COMPOSED

My racing mind imagined awful scenes, a drowning death after he slipped off the pier, unstable from the ravages of the unwelcome tumor in his brain. With his limping gait and dangling arm he would trip and fall, unable to catch himself, like he had other times. But then he was on dry land. This time he’d fall into cold, deep water, powerless to save himself or to be rescued.

Unable to keep from picturing this, among other untold images, left me restless. Before I learned not to conduct medical queries on the internet, I read that my brother’s tumor, an oligodendroglioma, typically grows extremely slowly. It did, for about 15 years. But then, according to its studied pattern, it would return with a vengeance, expanding quickly. With virtual certainty, it would cruelly overtake the life of its host. The year before Jess died, fear of this projection overtook my own life. I dreaded the inevitable, unspeakable moment when Satan’s evil plan -- death -- would materialize. 

In August of 2003, just prior to a family trip to bring Jess up north one last time, his doctor told me and our mom and dad, privately (Jess didn’t want to know), that he had “3 weeks to 3 months” to live. Returning home that day, after dropping Jess off at his cozy home in Minneapolis, I sat down at my piano. Harbor was the piece that resulted from that respite at the keyboard. I don’t know how it came out, I didn’t hear it in my head, but my fingers found it buried among the keys, and I scribbled quickly to keep it intact on paper. 

Before all this, we experienced 14 years of relative stability without emergencies, seizures, rages and unknowns. Because of the slow growth, the tumor allowed a functional, healthy life with anti-seizure medication. For Jess, though, a frequent foreboding stole many moments, and his outlook suffered. At one point, I remember his wish to end his turmoil, and me trying to urge him to find hope in his despair. Over the years, he wavered between relative melancholy and dark depression, finding solace in his hobbies and routines at home and work, and within his small, trusted friendship circle. 

He and I navigated our unique, cherished, and at times, challenging family, together, over those years, just as we always had. When visiting Birchcliff, our childhood home on the wooded acreage where we grew up, Jess would disappear for hours hiking and soaking in the healing comfort of the countryside. Periodically, we would hear the soulful melody of the bagpipes that he skillfully played, drifting through the thick wooded hills from the back fields. Fiercely intelligent, his observation of life’s ironies and comprehensive knowledge of world history, along with his relentless wit, provided many stimulating, delightful conversations over the years. Not realizing it at the time, but missing it terribly now, we were united in our outlook, our shared perspective on so many things in life that matter.

When signs of the tumor’s quickened growth emerged, we journeyed to his medical appointments together, always hoping for good news. Each time, though, the news was less reassuring, leading to experimental treatment regimens. Hope would surface, disappear and repeat. I was his taxi (he couldn’t drive, due to seizures), confidante, and encourager, helping him adjust to his deteriorating body, while trying to remain upbeat and supportive. 

Not realizing what lay in store, I was unprepared when Jess’ personality began to change. Once, while walking to my car outside his house, he raged uncontrollably after losing his balance on his unstable leg and falling. He hobbled back into the house, but I was terrified to follow him. I didn’t know this person. I visualized opening his door to see him holding a gun pointed at my head. Or walking inside to find him dead after shooting himself. My dread approaching his back steps is unforgettable; these scenarios matched his fury all too realistically. Fearing bodily harm was one thing, but it was another thing altogether to not recognize the man in front of me. To see this hijacked shell of my older brother, functioning in a rudimentary, primitive way, completely overcome by this cruel short-circuiting, produced a distinctly new type of anguish. 

A nightmarish fear welled up repeatedly over that long year, increasing in intensity as emergencies occurred more often and evidence of Jess’ decline was unmistakable. As his designated “point person” I had a front row seat for each episode, but I also needed to initiate a response to each crisis. On the evening of Thanksgiving, I heard a helicopter overhead, strangely out of place, as Birchcliff was in quite a remote area. A visiting relative was suddenly sharing that Jess was out on the property somewhere, having a seizure. How they could have known this made no sense to me, but I went outside into the dark to search for him. 

