A Day Just Like Every Other Day

CHAPTER 5

05:15 am MDT
May 8, 2010
Las Cruces, NM

“There exists only the present instant... a Now which always and without end is itself new. There is no yesterday nor any tomorrow, but only Now, as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be a thousand years hence.” Meister Eckhart

“Do exactly what you would do if you felt most secure.” Meister Eckhart

“Life is what happens to you while making other plans.” John Lennon

Thursday, that fateful day in May began for me just like any other day. I had awakened early – around 5:00 a.m. The first light of day was beginning to dawn with subtle orange and pastel pink hues. The light filtered into our bedroom window through the blinds on the French doors that led to our viewing balcony.

Brandon, my Golden Retriever was by my side as I went downstairs to start the morning coffee. For the 4 years we had been together we had become attached at the hip. He went to the office with me; faithfully followed me every step of the way as I mowed our lawn; curled up by the recliner in the evening as I watched TV and liked going anywhere with me in the car. We sometimes joked that Brandon was the son we never had. While the rest of the family slept, Brandon's and my daily, morning schedule followed a closely prescribed routine. It was pretty much the same every day.

That morning, as soon as I opened the front door, Brandon shot past me like a bolt. Like he had some secret, urgent mission to accomplish upon which someone’s life depended, he made several frantic circles around the front yard before focusing his radar on daily copy of the El Paso Times. As quickly as his morning mission to relieve himself had begun, once he had refocused and now was locked onto his ultimate target. He was possessed by a different set of instincts; retrieving. He scooped up the paper in his gentle mouth and proudly brought it to me, sitting down by my side to let me take it from him.

Once inside, he lay impatiently my side. Like a coiled spring he was ready to unwind completely but he knew the routine. Years of daily routine fed his brain the fact that it wouldn’t be long before we headed out the door and up to the end of our cul de sac, Cloudcroft Circle, to venture out into the East Mesa desert for our daily 5 mile run.

For now he had to content himself by thinking of all the rabbits and quail he would soon be chasing. As he stretched out on the tile floor, he would let out an occasional muffled yelp and his legs would twitch as he dreamed of the chase. Only occasionally was he lucky enough or stealthy enough to catch such a prize. And when he did, he never killed. It was on more than one occasion that some poor stunned animal, playing dead, and covered with the foamy saliva of his captor, was laid at my feet. With eyes that seemed to say “aren’t you proud of me? Look what I brought you!” and his entire body convulsing in a tail-wag gone mad, he would bound off for the next adventure in the desert. Now in his semi-conscious sleep, he dreamed of the chase.

My routine during this time was to read the paper, particularly the sports section. Then I finished the Crossword Puzzle and the other word games. I had only to fold up the paper for Brandon’s normally bent ears to perk up. Jumping to attention, he looked at me with the same expectant eyes a child might have towards a parent just before going on a ride at an amusement park. This was his favorite part of the day. It was mine also.

After putting on my running shorts and lacing my Brooks Beast running shoes, I downed the last remaining swallow of morning coffee, set the cup in the sink and made for the door. We were ready to go. Brandon knew just what to do. He went to the laundry room, grabbed his leash from its customary hook and, with leash in mouth, began his joyous prance of anticipation.

This was our daily routine. During the winter months, when the temperatures were milder, we sometimes ran in the afternoon. In mid-May it was best to get out early. The temperature would undoubtedly climb into the high 90s or low 100s by late afternoon. Heavy physical exertion could be dangerous for dogs and humans. Besides, we both preferred the early morning solitude of the desert.

The sun was just beginning to filter its brilliant gold radiance over the jagged peaks of the Organ Mountains. These mountains are so named because their towering cliffs and rocky crags resemble the pipe organ of a great cathedral. The desert was alive with the sights and sounds of wildlife.

There was a gap in the rock wall at the east end our street. This man-made space was to allow the rare, but torrential waters of summer thunderstorms to pass through and find their way into the storm drains. It also allowed a person on foot or mountain bike admission to the desert’s mysterious and haunting beauty. As we passed through that break and I removed Brandon’s leash, a lizard scurried to find cover under one of the many Creosote plants.

