Jesus

Free Palestine?

Do the young socialists in America ever wonder why millions of “Palestinians” are living in miserable refugee camps located in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, North Africa (and nearly every Middle Eastern country)?

The camps began in 1948 to accommodate Arabs who fled Israel after it was re-founded. There were about 400,000 then, now there are 5-million. This photo of the Shatila camp in Lebanon illustrates 12-thousand people packed into one square kilometer.

No one on the left will dare ask this important question: Why won’t these Arab nations allow their Palestinian brothers and sisters to assimilate into the various Arab/Muslim countries? It’s been nearly EIGHTY YEARS. Why do they tolerate their Arab kin living in horrid conditions? Many of these Arab nations are quite wealthy. Why won’t they at least construct decent public housing for these “refugees?”

The answer is obvious. These Palestinian people are being used as wretched propaganda pawns to gin up hatred for Israel and Jewish people at large.

And it’s working.

Free Palestine?

Sure, allow these people to be free to live amongst those with a common lineage, culture, and religion.

But again, it’s been nearly 80-years. So don’t hold your breath.

Meantime, “Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem,” Psalm 122.

To My Hilarious and Miraculous Son: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Thirty-one-years-ago today, a baby was born in an ambulance in San Jose, California.
Upon arriving at the hospital, it was quickly noted the premature boy was addicted to cocaine. The infant spent the next many weeks an incubator, unable to receive the love and care that most babies are given.
The little one’s mother was taken into police custody; eventually the child was discharged from the hospital into his grandparents’ care.
However, no one at the hospital realized the grandparents, albeit quite kind, were homeless.
Some months later, the little baby was discovered by police, living with his grandparents in a dilapidated, abandoned house. I’ve read the police report. Fortunately little Joshua was unharmed.
The child was immediately placed into a foster care facility. He was moved around the foster system through his fifth birthday.
Fast forward to early 2000. I was working for the CBS-TV station in San Francisco, and, among other things, hosted a weekly program called, “Brian’s Kids.” Each Wednesday, on the Five O’clock News, we would feature a youngster living in foster care who needed a permanent family. Interestingly, over the course of ten-years we witnessed over 400 of our kids getting adopted.
That’s how I met this skinny, little, almost six-year-old, named Joshua. He was featured on our TV program.
That evening, after our afternoon taping session with Josh, I told my wife about this “amazing little guy that I think we should adopt.” My son, Sam (12), was with me for the recording session and totally agreed.
Two of our children came to us through adoption, so my wife and I were familiar with the process and the challenges. Eventually, after a family meeting we decided to have Josh over to the house for a visit with his county social worker.
When he came to our door, his curly hair was combed and slicked down, and he was wearing the best set of slightly oversized hand-me-down clothes his social worker was able to find. Upon inviting him inside our home, my wife and I suddenly and simultaneously left the entryway in different directions overcome with emotion; she to our bedroom and me to a bathroom. We were both a basket of merciful tears.
Joshua officially became a member of our family shortly thereafter. Our daughter—now his sister—prayed with him to receive Jesus as his personal savior a month after Josh turned six. He’s never veered from that conviction.
Josh is happily married to Ladina. They presently live in NYC where Josh is honing his comedy credentials.
Happy birthday, son. You bring much joy (and hilarity) to our lives.

A Radio Moment Brings a Flood of Memories

Jamie Sue and I were on the road this morning, listening to oldies, and driving home in my favorite car after a Saturday night spent out of town.

Riders on the Storm by The Doors came on, and a flood of memories came in.

During my senior year of high school (1974) I managed our school’s radio station and most mornings hosted a radio show that was piped through the school’s speaker system in the hallways.

I always loved playing Riders on the Storm. The song’s introduction (minus the stormy sound effects) is 29 seconds. I mention this because as a DJ I had that exact amount of time to talk prior to the lyrics beginning. In the radio world we call this portion of a song “the walk-up.” So once the music began, I might say,

“Brian Sussman, WGBS, on a Friday morning.  Weather forecast today calls for more rain and a high of 63 degrees. Better weather this weekend with sunny skies and temperatures getting into the seventies. Don’t forget the baseball games tomorrow at home against Deerfield. Go Glenbrook South Titans. Right now, this is The Doors. Riders on the Storm.”

As we were driving and listening, I was thinking, what if God, or maybe an angel, were to do a guest walk up to that song back in 1974?

“Stormy day today, but the future looks bright for your DJ. In a few months he’ll meet his beautiful future bride. They’ll get married in four years, have an awesome daughter and three solid sons, and eventually seven grandchildren. Brian and his wife will hear this song in 2025 while driving and he’ll be hit with a flood of memories and teary eyes as he reaches over to hold her hand. Now, The Doors.”

The point of the story?

No matter what life has dealt you, scan your memory’s horizon to find those moments that have made a difference, and give thanks to God. Life is so short.

The Next Exit

Despite the fact I’ve been a follower of Jesus for decades, I continue to make monumental mistakes, dumb decisions, and chump choices.

I know the way, I know the truth, and I know the Author of Life. Yet I often stumble, and occasionally fall.

The question is, why? Especially after all these years.

The answer is because I’m often hesitant to stand on solid ground. Indeed, the Bible is replete with many admonitions to stand against temptations of many sorts. That includes the temptation to simply do things my way.

The ancient Old Testament book of Jeremiah exhorts us to stand, stating, This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.”

It’s interesting because, as every athlete knows, one’s stance is everything.

In the New Testament, Jesus provides us a description on how to stand, saying, “The one who stands firm to the end will be saved.”

Saint Paul elaborates on the concept of standing firm: “Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.”

Later, Paul says it like this: “Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.”

The takeaway is straightforward. I need to stand, and stand firm. Such a stance empowers us to take the proper exit along life’s highway.

 

 

 

A Time to Mourn

With the recent loss of my wife’s father, I have been reflecting on the process of mourning; something we don’t always seem to do well in western culture.

Too often our expressions of deep loss are extremely abbreviated. Those closest to the departed are immediately thrust into a whirlwind of tasks: funeral arrangements, obituaries, death certificates, contacting financial institutions, filing taxes, wills and trusts. While these assignments are vital, they can also act as distractions that might prevent us from taking the time to properly mourn.

For those not involved in handling the details noted above, our various occupations are often not compatible with carving out essential bereavement time.  Getting a day off to attend a memorial, let alone taking a day off after hearing the news of a death, can be challenging.

Frequently there is a lack of compelling consolation and counsel which is often desperately needed following the death of a loved one. We don’t know who to turn to, who to talk to, who to shed tears with, so we tend to stuff our emotions, pressing on with the minutia of our lives.

And then there are our children who have no frame of reference to understand they will never see that special person again.

I recall witnessing an accident that took the life of my best friend when I was ten. Though I was an emotional wreck, my parents were ill-equipped to properly console me. I was back in school and football practice the next day. When one of our teammates was told he was taking our deceased friend’s place on the starting lineup, the poor little guy broke down crying. The team marched on that day because, I guess, it was thought that it was the best thing to do. It was decades before I was able to mourn Kenney’s untimely death and it brought long overdue healing to my life.

The Bible describes for us many important aspects of mourning, such as weeping, crying loudly, and setting aside days or even weeks to allow for healing. And even though the Christian has the assurance that when this earthly life has ended, eternal life has just begun, we are still entitled and encourgaed to express our raw emotions for the passing of another.

As King Solomon once said, God graciously allows us “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

Next time, let’s make the time to mourn.