I Still Believe Page 12

  Recognizing the Lord’s continuous presence didn’t eliminate my battles and struggles. My hard questions weren’t erased. I still asked them. In fact, I still have some I ask. But that day when I studied the story of Lazarus, I gained a sense of peace in knowing I was not alone—my Savior was with me.

  A BIG STEP FORWARD

  My parents had encouraged me to reach out to Jon Courson. I had not talked with anyone who had been through anything similar to what I had been through, but Jon’s wife had been killed in a car accident, leaving him with three children. Then later, one of his teenage daughters died in another car accident.

  When I made contact with Jon, he graciously invited Melissa’s brother and me to visit him in Oregon.

  Ryan and I didn’t have schedules to worry about, so we decided to turn the visit into a road trip. We stopped wherever we wanted on our way up the coast. We could decide to get off the main road on a whim and look for fun things to do. At one stop, we found a creek and swam for a while. Then we got out and sat next to the creek and just talked.

  Ryan is a rad dude, and it was important for us to spend that time together. We experienced ups and downs on the trip. We would be laughing and joking around or doing something fun, then one of us would think about Melissa, our conversation would turn somber, and we would cry as we reminisced about Melissa and talked about how much we missed her.

  As we neared our destination, I felt a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. I hoped Jon would be able to answer my questions about Melissa’s death—and I had plenty of questions to ask him—yet I also realized that talking with Jon would smash against some of the raw emotions I still carried. Plus, I felt a bit of uneasiness at what those answers might be. Could I handle whatever answers he would offer?

  As much as my family and friends had carried me through my difficult times, I could tell when we greeted Jon that he could relate to me in a way no other person had. He was so warm in welcoming us and putting us up in a small cabin on his property.

  Anyone who has heard Jon speak knows he has a deliberate, fatherly delivery when he talks—and he has a personality to match his voice. He comes across almost like a Santa Claus. I could have closed my eyes and imagined Jon in a red suit and white beard, saying to me, “Ho, ho, ho. Come here, Son.”

  After Ryan and I unpacked, we met with Jon for our first discussion. One of my first questions dealt with Melissa’s suffering.

  “There was so much pain,” I said. “What about that? Why did she have to suffer like that? She loved the Lord. We did everything we could. We prayed, we believed. I just don’t understand it.”

  Jon answered with wise words I have not forgotten. He began by asking me a series of questions:

  “Did you do all the things God’s Word says to do?”

  “Did you fast and pray?”

  “Did you have the elders come and pray and anoint her with oil?”

  “Did you believe?”

  “Did you have faith?”

  I answered yes to each. We all had done all those things up until her final breath.

  “Jeremy,” he said, “you can rest your head on your pillow at night, knowing you did all that you could. That was God’s plan. He heard your prayers. He comforted Melissa. Rest, knowing that you did seek the Lord in obedience.”

  Later in the conversation, Jon used the story of Miriam—the sister of Moses and Aaron—from Exodus 14–15 as an illustration.

  “Remember how after the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, Miriam was playing her song of celebration on the tambourine?”

  “Yes,” I answered and imagined Miriam dancing and praising after the Hebrews had safely reached the other side, removed from the threat of the Egyptian army.

  “Well,” Jon continued, “she missed out on the depths of how God could have used her.”

  I had always pictured Miriam as a heroine in the story.

  “Missed out?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  “What she did, she really should have done earlier,” Jon explained. “Granted, I wasn’t there, but when they were all assembled before crossing the Red Sea, not knowing what to do, she could have been singing and praising the Lord on that side as well—not just afterward.”

  Imagine if Miriam had pulled out a tambourine and started dancing and praising the Lord when the Israelites were trapped between the Red Sea and the Egyptian army, when everyone around her was terrified because of the circumstances. Miriam’s friends probably would have thought there were a few zils loose in her tambourine, if you know what I mean.

  But what Miriam missed out on was experiencing the fullness of how God could have used her in a greater capacity. God didn’t suddenly become good after they crossed the Red Sea. Twenty-twenty hindsight revealed that God was good also when the Israelites were trapped with seemingly no way out, because He had a plan all along to bring them out—to rescue them—in a way they never could have imagined. Miriam missed out on an opportunity to glorify God in the midst of an uncertain and unsettling situation.

  Jon brought the story of Miriam into the here and now by reminding me that we still should worship God in our difficult circumstances—that He is worthy of being worshiped then, too.

  “He’s still in control,” Jon told me. “It’s easy after we’ve tasted God’s deliverance and seen His miracles to say, ‘Yes, Lord, You are the best!’ But it’s tough when you don’t see any outcome, or any good, in a really dark time, to say, ‘God, You are good. You are good. No matter what, You are good.’”

  That was so much easier to hear when we were talking about Miriam instead of me. The last thing I felt like doing in the wake of Melissa’s death was saying, “Yeah, Lord—You’re good! You are good!” I mean, when my team lost football games in high school, none of us cheered. The coach didn’t tell us, “Hey, you lost—go celebrate with your teammates.”

