father – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

December 5, 2024December 4, 2024

In Pursuit

Although her length and breadth boasts an imposing 1.7 million square miles and hosts a vast mix of ethnicities, each individual inhabitant of the Indian Subcontinent is ‘a story being written’. Through the many years since our meeting, Nuren’s story leaves me smiling and, frankly, in wonder.

When Nuren arrived in Michigan he brought with him a rich heritage of India family and culture. Hearing Nuren recall his grandfather’s role in shaping his life is itself an excursion into a generations-long treasure. While his Hindu upbringing instilled elements that framed some of his worldview, Nuren’s insatiable quest for deeper meaning gave rise to relentless questions.

When a married couple, Amit and Glory – also from India and also student-residents in the Wolverine State – happened to cross paths with Nuren, a bond of friendship began forging. So much so that when the couple moved to Tulsa on a snowy January day for Amit’s further studies, their friend Nuren found every excuse to stay in touch.

Through a host of phone visits and added long drives to Tulsa, Nuren’s questions about the intersection of personal life and the Christian faith were earnestly posed. In a sustained environment of warmth and hospitality, his friends in T-town never wearied of the visits. To the contrary, Amit and Glory continually welcomed their keen-minded, inquisitive friend. Glory’s tasty curries found their way to the simple dining table around which robust questions and the occasional prayer were brought forward.

On a warm Summer day a couple of years after Nuren’s first Tulsa visit, we gathered at the home of veterinary friend Jim Osborn. The water temperature of Jim and Pam’s above ground pool was just right.

While further questions (some not yet thought of) would remain unaddressed for a time, our hungry-for-truth friend Nuren was ready to respond to Jesus’ call, “Come, follow”.

A fresh dry towel appeared. Broad smiles, perhaps a tear or two, touched the faces of several gathered. Glory and Amit beamed. We entered the pool.

“So now, upon the profession of your faith. . in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. . .”

November 7, 2024November 6, 2024

Happy Tears

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named*

Until their December visit to Colorado’s Bear Trap Ranch, several of the students had never seen snow. We offered up simple tips on navigating snow and ice after witnessing through barely-concealed grins their earlier attempts at the challenge.

Each exhilarating day of broomball on ice, indoor table tennis, family group, (pretend) Olympic games, and mountain hikes would at last wind down with mealtime. This was followed by a Christian ‘talk’ presented by a guest speaker. Nate Mirza of The Navigators endeared himself to the community time after time.

Through a small library toward the gathering room we moved after dinner, passing beneath the mounted head of a large and quite imposing form. The taxidermied head of ‘Bruce The Moose’ was affixed to a strong interior wall, peering down like a sentry keeping watch over library shelves laden with their literary stock.

I reflect on those yearly wintry seasons together with other community-centered events in a wide range of settings where groups of international students meet with a blend of fellowship, service and faith. I am stirred by a mix of nostalgia and gratitude. Whether it’s Bear Trap Ranch, the Springtime Car Care Clinic, our Saturday night ‘Strings n’ Things’, or road trips to Branson or St. Louis or Houston. One element seemed always to mark these times. The sense of family.

The final day of Bear Trap’s ‘International Student New Years Houseparty’ arrived – accented by scores of students scurrying about, rushing to toss their luggage into a waiting car or van. And (more urgently) rushing to get in a last hug from another student or campus ministry sponsor – complete strangers seven days before. Emotions ran high and winter coat sleeves served as Kleenex substitutes to catch the occasional and abrupt stream of tears.

A casual passerby taking in the scene might readily sense a sacred movement in the way a touching piece of music can stir heartstrings. Seeds of friendship had found their way into fertile soil within a short span at Beartrap. And some had been drawn deeper and deeper into a tighter-than-ever, more settling than imaginable, family identity. Through one who stays closer than a brother*.

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.

November 2, 2023November 4, 2023

Sweet The Sound

I was not well prepared for it, seeing my father in this state.

Since my last in-person visit with him five months prior, the ugly villain Mesothelioma had altered the physical frame of this good man I called Dad.

The disease, spawned and fueled through years of exposure to asbestos would rob yet another household of yet another industrial craftsman before their time.

I was thankful for the good people of Hospice, seeing to it that Dad’s heart desire would be realized. Of spending his final days under the same roof at home with my mom, his wife of 57 years.

Herself weakened through added hardships of her own, my mother had grown unable to see to Dad’s needs on the off days between Hospice visits.

That large host of adult children whose role ultimately involves the care of an ailing parent comprises a sector of humanity occupying a precious, even sacred, space. Arranging now a mattress and bedding on the carpeted floor alongside Dad’s bed I was entering such a space. Difficult as some moments became, I afterward reflected on the special honor God had truly afforded me.

Music helped.

