One of the most moving experiences I've ever witnessed happened at a Steven Curtis Chapman concert in July 2008.

The concert was one of the first times he took the stage after the tragic death of his young daughter Maria in May of that year. For those who don't know, his young adopted daughter was killed when she was accidentally struck by a car driven by Chapman's son. I can't imagine the pain a man must go through at that point, having to witness an event like that and suffer through it, trying to be strong for his family, reassure his son of his love for him and put on a platform where many are watching to see how he responds. Even as Chapman's music had grown a bit too tame and formulaic for me over the years, he still impressed me for his refusal to water down his lyrics and try to court mainstream success; he's always been adament about putting his faith first in his music, and I was curious to see how he would respond to such a horrible tragedy.

Even though the venue was undergoing power trouble (the concert ultimately had to be cancelled shortly after starting and rescheduled for later that summer), Chapman took the stage with grace and dignity. He didn't put on a face that ignored what we all knew was going on, nor did he use it as an excuse to give anything less than 100%. He smiled, joked with the audience and then acknowledged what we all were wondering. He said that in the moments following the incident, one song was going through his mind. And then he sang "Blessed be the name," which includes the lyrics "you give and take away."

When I saw him again that August at the rescheduled show, he opened it in much the same way. He then talked about how in the aftermath of what occured he had to go through every song he had ever written and asked if he still believed the words he sang and admitted that he had considered never taking the stage again. And while he admitted that the family had hit the depths of despair, he also said that when they hit the bottom, they found that the bottom was still firm. Having seen him give many of the same answers in nationally-televised interviews, where he is never less than brutally honest about the questions and trials his family has faced and yet always confident about Whom he believes, I have developed a strong admiration for this man. He's shown pure humility and class in the face of a tragedy that I can't even fathom and he's never once milked sympathy or shown that he has wavered in what he believes.

Chapman's latest album, "Beauty Will Rise," was released this week. I had expected that his next studio album would likely deal quite heavily with the tragedy that had stricken him. But as I played the album in my car, I found myself moved to tears not by Chapman's grief--although it is palpable--but by the joy and hope that powers through each song. It's one thing to hear a Christian singer perform a song about hope, God's faithfulness, trusting Christ and looking forward to Heaven; you hear it enough that it begins to sound cheesy, even trivial. But to know what he's gone through and hear him sing about it so transparently--but still return each song to a place of worship and glory to God...it's a moving thing. On every song, Chapman sings about brokenness and hurt...and yet the album is not depressing, but uplifiting. These are the words of a father dealing with the tragic death of his little girl and he doesn't ever hide the fact that he's asking questions, wrestling with faith and wondering why everything happened. But in the same lyrics, he affirms his belief that this is God's plan, that God's will is good and that this tragedy will work towards God's glory.

I find that I'm more often moved to tears not by things that are sad but by things that are beautiful and good. And that's the case with this album; Chapman's response to this tragedy has been very human. It's been very honest. But he's also taken everything that's happened and turned it back to faith and praise.

As I listened to the album I began to ask if I'd be able to do the same. If unspeakable tragedy befell me, would I be able to mourn but still write about hope and faith? Would I still be able to praise God with tears in my eyes and trust that not only was He good but that this situation was one in which I could trust and praise Him?

To be very honest, I don't know. The fact that I have to qualify the question with "but I hope it never happens" shows just where my heart would likely be at a time like that.

I've been very blessed in my life. I've never had anyone close to me die. My lowest moments have been of my own doing. And even when I've deserved to be destitute, homeless and abandoned, God has been faithful. While I'm deeply grateful for that, I also know it's built up an insulation in me. I don't know real tragedy. I don't know real sorrow. I've been so blessed that I can't imagine not being taken care of or not having what I need/want. And so I cling to it.

I'm a selfish person by nature. My first instinct in tough situations is to try and avoid pain rather than endure it. And when something happens that I feel is unfair or cruel, my first action is to complain or lash out. If this happens with something like monetary issues or car trouble, I shudder to think what my reaction would be like in the face of calamity. I would love to say I'd be the man who can say "it is well with my soul." The truth is, I fear that I would be the one to blame God and run.

And so I'm grateful for Chapman's example and humbled by his integrity and hope. And I pray that God would use that example to show the idolatry of my own heart and prepare me for the day when I have to praise God even in the middle of  unbearable storms.

