"I Love You" Is A Lot To Hold On To

Kelly James, a landscape architect, and two of his friends were climbing Mount Hood in Welches, Oregon, when they encountered a blizzard. Kelly called his family on his cell phone, but the storm was too severe for rescue workers to come in. All three hikers perished.

On the CBS Evening News, Katie Couric asked Kelly’s widow if she was angry with her husband for climbing the mountain. Karen James replied, “I’m really sad our journey is over for a while, and I miss him terribly. But he loved life so much, and he taught me how to love. He taught me how to live. And I don’t know how you can be angry at someone who loved their family, who loved God . . . and gave back so much more than he took.”

When asked how her husband would like to be remembered, Karen said, “Kelly had this little ornament, and he’s had it since he was little. It’s a manger. It’s just this little plastic thing. And it’s always the tradition that [our son] Jack and Kelly put it on the tree together. So I said this Christmas, ‘We’re going to put that ornament on the tree.’ One of the things that we really understand about Christmas is how that little baby born in a barn is the reason our family has so much strength now. And that is really important to Kelly.”

Couric asked if the family’s confidence in God had been tested by her husband’s death. “No, it was never tested,” Karen answered. “I remember one time we were watching TV, and Kelly said to me, ‘I can’t wait to go to heaven.’ I said, ‘What?’ We were watching some show that had nothing to do with heaven. And he said, ‘Yeah, that’s going to be really cool.’ And I said, ‘Can you hold off? Can we wait?’ But he wasn’t scared. Those conversations are what I hold on to.”

When asked if there were any lessons to be learned from her husband’s tragedy, Karen replied, “I’ve told a colleague of mine that men should hold their wives really, really tight, because you don’t know when our journey’s going to end. My journey ended with an ‘I love you.’ And . . . for others, if their journey ends with an ‘I love you,’ it’s a lot to hold on to.”

 — Ted De Haas, “Widow Thankful for Her Husband’s Life and Witness,” PreachingToday.com; source; “Climber’s Widow Tells Her Story,” 
CBS Evening News (December 21, 2006)

An Invitation of Unconditional Acceptance

Longing to leave her poor Brazilian neighborhood, Christina wanted to see the world.  Discontent with home having only a pallet on the floor, a washbasin, and a wood-burning stove, she dreamed of a better life in the city.  One morning she slipped away, breaking her mother's heart.

Knowing what life on the streets would be like for her young, attractive daughter, Maria hurriedly packed to go find her.  On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing.  Pictures.  She sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain, and spent all she could on pictures of herself.  With her purse full of black-and-white photos, she boarded the next bus to Rio de Janeiro.

Maria knew Christina had no way of earning money.  She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up.  When pride meets hunger, a human will do things that were before unthinkable. Knowing this, Maria began her search.  Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with the reputation for street walkers or prostitutes.  She went to them all.  And at each place she left her picture--taped on a bathroom mirror, tacked to a hotel bulletin board, fastened to a corner phone booth,  and on the back of each photo she wrote a note.  It wasn't too long before both the money and the pictures ran out, and Maria had to go home.

The weary mother wept as the bus began its long journey back to her small village.  It was a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs.  Her young face was tired.  Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth but spoke of pain and fear.  Her laughter was broken.  Her dream had become a nightmare.  A thousand times over she had longed to trade these countless beds for her secure pallet.  Yet the little village was, in too many ways, too far away.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noticed a familiar face.  She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small picture of her mother.  Christina's eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo.  Written on the back was this compelling invitation.  "Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn't matter.  Please come home."

She did.

- Max Lucado, No Wonder They Call Him Savior (Multnomah Press, 1986)