don’t lie when confessing. I avoided a whipping that evening, thanks to mom. But I have a lesson learned that has stuck with me all these years. Deceit is not the path to take as a child of God.

Unshackled

            Confession unshackles the soul. The heavy load of un-confessed sin is destructive and robs us of our zest for living. Oscar Wilde said, “It is the confession, not the priest, that gives absolution.” I get his point. But it is really God who gives absolution. Confession just puts his promise of forgiveness into action.

            Confession of sin comes from the offer of mercy. Mercy displayed causes confession to flow, and confession flowing opens the way to mercy. If I have not a contrite heart, God’s mercy will never be mine; but if God had not manifested his mercy in Christ, I could never have a contrite heart. We must never fear confession and run from it. Rather, we should embrace it as part of the ethic by which we live.

Psalm 4

Psalm 4

       “Answer me when I call to you, O my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; be merciful to me and hear my prayer” (1). Have you ever said “listen” to God? I rarely do, but in essence when we pray we want him to hear us. We are calling on him to include us in his agenda. David didn’t seem to be shy about asking the Almighty not only to listen to him, but to answer him. When was the last time you asked God to answer you? I quit asking when I learned that he always answers the prayers of the righteous. Yes. No. Maybe. Later. David sought what we all mostly seek when we pray. Relief! We need to be rescued from anguish, pain, sorrow, distress and the evil that surrounds us daily. God knows this before we ask, but he seems to enjoy the communication. My earthly father knew I needed some extra cash while in college, but he also wanted to hear from me now and then.

         “How long, O men, will you turn my glory into shame? How long will you love delusions and seek false Gods” (2)? David needed to have the support of his flock. He was a shepherd king. The people begged for a king like the other nations. God gave them Saul. Then he gave them David. A head of state is either blessed or cursed by his constituency. The same is true with today’s national leaders as it was for David when he led the nation of Israel. Our moral leaders often have what could be glory turned into shame. And the reason for it is the same as it was for King David. The people loved delusions as well as false Gods. We have delusions by living fantasies, many of them pathetically immoral. We pretend to have affairs online. We escape with movies so bizarre that they deny description. We even escape now in a plethora of self-medication, whether booze or dope. And false gods surround us. We get more excited over the Super Bowl and the NBA playoffs than we do over our lost neighbors. Money and ease have become false gods today. We need not erect totems in order to be guilty of worshiping false idols.

       “Know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself; the Lord will hear when I call him” (3). We are told elsewhere that the Lord’s ears are forever open to the righteous. God knows who his children are. We can’t fool him. We can’t fake discipleship and suppose God won’t notice. There are sheep and goats. Before we are born God knows which we are. But this foreknowledge does not negate our free will as some "predestinationists" assert. But in his omniscience, God knows whether you will give your heart and soul to him or whether you will live a life of selfish indulgence. As Laura has often reminded me, if we are lost we deserve it. And I might add, and usually do: “And if we are saved we won’t deserve it.” But it will mean we have chosen to accept Jesus as Lord and Savior and to live in the will of our Father God. Every one of us should feel extremely special knowing that we have that significant place in God’s heart as we continue in a holy relationship with him living out our lives in his merciful grace.

       “In your anger do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent” (4). I love the comfort of a safe bed. We are blessed in this country to be able to afford such luxuries. Many in the world have no bed or private chamber from which they can be silent and meditate on holy matters or any other matters for that matter. But the point here is that we can sin even in the silence of our bedrooms. And also we note there is a place for anger, but that when we are angry, it should not involve sin. Anger, in and of itself is not sinful. Elders of the flock of God are told to be angry, but in that anger not to sin. Jesus was angry with the money changers in the Temple. There is a place and time for all of us to be righteously indignant. Living in the kind of sin that surrounds us, it’s hard not to be angry. But as we consider holiness in the midst of chaos, we search our hearts and make sure they are right with God.

       “Offer right sacrifices and trust in the Lord” (5). We sacrifice to God in various ways. Jesus told us to take up our crosses daily, to follow him, and to be living sacrifices. We do this by obeying his commandments. We do it by giving of or time and means and resources. I noticed that the taxes of one of our highest government officials was released to the public. He made hundreds of thousands of dollars but only gave $4,000 to charitable programs. I remember in the 70s the man who was running for VP, and was a preacher’s son to boot, had only given $400 to charity. Maybe God isn’t troubled by that kind of sacrifice, but I sure am. Of course, a million dollars given with the wrong intent and unholy attitude isn’t worth the ink used to print it. But a widow’s mite is a great sacrifice to God if the spirit of the giver is right. Have you noticed as you grow older how little you need to be content? All of the things that we have felt necessary to feather our nests are not all that important.