--Cdubbs

http://chrisicisms.blogspot.com

So, yesterday I ended a very long work week with a very bad, frustrating day. Normally it wouldn't get me down except, with vacation starting on Thursday, it seems like everything just frustrates me more and makes me yearn for a day without any work. Basically all I wanted to do was come home, lock myself in the apartment and chill out with a dose of "Pineapple Express" (the movie, not the...you know).

And it was all going so well. I came home, received an e-mail from my boss and my boss's boss that made me feel a lot better about the day. I cleaned the kitchen and took the dog for a walk then came back and surfed the Internet with some Derek Webb, Green Day and Dead Weather on the Media Player. I ate some Pei Wei while catching up on two nights of "The Tonight Show" and then decided I'd throw some towels in the washer. So I went down into the apartment's basement and threw the towels in the washer. I noticed I was a quarter short, so I ran back up the three flights of stairs to get a quarter out of my apartment...

And found that the door was locked. And my keys were on the kitchen table.

Now, in past situations like this (yes, it's happened before, just not at the new place) I've proven myself adept at letting myself into the apartment with a credit card. I've gotten myself into two apartments, my parents' house and a dorm room with that trick. Unfortunately, the door jam covers the portion of the door where I'd need to put the credit card in. So--with the dog barking on the other side the whole time--I tried in vain to pick my way into the apartment.

Okay, plan B. I had my cell phone on me and knew the number for maintenance's lock-out line. So I called and got the snottiest girl to ever man an answering service. "Yeah, they'll let you in," she said. "But it's going to be $20."

"That's no problem. I'll write them a check when they get me into the apartment."

"They only take cash."

Oh. The problem is that I didn't have any cash on me or in my apartment (save for the $1.25 I had just put in the washing machine). I carry a debit card and hadn't taken out cash for the weekend yet.

"Is there any other way? Can I give you my debit card number or write a check just this once?"

"No ma'am"---I hate that--" only cash."

After angrily reminding her that I'm a sir, not a ma'am, I I told her to go ahead and page maintenance. She told me to have a nice night and I retorted with a very sarcastic "thank you" and thought about my options.

You have to understand where my apartment is situated. I'm not off a main road and I'm not in the middle of a bunch of businesses. I'm in the middle of a subdivision surrounded by parks and trails. It's great, except when you need to walk somewhere to get cash. (Remember, no keys, no car). The maintenance guy called to tell me he was on his way and noted that the price was not $20, but $25--and yes, it had to be cash. It would be 40 minutes before he could get there...I realize I was putting him out on a Friday night but I should also note that just that afternoon maintenance had come into my apartment to fix a leak that I didn't even know existed and, in the process, cut a huge hole in the wall above my shower. I don't mind, because they'll fix the drywall next week...but still, I think we can call this breaking even. He, once again, asked me if I realized I needed to have cash on hand. I said I'd figure something out.

I knew that about half-a-mile from my complex was a liquor store. I'd just have to walk there. So I began walking the 1/4 mile to get out of the complex and then the 1/2 mile to get to the store. . . and realized that it was the only liquor store in the history of mankind that closed at 6 p.m. on a Friday. The next nearest place with an ATM? A Flagstar bank another mile down the road. So I set out walking again.

And about this time is when I should probably tell you...I was wearing socks.

See, a long walk would have been inconvenient but not too bad if my feet were properly protected. But I hadn't had shoes on when I was doing laundry and so now I found myself in a situation like John McClane--except that he was barefoot and killing terrorists, which is infinitely cooler.

I walked the extra mile, my feet hurting as I stumbled over pebbles and sticks...I should also mention that there was a lot of construction in the sub so there was plenty of dirt, crumbly ashphalt and debris. And I never realized how much good shoes do...walking even without the pebbles just was killing my feet, but every rock stumbled over was just miserable. I finally made it over to the ATM and got the cash and then began the treacherous task of walking all the way back to my apartment. I'm not proud to admit that there were a couple obcenities uttered during that time and I seriously considered driving out for a stiff drink after I got let in--but then promised myself a popsicle instead.

I made it back just before the maintenance guy arrived. He hinted for a tip...I did not give him one. By then I was just too angry and tired to be generous. As I sat in my arm chair, watching "Pineapple Express" and eating my popsicle, I realized that this story was, in retrospect, probably going to be funny one day. But not then.

Today? Yeah, it's a bit funny.