Our Father's heart

“God is our refuge and strength,

An ever-present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

And the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

Though its waters roar and foam

And the mountains quake with their surging.”

Psalms 46:1-3

We smiled as he poked fun at we Alabamians and the way we launch into hysterics at the slightest possibility of snow.

“We have to go buy food because we might be forced off the roads for as many as five, maybe even six hours,” he explained.

We laughed when he told tales of the antics of he and his five children.

And yes, we couldn’t help but grin at his “famous” adage, “Never have a pet that can take you.”

Saturday, January 19, 2008, I sat toward the back of a stadium-style auditorium, and listened to the words of Rick Burgess.

We laughed, sure, but more than that, hearts were stirred that night. Rick spoke of his relationship with Jesus Christ, and he spoke with the conviction of a man affirmed. He spoke with the assurance of a man that knows that his life is no longer his own.

Rick spoke. We listened. God moved.

And, as Rick later explained, his cell phone was vibrating within the confines of his pocket. Over and over and over, the phone rang with persistence.

But still Rick spoke, and still we listened, and still God moved.

That night, as Rick would discover backstage and as we would hear at the next morning’s service, his little boy, Bronner “Cornbread” Burgess, fell into the family pool and drowned.

An innocent life—gone, wiped out in the space of the slenderest of moments.

Tragic. Impossible to imagine. Unfair.

There Rick was, away from home, giving of himself and his heart in the name of Jesus Christ, and tragedy struck. It would have been so easy for the Burgess family to fall apart, reject the name of God and stand frozen with fear forever.

But that was not to be. Instead, with a broken heart and spirit, Rick, his family and the radio show “Rick and Bubba” sought to glorify God with their story.

Please visit these links to see for yourself. Rick delivered his son's eulogy, and below you can view it in three parts.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3



And remember, that as incredible as the life and testimony of the Burgess family is, it is not because of them that they are able to go on. It is not because of any unique strength or ability that this family has-- it is, quite simply, because they carry the love of Christ in their hearts. Do you know Him? And if you do, are you clinging to Him in this moment?


I'm not, not the way I need to be or long to be, but in this moment, I am seeking His face.

Feeling old at age 19

I feel old tonight.
Old, I say. Old, set in my ways and flat-out boring.
Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but something about setting off for a Bible conference with a group of excited, giggling youth has aged me somehow—maybe because I remember so well what it was like to stand in their shoes. I remember being at home, packing my cutest sweaters and jeans, all while calling my comrades to see what they were wearing to so-and-so and such-and-such. I remember sitting there with my girlfriends, scoping out the cutest boys, wondering what we might say to them if we ever actually brought ourselves to speak.
I remember heart-to-hearts in the middle of the night. And as we bared our secrets and whispered dreams, I remember how friendships were deepened.
As sweet as some of those memories are, and though some of those moments are enough to make me still laugh out loud, I wouldn’t go back even if I could.
In the few years since I stood in these “kids’” shoes, I have done a lot of living… and God has made a lot of changes in my heart.
So as I look at them, I smile—but not forlornly.
I smile because I see them as stories yet unwritten, tales still untold, promises that remain unbroken. Their futures (and yes, God willing, mine too) stretch out before us, a wide open adventure yet to be explored.
Growing up isn’t a bad thing, it’s just part of the journey. And so as I sit here writing tonight, with the gleeful shouts of youth all around me (though I began longing for sleep hours ago), I am feeling blessed. Thankful for this moment. Grateful to be a witness to the work that God is doing in these young hearts. And yes, appreciative of the challenges that He is issuing in my own life.
“But now listen, O Jacob, my servant, Israel whom I have chosen. This is what the Lord says—he who made you, who formed you in the womb, and who will help you.” Isaiah 44:1-2
My heart is at peace, listening tonight for the sweet whisper of my God.
Is yours?

