Terry Craig

IN MEMORY OF LUKE

We wanted to have a “wake” for Luke. . . and decided that the most Luke-like wake we could have would be a cyberwake.

Our hearts are broken at the loss of one who was like a son in our family. To those who are asking how this could have happened to a Christian, I would say a few things. One “good” thing we can hope for in this loss is that others will count the cost of holding onto a bitter past.

At times, Luke was our funny friend, full of humor—complete with astute observations and silly sound effects. He could be reflective and kind—at peace with himself and God. In worship, he was often quiet, and sometimes completely absorbed by it. These were the times that Luke was connecting with the Lord, when he allowed himself to be loved by Father God (who loves all of us all the time). These were the times he could let go of the past and breathe free. Had Luke lived longer, I am convinced that this is the man that he could have been full-time. He most likely would have remained an “out of the box” Christian, but that would have been okay with Father (who doesn’t live in a box). Luke, like all of us, was a work in progress

At other times Luke would become distant, angry, and bitter. The things that hurt him in the past and current dilemmas he faced would get him down and he would allow himself to lose sight of what Jesus purchased for him at the cross. He’d lose sight of forgiveness, of freedom, of God’s ability to work all things to our good.

A few years ago, Luke left atheism to become a Christian . . . .

Despite all the arguments of atheists to the contrary, I’ve never known an atheist who wasn’t bitter. They get angry/frustrated/disappointed with God over the circumstances of this world, the cruel acts of people, or the emptiness of religion. They decide to depend entirely upon the ingenuity of man, and become bitter opponents of anything beyond human ability to explain or fix. I can’t blame them for hating religion—it’s a system that will never work. And, as for religious people . . . I must admit they can be hard to love. But, in truth, atheists are mad at God. They blame Him for the shortcomings of religion and people and the hard things that come to everyone who walks upon this fallen planet. . . . Buddhist, atheist, Jew . . . Christian.

Becoming a Christian doesn’t guarantee you a life with no problems, sorrows, or sickness. To accept Jesus as Savior—to believe and to say that He died in your place for all your sins—is to have your sins washed away from God’s sight. After this, people and the devil can remind you of your sins or you can choose to remind yourself, but God no longer holds them against you. Jesus gives you open access to God—the One who can solve your problems, give comfort in sorrows, heal your wounds, and open your heart to forgive others. You can choose to not avail yourself of this relationship, but it is always there.

Becoming a Christian doesn’t involve the loss of freewill. Walking with the Lord is not a mindless activity. On the contrary, it’s a life of active choice. It’s a discipline—hence the term “disciples” applied to followers of Jesus Christ. But, for immature believers, when they get tired or depressed, it’s easy to let old patterns take resume the operation of their thinking. It’s not something they have to do, but until they develop new patterns of thinking, it’s easer than pressing through to something better.

If you never saw Luke when he was allowing himself to be loved by his heavenly Father, when he was connecting with the peace of God . . . then you missed something grand. Again, we are convinced that this peaceful, happy man was the man that Luke could have been full-time.

We miss him.

Philippians 4:8-9 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. . . . And the God of peace will be with you.

Favorite Luke Moments:

We had a light suspended from the ceiling on a chain just inside our front door. It had an ugly glass shade that hung down around the bulb like a mucus-green tulip. We ignored it mostly until we met Luke about four years ago. He was so tall, that his head just touched the bottom of the “tulip.” In silly moments, he loved to stand under the light, which sat on top of his head like a helmet that was a wee bit too small. Then he’d have someone turn on the light switch. Just like in a cartoon, it would look like he’d gotten a brilliant idea.