Get the word out!

God is with us;

We are not alone.

— Max Lucado, Cure for the Common Life

Shortly after I graduated from college I began working as a Christian book editor. As is the case in any workplace that is deadline driven, there was often tension and stress. I could see it on the faces of my coworkers and hear it in their voices when the interruptions seemed to never end. Fridays were the worst. We all understood that to enjoy our weekend activities, we had better crank out the work and clear off our desks.

Yet, there were endless deadlines. Once we crossed one project off our lists, others were immediately added. After all, we needed to work far ahead. It’s necessary when you edit and produce books. Publishers must keep a continual eye on the next selling season, organize the marketing people, educate their sales force, and motivate authors to promote their new materials.

Those of us hired to edit the books — a group of people naturally mannered to be precise and thought-filled — did our very best to work with authors who occasionally believed their manuscripts were tantamount to Holy writ and never failed to call us with yet another idea that could not possibly be ignored.

Our senior editor could easily sense our frustrations and would often say in a theatrical voice that boomed across the office, “Friday’s here — but Sunday’s coming!”

Don borrowed the phrase from best-selling author and gifted communicator Tony Compolo, and we would laugh at the dramatics that accompanied this reference to Christ’s death on Friday and resurrection on Sunday.

I always had the feeling Don had to work into his act as he was an especially gentle man, but his reference certainly reflected his personal belief: Things may seem dreadful now, but hope — and the miracle that life does not end when we die — is a biblical promise we can trust and believe. That’s because God lived among us and when He left, He designated that His spirit remain.

One Friday evening, after picking up a few groceries, Don came upon an auto accident on a quiet street that separates a condominium complex from a strawberry field. Don could see the anguished faces of nearby residents who had hurried out to the scene and he felt compelled to pull off, park, and walk toward the crowd. He was our senior editor, but he was a Christian pastor before this second career. He hoped that his training as a pastor might offer some comfort to those who looked so distressed.

As Don approached the accident, he could see that a motorcyclist was involved and the paramedics leaning over the victim were working at a frantic pace. Just as Don was about to turn his attentions to those in the crowd, he caught a glimpse of something that prompted him to stop and look again.

Red curls. A familiar motorcycle. As Don bent down for a closer view, he found himself looking into the eyes of his young son, Robbie.

The paramedics stepped back slightly as Don fell to the pavement to take into his arms the son he had helped bring into this world. And it was there that Don comforted — somehow — his dying child.

Friends and family gathered days later to bury Robbie and a little bit of Don as well. The strain on his face and the tears in his eyes that would come from nowhere were but small signs of the personal pain he endured.

There were times, Don said, when the pain paralyzed him. But at those moments something significant would invariably happen. A friend would say just the right words. A photo would recall a happy memory of Robbie. His wife would hold him. He would turn to Matthew 28:20 in his Bible and read, “I am with you always — to the very end of the age.” He realized that Jesus did love him too much to leave him alone and made His presence known through people and the events of Don’s life.

As my office cohorts and I watched, we saw things in Don that gave us courage. He never stopped caring for us, even though our struggles paled in comparison. He continued his fine work as an editor. His faith in a loving God remained intact.

Twenty years have passed since I watched Don face the untimely death of his precious son, and it is this profound memory that has comforted and instructed me this week as I joined a most compassionate and caring group of neighbors to bury one of our own. It is in our sorrow that God can be felt.

We are not alone because Sunday’s coming.