Please Join Us in Honest Reflection on Grief & God

Thank you for posting prayers and notes during the search for the missing climbers on Mt. Hood. Please continue to pray for the families who are grieving and also that Brian and Nikko will soon be found. Family members are continuing to read the words of comfort and heartfelt friendship posted here.

We invite you to join our discussion below, as we reflect together on God's mysterious ways and seek a deeper relationship with Him.

“Faith sees best in the dark”

It's been a long time—years actually—since we've posted anything here. Still, people have continued to come to this site.

Stephen Colbert's recent interview of Vice President Joe Biden was a powerfully vulnerable and very moving conversation about grief and faith. We felt it was worth sharing.

The Vice President captured our sense of life after loss when he quoted of Simon Kierkegaard,

"Faith sees best in the dark."

We have drawn comfort from similar words written by Nicholas Wolterstorff after he lost his son in a climbing accident,

"I shall look at the world through tears. Perhaps I shall things that dry eyed I could not see.

FJ & CJ
 

---

Note:

To read more about the Kierkegaard quote, go to:  "Faith Sees Best in the Dark": Joe Biden and Kierkegaard.

Wolterstorff's quote comes from his book, Lament for a Son, p.69.

In the Shadow of Mount Hood

Midnight, it is said, is the portal between this world and the next and is somehow in league with chaos, death, and mystery. It is the moment of dark visitations. So it was for me in December 2006. My sleep was interrupted by a phone call, and I was instantly shocked into full consciousness: My younger brother was trapped in a snow cave on Mount Hood, and an unyielding blizzard prevented rescue.

read more ...

In the Shadow of Mount Hood:
Meeting God in the Mystery of Grief
by Frank A. James III
Published September 2010, Christianity Today

Déjà Vu

The names are different, but the agony is the same. Instead of Kelly, Brian and Nikko, the names are Katie, Luke and Anthony. One body recovered, two experienced climbers missing (as of 14 December 2009). The search & rescue effort is hampered by extreme weather conditions. The somber sheriff is surrounded with microphones from reporters and family members try to hold themselves together while their hearts are stuck in their throats. Three flawed followers of Jesus are lost on Mount Hood in a cold December. This tragedy is the last thing I wanted as I prepare myself to enter into the mouth of mourning for the third time.

All year, every day, my wounded heart bleeds with grief. The bleeding ebbs and flows but never stops entirely. I hide my wound behind my work and ministry and manage to do what I am supposed to. There even have been a few moments of joy in the last three years. When our large boisterous and fractious family gathers, there is always a subterranean consciousness that someone is missing. And now Mt. Hood is threatening to do the same to others.

What can I say to the families who are this very moment huddled together, grasping for every encouraging report, weary from sleepless nights and long days, fiercely holding out hope?

I have no magic wand or pious platitudes that will make it all go away. It is already too late for Luke’s family. But for the loved ones of Luke, Katie and Anthony, I can only say, you are not alone. Somehow God is present in the storm—for the climbers and their anxious families. That does not remove the fear, the anxiety and the struggle; it does remind us that God is there when we reach out into the darkness. It is no doubt foolish to think I might have anything helpful to say to the remaining families because they are so vulnerable just now—but perhaps they will listen because it comes from a broken heart. David reminds us all in Psalm 46 that “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” David does not promise that our loved ones will be rescued from the mountain. Nikko, Brian, Kelly and now Luke, were not rescued. David does not promise there will be no trouble or any heartache in this life. He only promises that God is with us in the trouble.

I don’t exactly know what this will mean for each one. For me, it has meant that I can shout out loud my frustrations and even say things I don’t really mean; I can weep quietly in my bed in the middle of the night; I can look up into the sky, stretch out my arms and ask why? In all of this anguish, God was present even when I felt alone. I don’t understand this paradox: how I can feel so alone and yet sense in my bones that God is near? David describes much the same experience in Psalm 10. David cries out in verse 1: “Why, O Lord do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” But then David declares unequivocally in verse 17: “You hear, O Lord, the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry.” It is a mystery—somehow both are true at the same time.

Mount Hood is a monster—a beautiful monster, but a monster none the less. Like the ancient sirens that seduced sailors in Greek mythology, Mt. Hood lures adventurers to its magnificent slopes and then freezes their lives away. God is not a monster. He is a mystery that pulls me toward Him even as I squirm and resist. And He is there in the dark places when I feel most alone.

On Thursday, 17 December (the day the rescuers found Kelly), I will go through my annual ritual of smoking a cigar, drinking a glass of wine while listening to foot-stomping honky-tonk music. I will shout out loud and says things I don’t really mean. I will lift my empty hands to the dark sky and ask why. And I will remember Luke, Katie and Anthony along with Nikko, Brian and my dear outrageous irrepressible brother—Jeffrey Kelly James.

