To the Uttermost

There's something special about earthly fathers, especially those who show us glimpses of our heavenly Father.

My own dear Daddy met Jesus when he was in his late thirties—it was he who led my mother to his Lord; it was she who was the most verbal of the two. Daddy only had an eighth grade education and I think it was hard for him to put deep thoughts into words. Maybe that was why I always listened when he had something to say.

I'll never forget the day he became so excited about the word “uttermost.” An unearthly joy sparkled in his brown eyes as he entered the back room where I lay curled upon the bed, reading.  He carried his open Bible in one hand and something about him almost seemed to dance where he stood.

“Jesus saves to the 'uttermost,'” he exclaimed. “To the uttermost'. Do you see? The 'uttermost!'”

The way he said, “uttermost” caused me to picture a curling wave holding a sailor in its grip. I imagined Jesus leaning down and snatching the man from the foaming sea.

Then Daddy said it again, “Jesus saves to the 'uttermost.'” The way his tongue rolled around the word “uttermost” made goose bumps pop up on my arms. Suddenly the small child I was realized being saved to the “uttermost” meant something much more than a helpless swimmer snatched to safety.

I knew instinctively that “uttermost,” the way Daddy said it, was something mysterious and wonderful--something which embraced forever. “It went far beyond space and entered eternity. “Uttermost” had something to do with being near the heart of God and to my child's perception that was a glorious nearness and my heart was filled with awe.

Many years later, I stood beside my father's bed at the VA hospital.  It had been eight years since Daddy had recognized me as his daughter. But that day—four days before he entered heaven—I  saw something in his eyes. I leaned over the railing and took his hand. “Daddy,” I whispered, “it's your Eva Jane.”  

He beamed, but no words came as I began to share the things I hadn't been able to tell him during his years of darkness and confusion. His eyes twinkled as I told him of my growing family and how my first book for teens was being published that spring.

I remembered that long ago day from my childhood.  Holding his hand, I read the 23^rd Psalm. “You know Him, Daddy," I said.  "He's the Great Shepherd who saves to the 'uttermost.'”

His fingers tightened around mine.  I saw recognition and a little smile flash into his tired brown eyes.  I saw peace.  My Daddy was ready to see His Jesus.

As I held his gnarled, work-worn hands, I thought about the verse he'd read to me.  It was from Hebrews 7:25 KJV “Wherefore He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them.”

It has been well over 30 years since Daddy went to heaven. I think of him often, and I smile.   In my mind’s eye I see his eyes sparkle, and I hear the excitement and wonder in his voice—his words echo down through the years to find their home in my own heart and soul… God, who saves to the “uttermost.”

The Little Girl Who Got Back Up

This morning as I prepared to teach my Writing Your Life Story class, I found a story from my childhood I had written years ago.   It would be perfect to use for my class, I thought.  

But as I read I was caught back through the years.--back to when I was just a girl.  As I watched through my child's eyes I was deeply touched.  The truth the little girl learned that day was exactly what I needed to pull me up out of the pit of depression and fear where I had been wallowing.

I thought perhaps this story might touch your heart, too:

I’ll never forget the winter I was nine; the year Daddy bought our John Deere tractor. I remember the excitement I felt as Mother, Daddy, Dale, Lawrence and I crowded around the kitchen table, the John Deere catalog open in front of us. 

 “Picture yourself on this seat,” the caption commanded and I could see that was just what my brother, Lawrence, was doing.

That spring Daddy pulled out the red cigar box and counted out the bills. We could scarce believe it; soon that tall green John Deere would be ours. No longer would we need to hire the neighbor to plow our garden plot. Never again would Daddy have to scythe the hay by hand. That wonderful John Deere tractor meant all our needs would be met. We could hardly wait.

It was summer when John Deere came to live with us. With Lawrence at John’s wheel, our fields were plowed and disked and harrowed.  Dale and I even got into the act as we rode atop the harrow and disk as weights to help break up the clods.

One day when Dale and I were acting as weights an unexpected jounce jarred my grip and tossed me over the top and onto the ground in front of the discs.  

I have no memory of the fall, but I heard a horrible scream—it was my own voice. John Deere jerked to a stop. The disk rested on top of me and I saw my brother’s face as he turned.  He leaped from the tractor seat and lifted the disk from my back.

I sprang out, unhurt. “I’m all right,” I said.

My shirt was uncut. Lawrence brushed dirt from it and wiped my face with the corner of his. “I’ll take you to Mother.”

I shook my head. “I’m all right,” I insisted.

My legs shook. My mouth tasted funny. But I had to get back on the disk. I had too.

Lawrence understood. He smiled reassuringly as I climbed back on beside Dale.

As we rounded the corner of the field, we saw Mother hurrying toward us. We lifted our hands and waved.

Mother frowned.

We smiled.

We didn’t come in until the field was free of dirt clods.

As I relived those heart-stopping moments, the little girl I had been spoke truth to my heart.  I had forgotten the importance of getting back up to face my fears.  Fears which had plagued me since the death of my husband.  I had felt especially paralyzed when my computer crashed and I was faced with the loss of the original copy of the galley proofs of  A Stitch and A Prayer.

As I struggled with trying to master a new computer and the challenge of marketing my new book, I grew even more fearful and weary.  I had  lost sight of the courageous little girl I had once been.  That girl who had bravely climbed back up on the disk to finish the task she had been given to do.

I do not want my fears to keep me from what the Lord has called me to do.  Just like that clear-eyed girl I once knew, I need to get back up, hop back on, and find strength to finish the job.  

But I don't have to face my fears on my own.  A verse calls to me from my Bible. It is God’s message for me: I have not given you the spirit of fear but a spirit of power, love and of self-discipline. (My paraphrase of 2 Timothy 1:7).  

As I forge through my day, seeking to honor God in all that I do, I will cling to God's promise of living fearlessly through His power, with love and self-discipline.