Tag Archives: hope

Forgotten Letters

The parcel arrived last week from my 91 year old uncle who lives in South Carolina. The cover letter said, “I was cleaning and found these. They were written by your father to his sister, my wife. I thought you might like them.” Inside the package were eighteen letters written by my then 28 year old father who was stationed in Europe in 1944-1945. He was serving as the transportation officer providing logistical radar support for an Army Air Corp unit. He was assigned to one of those hurry-up-and-wait outfits. One day there might be a flurry of activity while the unit re-positioned its equipment one hundred miles up the road. Then three weeks of boredom would follow as they waited for new orders.

The letters, which are now yellow and have a musty smell to them, suggest that “Mail Call” was the highlight of the day. Each one was hand written and had a stamp indicating it was read by a censor. A few read like a travel journal. One described a three day visit to Paris which my father described as more beautiful than any city he had ever seen including New York. In another he described his visit to Rome, listing all the historical sites he saw with his Army buddies.

Most of the letters mention something about my mother. My parents met at a dance in 1943 when my father’s unit was training in Fresno. They got engaged and then his unit shipped off to Europe. She was a twenty-two year old beauty. He had escaped 200 years of family tradition in the South and was in love. I got the impression that my father could hardly believe what a lucky guy he was to have found my mother. They were married for 62 two years and that impression stayed with him to the very end.

My Favorite New Word

In describing my mother, my father said to his sister, “She is a swell little gal and her parents are swell too.” Swell is a word I would expect to come from the mouth of Jimmy Stewart. You don’t hear it often any more. Maybe I can change that.
My father’s letters sure are swell!

Aisle Seat

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Boarding Pass

Twice a year I fly from Los Angeles to Chicago to attend a four day meeting. I have been making these trips for at least ten years. I really enjoy the people I meet with but I dread the flight. Getting up before dawn, battling traffic to or from the airport, negotiating crowded air terminals, and then being crammed for four hours in a seat without leg room leaves me spent. But on my last return flight from O’Hare to LAX, I had a different experience.

While in Chicago, four nights in a hard bed had tweaked my back (again!) so I was feeling very stiff. And my assigned seat that afternoon was a window seat in the back row of a very full plane. The more I anticipated the flight home, the more anxious I became, and the more my back hurt. I was near panic.

At the end of our meeting, the group leader asked for prayer requests and I shared my dilemma. We then prayed and one of my friends said, “Lord, give Steve an aisle seat.” Something in my own spirit said “Yes!” But when we got to the airport an hour later, I checked in and discovered that the only vacant aisle seat left on the plane was in the emergency exit row and would cost me an additional $75. Since I was already steamed about the high cost of the plane ticket, I decided to try and trust that Jesus would take care of me regardless of what seat I had to sit in. But I also held on the prayer.

O’Hare Sketch

Twenty minutes before the flight was to board, I found a seat near the window in the boarding area and sketched the plane on the tarmac to distract my mind and ease my anxiety. One minute before we were to board, I hear the following: “Mr. Steven Stuckey, please report to the gate agent at gate H15.” It was at that moment that some part of me began to relax. I gathered my things and walked to the gate. The agent said, “Mr. Stuckey, I have a party of three that I am trying to seat together. If you are traveling alone, would you be willing to move to the aisle seat in the emergency exit row. That would really help me out.” While grinning from ear to ear, I said, I would be delighted to help her out. I took the new boarding pass, thanked her profusely and boarded the plane.

For the next fours, I experienced bliss. My joy was not because of my good fortune of landing in a spacious aisle seat. Rather, I was overcome with gratitude that the hidden presence that we call Father, had seen my anxiety, had heard my friend’s prayer, and had made Himself known in a small but significant way. It was as if for a moment, the curtain between the visible and the invisible had parted and I caught a glimpse of deeper reality. I saw that I am not alone and I sensed that our secret companion is both good and kind.

Jeremiah 1

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Before I shaped you in the womb, I knew all about you. Before you saw the light of day, I had holy plans for you: prophet to the nations—that’s what I had in mind for you. Jeremiah 1:3

Most of the older adults who knew me and my family as a child are long gone. Roles are now reversed. I know children and grandchildren who were dreamed of and prayed for long before they showed up in the delivery room. And that knowledge creates a kind of intimacy and hope. That hope has the power to shape our destiny. That hope is like a womb of rich, life giving, amniotic fluid strengthening our inner spirits.

I’m OK

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An older saint from our church, Nancy Zurfluh, died this weekend after a long battle with cancer. I had the chance to spend an hour with Nancy and her husband, Walt, about a year ago. They had served as missionaries their whole adult lives.

In the early 1950’s they were sent to Berlin to work with refugees. The city had been divided with the Russians controlling the east and Germans supported by the Western Allies in the west. As Americans, the Zurfluhs initially had permission to travel back and forth between the two halves of the city. They could often carry supplies and messages between families trapped on either side of the check point. Once the Berlin wall went up, however, all transit stopped. Families were cut off.

With tears in her eyes, Nancy described the plight of two sisters living on opposite sides of the wall. Without phone or mail service, they worked out a plan. Each evening at sundown, they would stand in the window of their respective apartments and wave a white flag to signal, “I’m OK.”

This week I sense Nancy Zurfluh is waving a flag for her husband, family, and friends to say, “I’m OK. I am safely with the one who loves me.”

Learning to Wait

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We are waiting for a child to be born—our grandson. He was expected a week ago but has yet to make an appearance. We can see him kicking and three days ago our daughter thought labor was about to begin. But alas, not yet. So what does this waiting mean? What lessons might this little boy teach me?

It makes a difference that we are waiting for someone to join us rather than just waiting for a process to come to completion. This someone embodies hopes, dreams, and potential. May his life make a positive difference in our world. May he find meaning through the babe born to Mary thousands of years ago. We do want the birth process to end but not so we can get on with our normal life. Life will transition to something new and the old normal will end.

Waiting is a big theme in the scriptures. We wait in faith. We wait for one who loves us. We wait for something beyond our control. It feels uncomfortable—an inherent tension, an unfulfilled longing, a sense of helplessness, a fight to keep hopelessness at bay. We are waiting for our grandson to be born.

P.S.
The wait is over. He arrived an hour after I completed this post. 8 pounds and 10 ounces of joy.