Rock on little brother.

FAJ

The Silence of God

by Andrew Peterson from his album, Love and Thunder




Unfortunately, this video is no longer available. You can read Peterson's powerful lyrics here

Cigars in Heaven

My thanks to those who continued to remember Kelly and our family. I am amazed and blessed that so many continue to check the website and often leave the most wonderful messages. On dark days, these words of encouragement are like rays of light.

It has been two years since Kelly’s frozen body was found in a hastily dug snow cave near the summit of Mt. Hood. In the months following Kelly’s tragic death, we stumbled reluctantly back into the everydayness of our lives. Gradually, the earth returned to its rotational axis, and we all have done our level best to press forward even though our hearts are still broken and tears remain close to the surface. God is still on his throne ruling the universe, but seems much more mysterious and unfathomable than before. And Kelly is enjoying the presence of God—Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

If someone were to ask me, would I remove Kelly from his glorious bliss and return him to this fallen world with its veil of tears—my answer would be: Yes, a thousand times yes! If I could utter an incantation or wave a magic wand that would have stilled that deadly unrelenting snow storm so that Kelly (along with Brian and Nikko) would have been miraculously rescued, I would do it in a nano-second. I am selfish I know.

Today, on the second anniversary of the discovery of the body of my little brother, I have taken the day off from work and in the evening I plan to drink a glass of wine, listen to some funky down-and-dirty Texas alternative country music and smoke a cigar in Kelly’s honor. I will drink the wine to numb the pain of his loss (which refuses to fade away) and I will listen to the country music because that connects me in a mystical way with Kelly. I actually hate cigars, but I know Kelly planned to smoke a cigar with Brian and Nikko once they reached the other side of the mountain—and so I will smoke my cigar in recognition (but not quite celebration) that they all have reached the other side. I smoke in their stead because I doubt there are cigars in heaven.

Frank

Holding Fast

Karen James' book, Holding Fast: The Untold Story of the Mount Hood Tragedy, tells the story of the crisis on Mount Hood in which her husband Kelly (Frank's brother) and his two climbing partners, Brian Hall and Nikko Cook, lost their lives.

In the book, Karen tells the story of her relationship with Kelly, their shared faith in God, and her personal journey with grief. She also employs her expertise as an investigative reporter in her search for answers of what went wrong. Her conclusions are endorsed by search and rescue experts who were involved in the search.

Saturday, November 15, on the Today Show, Lester Holt interviewed Karen about her book.

To watch the interview, go here.

Karen's website is: http://www.holdingfastforpurpose.com/

The Shack

There's a rickety old shack in the Oscar winning movie, Forest Gump, where Forest's best friend Jenny grew up. Jenny's shack is also the place that hides her darkest, most painful memories—early years of sexual abuse.

After they reach adulthood, Forest and Jenny revisit the shack. It is a powerfully wrenching scene when Jenny, enraged by the memories she cannot shake, hurls fistfuls of rocks at the hated shack. Later, Forest finishes the job by flattening it with a bulldozer. But the ill-effects of childhood suffering are able to withstand Forest's demolitions efforts.

Paul Young’s runaway bestselling novel, The Shack, takes up a similar theme.

The shack in Young’s tale is the site where Missy, the beloved young daughter of the main character Mack, is brutally murdered by a sexual predator. The impact of her brutal death on Mack is, as you can imagine, utterly devastating. Like Forest’s friend Jenny, Mack lives a tormented life because of what happened to his little girl in the shack. The shack casts a dark and terrible shadow over his life that he can’t escape.

The shack—that dilapidated vacant old eyesore—comes to represent unspeakable loss and an open wound in Mack’s soul. Just like Jenny, Mack returns to the place most abhorrent to him, drawn by a note in his mailbox signed “Papa”—the name his wife Nan uses most often for God. But unlike Jenny’s story, Mack’s story doesn’t include a bulldozer scene. Instead of trying to destroy the shack, Mack enters it alone. He is angry, skeptical, fearful, and filled with revulsion.

Yet it is in returning to the place that pains him most that Mack has a life-altering, redemptive encounter with God.

Young's novel has attracted an enormous readership which, in itself, would be reason enough to discuss his book here. He has also drawn fierce criticism from Christians for his portrayal of the Trinity and for his theological views which he is audacious enough to put into the mouth of God.

From my vantage point, it seems counterproductive to debate, when Young is serving up to us on a platter an amazing opportunity for deep conversations and real ministry with so many people. We may not like every detail of the book or agree with every theological statement it contains. (And in all fairness, Young’s critics should also inspect C.S. Lewis and Tolkien, not to mention their own views, under the same theological microscope.) But Young is doing here what most people do every day. He’s asking the tough theological questions that hound every wounded soul. (If you’re not in that demographic, sooner or later you will be, so this is for you too.)