It turned out that rescue vehicles could be seen down the road from our long driveway, about a quarter mile away. What we learned was that Jess had sped off in our dad’s pickup truck, racing after a potential offender he suspected of shining deer near our front field. Without warning or inhibition, completely out of character -- results of his compromised brain function -- he careened down the gravel road, spun out of control and launched the truck sideways into two trees, which kept it from rolling. Without his seatbelt on, miraculously without any visible injury, those who called for help were the very people he had chased without reason. In the commotion  of numerous emergency vehicles and personnel, I was the only one to insist that he be taken by ambulance to be evaluated. 

What stood out that night after his exam and x-rays were concluded, was seeing him fumble with the button on his jeans, unable to make his fingers cooperate with his brain. His right hand was weak, without dexterity. Future signs of similar deterioration -- his arm dangling uselessly at the grocery store, the struggle to put on a velcro sandal, his search for words from aphasia, out of control seizures, his constant struggle with increasing obsessive-compulsive disorder and completely irrational demands -- all sparked a dread in my soul that has never been matched. I can’t imagine the depth of Jess’ internal anguish. Each occurrence was unmistakable evidence of tumor growth, and announced his coming death.  

By the time the doctor told us the prognosis of very little time left for Jess, I had long since enjoyed any of my normal activities. I looked forward to nothing, and went through functional but empty motions at work, home, and with others. I remember distinctly how noticeably strange it felt to not look forward with anticipation to anything, particularly favorite pastimes. 

That late August trip up north in 2003 took us to the serenity and beauty of the Grand Marais harbor, but it provided no joy. In the three years prior, the north woods was where we had started to trek annually with our little brother, Sam, enamored by the prospects of spotting wildlife on our lengthy hikes. We were thrilled with the inauguration of these spring expeditions together, but in 2003, Jess’ health did not allow the trip. So this family journey was expected to be the last time we would share this northern jaunt. But by now, as I saw Jess begin to walk on the narrow pier with our dad, Lake Superior’s cold dark waters just feet away, I couldn’t bear to accompany them.  Since his ankle no longer supported him consistently, I was certain he would fall, slipping off the steep concrete walkway, and I would watch him drown right in front of me. 

Jess died one week after returning from our trip. On Saturday, my mom and I planned to tell him that he needed to have home health care through hospice, something he would argue against. Though our brother Karl had a good visit with him the previous evening, we found Jess in a disoriented, sickened state in his house the next day. The details of that weekend still break my heart. In the hospital overnight, on Sunday, Jess let go. His cherished, closest friend, beautiful Ixchel, was with him at his bedside. 

While I wrote Harbor after his appointment a few weeks prior, I had not attempted to give it a name. I don’t remember when it struck me, but the harbor on that fraught sojourn signified the retreat, protection and safety that only God could provide, in the years both before and after Jess’ death. There was beauty in the harbor, and requisite shelter from the buffeting of relentless storms. Life exists abundantly in those calm, tranquil waters, even while death from a painfully slow tragedy rolls in on mournful waves. But that life, God-breathed energy, is sustenance. The Harbor is the place of repose where all is well, even when all is not well. 

It would be several more years before I would settle back into something that felt normal.  Raw, open grief and an incessantly racing mind kept me from sleeping through the night for many months. Perceived isolation brought me to the lowest point of my adult life, where my outlook floundered and for a very brief time, I longed to be free of earth altogether. I felt as if I was irreparably separate from any of my relationships, infinitely alone. Never in any danger whatsoever of harming myself, I simply understood all too clearly why people would want to end their pain of profound disconnection and hopelessness. Eventually, prolonged mourning and depression cascaded into sad, yet gentle, periods. Abundant anxiety reduced to a low simmer, though I was still vigilant, always expecting danger. 