Large desert jackrabbits were also out in abundance. Chasing these rabbits was Brandon’s main reason for living. Simply mentioning the word ‘rabbit’ sent him off on a frenzied dash through the rocky, cactus strewn hillsides – only to be seen again in a half mile or so. One day, he had seen a coyote off in the distance and off he bounded only to come charging back with his tail between his legs as he realized the coyote he had seen was accompanied by 2 or 3 friends who shrewdly waited for him to approach and then reversed the chase.

If I ran five miles, Brandon must have run 8 or 9 on these daily jaunts. He was lean and athletic. He was born to run and run he did, with carefree abandon and enthusiasm. His joyful exuberance somehow seemed to buoy my flagging spirits and tired muscles.

For me, these morning runs were my time for prayer, reflection and spiritual renewal. The fresh sweet air was scented with the fragrance of morning dew on Creosote, Cholla, Ocotillo and Prickly Pear cactus, all of which were in bloom. I was invigorated with each step. Very seldom did we encounter other runners or walkers although I always followed a path that had obviously formed from years of such use by others. That morning we were all alone and it was wonderfully refreshing. It was the kind of morning that made you think “It’s a gift to be alive.”

As we neared the completion our usual route, it was time to get Brandon’s leash back on him and cover the last half mile or so through the neighborhoods of High Point – the general name for this subdivision of stuccoed, southwestern homes. Signs of life were just beginning in those homes as families rose, ate their breakfast, and prepared for work, school and the other activities with which suburban families fill their days.

We arrived home to our two story, Mediterranean style home and came in through the decorative wrought iron gate that led to the back yard. This was the home Judy and I called our dream home. We had it built just three years earlier thinking we would be staying in Las Cruces for many more years to come. Facing south and sitting on a hill, the living room had a high, majestic ceiling with large arched windows that looked out across the neighborhood. With little effort, a glance to the right afforded a view of the Rio Grande Valley to the west. It was a verdant green at this time of year with budding pecan trees, and acres of green chile fields. To the left was a view of the Organ Mountains.

Brandon headed off to get a drink of water and find a shady spot to rest and relive his morning adventure. He would spend the rest of his day snoozing and dreaming about catching one of those elusive rabbits and keeping watch over the house. I went back to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee, peeled open a fruit and granola bar and turned on the small TV that sat by the breakfast bar. The morning news was on but not much was happening. I turned it to ESPN to check the baseball scores. The day had begun. So far, it had begun just like most other days.

Judy was just rising. After mixing some cream and sugar into her coffee and getting oriented to a new day, we talked briefly about our plans for the day. As the Administrator for the Head Start program for Las Cruces Public Schools, she told me she had a number of interviews to conduct that day but would be home at a regular hour. There were no other special plans or activities planned for that day for either of us. We would have dinner together that evening, joined by daughter Melissa and more than likely her fiancé Jerry.

I went upstairs and pressed the shirt I intended to wear that day. It was a peach colored shirt I had just ordered from the Lands End Catalogue. It went well with the Tabasco brand tie Judy had recently given me. A quick shower, another glimpse out the viewing balcony off our Master Bedroom, and I was ready to head over to the church.

I loved this house. In comparison to many, it was not huge. But its architecture, red tile roof, stately columns and dramatic windows were striking. It sat on a small rise at the corner of Cheyenne Street and Cloudcroft Circle. We often thought of it as a sentinel guarding the entrance to our cul de sac and the 40 or so homes that formed our immediate neighborhood. As I walked through the laundry room and out into the garage, I had no inkling that I might never have the chance to relax in the recliner, listen to jazz in our Family Room loft or sleep in our water bed again. Little did I know I might never again experience and enjoy that early morning reverie at the breakfast bar, or tend the rose garden we had planted on the East side of the house. I just assumed I would be back around dinner after another pretty ordinary day of ministry.

