October 22, 2008

She Has Me by the Gizzard

2008 1529 page14 capixty years! Sixty years with the same woman! That’s a long time!”
 
The words came from Ron, a neighbor who’d come to help us celebrate our sixtieth wedding anniversary.
 
“Not really,” I reply. “It doesn’t seem long.”
 
It’s evening, and we’re by the garden fireplace. Groups of friends are chatting. “But how did you manage it?” Ron continues. “I’m into my third marriage! Not always easy! [My wife] Jane keeps talking about you and Freddie—about your marriage. They say one really has to work at it.
 
What’s the secret?”
 
2008 1529 page14“No secret,” I say, laughing. “I guess it just happened. She got hold of my gizzard a long time ago, and never let go!”
 
I’m trying not to sound sanctimonious—wasn’t the time for a lecture on marriage.
 
“Of course, she attracted me,” I continue, talking close to his ear. “Good looks, charm, talent. She had it all. And we had a good start—plenty of adventure, excitement, fun. We were in Africa, you know. I’ve always admired and loved her, but as we experienced parenthood, a challenging overseas mission, and some tough times, she grew on me—got under my skin. It’s what she is—personality, intrinsic goodness. . . . Uh, my wife’s looking at us.”
 
We stop. But later, Ron picks up on the conversation: “So she got hold of your gizzard, did she? What are you saying?”
 
“It’s just that when I look at her, hear her voice, feel her touch, or even think of her,” I say to him, poking my stomach, “I get this gut feeling! I could never deliberately hurt her; but when I do, she forgives me. She’s good at that!”
 
Ron smiles faintly.
 
But What Can I Say About My Other Love?
Weeks later, I find myself talking to a young man about the Christian experience. He says he’s a believer, but isn’t quite sure he’s saved. “I’ve been attending these meetings,” he says. “The preacher says I must ‘invite Jesus into my heart.’ If I do, or say that I do so, does it mean I’m saved? And how, exactly, do I do that? What, really, is he saying?”
 
“Well,” I respond weakly, “it’s a personal matter, isn’t it? Not for me to say.”
 
I leave the young man, but I’m uncomfortable. “Did I really answer his question?” I ask myself.
 
“Do I have a problem describing our relationship to Jesus, unlike the ease I had answering my friend Ron about my marriage?”
 
It’s 2:00 a.m. and I awake with a start, thinking. We tell our children to “invite Jesus into your hearts.” We sing “Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.” Good, lovely! But, what are we really singing about? Do our young people know enough about Jesus—about His love, His teachings, His plan for their salvation—to thoughtfully wish Him to be in their hearts? Are they perhaps led to think that they are saved, born again, simply by repeating the words, by standing or raising their hands, or walking to the altar? How will they know if Jesus really is “in their hearts”? And what, incidentally, does it mean? Is it some sort of mantra? Some experience? Or both? I find myself puzzled.
 
And then, an alarm sounds—as when I’m driving the wrong way on a one-way street. In my Christian experience, who really does the initial inviting? Is it I or is it Jesus? I recall the exchange with Ron, and the playful whimsy about Fredonia “getting hold of my gizzard” assumes meaning. She’s there, all right, but must I invite her into my heart? Of course not! Could I ever prevent her from entering my heart—or ever throw her out of it? Not likely. Do I feel her in my heart . . . uh, in my belly? Absolutely!
 
Why, then, is she so deeply lodged in my heart? The reason includes more than her good looks, her charm, her multiple talents. Rather, it’s because of who she is, and because of what she has been for me. Throughout our marriage she has consistently demonstrated extraordinary love, loyalty, and forgiveness. She has suffered hardship, given everything to prove her love—nearly dying twice! She is mine and I am hers. Am I secure in our relationship? What do you think?
 
Gripped by a Sermon . . . and a Song
I remember and relive a certain early experience I had—an epiphany of sorts. I’m 6, and with my parents and grandfather W. C. White, we’re getting ready for a worship meeting at La Sierra, where construction of the proposed junior college is underway. Finding our way through the boy’s dorm and over construction materials, we finally arrive at a temporary chapel, where 20 to 30 workers are singing a hymn. We sit second row from the front.
 
The sermon centers on the crucifixion of Jesus, making the event seem so real! The preacher’s text, “Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth” (Isa. 45:22),* rings in my ears. The closing hymn, “Jesus Calls Us,” grips me where I live, and I think: Jesus really loves me. And He’s calling me!
 
The event lives in my memory still. And the hymn never fails to evoke the mysterious joy I felt when I sensed that the Jesus who died on the cross is calling on me to look at Him, to follow Him!
 
It’s nearly eight decades later, and still scores of thoughts flood my mind: the Son of God made me; He calls me by name! He demonstrates His love in so many ways: giving me an incredible environment; providing me with sustenance and beauty; blessing me with relationships, both human and divine; causing me to enjoy a wholesome life-style, forgiveness, pardon, acceptance; and crowning it all with expectations of eternal life!
 
Jesus Makes the First Move
The initiative is all His, not mine. He first loved me, along with everyone else, though we are sinners and aliens. He came “in the likeness of sinful flesh” (Rom. 8:3), becoming one with us, taking our human nature, and showing us how to live and how to overcome the powers of darkness.
 
Then in an unbelievable demonstration of divine love, He allows Himself to be rejected, abused, tortured, nailed to a cross, and, finally, left to hang in agony and shame for a race of rebels.

Why did He do it? Just hours before His crucifixion we hear the reason. Agonizing over His nation’s rejection, and fearful lest He fail to fulfill His unspeakable role as God’s sacrificial Lamb, He takes comfort in the assurance that if He is lifted up on the cross, He will draw all people to Himself (John 12:32, 33). God loved the world so much, He said, “that he gave his only begotten Son” (John 3:16). God was “not willing that any should perish” (2 Peter 3:9).
Suddenly it dawns on me that whatever Jesus’ commitment or plan, it is His dream of a redeemed human family that sustains Him as He stumbles to the cross.
 
Yes, He falls to the ground in Gethsemane. And He falls beneath the cross on the way to Golgotha. But He does not fail! He endures the cruelest, most humiliating death, desperately hoping to catch our attention. He grips our hearts, causing us to feel the power of His incredible love—to feel it deep in our inward parts as we look on Him “lifted up” on the cross. By faith I witness the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching ordeal as blood pours from His spear-pierced side. But I also feel the assurance Jesus talks about when He invites us to drink of the water He offers—“rivers of living water” (John 7:38). As we do, we’ll sense it in our belly, in our inward parts.

Will my wife ever let go of my gizzard? I don’t think so.
 
And how about Jesus—my crucified, risen, and living Lord? Will He ever let me go? Do I feel His longsuffering hold on my heart? His unfailing care in my innermost being? Do I feel, from within, the surging tide of His infinite love as He calls me to follow Him wherever He might lead? Could I ever willingly disobey or hurt Him? And am I assured of salvation, of His power to save even me?
 
Really, need one ask? 
 
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*All Scripture references in this article are from the King James Version.
     
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Oliver Jacques, a great-grandson of Ellen G. White, was a retired vice president of Kettering Medical Center when he wrote this article.

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