During that stretch, I remember finding deep comfort from reading Scripture on long afternoons, focusing on the Psalms. Far from a deliberate or organized study of the Word, I simply was drawn to it out of desperation. I was hungry for it, and it made me calm. Knowing that God was the source of all life and peace, it was His Word that became the most appealing force for restoration. I never was without faith; I never doubted God’s goodness or asked ‘why’ or felt as if this was unfair. I only felt the deepest, most mind-numbing sadness I had ever experienced, along with oceans of angst that required medication to stop unhinging my life. But I knew Jesus the Messiah was still in control, He had Jess in His care, healed and complete, and we would see each other again. While saddened still that he suffered so significantly, that his life here was cut terribly short, and grieved over the nightmare he experienced, my heart rejoices in the deep comfort of knowing Jess and I believed in the same Savior. 

AMPLIFIED

It seems necessary to recognize the exponentially greater harms that majorities in our world confront. Unspeakable horrors, persistent, awful suffering, that in no way bear even remote similarity to our family’s ordeal. World-class medical care, health insurance, transportation, nutrition, education, stable income and housing, a corporate body with whom to worship freely and find support, and much more, protected us -- Jess included -- from the horrid misery of onslaughts experienced in our world. So much exists that causes Him deep sorrow. Yet, still, for Jess, Jesus wept.  

At times, I wonder if I were to relive the painful years surrounding Jess’ decline and death, but with the benefit of hindsight, would I be quite so undone by grief’s extended stay? Would my current faith carry me with a bit more certainty, if it had existed then? Maybe, but asking this question is useless. The summation of our existence leads us to today. We aren’t static in any of our singular moments, as trials continually press and mold the clay of our hearts into new shapes and purposes. The beauty of God’s work in our lives is consistently unpredictable. Where we are at one point will look very different from moments off in the distance. So we work through today without knowing what corner of the masterpiece He is bent over, focused on perfecting in us. 

The concept of growth through suffering is so ubiquitous, cliche, that we might overlook its significance. And in our faith journey, ample confusion exists regarding the role of suffering: why would a good God allow it, why do ‘good’ people suffer, should I desire to suffer, if God is in charge, why doesn’t He demonstrate His force more clearly and end all suffering? Authors, such as my favorite, Philip Yancey, elaborate and bring clarity to these immense questions. From a layperson’s perspective, what I’ve noticed is, we just don’t dig deeper if we are already content. But we claw furiously when swamped with wave after wave of raw and wretched pain. Ordinarily, we don’t carry around a life-preserver, but when we are drowning and about to go under, we grasp for that one thing we know will save us. It becomes valuable, important, necessary at just such a moment. The struggle makes us reach.

Similarly, we don’t routinely carry the life-giving faith we need into each day. We dismiss -- or disdain -- a need for faith, when nothing extraordinary presses. We are fine. Our lives are comfortable. When hiccups come, we have all the relationships, provisions and conveniences we need to muddle through. We certainly don’t want to consider impossible questions or let our mind wander to impractical topics. But, as soon as unexpected adversity brings suffering in its wake, our perspective quickly shifts. Derailed, sensing our control may be an illusion, we are forced to contend with a new plight. Unable to find rest, now we reach, perhaps in want of that life preserver of faith. 

The suffering which Satan intends to do us harm, is upended when God converts it into something filled with purpose and meaning and goodness. If we are open to that opportunity, and in sufficient distress to pay attention, we discover that only our Creator satisfies. His Word, His Spirit, His forgiveness, His healing, His protection, His unconditional love -- beautifully distilled into flowing, clear spiritual water that cleanses us deep within and refreshes our souls.

So, safely sheltered, He supports us while storm surges pummel relentlessly. He keeps our feet planted on a rock, a foundation -- a solid platform beneath us while we wait for choppy seas to calm. We’re not floating on a piece of styrofoam, thrown off balance and into the deep where we would surely drown. We remain firmly in place, focused, dignified, gracious, steady -- unwavering in trust for Jesus’ purpose in our lives, even while solutions to our momentary conditions evade us. With our gaze fixed forward in humility and concentration on Him, we eventually discover, with great joy, how courageously hopeful, surprisingly peaceful, we have become. We are undeterred. 