My 1994 Honda Passport made the seven mile jaunt down the hill and across the Rio Grande Valley to church like it was on auto pilot. Up Roadrunner Boulevard to US 70. Wait for just enough of a break in the steady stream of engineers headed out to the White Sands Missile Range. Ease across the Eastbound lanes and sneak into the turn lane, then gradually get over into the right hand lane and head West down the hill. Turn right at the Albertsons store and wind your way further west to Valley Drive. Be careful as you pass Mayfield High School as student drivers, pedestrians and cyclists would all be arriving at the same time. Turn north on Valley Drive for 2 blocks and turn into the expansive, half-paved parking area of Northminster Presbyterian Church. This was the daily route. I hardly had to think about it. Only rarely did I vary it.

Once at the church, I marveled yet again at its beauty. The original building sat on nearly 4 acres of what used to be farm land. Directly to the East, across Valley Drive or US Highway 85, there was a large field, normally planted in cotton; occasionally with one of the many varieties of green chile this valley had become noted for. From nearly anywhere on the property you could look East across that field and up to the Organ Mountains; Las Cruces’ most famous landmark. There was enough land on our property for a large ball field, a basketball court, and ample parking throughout the landscaped, lighted lot. There was also room for further expansion. Some of the property was still graveled and in need of tending.

In 1991 we had added a 250 seat sanctuary and a new office and C.E. wing. It was a dramatic building that sat diagonally across the property. With a sweeping roof line and a 35 foot high clerestory, its architecture was both modern and traditional at the same time. On the west side of the sanctuary was a series of windows looking out toward the Organ Mountains. The front arched window was 30 feet high and had just been replaced with a beautiful stained glass rendering of the Presbyterian Seal. Separating the sanctuary from the original building was a covered, pillared walkway and a beautifully landscaped courtyard.

Preschoolers were just beginning to arrive for a day at Montessori School. A line of station wagons and vans was forming as parents dropped off their children. The school, begun and run by a church member, occupied the Multi-purpose room that had once served as our worship space, Around back there was a fenced play area that provided shade from the hot sun and a welcome break from the rigors of pre-school studies. I greeted the Director with a wave and “good morning” as I parked my car and strolled under the stuccoed colonnade and across the inner courtyard to the main office door.

No one else was here yet. I would have the chance for some peaceful study time before the phone began ringing and people started dropping by. First order of business: check my Franklin Day Timer for any appointments. Oh yes, two men from a church in El Paso were coming at 4:00 to look at the bus we were trying to sell. Otherwise, there were no major meetings to lead or counseling sessions to perform. I could devote the better part of my day to the completion of my sermon for the coming Sunday.

Mother’s Day was coming in just three days. I had already bought a few presents for Judy but I made a note to myself to go out and buy a card and look for some other little gift. Her birthday had been just three days earlier and I had given one of her Mother’s Day gifts to her as a birthday present. I felt I needed to replace it and buy another for my wife of 25 years and the mother of our two beautiful daughters.

The Elders of our church had met just the week before to hear the news that I had accepted a call to Enumclaw, Washington and Calvary Presbyterian Church. Judy and I would be moving at the middle of June and I had to check on and confirm the scheduling of preachers who would supply the pulpit once I left. I guessed I should probably spend some time organizing my library and files to prepare for our impending move. Other than that, the schedule was free to work on what would be one of my last sermons. I was glad for a normal day.

Janet, the church secretary arrived around 9:00 with her usual chipper, upbeat demeanor. Today would be the day to finish the bulletin in preparation for Sunday’s services. There were always two bulletins; one for our 8:30 contemporary service, and another for our more traditional 11:00 service. Her day would be full. We always kept our fingers crossed that the copier wouldn’t go on the blink on Thursday. In spite of our prayers, it often did. Another normal day.

In addition to our preparations for a cross-country move, Judy and I were also excited about our daughter Melissa’s graduation with honors from New Mexico State University. Later that day, she was to turn in her final paper. At long last all her requirements for graduation would be met and she could walk with her class at the Pan American Center; NMSU’s basketball arena. Later in the summer, she was to be married to Jerry Parks, a boy she had dated for 3 years. After their marriage, they would be moving to Schaumburg, Illinois. We weren’t thrilled at the thought that we would be separated by so many miles but it was exciting to be thinking of an August wedding.