Taking up a spot on a simple stool at my father’s bedside I settled in with an acoustic guitar. The sessions of strumming and offering up melodies from yesteryear ignited a spark of life all their own. I sensed my dad’s heart being sweetly moved. Even as potent pain meds would escort him again and again to either edge of consciousness, musical pieces themselves introduced to the soul their own unique medicinal properties. Each of his favored set of lyrics – several he had been heard humming during my childhood – were, I prayed, bringing him an added measure of peace. The Old Rugged Cross – Victory in Jesus – Amazing Grace.

The folks specializing in personality types would classify me as melancholic. Occasionally, sitting perched on the guitar stool, I caught my mind projecting forward. Should the passing of my own closing days be drawn out over a bit of time, someone might think to flavor up the environment, smuggle a little music into the room.

In the company of sacred sounds, dad lay quiet. Soon he would begin bridging the divide, with God. Heaven songs to receive him.

August 3, 2023August 3, 2023

Smart Steps

“If God wanted me to be a morning person, he would cause the sun to rise later in the day.” A good many people today might share this sentiment.

While the amusing line can strike a sympathetic chord in some, we would likely all benefit from at least giving thought to a practice common in Jesus’ day-by-day living.

And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed.*

When we think of it, every new day gets its start in the morning. A no-brainer insight, but one which can help us engage a common-sense truth if we are willing.

Morning persons or not, each and every day begins when we wake from sleep to launch (sometimes maybe shuffle) into it.

Jesus’ personal practice was to rise from sleep (in that normal way his fellow humans routinely do). Shortly after waking Jesus engaged his will to consciously direct his thoughts. Toward God. He was intentional at the start of his day, carving out a space and a time to individually give himself to the direct presence of the Father. We, in our day, might label it his quiet time. Regardless what we name it, this action of Jesus was predictable. Conversing with God is a thing he looked forward to. He would never consider choosing not to.

Inhaling and exhaling air is an activity we (as did Jesus) practice a lot, while almost never thinking about it. Breathing comes automatically. In his repeated ‘practice’ of meeting with God on his daily rising, Jesus had grown to pray ‘automatically’. Not as a robot responding to external commands, but as a much-beloved offspring. He purposely – eagerly as well – set aside those many lesser attractions, lesser voices clamoring for his attention and time. My mind by contrast can often get hijacked by relentless distraction.

Nothing going on around Jesus on any given occasion commanded his attention more than this. Communing with the father trumped all.

Jesus invites us, his beloved apprenticing friends, into much the same kind of lifestyle he enjoyed while navigating the many winding and hilly terrain of earth’s pilgrimage. Christlike living, simply put, is prayer-centered living.

Hanging out with God was a centerpiece in his “being-about-my-father’s-business”. This predictable first-of-the-day habit was no less familiar to him than other common practices – breakfasting, teeth-cleaning, sandal-lacing.

.Anyone acquainted at all with Jesus Christ knows that he understood the best way to live life as a human from day to day. Most of us would probably be wise to ponder this for a moment. Jesus knew the smartest kinds of practices to engage in as a flesh and blood human person. He supplies every apprentice the pattern to follow.

“And he went out. . and there he prayed”.

July 27, 2023July 26, 2023

Thirst Quenching

“When I grow up, I wanna be like _____ !”

What gives rise to this sentiment that one hears spoken at times even by grown-ups? An inner hope to become a better whomever.

The individual disciple and the gathered community of the like-minded have a thing in common – they wish to grow to be like Christ. Some groups voice it openly, “Our aim is to be. like. Jesus.” Others may signal the appetite in more reserved tones, yet their hearts yearn to grow, to mature with a character of the kind displayed in Jesus.

Apprentices to Jesus like what they see in his manner of being and doing. They long to take on those qualities more and more, to the point really of being defined by them.

The carefree farm kid is at home in the company of the good daddy. A particular setting doesn’t so much matter. Whether frolicking about barefoot on fresh-turned sod or rallying his young muscles to move a lawnmower through a stretch of Bermuda grass, he knows he is never left entirely on his own. A strong, assuring presence dwells there with him, near at hand.

An inner appetite of every Jesus-apprentice – even when not always conscious of it – is their longing for nearness. The good rabbi’s band of followers are pulled along by an inner tug to follow him closely – not letting him ‘much out of their sight’.

Not every earthly dad mirrors well the endearing qualities seen in the one Jesus called “my Father”. Yet, each person living is welcomed by him into just such a father-child closeness. We move that direction through Christ Jesus.

Whether a veteran disciple or a newly signed-on apprentice, the person choosing Christlikeness is growing in the work of training their eyes on this one whom they worship. They are finding, too, that a good beginning point is at the coming of every morning.

“O God, you are my God; early will I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, in a dry and thirsty land with no water.”*