Frogs

I experienced an unexpected frog escape Wednesday evening walking across the church parking lot.

A few of my family members and friends will know what I mean.

For the rest of you, here’s the background:

The beautiful and amazing Mrs. Sweetie spent the last few years of her education career as an elementary school counselor.

Somewhere along the way in her training, she heard a description of grief that she adapted into her counseling, I adapted into pastoral care, and our family embraced as a reality.

Grief is like trying to put frogs in a bucket. Just when you think you’ve got them all under control—at the moment you least expect it—one of those suckers hops out!

(That may have been the Dr. G paraphrase).

For quite a few years now, our family knows what it means when any of us mentions a frog escape.

So, back to the escape itself. For years, I called my dad every Wednesday night on the way home from church. When I was a pastor, I had about a 20 minute drive home. It was the perfect amount of time for a weekly check-in. After 2008, when I moved to a different ministry, my Wednesdays weren’t as consistent, so the calls varied depending on what nights I was out.

The last call was some time in March 2020 right before he went into the hospital. He died on April 8 during the Covid shutdown, with my brother and me standing at his bedside. Other than hospital staff, we were the only ones allowed to be with him (his death was not Covid related). The only other exception they made was for his pastor, because they knew he was in his final hours.

There’s never a time that I don’t miss him, but I don’t have present, conscious feelings of grief very often anymore.

But Wednesday, leaving choir rehearsal and walking across the church parking lot, I was suddenly aware of how much I wanted to call him.

It happens.

Frogs happen.

Mrs. Sweetie and I have talked a couple of times the past few days about how we miss our parents (my mom is the only one still with us).

Something amazing that we have concluded is that frogs are a gift.

They remind us of how blessed we have been to have had those we’re missing for as long as we had them. They remind us of how good God is. They remind us that we do not grieve without hope.

This morning I started reading the Gospel of Mark.

Mark 1:1 is one of my favorite verses.

Over 20 years ago, I started preaching through Mark on Sunday mornings. In the very first sermon, I shared how that verse grabbed my heart.

“The beginning … “

My message that day was this: Jesus is just getting started.

He’s still at work. He’s still changing hearts. He’s still revealing His kingdom. He’s still rescuing and restoring.

I reread that verse in The Living Bible:

Friend, Jesus knows about your frogs.

And He’s not done yet.

Be amazing today, my friend.