  But that football analogy is admittedly shortsighted. In my life, there was a much larger picture than what I could see because of my circumstances. I might have felt that I was walking off the field after the end of a game, but if I stepped back and looked at my life from the perspective of eternity—from God’s perspective—I was barely starting to break a sweat in pregame warm-ups. Our time here on earth can seem like everything to us, but in reality it’s only a minuscule part of God’s plan for us. Our time here is to prepare us for our eternity with Him.

  I needed the eternal perspective Jon was bringing me.

  “We’ll probably never fully understand suffering,” he said, “until we’re in the presence of the Lord for eternity.”

  Jon used the illustration of a caterpillar to help Ryan and me better understand the concept of suffering. A caterpillar struggles to get out of its cocoon. The temptation would be to help free the caterpillar, but the pressure of the struggle is what allows it to develop into a butterfly. If the caterpillar were to be removed prematurely from the struggle, it would not properly develop and would die. The caterpillar’s struggle is what allows a butterfly to become what it is created to be.

  Likewise, the beauty displayed in our lives often is the result of a season of struggle. Through our struggles, we gain strength and maturity. We want God to remove us from our struggles, but what would it be like if He did? We would be weak and immature! That’s not what God created us to be. Unfortunately for us sometimes, strength and maturity arise only out of pain. We can wish there were an easier way, but the results are undeniable.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” Jon said, “but pain is part of the bigger picture. Through suffering, God works toward a greater purpose. In heaven now, Melissa’s reward is great. If we can look at things from an eternal perspective, we can see that her reward is so much greater than any earthly suffering.”

  I knew that was true, but still it was difficult to grasp because we have earthly mind-sets and can comprehend only the things we know. We can imagine what God’s Word describes about heaven, but the fact is, we don’t know much about what heaven is like. Our
earthly minds limit us. I needed to learn all I could about heaven from Scripture and to trust God that Melissa was in a better place, a place where she didn’t suffer. In Colossians 3:2, Paul wrote, “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” Again, I needed that type of eternal perspective.

  Jon invited me to play a song at his church’s Sunday night service. I was honored but hesitant. I didn’t feel like I was in a state in which I could be used by God.

  At Melissa’s grave site, my good friend Jean-Luc had told me, “Let’s hasten the day!” He would tell me several times later, “Don’t give up! Let’s hasten the day! Let’s tell more people about Jesus so that He will come quicker!”

  It sounded good when Jean-Luc said that, and it would spur me on to realize I still had a lot of ministering ahead of me. But the timing didn’t seem right yet. I thought I had issues to get squared away in my heart—questions that needed to be answered—before God could use me.

  Jon, though, wanted me to see how I could be used by God—that night.

  “I think it will be good for you,” he said, “because at your greatest depth of pain, God will use you to have the greatest impact.”

  I was at my greatest depth of pain, so if Jon was correct, then I certainly was at the point where I could be used for the greatest impact.

  I chose to play and sing “I Still Believe.” It was the first time I had performed the song publicly. I mostly cried my way through the song and then briefly shared about Melissa’s passing. I don’t even remember what I told the congregation, but I do recall the compassion I saw on the faces of the people and how many were wiping tears. Singing the song and talking about Melissa was painful but powerful. Instead of standing on a platform, I felt like I was standing in God’s hands because He was the one holding me up. I didn’t feel strong, but I recognized that all the strength I had was coming from God.

  Afterward members of the congregation hugged me, prayed for me, offered me encouraging words, and told me how the song and story had spoken to them. It was a sweet night, and I left the church amazed at how God had ministered both to my pain and through my pain.

  While I talked with Jon over a couple of days, the fog I was in didn’t dramatically lift to reveal everything I wanted to see in my time of trials. But thanks to the truth Jon lovingly spoke to me, I was beginning to see clearer than before.

  I left Oregon with a glimmer of hope, and that was a lot more hope than I’d had when I arrived. I left with a little bit more resolve because I noted how Jon had been through two tragedies—the deaths of his wife and daughter—and he seemed to be doing fine, and he was able to use his difficult times to minister to people. I left finally beginning to think, It’s gonna be okay.

  CHAPTER 13

  BREAKING THROUGH

  The resolve in my heart had begun with the writing of “I Still Believe.” Now, I felt like the resolve was moving into the action stage.

  After the trip to Oregon, I was ready to play and sing. I wanted to share “I Still Believe,” Melissa’s story, and what God had done and was doing in my life. That spring and into the summer, as I sang and shared and as congregations responded, I received more invitations to sing or lead worship in churches.

  It was odd, but there were two contrasting trends at work.

  On one hand, I would find myself telling God before a service, “Lord, I don’t feel like worshiping You today. I don’t feel like saying ‘I still believe.’” I knew the words were true, but they didn’t feel true.

  But on the other hand, even though at times I felt like a reluctant participant, I could feel God’s presence as I sang, and there was a greater impact on audiences than I could have anticipated. I could see and feel that God was moving among people, and I knew it had nothing to do with me, because only a few minutes earlier I had been telling God I didn’t want to sing that song. Again, I learned a valuable lesson about the importance of obedience over feelings.