Why do bad things happen—not just in the abstract, but to me? Does God really care about me? Why is my life such a mess, if God is truly good?

And here’s one to ponder: How do we present God as Father to this father-starved generation and call them to draw near to Him, when the mention of “father” conjures up images that are uncaring, distant, and (in more cases than we’d like to admit) abusive? Young tackles that question head on by starting in the kitchen with “Papa” represented as a warm, embracing African-American woman and leading Mack from there to know “Papa” as Father who will shepherd him gently through the hardest stretches of his journey.

I suspect one explanation for the skyrocketing sales of this book is that there are a lot of hurting people in this world who long for an honest discussion of the big questions they are already asking. Young is giving them that discussion.

I read and discussed The Shack with six highly respected, theologically minded people. All seven of us are seminary graduates with years of experience in theology, biblical studies, and pastoral concerns. You may be surprised to learn that our discussion touched only briefly on the theological controversy and then went in another direction. Yes, we are all seminary graduates capable of wading into the controversy. But we have another thing in common which changed our reading of Young’s book.

We all have shacks.

If you’re hurting—if there’s a painful, immovable fixture on the landscape of your life—this book will touch you in your deepest place. It did that for all of us. Frank and I felt a deep connection between Mack's struggles and the shack we are dealing with in the aftermath of his brother Kelly's death in the snow cave on Mount Hood.

The Shack is about revisiting the hard places—the shacks—of our lives and wrestling honestly with God there (instead of avoiding, ignoring, or trying to bulldoze it). Somehow God meets us in our shacks. This is the consistent story of God’s people all through the Bible: Job, Abraham and Sarah, Naomi, Hannah, David, and Jeremiah, to name a few.

The Shack is about being reassured of God’s relentless love for you in the presence of your greatest reason to doubt Him. How ironic for Mack to come to grips with God’s love at the murder scene of his daughter where God’s love seemed so wholly absent. I’ve always said, I’d rather hear about God’s love from someone who believed they had lost it, than from someone whose rosy life never forced them to doubt.

The Shack is about the importance of the hard places in our lives. In our victorious, prosperity-obsessed, air-brushed Christianity, we completely miss this. There’s a lot of truth to the charge coming from people who are leaving the church that we are not honest about the shape of our lives and the state of our faith. In the church, shacks are secrets unless something unforseen blows your cover. Shacks are shameful. And the doubts they produce are signs of spiritual failure, not the path to growth.

I don’t necessarily advocate full public disclosure of our deeply private struggles, but there surely is a place for us to acknowledge to one another that we all have spiritual struggles, we wrestle with doubts about God, and we all have our shacks.

Biblical sufferers offer us that kind of honesty, and we should be grateful that Paul Young has been that honest too.

Have you read The Shack? What are your thoughts?

Note: If you’re interested reading in a thoughtful review, here’s a more extensive analysis by Professor John Stackhouse, who personally interacted with the author at Regent College, Vancouver, BC:

Stackhouse: In Defense of Ideological Fiction

Stackhouse: Some Theological Concerns, Part 1

Stackhouse: Some Theological Concerns, Part 2

Stackhouse: Some Celebrations

Carolyn's post was published originally at www.whitbyforum.com

"Generosity Springs from Grief"

The Oregonian, Portland's main newspaper, ran an article Tuesday, February 19, about the families of Brian and Nikko, the two climbers who have never been found.

Dwight Hall spent most of the day Monday driving around Mount Hood,taking advantage of the clear, sunny weather to take in the 11,239-foot peak from different angles. He lingered longest on the mountain's northeast face, where searchers believe his son, Brian Hall, died with another climber in December 2006.

The mountain, said Dwight Hall of Rapid City, S.D., "has a draw on me."

It's a sentiment shared by many of the search and rescue professionals -- some paid, some volunteer -- who routinely drop everything to look for missing climbers, hikers and skiers on the nation's busiest mountainside. And it's why Hall wanted to be here to thank searchers for their desperate efforts 14 months ago and to hand over the largest donation in memory for most of the organizations.

Read the full article here:

http://www.oregonlive.com/news/oregonian/index.ssf?/base/news/1203393315115100.xml&coll=7

Mount Hood climbers' families celebrate lives lived passionately

07:05 AM CST on Monday, December 17, 2007

By BRANDON FORMBY / The Dallas Morning News
bformby@dallasnews.com

Hope that Kelly James, Brian Hall and Jerry "Nikko" Cooke would be found alive disappeared a long time ago. It's been more than a year since the two Dallas residents and the Brooklyn man vanished while climbing Mount Hood in Oregon.

"We feel very blessed that we haven't lost hope that we will see them again," Mr. James' wife, Karen James, said Sunday. "You just kind of muddle through your time on Earth until you get to be with them again in heaven."