His Spirit refreshes our spirit, and He inhabits us with His life, His power, His fruit, deliciously in season. Growing from tiny seeds into vibrant, healthy, fully-formed nutrients for our spiritual souls, are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control. These give evidence of His infinite resolve to work out His goodness from within our hearts. Quietly knowing the fullness of my own depravity, I see clearly how miraculous the manifestation of His nourishing strength is. What was deplorable is reformed, reconstructed, healed and presented afresh, beautiful in its recreated state, a remarkable demonstration of His might. 

Scripture encourages us, reminding us of how trustworthy He has been in the past, and how deep and unchanging His love is for us. Chasing out lingering doubts with unfaltering passages, selected just for us at a particular moment in time, He speaks with stunning detail and intimacy to our circumstances. His Word is alive and engaging, spiritual oxygen, the life-giving air of the omniscient, sovereign Lord of the universe. Like a cleansing salve, it works into messy, repulsive recesses -- places kept well-hidden from view -- and gently goes to work, polishing with a soft cloth until the reflection I see is His alone.   

Do storms of grief, anxiety and loneliness still brew? At times, yes; after all, we do live in the fallen world. But in the protective safety of the Harbor, we rest, while He works. We receive, while He fills. We are quiet, while He is mighty. We are patient, while He is trustworthy. He keeps and maintains, so that we return strengthened in faith to the places and roles He has laid out for us. Awash in His living and active Word, centered on His foundational truths, His Spirit walks with us on precious paths. And our footing has never been more solid beneath us. 

Jess Branden Erickson

October 3, 1963 - September 8, 2003

39 years old

Cherished Brother, Son, Uncle, Cousin, Friend, Colleague

POSTLUDE

“Troubles nearly always make us look to God; His blessings are apt to make us look elsewhere.” O. Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, January 22

“The one passion of Paul’s life was to proclaim the Gospel of God.  He welcomed heart-breaks, disillusionments, tribulation, for one reason only, because these things kept him in unmoved devotion to the Gospel of God.” O. Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, February 1

“At times God puts us through the  discipline of darkness to teach us to heed Him. Songbirds are taught to sing in the dark, and we are put into the shadow of God's hand until we learn to hear Him.” O. Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, February 14

“Every vision will be made real if we will have patience. Think of the enormous leisure of God! He is never in a hurry. We are always in such a frantic hurry…God has to take us into the valley, and put us through fires and floods to batter us into shape, until we get to the place where He can trust us…over and over again we escape from His hand and try to batter ourselves into our own shape….Let Him put you on His wheel and whirl you as He likes, and as sure as God is God and you are you, you will turn out exactly in accordance with the vision. Don’t lose heart in the process. If you have ever had the vision of God, you may try as you like to be satisfied on a lower level, but God will never let you.” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, July 6

“To choose to suffer means that there is something wrong; to choose God’s will even if it means suffering is a very different thing.”  O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, August 10

“If we did not know some saints, we would say – ‘Oh, he, or she, has nothing to bear.’ Lift the veil. The fact that the peace and the light and the joy of God are there is proof that the burden is there too. The burden God places squeezes the grapes and out comes the wine; most of us see the wine only. No power on earth or in hell can conquer the Spirit of God in a human spirit, it is an inner unconquerableness.” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, April 14

“A saint’s life is in the hands of God like a bow and arrow in the hands of an archer. God is aiming at something the saint cannot see, and He stretches and strains, and every now and again the saint says – ‘I cannot stand any more.’ God does not heed, He goes on stretching till His purpose is in sight, then He lets fly. Trust yourself in God’s hands…You cannot see Him just now, you cannot understand what He is doing, but you know Him. Shipwreck occurs where there is not that mental poise which comes from being established on the eternal truth that God is holy love…fling yourself in reckless confidence on God…If we take this view, life becomes one great romance, a glorious opportunity for seeing marvelous things all the time…” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, May 8