Our oldest daughter Kresta, was also engaged to be married. Ryan was a man she had met while working out on the Oregon Coast at the Cannon Beach Christian Conference Center. Their wedding was to be in October and would take place in Nampa, Idaho which was his hometown. Not knowing anyone there, Judy was busy trying to help plan a long distance wedding. I, like most men, was pretty much oblivious to those details.

How we were to pull off two weddings, organize our household for a move and leave jobs, friends and family all in such a short span of time was beyond me. Thankfully Judy and the girls were thinking more of the weddings. It was my task to prepare the church for the impending interim period until they could find another pastor. I had scheduled visiting preachers to begin in mid-June. I intended to preach until then. We were due in Enumclaw, Washington on the 1st of July.

It is too easy to get so comfortable with life that you take each day for granted. That was certainly true of this day. It is possible to not fully appreciate the people, the places, the relationships and the activities that are part of life because they become so ordinary, they become almost automatic. Though there were these special things looming in our future, this day was like any other day in most ways. I assumed it would go as planned and with no major disruptions. I took my life and my routines for granted.

I think I told Judy I loved her before I walked out the door, but I can’t remember for sure. I am pretty sure I gave thanks to God during my morning run for my family, my health and the many blessings God had bestowed on us in life. We weren’t rich, but after 25 years of marriage and ministry, we were now in a place of relative financial stability. We owned a beautiful home, each had dependable cars (if not fancy), and most importantly we had a wonderful family. Life was good.

Our house was often filled with people: friends of Melissa and Jerry, Young Life Leaders with whom we had established a strong bond because we organized and chaired the local Committee, members of our small group Bible Study, neighbors and church friends. Just the night before a young woman – Lyn McKinley – had been over. Together we had sat out on the patio and talked over Lyn’s plans to enter Seminary and prepare for ministry. We felt our house was a gift from God and so it was open to anyone. But, I am not entirely sure we recognized fully what blessings we enjoyed.

Life goes on. While committed to the principle of God’s sovereignty over every area of life, we had probably fallen into the trap that so many today do: assuming that we had control over our lives, our futures and our safety. One day was the same as another. It was just a matter of doing what had to be done with as much energy and creativity as possible.

I had often used some familiar Biblical passages to counsel others about not taking life for granted.
James 4:13 - 15 says, “Now listen you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will we will and do this or that.”

That is exactly how we were living though. We were making plans. We were anticipating the future. We were going through the motions of everyday life, taking it all as though we were somehow responsible for it. We gave lip service to the fact that God was in control. In reality, we probably tried to take too much credit.

It only takes a brief instant in time for all that normalcy to change. Something unexpectedly good might happen that catapults you back to the realization that God is the giver of every good and perfect gift. Sometimes, the thing that spurs a person back to reality is pain and suffering.

C.S. Lewis in his epic work The Problem of Pain states that “pain is God’s megaphone.” It is through the “gift of pain or suffering” that God brings a person back to a relationship with himself. No one would choose that for themselves. Nobody wants it. Yet, God uses those experiences in our lives to shake us free from the doldrums and apathy of independence and selfishness.

In his classic, collaborative work with Dr. Paul Brand, Where is God When it Hurts, Phillip Yancey marvels at the fact that pain is a gift from God. To illustrate the point, Dr. Brand, who had worked for many years dealing with leprosy in India, saw over and over again that those who did not experience pain, were more seriously in danger than those
who could experience pain.

Once again, my counsel to people as a pastor had been to welcome trials and hardships because God uses them to strengthen faith. To put it more glibly, an old adage suggests that “when life hands you lemons, you should make lemonade.”

In my normal, daily, routine life, it was always easy to tell others to practice those principles. I never expected that I would find myself in the dire straits of facing the trial of a life time; a trial that could change my life – our lives – forever. It might possibly even end that earthly life.

I was soon to discover that my advice would be seriously put to the test. My normal, taken-for-granted life was about to be shaken to the core. It would not be another ordinary day.