Ms. James, church leaders and friends of the three climbers spoke often of faith, passion and the importance of living life to the fullest during a candlelight remembrance for the men held Sunday. The service marked the anniversary of their disappearance and the subsequent rescue efforts that garnered national attention. More than 75 people attended the tranquil ceremony at Park Cities Baptist Church in University Park.

Meanwhile on Sunday, Mr. Hall's family gathered more than 2,000 miles away at their own candlelit observance – at the foot of the 11,239-foot mountain where Mr. Hall was last seen.

"Today I stand where Brian, Kelly and Nikko's journey began," Mr. Hall's sister Angela wrote in a letter read by a family friend at the ceremony here.

Mr. James and Mr. Hall, both of Dallas, and Mr. Cooke, of Brooklyn, went to the summit of the mountain in early December 2006. Bad weather closed in and 48-year-old Mr. James became injured. Mr. Hall, 38, and Mr. Cooke, 36, apparently left Mr. James in a snow cave to seek help. Mr. James later made a short cellphone call to his family, which fueled hope that he would be rescued. But he died of hypothermia while waiting for rescue teams slowed by severe storms. His body was airlifted off the mountain.

Mr. Hall and Mr. Cooke were never seen again. Subsequent searches for their bodies, including one exploration as recent as September, turned up nothing.

Dr. Jack Martin, a minister at Park Cities Baptist, read a letter from Mr. Cooke's wife, Michaela, during Sunday's service. In it, she described the three men as inspirations who brought "joy, passion and love into the lives they touched."

"Please continue to keep Jerry and Brian in your prayers and hope that someday they will be found," her letter said.

Messages from relatives, friends and church leaders focused less on grief and more on the strength gained from spiritual faith. Mr. James' daughter Katie said she had the words from Philippians 4:13 – "I can do all things through Him who strengthens me" – tattooed on her arm after her father died.

"When I lost my dad, this verse came back to me, not for physical strength but for emotional strength," she said.

Many also praised the brave, adventurous and risk-taking natures of the men.

"They knew life is like the weather – it is unpredictable. But still, they climbed," said Gary Brandenburg, senior pastor of Fellowship Bible Church of Dallas, where the James family worships.

"They remind me that life is a gift. Each day is a package that should be opened immediately."

Mary Leslie Wells, a friend of Mr. Hall and his family, described the man known for rescuing stray animals and helping the homeless as a beloved personal trainer and soccer coach.

"He was a real gift from God," she said. "He was a true natural athlete."

Mrs. James said the loss of her husband was made more difficult because it happened so close to Christmas. But she also said she was thankful for the time she had with the man who proposed to her on Mount Rainier. During the service, she described Mr. James as a talented landscape architect and romantic, tender husband. She said he would often write her letters before going on climbs. In one, he said he would dream of coming home to her.

Mrs. James said, "Now I'm the one dreaming of coming home."

Photos by SONYA N. HEBERT/DMN
Siblings Katie and Ford James embrace at a remembrance ceremony at Park Cities Baptist Church for their father, Kelly James, and Jerry 'Nikko' Cooke and Brian Hall.
Karen James is pictured to the right.

Remembering—A Year Later

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Candlelight Ceremony

Remembering the Three Climbers:

Kelly James, Brian Hall, Nikko Cooke

4:00-5:00 p.m.
Park Cities Baptist Church
3933 NW Highway
Dallas, Texas

On December 12, CBS 11 in Dallas conducted an exclusive interview with Karen James and her family. To view the interview, along with television coverage of other events from this time last year, go to:

http://cbs11tv.com/local/mount.hood.climbers.2.609878.html

The Landscape Has Changed

Recently I heard author Donald Miller (a fellow-Oregonian) describe the perfect arrival by air into the Portland International Airport. It always includes a sighting of Mount Hood—breathtakingly beautiful as she towers above the forest covered Cascades. She dominates the landscape. I can't count the times I have peered out the window of a home-bound plane hoping to catch a glimpse of her. A warm almost-home feeling comes over me whenever I do.

This past August, when I flew home to visit my parents in Portland, Mount Hood didn't disappoint. The skies were clear, and she was all a-glow in the late afternoon sun. Other passengers in the plane were completely enthralled. But for me, this time the sight of her was painful.

We flew past the north face, the site of Kelly's snow cave, and instead of admiring her beauty along with everyone else, I could only think of how treacherous she can be, the grief she represents, and the fact that even now, somewhere in her snowy skirts, she still is hiding Brian and Nikko.

Years ago, my mother gave me a book by Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India. Carmichael was a forerunner of those today who are rescuing women from sex trafficking. She devoted her life to the rescue of little girls who were being sold into temple prostitution by their destitute families. Her activities were permanently curtailed (taken up by others) when a tragic accident rendered her an invalid for the rest of her life. It was a terrible grief. From a bed of pain, she reflected on a spring landscape—a photograph of an old ruin on a hillside that was covered with cherry blossom trees. Her words mean a lot more to me now.