       “Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ Let the light of your face shine up on us, O Lord” (6). Someone recently said to me that he could rarely find any good to life and that he would rather be dead than to go on living in a world as evil and chaotic as ours. I reminded him that God was still the boss and so long as he was with us we had reason for living. Our purpose is not to be surrounded by constant good. Our purpose is to make sure goodness is available to those we influence and come into contact with daily. Do we allow God’s face to shine upon us?

        “You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound” (7). To have our storehouses filled gives some measure of comfort and security. But that is never enough. Our genuine joy is not in a full cupboard or a fat bank account. The presence of God in us in the person of the Holy Spirit is a constant joy and delight, or should be. I think we sometime forget we are Spirit-filled children of God on a short-term mission before eternity is ushered in. One heartbeat away. That’s it. That’s how close eternity is. That is how soon time and space and reality as we know it will be replaced by the real deal. Are we ready?

      “I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you along, O Lord, make me dwell in safety” (8). Let’s accept reality, church. We aren’t safe. We live on the third rock from the sun and have been told a meteor could wipe us out instantly. When we lie down in restful slumber, it isn’t because we know we won’t get the flu or have a heart attack. It isn’t because we know our money will always be strong in the open market. It isn’t because we have a promise that we will all live to be 100 years old and die with our boots on. Nope. Our God in Jesus Christ is the sole reason for our ability to live and sleep in peace in a world out of step with heaven.    

Advice From Psalms

Great Advice From the Psalms

(Psalm 1)

      “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked…” (1a). Where do we seek out good advice? When we need serious counseling, where do we go? Do we go to the bartender or the man who engages in deceitful business practices? Do we seek out druggies and swindlers when we are in a jam and need words of encouragement? Would Bernie Madoff be a good financial advisor? Think about it, church. Our Lord tells us we will be blessed when we see out the counsel of godly people. I have often gone to Jere when I felt I had no other place to go. Of course, we are always just one prayer away from getting the best counsel in the world. “Make plans by seeking advice; if you wage war, obtain guidance” (Pro 20:18).

      “…or stand in the way of sinners…” (1b). Who are our best friends? Consider who you hang out with most. I knew a couple who were having constant financial problems and were always seeking marital counseling. Sadly, their best friends weren’t Christians and had a negative influence on them. Our best friends should be children of God whose very presence lends positive encouragement and reinforcement. Hanging with people of questionable character and bad behavior will only drag you down. Run from sinners. “Evil companions corrupt good morals” (1 Cor 15:33). I just behave myself better when I am in good company. So get out of the way of sinners.

      “…or sit in the seat of mockers” (1c). Do we really enjoy being with people who make fun of others? I even grow weary of the pundits who poke light at our elected officials. Some of them surely do need some advice from their constituencies, but mocking them and making light of them doesn’t help. We had a kid in school who had a severe speech impediment. Many of our classmates would tease him by mimicking his speech defect. Remember in 2 Kings 2 when Elisha was mocked by 42 youth? They made fun of his bald head. Two bears came out of the woods and mauled these young people. A hard lesson to learn. We don’t want to be made fun of, so we should never do it to others.

      “But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates both day and night” (2). What do we spend most of our time dwelling on? I saw where people were weeping because some singer got bumped from American Idol prematurely, according to those who enjoyed her talent. This is not world-shaking concern. We watch TV dramas that provide horror and angst that is merely faked by actors. Don’t we have enough tragedy in the world than to look at make believe trauma and mayhem? All of God’s children should be thinking of godly matters, meditating on his word, praying to the Father of lights. This is what we do and who we are. Both day and night. We are into the word of God and living it out in our lives. “Your word, O Lord, is eternal: it stands firm in the heavens” (Psa 119:89). It is far better to concentrate on eternal matters than to focus on the transient and temporary.

      “He is like a tree planted by the streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers” (3). Our purpose on earth is to honor God and bear much fruit to his glory. “By this is how my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples” (John 15:8). A fruitless tree isn’t worth taking up space. Jesus had a fig tree cut down for not bearing fruit. We yield fruit for our Lord by doing good deeds and aiding others in coming to Christ. We bear fruit when we come to the rescue of those in need and who are found in the throes of hardship and grief. We have a promise that God will prosper those who live such lives.

