I had been standing in line for greater than an hour, waiting to satisfy a lady whose daughter, my son’s girlfriend, had just died in a automotive crash.
As I waited, I took a deep breath to maintain my emotions in check. Fate had overwhelmed us. My profession in finance had just tanked because I used to be fired as a whistleblower. We were drastically cutting spending and in peril of losing our home. And I used to be attending my second wake in three weeks.
Nineteen days before Kira died, my other son’s girlfriend, Ashley, had committed suicide. Her funeral was small and somber. But something remarkable happened. Debbie, a friend of Ashley’s family, had approached my wife and me with kindness. Numerous times, she got here over to ask if we or our sons needed any support. In a sea of darkness, Debbie was the one light we saw that day. I used to be surprised, comforted, and drawn in by her warmth and compassion.
Yet I soon forgot about her, consumed by the numerous tragedies that had taken over our lives.
Now as we waited in line to pay our respects to Kira’s mom, I saw Debbie again. She asked about each of our sons, concerned that our family had experienced two losses in such a short while. More kindness, more light, more fastidiously measured sweetness just when we would have liked it.
As she walked away, I turned to cover the tears in my eyes. Silently I wondered, Who is like that?
My thoughts returned to my two sons, who looked like they’d just returned from war. I knew they needed help piecing their shattered lives back together.
The line was getting shorter as I considered what to say to Kira’s mom. Having never met her, I knew only two things about her: She had been very near her daughter, and she or he was a Christian. I didn’t like “church people.” In my opinion, Christians were simple-minded and hypocritically judgmental. But I set those feelings aside to mentally rehearse the condolences I might share.
As I readied myself to talk, she reached out and took my hand in a friendly manner. Then she surprised me by speaking of my family’s grief reasonably than her own. “I’m so sorry Zach lost Ashley,” she said. “We are friends with the family, so we all know what a tragedy it was. When all that is over, wouldn’t it be okay if I spend somewhat time with Zach?”
I used to be stunned. Speechless. My wife picked it up from there, said all the suitable things, and moved us along.
As I walked away, I asked the universe, What is happening here? She just lost her daughter, her best friend, and she or he desires to look after my son? Who does that?
Just a few minutes later, Debbie got here by again and said, “Hey, , our pastor is here. Would you want to satisfy him?”
My mind split in two. On one side, I assumed, No! I don’t meet pastors. I don’t like pastors. I don’t like church people. On the opposite side, Hmm … something is weird here, and I’m curious. If this guy is even half as nice as these two women, perhaps I should meet him.
I discovered my lips forming the words seemingly by themselves: “Sure, that might be high-quality.”
It seems Pastor Peter was half as nice, and even greater than half. He was strong and comforting. And he invited our sons to a latest grief group he was starting. I didn’t know the best way to help my sons, but he did.
On the best way home, my wife turned to me and said, “I’m going to start out going to church.” It was not a request or an invite to affix her. She knew I hated church. Still, I volunteered to come back along.
At the funeral the following day, my wife heard words of life drawn from Scripture, and her memories of going to church as a youth got here flooding back to her. She was saved right then and there.
But my unchurched youth and my rebellious spirit locked me in a battle that might rage for months. Sure, I felt something stirring at that funeral and on the following Sunday mornings. But I’m not much of a feeler. I’m a thinker, and foremost in my mind was every argument against Jesus Christ and the Bible.
Just a few weeks after the funeral, my father-in-law sent me a study Bible within the mail. Again I struggled: Should I read the book I swore I might never read—the book that, in my opinion, was written by ancient kings to manage the masses? I picked it up and said, “God, should you are on this book, I’m going to be super upset, because I could have been improper for 50 years. But I assume … I would like to know.” I made the choice to read it, cover to cover.
Three months later, I used to be within the book of Leviticus after I began hearing from God. It was nothing audible—just a way. A way of somebody loving, kind, encouraging, strong, personal, and available.
Meanwhile, I began reviewing my character with God. Every night after I was reading my Bible, I might have a conversation about how I measured up or fell short. This might sound strange, but it surely seemed natural to me. I had been reading in regards to the Israelites, who were treated so well and promised a lot by God with just one condition—to stay faithful. So after hearing in regards to the Israelites being fickle in Genesis and Exodus, I used to be primed to guage myself.
Soon, God began working in me, changing bad habits and moral failures. Step by step, we worked on improving my character. This went on for 2 years, as God helped cleanse me of each willful sin in my life, including alcoholism.
During this process, I fell in love. I couldn’t wait to open my Bible each night. Soon, I began talking with God throughout the day too. He was all the time with me, encouraging me in my failures and celebrating with me in my victories.
Why, I wondered, had no one told me I could live like this? I had the God who created every thing talking to me personally each time I wanted. And he wanted me to be with him!
Top: Randy Loubier’s personal Bible. Bottom: Loubier’s church in New Boston, New Hampshire.
It took me 14 monthsto thoroughly digest the Old Testament. When I got to Malachi, I began getting nervous. I used to be about to go away my God—the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—to satisfy Jesus.
By this time, I used to be meeting every week with my pastor, peppering him with my old arguments. He had also arrange a weekly men’s breakfast with strong Christians who could answer my questions and encourage my faith journey.
Yet I used to be still nervous to satisfy Jesus. I had learned a great deal about him from people I respected. Weirdly, though, for a left-brained, science-oriented, just-the-facts type of guy, head knowledge wasn’t enough. I had built a relationship with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; he was my love, my sanctuary, my refuge, my ever-present assist in times of trouble.
Imagine my delight, then, after I began reading Matthew and the connection didn’t change in any respect! When I got to John and skim in regards to the Word who became flesh and dwelt amongst us, I discovered I’d been talking to Jesus all along.
Today, I remain a voracious Bible reader. Jesus, the Word, is every thing to me. He saved me. It wasn’t words I said or heard from another person. It was the Word.
But make no mistake, the church first sparked my curiosity. If God’s people hadn’t made me wonder about their peculiar love, I never would have cracked open God’s Word, and I never would have fallen in love myself.
Randy Loubier is pastor of Chestnut Hill Chapel in New Boston, New Hampshire. He is the creator of several nonfiction books and novels, including Slow Brewing Tea.
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