The trouble which grieved the night has not floated off on the wings of the morning. There has been a turning of the captivity and the hard weather has passed, but there is still something stark in our landscape, like the ruin in the midst of the white cherry. There is a fact, a memory . . . that strikes up and faces us wherever we look. That knot of painful circumstances . . . These things still are; it would be a kind of falsehood to act as though they were not.

—Amy Carmichael, Gold By Moonlight, (36).

Today marks a year since we first learned that Kelly was in trouble on Mount Hood. Some things will never be the same. Even the landscape is different now.

We are amazed that so many still visit this website—that so many are still praying for the families and for the unfinished search for Brian and Nikko. Thank you for your friendship and for remembering what we cannot forget.

Carolyn

Search Resumes for Brian and Nikko

10:00 p.m. ET:

This Saturday evening report and video give information about Saturday's search and of the climbers' gear that was found. Obviously it is a big disappointment that they did not find Brian and Nikko today. At the same time, it is deeply encouraging that so many search volunteers turned out and that they haven't given up on their hope of finding and bringing the two missing climbers home and giving closure to their grieving families.

http://www.katu.com/news/8641586.html


Here's another news report with a video that was filmed Friday before the search began:

http://www.koin.com/Global/story.asp?S=6821679&nav=menu494_2


5:20 p.m. ET:

Searchers located some of the climbers' gear stashed a couple hundred feet above where Kelly, Brian and Nikko started their climb.

http://www.katu.com/news/8641586.html


12:00 p.m. ET:

Searchers are back on Mt. Hood this weekend looking for Brian Hall and Nikko Cooke. See these Portland area news reports from KGW and KATU for more information about today's search, along with articles and videos from December 2006:

http://www.kgw.com/news-local/stories/kgw_072007_news_climber_search.9473805d.html

http://www.katu.com/news/local/8631857.html

http://www.katu.com/news/local/8631857.html?video=YHI&t=a

Thanks for your prayers.

Carolyn

Disney, Dreams and Dancing in the Street

Contrary to all the television ads, summer is the wrong time to visit Disney World in Orlando. In summer, the weather is miserably hot and humid. You can get soaked (or zapped by lightning) in one of Florida’s afternoon monsoons. The place is jammed with tourists, and you’re sure to spend a lot of time standing in lines.

But when Jack, our thirteen-year-old nephew and the youngest of Kelly’s four kids, came to see us, none of that seemed to matter.

Our mid-afternoon decision to take an ice cream break just happened to coincide with Disney’s daily Main Street parade. We sat with our ice cream cones at a café table off to the side from all the commotion, while Main Street erupted with a virtual Who’s Who of Disney characters scampering and dancing about, singing jubilantly: “Just believe and your dreams will come true!”

I felt a bit disoriented listening to the music, sitting there between my husband and my nephew who carry around with them an unseen ache and broken dreams that no amount of wishing on a star can fix.

In some ways it all seems backwards. I mean, shouldn’t Christians be the ones singing and dancing in the street? Shouldn’t we be the ones whose dreams are coming true, who are on top of the world? After all, we belong to God. We are His children—loved and pursued by Him. We have His promises. When trouble strikes, we know where to go for help. Yet here we sit on the sidelines with melting ice cream and broken hearts, missing Kelly, while others are dancing.

When Paul said, “we sorrow not as others,” he was reassuring us that the sorrow we experience in this world is mingled with the solid hope that sorrow won’t have the last word. Somewhere along the line, however, his words have also come to mean, in some sense, we sorrow less than others. Somehow, because of hope, we’re supposed to rise above our losses. We should have the strength not to fall apart or burst into loud sobs at the funeral. We should smile bravely, hold our heads up high, and show the world the difference faith makes at a time like this.

But when the loss is so personal, I wonder if the difference between how we and the world sorrow means that at some level we sorrow more, not less.

The prophet Isaiah described the Messiah as “a man of sorrows.” We see the man of sorrows when He weeps at the tomb of Lazarus. Jesus didn’t weep because He was helpless to prevent Lazarus’ death or because He didn’t know what to do now that his friend was dead.

At one level, Jesus’ weeping reassures us that God doesn’t keep Himself at a safe emotional distance from the sorrows we experience. His heart is bound up with us. He is moved with compassion. He knows how the story will ultimately end. But He enters into our sorrows now and He weeps with us.

But is there a sense in which we, in our sorrows, enter into His greater sorrow? When God created the world, he didn’t allocate space for cemeteries, hospitals, counseling centers, or legal courts. He created a perfect world. And we have spoiled/are spoiling it. According to His original plan, Kelly at 48, Ruth Bell Graham at 87, the stillborn child, the young soldier returning home in a flag draped coffin are all cut short. And so, although God knows exactly what to do about it and has launched a global rescue operation to make sure His world is eventually put right, that joyful prospect doesn’t negate the enormity of His sorrow now.