      “Not so the wicked! They are like chaff that the wind blows away” (4). I was mowing my lawn on Thursday. The wind was blowing so fiercely that every other row I found myself breathing and spitting the dust and grass that I had kicked up from cutting. I had to literally stop and let the dust settle in order to take a breath. Those who live evil and selfish lives will be no better than the dirty grass clippings blow away by the wind. It will be as if they had never lived. There presence to the Father will be so useless that he will “destroy both soul and body in hell” (Mt 10:28). We will trim trees and rake up clippings soon at our workday on Saturday. After a while I will set fire to them and burn them up as if they had never taken up space. The Bible says this is the end of those who are wicked. They become chaff.

      “Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous” (5). Have you noticed that typically the wicked don’t present themselves in our assemblies? They don’t do church. They do world. They do whatever they please. They become ends unto them-selves—self-serving and inwardly focused. We have gotten out of the sinning business. We’ve taken down our shingle and have risen to walk in newness of life. The last great day will not be enjoyed by those outside of Christ. They won’t get to sit in the assembly with God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit and all of the saints of ages past and present. Church, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to think of what it will be like for the wicked at judgment day. “For it is time for judgment to begin with the family of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome of those who do not obey the gospel of God” (1 Pet 4:17,18)? I’m not planning on finding out, are you?

      “For the Lord watches the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish” (6). Throughout he Bible we are told the wicked will perish. They will not have eternal life as those in Christ will enjoy. We have the Lord’s promise that he will look over the way of the righteous. He cares for us. He wants our very best. Even in hardships, which he allows, he is able to make us stronger and better able to serve him and others. But the wicked and unbeliever has no hope. He is fit for the burning dung heap outside Jerusalem. It will be like being tossed into the Valley of Hinnom where the trash and carcasses were disposed of. The very word for “hell” comes from the Greek word Gehenna, a reference to this very garbage dump at the outskirts of Jerusalem. It’s our choice. We can be dumped and destroyed and forgotten, or we can be with the Lord forever. “I my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:2,3). These are comforting words for believers.  

Jenny Gosch Memorial Fund

Hello,
 
Both Carl and Gail Gosch graduated from ACU where they met over 30 years ago.  Carl is currently an elder at the Blythe Church of Christ here in Blythe, CA where my husband, Steven Clark Goad, has been minister for 25 years. The Gosch's raised 3 lovely Christian children, the oldest of whom, Tyson, married a beautiful God fearing woman, Jenny, and they had five little children ( currently ranging in age from 3 months to just 8 years old). The family recently moved with Tyson's business from Simi Valley, CA to the Austin, TX area. While in Simi Valley, Tyson served as a Deacon, published the church bulletin and made missionary trips to India. They had already established a warm fellowship with the congregation at their new locale when a severe headache (which proved to be due to an anurism) sent Jenny to the emergency room . Within just a few days she was dead!




Below is the Christian Chronicle site with the entire story and photo.

Jenny leaves the five babies and a grieving husband along with extensive medical bills. On behalf of the family, we have established the Jenny Gosch Memorial Fund to help pay for childcare, medical bills, college savings, funeral expenses, etc. Would you be kind enough to publish this information to ACU students, faculty and alumni who might want to contribute to this fund? Checks and money orders can be sent to:

The Jenny Gosch Memorial Fund
325 Village Drive
Blythe, CA 92225






http://www.christianchronicle.org/blog/2011/03/sudden-illness-claims-life-of-church-member-a-mother-of-five-young-children/

The Fruitcake

"A hungry stomach cannot hear."  --Jean De La Fontaine

The Fruitcake

The noble cake filled with fruit has a special place in my memory. It has a spot of such honor that I hold this humble, and often maligned, item of food in high esteem. The stories of the cake that is sent from family to family each year because it is unappreciated and thought worthless as a gift do not cause me to smile. I frown at the notion that a blessing such as this should be looked upon with such disdain as a nuisance. For it was a fruitcake that saw me through a lean November day when I was but a young married parson.

            Fruitcake humbles me. It reminds me of my pride and of my imagined sniveling self-sufficiency. The sniveling isn't imagined, but the self-sufficiency is. I had it in my mind that I was a man able to meet the needs of myself and my family. To be in such a financial strain at such an early age was probably the normal course for other young men. But I had been taught that once one departs his father's house, he is not to return except to visit.

At the time I was living some distance from those who had provided free room and board for all of my early years. I could not simply jump in the car and head for the nearest relative. That would have required gas, and money for gas I did not have, for I had no money for food. The bills had been paid, but cupboard and refrigerator were as poverty stricken as I had ever seen them. Yep, I was too proud to ask for a handout.