“The purpose of God is not to answer our prayers, but by our prayers we come to discern the mind of God…God is not concerned about our plans; He does not say – Do you want to go through this bereavement; this upset? He allows these things for His own purpose. The things we are going through are either making us sweeter, better, nobler men and women; or they are making us more captious and fault-finding, more insistent upon our own way…When we understand what God is after we will not get mean and cynical. Jesus has prayed nothing less for us than absolute oneness with Himself as He was one with the Father…God will not leave us alone until we are one with Him…” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, May 22

“Sorrow burns up a great amount of shallowness, but it does not always make a man better. Suffering either gives me my self or it destroys my self. You cannot receive your self in success, you lose your head; you cannot receive your self in monotony, you grouse. The way to find your self is in the fires of sorrow. Why it should be so is another matter, but that it is so is true in the Scriptures and in human experience. You always know the man who has been through the fires of sorrow and received himself, you are certain you can go to him in trouble and find that he has ample leisure for you. If a man has not been through the fires of sorrow, he is apt to be contemptuous, he has no time for you. If you receive yourself in the fires of sorrow, God will make you nourishment for other people.” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, June 25

“There are times, says Jesus, when God cannot lift the darkness from you, but trust Him. God will appear like an unkind friend, but He is not; He will appear like an unnatural Father, but He is not; He will appear like an unjust judge, but He is not. Keep the notion of the mind of God behind all things strong and growing. Nothing happens in any particular, unless God’s will is behind it, therefore you can rest in perfect confidence in Him.” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, July 16

“We must never put our dreams of success as God’s purpose for us; His purpose may be exactly the opposite…His purpose is that I depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay in the middle of the turmoil calm and unperplexed, that is the end of the purpose of God…What men call training and preparation, God calls the end. God’s end is to enable me to see that He can walk on the chaos of my life just now.” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, July 28

“The discipline of dismay is essential in the life of discipleship. The danger is to get back to a little fire of our own and kindle enthusiasm at it. When the darkness of dismay comes, endure until it is over, because out of it will come that following of Jesus which is an unspeakable joy.” O. Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, March 15

“I know when the proposition comes from God because of its quiet persistence: When I have to weigh the pros and cons, and doubt and debate come in, I am bringing in an element that is not of God, and I come to the conclusion that the suggestion was not a right one….Loyalty to Jesus means I have to step out where I do not see anything; loyalty to my notions means that I clear the ground first by my intelligence. Faith is not intelligent understanding, faith is deliberate commitment to a Person where I see no way. Are you debating whether to take a step in faith in Jesus or to wait until you can see how to do the thing yourself? Obey Him with glad reckless joy.” O.  Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, March 28

ENCOURAGING WORD

Psalm 34:17-18  The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; He delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit

Psalm 34:7  The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and He delivers them. 

Zephaniah 3:17  The Lord your God is with you. He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.

Psalm 107:28-31  Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed. They were glad when it grew calm, and he guided them to their desired haven. Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love…

Psalm 69: 14-15  Rescue me from the mire, do not let me sink; deliver me from those who hate me, from the deep waters. Do not let the floodwaters engulf me or the depths swallow me up or the pit close its mouth over me.

Psalm 29:11  The Lord gives strength to His people; the Lord blesses His people with peace.

Joshua 1: 5, 9  I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Psalm 32:6  Therefore let all the faithful pray to you while you may be found; surely the rising of the mighty waters will not reach them.

Psalm 31:24  Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.

Psalm 31:9  Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and body with grief.

Psalm 147: 3;5  He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds...His understanding has no limit.

2 Timothy 1:7  For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love and of a sound mind.

Psalm 57:1  Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings, until the disaster has passed.

Ephesians 6:16  …take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 

Romans 8:28  And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

John 16:33  I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. 

John 17:14-15 I have given them your word and the world has hated them, for they are not of the world any more than I am of the world. My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. 

Romans 8:26-27  In the same way, The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.

1 Corinthians 2:3  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.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9  We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

Matthew 11:28  Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Hebrews 6:19  We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.