We grieve individual losses, estrangements, prodigals, broken down lives, the shattered dream. He grieves a world of losses, a world of shattered dreams. We suffer the blinding ache of a parent over a prodigal child. He feels the same ache for a prodigal planet. His is the distress of a master craftsman over a masterpiece destroyed—for the way things are is not the way He meant for things to be.

And so for the moment, we sorrow more. We sorrow for our losses, for our corner of His fallen world. And in our sorrowing, we enter into His grief. We sorrow, but not as others who have no hope. Our hope is sure. And that means one day we’ll be dancing in the streets, even if we don’t feel like dancing now.

Carolyn

A Kindred Spirit

Frank and I came across this lament on The Internet Monk's blog and reprint it here with his kind permission and our hope that his honest, heartfelt lament will minister to you as it did to us.


I Miss You

How long, O LORD?
Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
—Psalm 13:1-2


I miss you God.

It’s like you’re not around.

I see your world. I’m with your people. I’m surrounded by books about you. I read about you and talk about you. I teach others about you.

But I miss you.

I believe you’re there. I believe the Bible. I believe in Jesus. I don’t doubt your existence at all.

I miss you.

You. Not your people, or songs about you or books about you. I miss you.

I don’t miss all the theology in the books, the blogs and the lectures. I don’t miss the points of all the sermons. Or the answers to questions.

I have all those. Far more than I need, to be honest. But when David says, “Why are you hiding from me?” I know exactly what he is talking about.

I’m missing you, God.

All of the activities that go on where you are talked about don’t bring you to me. Nothing that’s said or done in church fills this empty place.

When I pray, I feel like I’m talking, and that’s all. I don’t feel like I’m your child and you are there delighting in me. I feel you are far away.

It’s like you moved on and didn’t leave your address. It’s like we lived in the same house, but you’ve moved out without telling me where you went.

I cried out to you last night. Over and over. I want you to hear me. I don’t need to get your attention. I believe you’re close by. But I can’t see, sense or feel you. I feel alone. Like I am talking to myself.

I am starting to resent those who know you are close to them. Why am I different?

When I knew less, when I was considered young and ignorant, I felt you close to me. Then I grew up, and now I’m in the middle of life. It feels like I have lost you along the way. Somewhere in the crowd I let go of your hand, and now I’m alone. I’m calling out, but there is no answer.

There are people who will ridicule me for saying I want you. They will say I’m too interested in emotion. I don’t care what they say. This isn’t about my theology. My theology is as good as I can make it by all my efforts at study. No, this is about being able to stop and say “God is close to me. God delights in me. God is my friend, my father, my ever-present Abba.”

Where did you go? Why did you go away? Did my sins make you go away? Are you teaching me something? Are you taking away your presence so I will walk on, by faith, without you? Is this the “trough” C.S. Lewis wrote about? Will there ever be an explanation?

I’m weary of explanations and answers. I’m worn out with principles and illustrations. I’ve heard talking for what seems like an eternity and it doesn’t bring you closer to me.

When this happens, I hear voices telling me I shouldn’t need to feel you, and I shouldn’t even want to feel you. They will say I’m not reading and believing the verses. They will tell me I’m not trusting.

I may not be trusting you as I should. It’s harder and harder to trust you in this loneliness. It’s hard to turn away from this emptiness and tell myself you are real. I believe all of the right things in my mind, but my heart is aching to have you close to me again.

You’ve seen my tears. I don’t suppose they impress you. Maybe they are selfish, or sinful. I just don’t know anymore. Those tears are my way of saying I want you again. I want you in the way I experienced you before anyone said “He’s smart” or “He knows about God.”

I miss you so much.

Please come back to me. Please tell me what to do. Please.

Michael Spencer
The Internet Monk
July 12th, 2007

Search Resumes on the Mountain

It has been quite a while since either Frank or I have posted anything. I'm realizing it isn't always easy to write about things so close to the heart, especially when the rest of life keeps moving at its usual hectic pace. On the outside, grieving takes a backseat to everything else, but on the inside there's an ache that never seems to go away. Which is, I guess, the reason so many of you keep coming to this website. At least here, we can admit we're hurting.

Since our last post, we have spent time with family members—Karen, all four of Kelly's kids, and Frank's mom. Everyone has good days and bad days. To be sure, there are moments when sadness sweeps over us and the tears flow. There are moments when we are bewildered by the mysterious ways of God. And there are moments when we miss Kelly so much it seems unbearable. But every day we forge on steadily ahead with our broken hearts. We all appreciate your prayers and expressions of love.