            There were two gallons of milk in the icebox. And the only bit of food in the house except for a box of noodles was a fruitcake we had shoved toward the back of one of the cabinets. We had almost forgotten about it. Someone had bequeathed it as a present. It looked extremely familiar. Was that the same fruitcake we gave to my in-laws two Christmases ago? Surely not. My checkbook barely had enough balance to pay for the service charge. It would be five more days 'til payday.

            The thought of fruitcake rarely entered my head. When I did think of it, bad memories flooded my mind. As a lad of three or four I had eaten too much fruitcake at aunt Benna's house and ended up with a terrible tummy ache. I sacrificed all that cake and my dinner to the great water bowl in the bathroom. For the rest of the day I was various shades of purple and green. From that day forward I was unable to entertain the thought of fruitcake. The very sight of it put me in a hostile mood. If someone close to me was eating fruitcake, I had to dismiss myself. Memories have a way of prejudicing us forever, especially bad memories.

You can imagine my consternation when I found that large, and heavy, fully wrapped fruitcake sitting there quietly in my kitchen cabinet waiting to be discovered. My dear wife was the one who took it out of its hiding place. I could barely bring myself to look at the thing. It had been in a beautiful tin. We had used the tin for storing some crayons for the boys. There the cake sat on the kitchen table all wrapped in red foil with a cellophane top so someone could see some of the fake fruit oozing out of it. Shudder. The very idea of eating some of that cake brought back all the stomach-churning memories of my boyhood ordeal at aunt Benna's. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

            My wife opened the wrapper and took our bread-slicing knife to it. She had no aversion to fruitcake. Neither did Matthew or Mark. They sat transfixed in their little bathrobes as each slice was made. With a glass of milk beside them, my beloved sons devoured their slices of cake and begged for more.

            "This is really good, Daddy," Matthew announced. "You ought to have some."

            "No thanks, son," I replied. "You boys can have my share."

            After my wife cut two more slices for the boys, she served herself a piece. I looked away. She began to eat with the words, "I hate to have this in front of you. It doesn't seem right."

            "That's okay," I explained. "I'm really not all that hungry."

            I lied. Why do people do that? Why do Christians do that? Why do preachers of the marvelous gospel of grace do that? It's because we are stupid and

weak and don't want to admit the truth. How would it look if I said, "I'm a total wimp. I'll not bring myself to eat something that I have decided in my mind is so thoroughly disgusting." Besides, to me fruitcake has always been sort of like eating hash. I never eat hash away from home because I don't know what's in it. And I never eat hash at home because I know what's in it.

            I went to bed early that evening after drinking a large glass of water. I dreamed about cake. German chocolate cake. Mississippi mud cake. My favorite was angel food with banana icing. I even dreamed of vanilla cake with coconut icing and bits of pineapple all over it. My dream was so realistic that when I awakened my mouth was watering.

            I glanced at the clock. It was only 3:30. in the morning. I looked outside. Snow was falling gently on the yard and trees. I tried to go back to sleep. Couldn't. So I got up, put on my slippers and robe and meandered through the house. I went to the bookshelf, but my feet really wanted to go to the kitchen. I guess the idea of vanilla cake with frosting and pineapple sort of opened my mind a bit. "Even if they were little pineapple candies instead of the real thing, at least it might taste like pineapple," I spoke to myself out loud.

            A moment later I found myself sitting at the kitchen table about to do the unthinkable. I had the knife in my hand and the rest of the cake unwrapped ready to slice. I promised myself I'd never eat another piece of fruitcake as long as I lived. There I was about to break my vow. I was glad nobody was there to witness such lack of self-control. I sliced a very thin piece of cake. A glass of milk was handy to wash down the awful stuff. Shiver. I bit into the cake without saying a prayer of thanksgiving.

            God must not have been pleased with me that moment in time. Perhaps he was teaching me a lesson my thick skull had resisted in times past. That first bite seemed almost tasteless in retrospect. I suppose it should have tasted like all the best food I had ever eaten since I was so ravenous. It was that second bite that captured my heart and soul. Rather than gulping it down like I had the first bite, I chewed it for the longest time, savoring the nuances of mingled flavors. I drank several swallows of milk and then took a third bite. Ahhhh! It was even better than the second. A smile came across my face. It was then I said a prayer to God and asked him to forgive me for my stubbornness and thanklessness.