  When I would lead worship, I noticed myself paying more attention than before to the lyrics. Every lyric meant something to me. Every lyric was an opportunity to explore the depths of God’s love and grace, and I was understanding things about God’s nature that I probably wouldn’t have even considered before.

  I still had my share of ups and downs. I still had some really rough days. Different triggers could unexpectedly unleash an angry river of emotions.

  Seeing a young couple holding hands would make me miss Melissa. Seeing a mom and dad playing with their child at a park would make me think that it could have been Melissa and me and our kid—even sometimes that it should have been our family. I cried in a theater during a scene of grief in a war movie.

  The triggers were potentially everywhere, and because I didn’t know when they would pop up, I couldn’t always protect myself from them.

  I felt myself becoming angry too easily. Once I saw a couple at a restaurant, and I could tell from their mannerisms that they were having some type of disagreement. I got mad at the guy and wanted to tell him, “Come on—appreciate your wife!”

  I lost the compassion for others I had felt back at Bible college. Instead, I judged others as selfish. After all, the problems they were so concerned about were nothing compared to mine! I was mad at the world and ready to take it on. Me against the world—let’s do this!

  But at the same time, my music career was on an upswing. It was a crazy roller-coaster ride I was on, experiencing ups and downs seemingly at the same time. When I was singing or leading worship, I could put the anger aside temporarily.

  Friends lovingly told me they were concerned that it might be too soon for me to jump back into music ministry. I understood why they were saying that. If I had been in their shoes and saw me in the condition I was in, I might have said the same thing. I was still grieving. But I honestly believed that God was gently nudging me back into music ministry, saying, I’ll take care of you. You just go ahead—walk into what I’m doing. Writing songs from my heart and then sharing them was an important part not only of my healing but also of encouraging and offering hope to others.

  I was witnessing incredible responses when I sang “I Still Believe” and “Walk by Faith,” and recording them would impact a much larger audience. A friend told me about two young producers, Adam Watts and Andy Dodd. I listened to some of their work, liked it, and called them to ask about the possibility of recording a demo.

  “It’s a hard time in my life,” I told them, “but I need to get these songs out.” Adam and Andy agreed without hesitation. We recorded “Walk by Faith” first. When we were in the studio working on the final mixes of the song, I had a strong feeling that God was going to use the song to provide hope and encouragement to many people suffering through painful trials.

  Thank You, Lord, I prayed, that You can use what Melissa and I have gone through to help others in their own struggles.

  I felt a sense of excitement knowing that God had big things in store for my future, but I also knew that I wasn’t fully prepared for the next step. Specifically, my heart wasn’t prepared. I had to allow God to eliminate the anger. I couldn’t get so caught up in the idea that God was going to use one of my songs to minister deeply that I resisted the deep ministry He needed to accomplish in me.

  MISSION: BREAKTHROUGH

  I scheduled a fall retreat to a one-room cabin in the mountains. I wanted one thing from the trip: a breakthrough. I felt God was about to do something big, and I didn’t want to miss it.

  I asked God to completely purge every ounce of coldness and bitterness from my heart. I remembered from my past where coldness and bitterness had gotten me before, and I didn’t want to go there again. I needed God to give me a heart like He had given me back in Bible college. I wanted to be compassionate toward people again.

  I planned to stay in the small cabin three days, praying, fasting, and playing my guitar. It proved more difficult than I had anticipated.

  Time passed slowly. Time didn’t just crawl—sometimes it stood stil
l. I expected a big revelation to come down upon me like an eagle majestically descending onto a high perch. I thought that, alone in the mountains with no distractions, I would hear God’s voice and undergo an immediate and life-changing transformation. I was prepared to cry until I ran out of tears.

  But there were no tears. There was still, however, plenty of coldness and bitterness. My mind and heart seemed stuck in high gear. I just couldn’t get past the same old questions and confusion.

  About the only thing I had picked up in the cabin was hunger pangs until one of the times when I was messing around on my guitar. Then from out of my funk, a tune and words came to me that became the song “Breaking My Fall”:

  (Verse 1)

  So easily I fall, so easily You reach Your hand out.

  Quickly will I drown, in all the pools of all my reason.

  So easily will I fear, so easily will Your peace surpass me.

  Quickly will I trust, in anything I think is worthy.

  How many times You make the waves calm down,

  So I won’t be afraid now.

  (Chorus)

  ’Cause I saw You breaking my, breaking my fall.

  What am I supposed to do?

  ’Cause I saw You breaking my, breaking my fall.

  What am I supposed to do?

  (Verse 2)

  How precious are Your thoughts,

  The many that You think about me.

  Faithful are Your ways,

  I always feel Your grace abounding.

  Quickly will I call, quickly will You answer my cry.

  Carefully will You bring everything I need in my life.

  How many times You make the waves calm down,

  So I won’t be afraid now.

  (Bridge)