Uppermost on our minds now is the continuing search for Brian and Nikko. Sheriff Wampler told Frank they have never stopped searching by air. In June, the sheriff met with SAR teams to plan another search on the ground to take place in mid-July once the weather warms and Mount Hood sheds her snowy winter coat. Portland area temperatures were in the upper 90˚s Wednesday, so hopefully the warm summer air is working on the mountain. A search at lower elevations is scheduled for the weekend of July 21. Another search of the Eliot Glacier area, involving about 100 volunteer climbers with the Oregon Mountain Rescue Council, is planned for September 8.

For more details, see this July 10 report:

http://cbs2chicago.com/topstories/topstories_story_191224202.html

We will let you know if we hear anything. We are hopeful that they will be able to find Brian and Nikko and bring closure to their families and loved ones. I think Sheriff Wampler and the many volunteer searchers need the closure as well.

Meanwhile, please keep the sheriff and the searchers in your prayers.

Carolyn and Frank

Drifting Thoughts On Easter

Today we attended a beautiful Easter service, and the sermon was a vivid reminder that Jesus conquered death when he rose from the grave. We read the Nicene Creed with its marvelous stanza: “On the third day he rose again.” The dead body placed in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea had been lifeless on Friday, but on Sunday it was lifeless no more. By some other-worldly violation of natural laws, Jesus was breathing, talking, and walking in and among his astonished disciples. One doubtful disciple even felt compelled to put his finger into Jesus’ wound to convince himself that the crucified Jesus was indeed alive. It was hard to believe, but there before them all Jesus stood. The tomb was empty; death had been defeated.

During this uplifting sermon, my thoughts drifted (it happens to theologians too). Unable to reign in my mind (or was it my heart) I began to ask why the resurrection applied to Jesus, but not Kelly. Why did Jesus walk out of his tomb and Kelly did not? Both believed in “one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.” Both believed in the divine resurrection power. There was one irony. It struck me that when Jesus was buried, no one expected a resurrection—least of all his own disciples. But when we learned that Kelly was entombed in a snow cave at 11,000 feet, we publicly declared our hope and faith that he would come out alive—that there would be a kind of resurrection. I was devastated when Kelly was found frozen in death. I did not want to believe it. I wanted a resurrection, but it was not to be. Kelly was gone.

So what does the empty tomb of Jesus have to do with the snowy tomb of Kelly James? Everything. Kelly would have loved today’s Easter sermon because he confessed as I did today and as Christians have for nearly seventeen hundred years (since A.D. 325 when the Nicene Creed was written) that “We look for the resurrection of the dead.” Nicene Christians were not immune to the heartache of loss and grief. Over the centuries, and amid enough tears to fill an ocean, so many believers have had to bury loved ones in tombs. But they too hoped for a future resurrection.

As my mind wandered in the mists, I believed there was a profound and direct connection between the empty tomb of Jesus and the snowy tomb of my brother. I will henceforth say these precious words—“We look for the resurrection of the dead”—with a solemn hope and a new horizon in view. But I will not rest in peace until Kelly rises from the grave and leaves behind an empty tomb.

"For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost…But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep…For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive" (1 Cor. 15:16-22).

FAJ

Be With Me

Years ago, my family was rocked by the sudden death of my dad’s younger brother. This gifted physician, Christian leader in the community, larger-than-life personality, and centerpiece of our family was lifted out of our lives three weeks after he was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.

A memory of mine that stands out from events surrounding my uncle’s death is from the dinner at my aunt’s house following the funeral. Women from the church had prepared and were serving the meal. I remember, as they quietly moved around the table, that their eyes sometimes welled up with tears. I drew comfort from those tears back then, and the memory still touches me deeply today.

When I was a kid, a common Bible trivia question had to do with which verse in the Bible was the shortest. “Jesus wept” may have gotten a lot of attention for brevity, but it really deserves to be noticed more because it contains great wisdom in how to minister to the grieving. Instead of offering words of comfort to the distraught Mary who was grieving the death of her brother Lazarus (and Jesus surely knew the right thing to say), Jesus affirmed her grief and was with her in it. Jesus wept.

Surrounded by concerned friends after the death of his wife, C.S. Lewis, felt the need for something, but that something wasn’t words. “There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me,” he wrote. “I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.”

Several years ago, a friend of mine lost her baby in a terrible drowning accident. It is one of my deepest regrets that I didn’t go to her right away. I held back because I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t have answers. I couldn’t explain the whys to her or think of words to lift her out of her despondency. What I know now is that my friend didn’t need me to talk. She needed me to be her friend—to be with her in her grief—to hold her and to weep.

Last week, Frank spent time with another man who lost a loved one in a climbing accident a few years ago. Afterwards, Frank told me it just helped to be in the same room with him.