Looking past the "letdown"

The tree is back to its dank basement box.
Half a dozen bags of holiday trash line the curb, much to the garbage man’s chagrin.
The Christmas lights have been taken down—or at least turned off.

The holiday is over, and, as my Grandmama says, the “letdown” ensues.

But as the first few days of the new year melt away, I find myself joining the masses in wondering what’s next. I wonder how the events of the next 365 days will leave me changed. And, like so many others, I wonder how I should use this flip of the calendar as a fresh start.

We all know what we should do. I should exercise at least three days out of every week, eliminate fast food and sodas from my diet and take my vitamins faithfully.

I should change so many things about my attitude and my habits and my appearance, but for me, as long as a change is just something I should do, I won’t. And if I do, my well-meaning actions will fizzle long before December 31st of 2008.

If I am going to truly change, the knowledge of what I should do must be coupled with a desire of my own.

As constricting as I find the rules for achieving a healthy lifestyle, I realize that for many, the laws that govern the lives of Christians seem even more unforgiving and rigid.

My desire (for 2008 and always) is that I can be a part of helping people to realize that following Christ is far more than just adhering to a lengthy do and don’t list. Following Christ means going on an incredible journey that is anything but boring. It is about hope and grace, and it is about truth.

I don’t know what 2008—or even tomorrow—holds. I can’t predict what will—and won’t—happen during the span of this upcoming year. I don’t know if I’ll actually get in shape, learn to better manage my time or accomplish any other of the ambitious goals I should achieve for myself.

This world we live in is unpredictable, and, as humans, so are we.

Yet:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” Hebrews 13:8

“Measure twice, cut once,” they say.

That philosophy has simply never stuck with me—just one of the reasons why I would not make a very good carpenter. Or surgeon. Or pharmacist.

I lack precision, I love to estimate, and yes Mom, I can be a tad on the scatterbrained side.

Surely you all agree that you wouldn’t want me to be the brain behind the knife, then.

Or the one doling out potentially deadly combinations of medications.

Or building your cabinets. (Somehow that last one just doesn’t have the zing of the other two…)

Plotting one’s direction in life isn’t easy. It seems ridiculous that by the ripe old age of 18, when all you really care about is finding a prom dress and having cute senior pictures made, you are expected to know beyond a shadow of a doubt what chore you will want to spend the next 50 years of your life doing.

Yet decide I did, and now here I am, for better or for worse.

We humans are such diverse creatures. We arrive with unique goals, talents and shortcomings, and we fill equally diverse roles here on Earth.

I can’t help but marvel at God’s design, beautifully organic yet painstakingly precise—and bigger than life.

(For if it was me creating the earth and crafting hearts, I would have messed up my measurements, gotten frustrated and abandoned the project.)

"Now may the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God and into the patience of Christ."
2 Thesalonians 3:5

It's not about me.

Words are failing me tonight. The perfect story seems just beyond my grasp.

So, for today, all I offer are the words inspired by One far greater than I—words that sing of truth.

“When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power, so that your faith might not rest on men's wisdom, but on God's power.

We do, however, speak a message of wisdom among the mature, but not the wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are coming to nothing. No, we speak of God's secret wisdom, a wisdom that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began. None of the rulers of this age understood it, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. However, as it is written:

"No eye has seen,
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him"

— but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit.

The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words. The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's judgment:

"For who has known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct him?"But we have the mind of Christ.”
--1 Corinthians 2

Here, Paul pours out his heart to the people of Corinth—acknowledging his faults, explaining his motives and expressing his desire to serve Christ. Like Paul, I come not with eloquence or superior wisdom. Anyone who knows me can testify to that. But I do come with a desire to serve, a desire to honestly say:

“My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on men’s wisdom, but on God’s power.”
1 Corinthians 2: 4-5

Granddaddy's Last Stand

Russian tea simmered on the stove, filling the house with its citrusy-sweet smell. Shiny packages lined the floor around the towering tree. The great-grandchildren laughed and played, all while speculating about what Santa might bring.