            As I was about to take the last bite of that first slice of cake, I sensed a presence. When I turned around to look, there stood little Matthew. He was about the same age I was when I had my terrible fruitcake experience.

            "It's good, just like I said, hungh, Daddy?" he encouraged.

            "Yes it is, Matt! It's very good."

            "Can I have another piece with you, Daddy?" Matthew asked.

            "You sure can," I beamed.

            I cut two more slices; mine was a bit thicker this time. Even so, Matthew didn't complain that his piece was smaller. We had a good time of it there in the kitchen, just the two of us. I almost forgot I was broke. Matthew was oblivious to such financial concerns. One thing I knew for sure at that moment in time with

my beloved boy beside me---I was rich in the kind of wealth that has nothing to do with ownership of land, bloated bank accounts, and diversified stocks.

            You might not believe this, for I find it absolutely astonishing myself. The very next day in the mail a royalty check arrived I had forgotten. It was more than a week's pay. Soon after that some of the sisters from church came by the house and gave us a pounding. If you don't know what a pounding is, I'm about to tell you.

            The women had intended to have that surprise immediately upon our arriving to work with the church. But they had been busy and got behind on their good intentions. So, even though it was delayed a few months, they finally had gotten together with all those who were in cahoots with them and delivered to our door 25 grocery sacks full of all kinds of food. Peanut butter. Bread. Spaghetti. Canned fruits and vegetables. Even junk food. Potato chips and dip. Pretzels. A bag of candy for the three boys: Matthew, Mark and me. We had never had so much food in our kitchen cabinets. Oh, yes. That's what a pounding is. Pounds and pounds of food given to someone who is loved. Oh, my!

            You're really not going to believe this! Guess what was sitting on top of the groceries in the last bag we brought into the house? It was one of those long rectangular shaped Claxton fruitcakes. Matthew spied it first. "Look, Daddy! Another fruitcake!" Does God have a sense of humor? Surely so.

            I admit it. I love fruitcake. If you're engaged in sending those dear fruitcake presents along to somebody else, include me on your mailing list. They will cease their circular journeys at my kitchen table. For fruitcake reminds me of so many things that even preachers can forget. Fruitcake reminds me of the giver of all such delightful gifts. Fruitcake reminds me of how subtly pride can get a strangle hold on someone. Fruitcake reminds me of simple pleasures.

            I'd love to relive that moment during an early winter morning with my four-year-old and nothing to eat but a slice of cake and a glass of milk. Fruitcake also reminds me never to give up when times are tough. My Father promised me that he would not allow his children to go begging for bread. And sure enough, young Goad didn't beg.

            Thanksgiving is now a matter of thanksliving with the Goads. And from that chilly early morning on, whenever I am served a piece of fruitcake, I always remember to say my prayer of thanks before taking that first bite.

            Behold, the fruitcake.

In Defense of the Defenseless

In Defense of the Defenseless

We refuse to applaud the continuing slaughter of unborns while abortionists

engage in bravado over the "medical service" they are providing

by Steven  Clark Goad

I have never been more disappointed or appalled at an article than the "My Turn" piece by Dr. Morris Wortman in the December 14^th  issue of Newsweek. Dr. Wortman is an abortion provider who is proud of his profession of terminating the life of defenseless infants. In the wake of the recent Dr. Slepian killing not 60 miles from Wortman's own home, Wortman attempts to solicit our sympathies because, as he informs us, his life is irrevocably changed by the killing so close to home. Does he give any thought about how he "irrevocably" changes the lives of every unborn infant he kills? At first reading I thought his article might have been a parody of sorts, with the angst and self sympathy expressed more like something from Saturday Night Live than genuine ethos emanating from the psyche of a baby killer.

Dr. Wortman lets us know immediately that Slepian's demise came on the heels of Wortman's seven-day mourning shiva for his dearly departed mother. Is his shiva involvement supposed to let us know that he is a pious and devout human being? We wonder how many shivas he has held for the countless lives he has take by abortion. It occurred to me that had his mother been aborted, such a shiva could not have been celebrated. Dr. Wortman tells of the heart wrenching emotion of his daughter not wanting to lose her father to an early demise at the hands of some lunatic who might "take him out" because of his penchant for terminating the life of babies en utero. Wortman expresses pride in his training of others who will keep the baby-killing profession alive and well into the future. He tells of his wife spontaneously shielding him when they get out of the car to go into the house and how friends confided that they were afraid to come to his house for dinner, for fear of their own safety. Who, pray tell, shelters these unborn ones who are of all creatures most helpless?

