affection – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

October 31, 2024October 30, 2024

Wardrobe Check

Family.

Few ‘stand-alone’ words carry greater force in stirring emotions. For some, all manner of feelings can lie poised to erupt just at the mention of “family life”. A lot of them are feelings most of us know, springing as they do from memories out of our past. Stirring emotions ranging from cozy and warm to jagged and piercing, depending upon relationships enjoyed. Or not enjoyed.

While writing this, fresh news came of the death of a dear friend’s father. My friend, Amit – receiving word of his dad suddenly falling ill bought air tickets. He reached his native India from the U.S. shortly before the patriarch’s passing. The father and son shared a close bond. Reaching the homeland to console his mother, Amit now joins her in the mourning.

Family ties run deep. Few narratives in all the world’s literature bring the truth home so powerfully as Jesus’ story of the lost (prodigal) son. And it is the Luke 15 parable – introduced, contemplated and discussed – that rocked the world of a long parade of students. The routine had grown as predictable as the Rocky Mountain snows for the diverse groups, day after day and year after year, each morning just after breakfast. Bear Trap’s seven or eight Family Groups – each comprised of eight or so sharp college students of varying nationalities – combed through the passage with keen interest. Outright astonishment met most of them in the end, as the narrative portrayed outrageous selfishness colliding head-on with (a father’s) outrageous affection.

Campus ministers facilitating the group discussions were struck by notable reactions by the internationals. Hardly ever was there a student whose conscience was stung over the sin of brazen hedonism and wasteful living characterized by the story’s younger brother. However, many of these scholars from abroad (well-behaved, performance-focused) resonated with the conflicting struggles of the elder sibling. He’s the one who kept his nose clean, yet carried just as much ‘heart-distance’ toward the father as did the scandalous kid brother.

in Family Group time we were brought to wrestle with matters of the heart. Discovering in the process that we fractured souls, all of us, come draped in a collection of ill-fitting garments of our own tailoring.

March 2, 2023

Contagion

“Where there are prophecies, they will fail”, the writer pointedly asserts. In the same abrupt language, he follows that even faith fails. Then finally (to the readers’ glad relief no doubt) comes the apostle’s astonishing assertion, “Love never fails.”

Wow. Love never fails.

Such a breathtaking truth will mean a lot of things. Here is just one of the joyous discoveries about God’s unfailing kind of love. Love begets love.

In other words, once we welcome into ourselves God’s pure love in Jesus – repeatedly receiving it over and over – we soon find ourselves reveling in it. We never want to be without it or him. What’s more, a new dynamic has shown up on the scene.

We find it impossible to hold the agape of God to ourselves. By its nature, God’s love – like an overly-filled bucket of water – sloshes out on the surroundings. The Psalmist would not keep such news under wraps, “He restores my soul – my cup overflows”.

Love fueling love. By faith God’s much-thirsty kids simply receive. They take into themselves his generous and forgiving acceptance of them, his free-flowing affection toward them. So, Drinking. Drinking, they receive. They want never to stop receiving. Such a mindset exactly reflects the highest hope their Father above entertains. Heaven dances!

Bookshelves overflow today, and likely groan under the weight of account after biographical account of history’s multiplying disciples. In the truest sense these apprentices are pure lovers. They are being fed and fueled on the Father’s love. Such apprentices have tasted and have drunk of the Spirit’s living waters. Narrative upon narrative recounts the multiplication factor. Spanning generations and language groups – traversing mountains and deserts and plains. “Love never fails”.

It is often noted (sorrowfully and accurately) that hurt people hurt people.

By contrast, the saving love Jesus introduces into our strife-plagued world carries within it seeds of a kind of holy contagion. Like an unbridled virus on the move. From the holy contagion all those flourishing branches – linked everyone to the single common Vine – yield up succulent fruit, fruit of the Spirit. The kingdom expands. From it there springs a cycle,

Loved people love people.

May 19, 2015August 28, 2017

Commonality

The Plymouth sedan rolled to a stop in the parking lot of our little house of worship. The left door opened and a metallic glitter caught my eye as the driver began the process of exiting her car. It was a process. She swiveled slowly so both her legs, framed in stainless steel braces, dangled to the outside.

What caught my eye next was her face. Angelic? The adjective wasn’t in my word-store then but, yes. A quality beamed from the young woman’s face. Almost like a glow. Opaline’s smile overtook me. It has never left.

Falling in love with Opaline was more enchantment than romance. An unlikely combination of hardware and disposition fueled the attraction. Full limb braces on both legs combined with her smile. My meeting her at roughly age five spawned a long journey of regard. And affection. How can full-length leg braces and this kind of smile converge? My gaze dropped. I surveyed my malformed shoe fashioned so by pressure from an equally malformed foot. I smiled just as the reason for the smile caught up with the action itself. I shared a common affliction. . with an angel!

What could a flooded pasture and a paralyzing disease have in common? Perhaps nothing.

My father, Clyde Lout, was a living testament to a rural adage. Dust bowl issues succeeded in taking the boy out of the country and on to California urban centers. Nothing prevailed however at taking the country out of the boy. Oklahoma soil, long recovered from the droughts of the 1930’s, beckoned.

We moved to a small acreage outside town. Twin pear trees in the pasture – limbs heavy with their treasures most summers – supplied Tim and me with climbing and feasting pleasures. Don’t eat them when they’re green! was our mother’s (sometimes-heeded) admonition.

Our sister Betty exercised more wisdom than her young siblings. Tim and I first learned to swim near the same pear trees in the pasture. Not in a pond or in a stream running through the pasture. We set in motion our first-ever strokes in the pasture itself.

A red-brown waterway called the Deep Fork River snaked through the countryside west of our place. During a late spring season in the mid-1950s continued rains flooded the Deep Fork. Ongoing downpours overflowed every creek and stream.

Rising waters flooded lowlands, submerging much of our five acres. Once the rain stopped my brother and I splashed about in the chest-deep mix of water and floating debris. Discovering buoyancy we propelled our way through tree bark, sticks and limbs, assorted leaves and hollowed pecan shells. And here and there – given it was the habitat of farm animals – other matter as well.

My second bout with the polio virus far exceeded the first in its severity. Whether my pastureland swim factored into the soon approaching paralysis is unresolved.

I was nine years old. My legs simply stopped working.