It was a Harbison family Christmas Eve, steeped in family tradition and full of love, but last year, a shadow lingered in all of our hearts.

Granddaddy was weak and growing weaker by the day, and our human hearts could not help but compose a single painful question: Would this Christmas be his last?

It was.

Granddaddy died on May 26 of this year, a story I shared with you a few weeks back. Now, as my family and I look ahead toward the holiday season that is stretched out before us, we are filled with a chorus of mixed emotions. This time last year, we were investing time by his side—holding his hand, sharing our hearts, and soaking up what we feared would be his ‘last’ this and his ‘last’ that.

And before I dare begin wrapping my heart about what will be, I can’t help but glance into the past and record the precious moments of that Christmas Eve—moments that I remember as his last stand, his last great moment of courage.

Christmas Eve fell on Sunday last year, and my brother Jason was asked to sing a solo at the morning worship service. By this time, Granddaddy had been bedridden for months. His disease had taken hold, robbing of him of the ability to do the simplest of things. No one expected him to make it to the service—I don’t even know how long it had been since he was physically able to make it to church.

Oh, how we underestimated the will and the courage of Derlan Avis Harbison.

Delightfully stubborn, my Granddaddy was nothing if not strong-willed. When he set his mind upon something, by golly, he was going to do it.

He set his mind upon hearing my brother sing at church for one final time. And he did.

Grandmother bundled him up in his warmest sweaters, and the men of the family hoisted him into his wheelchair and then into the car and on to my church, First Baptist Church of Holly Pond.

My most treasured moments of last Christmas are of that precious morning service. Our family filled a pew, and I sat proudly by my Granddaddy, holding his hand and watching his expressions. I watched the growing pride in his eyes as he listened to Jason sing. I watched members of the congregation, many who had not seen him in months and months, flock to his side. Tears slipped down my cheeks—an overflow of the thankfulness that was echoing in my heart.

I know Christmas is several weeks away, but my heart can’t help but look ahead and wonder what is to come. Our celebration will not be the same without Granddaddy, but the heart of Christmas remains the same—a rejoicing over the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. We will hurt and miss him, and I am sure that we will cry.

But we will also laugh and drink Russian tea and play Pictionary and talk babytalk to the tiniest of our family.

Granddaddy wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Believing without seeing

Imagine a world painted black—robbed of light, color and shape. Imagine stepping blindly through that world, feeling your way as you move cautiously through a crowd. Imagine relying solely on hearing and smell and touch and other people for your survival.

Imagine. I’m trying.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, as I stroll from Spanish class to mi dormitorio, I breathe in life. I watch ruby red leaves fall to the sidewalk. I try not to step on the cracks. I smile and wave at friends. Nothing spectacular, just a normal, average, regular-old slice of life.

On that path, I also encounter the same set of people every Tuesday. The same old people, strolling to the same old classes, clutching the same old books. But two of them always catch my eye and inspire my admiration.

They’re blind.

The first gentleman walks alone, tapping out his path with a pole. The second holds the arm of a friend as he makes his way to class.

Each time I see them, my thoughts whir into the same circle of thoughts. What bravery, what courage, what faith it must take for these men to venture out into a busy, busy world that they cannot even see. . .

The concept of blindness terrifies me. I cannot imagine stepping tentatively into darkness, into a world where everyone else sees all that I do not. Blindness is a state of being that I can only imagine, but for so many, it is reality. Yet still they overcome. I admire their bravery, and I can’t help but be reminded of my faith in God.

Walking in faith can often feel like walking blindly—believing without seeing, trusting without proof.

I don’t know where this life of reckless faith in God will lead me, but I’m ready to follow. I don’t hold all the answers to life’s toughest questions in my hands. Not even close, but that is okay by me. I wonder and I doubt, certainly, but at the end of the day, I open my eyes and soak up the beauty of His vast creation.

And then I close them to tell Him so.

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."
Hebrews 11:1