Wortman attempts to garner more sympathy by speaking of all the recent deaths in his family, which has absolutely nothing to do with his profession of terminating lives. He is now the only survivor in his family who can carry the torch to assist mostly women inconvenienced by an embarrassing pregnancy. His parents used to joke with him about keeping his weight down. They would laugh when he would remind them that instead of dying from natural causes, his family died from gas chambers or bullets. Strange indeed to resurrect the spectre of Nazi Germany in an article promoting abortion, when his profession is engaged in the taking of life, not with gas or bullets, but with saline solutions, surgical knives, suction devices and incineration. Why is the killing of his Jewish relatives more a holocaust than the killing of millions of unborn babies every year? Couples wanting to adopt are on waiting lists for years and cannot because doctors like Wortman and his trainees are taking lives before they can even begin them.

Wortman informs his audience that he has been paralyzed by the recent death of his baby-killing colleague, Dr. Slepian. I doubt that the paralysis will keep him from paralyzing more unborn permanently. Will someone who is not afraid of risking being politically "incorrect" please inform me what the difference is between what Dr. Wortman does than what the prom attendee did who placed her baby in a trash can in the rest room and then proceeded to dance the night away with her date? The difference, if I may answer my own question, is that Wortman is supposed to be applauded and paid for his dastardly deed, while the girl in question is considered a murderer. Well, this lone dissenter isn't buying it! And I suspect the majority of thoughtful and spiritually devout people aren't buying it either.

Dr. Wortman uses a euphemism for abortion that apparently is intended to soothe the obvious. "Pregnancy termination" by any other terminology is still the sapping of life from the most innocent of human beings. The good doctor, now bemoaning a life having to be led in fear of termination, attempts to garner sympathy for poor women who want to kill their babies but have to do it in hospital areas not brightly colored as those in the delivery areas. What would Wortman have us do, have balloons and a party for every baby killed by him or one of his colleagues? He cries for those women who don't get much sympathy and support when they come wanting to "terminate" the babies they are carrying. He thinks we ought to give them encouragement with nicer accommodations and sympathetic understanding. Would a yellow wall with a Winnie the Poo mural on it make the taking of new life any less reprehensible?

This physician, whom I presume took the Hippocratic Oath, asks for us to understand his struggle in providing what he refers to as "modern medical procedures" to help women control their inconvenient pregnancies. If this is where modern medicine has advanced, I  want no part of it. He presents his determination to keep killing babies as if it is a matter of honor with him. "Is there any chance I will stop doing abortions?" he whines. "No, not as long as I have something important to offer women in this community." Something important? He pleads for our pity for having to fortress himself within his home and office just in case some baby lover might decide to terminate the terminator. I would be concerned as well if I were Dr. Wortman.

Of all the things to bring up in such a horrifying and self-serving piece of propaganda, Dr. Wortman pines for the time when he can be a better father and perhaps travel to the Holy Lands. The irony of mentioning the Holy Lands reminds many of the infanticide carried out by King Herod during Jesus' infancy. How dare this "medical provider" attempt to sanctify the killing of unborn babies by referring to a future trip to the Bible lands.

A rose by any other name is still a rose. Killing healthy fetuses is hardly a vital medical service, unless some of us believe the kind of spin doctoring that has been taking place in Washington recently where words cease to mean what they have always meant. If nuances of meaning are dependent upon what "is" is, then perhaps the killing of unborn babies is indeed a vital medical service.

Ironically, in his last paragraph, Dr. Wortman confides to us the death of relatives at Treblinka at the hands of the Nazis. It occurs to this scribe that we may owe an apology to Hitler and Nazi Germany if we continue to shudder in horror at what that kind of atrocity wrought upon a people such as the Jews but cannot weep for the most defenseless of all creatures, precious unborn infants whose holocaust is perpetuated every day in abortion clinics across the land.

Almost defiantly, Wortman declares, "My would-be assassin may yet determine how and when I die (sic) but not how I live." If I may speak for the multitude of aborted babies since Roe verses Wade, "We not only were assassinated before breathing air outside our mothers' wombs, we never had the opportunity to determine how we lived or died." So, Dr. Wortman, as you stand tall in defense of your marvelous profession, do you mind if one lone citizen doesn't get too choked up at your fear of someone terminating your life? One would suppose that you think your life is worth more than those you kill. God have mercy on all murderers, whether they perform their service by way of infanticide in a sterile clinic, or by genocide in a horrible prison camp in Treblinka.