Grieving, I am learning, isn’t an event. It is a process. Right now I have no idea how long that process lasts. For some, I can imagine, it lasts a lifetime. But perhaps by following Jesus’ example we can find ways to allow the grieving to grieve and to be with them in their sorrow.

Carolyn

Things People Say

Sooner or later, when grief is under discussion, the subject of the things people say to the grieving is bound to come up. Bringing it up here feels a bit like opening a can of worms—not just because of what other people (often well-meaning people, I might add) have said about the three climbers, but because, even as I write, insensitive comments I have made flash through my mind. At one time or another, probably all of us have said something with the best intentions that had precisely the opposite effect from what we intended.

I'm also mindful of family members and don't want to invite a discussion that might cause them any more distress. Still this is an important part of grieving that needs to be raised so we can all learn better ways of caring for those among us who are hurting.

One of the comments we've heard most frequently both during and after the tragedy on Mt. Hood is the fact that the three climbers chose to take serious risks, and so “Aren't they responsible for their own trouble?” Everything from Rosie O'Donnell and Bill O'Reilly harshly criticizing the fact that taxpayers were footing the bill for rescuing climbers (an unfounded charge according to SAR volunteers) to close friends wondering out loud whether, along with processing bewilderment over God's mysterious ways, we should also be contemplating the kinds of choices people make that result in tragedies like this.

While I admit these comments make me wince, there’s no denying that Kelly, Brian, and Nikko (experienced and meticulous as they were) were involved by choice in a dangerous and potentially deadly sport. Every member of their families feared the terrible phone call that finally came in December telling us they were in trouble on a mountain. So yes, our guys knowingly took risks and loved what they were doing. And despite our fears, we were proud of their achievements. Yet, although I certainly wouldn't encourage anyone to take unnecessary risks, at the same time, I wonder what life would be like on this planet if none of us ever took risks or pressed the limits of our physical abilities.

But to be honest, knowing the risks they took doesn’t help me make sense of what happened to them. Especially since, even at lower levels, the rest of us are taking risks and sometimes making disastrous choices. The simple fact is that whether we realize it or not we’re all counting on God’s mercy and grace to see us safely through the day. Yet even for those of us who remain sensibly at the foot of the mountain, tragedies still happen.

I’m in the middle of a book manuscript based on the Old Testament Book of Ruth—a story that opens with a sequence of tragic events. Some Bible interpreters have backtracked Naomi’s story to point out the places where her family strayed from the right path and onto the path that led to tragedy. Surprisingly neither the narrator nor Naomi assume that point of view. Questions raised in the narrative and openly voiced by Naomi, don’t center around her behavior, her husband’s or their sons'. They center on God.

Even in Jesus’ day, when a tower fell and killed eighteen people, Jesus carefully explained that those who perished were no more deserving of such a fate than anyone else and redirected His followers' attention away from evaluating those who perished to focus on the God who holds us all in His hands.

No matter what happens, we can't confine God to a formula. His ways are far more complex than that. Sometimes the roof caves in on people like Job who are doing all the right things. Sometimes blessings rain down on a rogue. And sometimes there’s a strong relationship between human actions and the eventual outcome. There’s no telling which way things will go. Which casts us all back on God’s mercy and leaves us to live in the realm of faith, not formulas.

Besides, when your loved one is in trouble—no matter how they got there—your only hope is that God will have mercy, and you pray desperately for a rescue. Sometimes He rescues, as He did for three climbers lost on Mt. Hood a week ago. They walked off the mountain in good shape. Sometimes He doesn’t, as with Kelly, Brian, and Nikko.

And when He doesn’t, you tend to set aside the history that led up to the outcome. You simply end up wrestling with God. Which seems to be what He intends all along.

Carolyn

Piecing the Clues Together

[NOTE: I've updated this post to include the address of Tim Neville's intriguing article, "Search on Mount Hood: After the Storm," where he explains his theory about what may have happened to the climbers. You can read the article online at: http://www.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/mountaineering/rescue/mount-hood-2006-3.html]


Ever since Kelly, Brian and Nikko lost their lives on Mt. Hood this past December, climbing experts have been sorting through the clues and trying to figure out what may have happened.

In the March issue of National Geographic's Adventure Magazine, expert mountaineer Tim Neville (who reported on the search for Kelly, Brian, and Nikko for National Geographic & National Public Radio) weighs in on the discussion in his article, "Search on Mount Hood: After the Storm." The article, while painful to read at points, also makes a lot of sense and at least gives family and friends something credible to fill in the gaps of this story.

The same issue also includes a very informative interview with SAR veteran Steve Rollins of Portland Mount Rescue which answers some of the big questions non-climbers have been asking about major issues raised by the tragedy.

You can view photos of the search, the interview with Steve Rollins (I actually found two interviews with Steve), and several of Tim's reports during the crisis at:
http://www.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/mountaineering/rescue/mount-hood-steve-rollins.html

Carolyn