Let me tell you about Debra.  She resides in the rehab unit of a nearby Nursing Home, having been there for over a month.  She smokes.  She is bloated from steroid injections, and is attached to an oxygen tank, which will be a constant presence for the rest of her life.  Debra cannot do exercises, walk down the hallway, or carry on a very long conversation.  She would like to go home with her husband, or take care of her invalid mother.  Looks like it is not going to happen, anytime soon.

She learned to smoke as a kid.  "It was just part of the culture", she tell me. 

Debra has been a heavy smoker for the 7 years that I have known her.  When I first met her, she impressed me as an attractive lady with a strange, raspy voice.  At the time I thought it an endearing trademark.  Now I know it was the result of a 3-pack-a-day cigarette habit.  She was slim and trim, with a beautiful smile, and seemed to have a busy life amidst family and friends.  She still has a pretty smile.

Since I have known her, she has been hospitalized repeatedly for respiratory complications directly related to smoking.  Treatments have included patches, shots, 12-step-programs, and pleas and tears from her physician.  She's had several broken bones, which I have learned is a result of smoking.

Officially, I do not guess I am her pastor.  At least she has never attended my church.  She tells others I'm her pastor, and tells them I pray a "sweet prayer".  It seems I'm the closest thing she has to a pastor.  So I visit, we pray, and we talk.  She says this time she has truly quit.  It's final.  No more cigarettes.  I'd like to believe her, although I've heard those same words many time before.

Her husband smokes.  He's a professional, a smart guy, who has watched his wife lose her youth, dignity, and pretty much her life.  If you ask me, for a smart guy he is pretty stupid.  She has a sister whom she absolutely adores.  A few years ago, this sister lost a husband to lung cancer directly the result of smoking.  Now this sister has a sibling seemingly headed in the same deadly direction.  And, this sister smokes.  So, when and if my friend Debra leaves the rehab facility, she will return home with oxygen tank in tow and try not to smoke.  She will watch her husband light up, and her sister puff in rapid succession, and probably she does not have a chance.

Most likely, I will do her funeral.  Her husband will be broken.  And knowing her sister, she will be almost hysterical with grief.  As I think about it, at that time I would like to look both of them in the eye, and say "You're d______ fools.".  Of course I cannot do that.  Instead, I'll seek to comfort the grieving and offer words of hope.  We will say a prayer.  Then, family and friends will proceed to our cars for the procession to the graveside. 

We'll be delayed, as husband and dear sister step out back for a quick smoke.

Away From Her is a disturbing, and I think brilliant movie about the challenges of Alzheimer’s.  More appropriate for this column, it presents to us the complications and beauty of true love.

Fiona and Grant have a wonderful marriage of 44 years.  They are retired, living at an idyllic lake house.  Both begin to notice her memory lapses.  She dries the skillet but places it in the freezer.  She takes a walk and cannot remember the way home.  Matters sadly digress. An examination by a physician confirms the sad diagnosis. 

Thus Fiona chooses to move to a care facility so as not to be a burden to her family.  There in the Nursing Home the Alzheimer’s slowly, but surely overtakes her life.  She forgets that Grant is her husband and comes to view him more as an inconvenient visitor.  She fixates upon a male patient in the facility, choosing to become his caretaker and friend.  “He needs me”, she tells Grant.  Grant visits the nursing home everyday, to the astonishment of the nurses and even his wife.  Often he sits and watches as she tends to her new friend.  There are flashbacks when Fiona remembers matters from the past.  Such are the moments her husband cherishes the most.  Sadly, they are few.

The film ends with Grant doing a remarkably selfless act for his wife.  I will not spoil it by giving you the details- you absolutely must rent the video!  In the midst of his great act of sacrifice, the haze clears for a moment, and she remembers.  She reaches out to hug her husband- something she has not done for many months.  As they embrace, she speaks of her fear that he will cease to love her.  Simply, he replies, “It’ll never happen.”

When we marry, we think we know what love is about.  In reality, we are just beginning to know.  Add to the relationship the complications that come with time and life, and you understand a little more.  When the other person can no longer serve you, or perhaps even love you in return, then you get to the heart of the matter.  Love is not about being served.  It is not even about being loved.  To love is to give.

No wonder the Bible says, “God is love.” 

Three personal opinions: blunt, crass, religiously incorrect:

(1) A minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ has no business being a millionaire. 

(2) Numerical and financial success should not be equated with God's stamp of approval.

(3) I'm of the opinion Jesus would instruct (insert name of televangelist) to sell his Rolex, Cessna, and luxury condo, and feed the poor.

INTERVIEWER:  Tell me a bit about your orphanage, to be built in a little town outside Mexico City.
PASTORDAVE:  (With a burst of inspiration) Yes!  I received a vision from God.  Late at night, I was meditating at my….errr the ministry’s condo in Cancun, looking across the bay, when suddenly He appeared to me.
INTERVIEWER:  Who?
PASTORDAVE:  Jesus.  70 foot tall.  Just floating in the air.
INTERVIEWER:  And, what did He say?
PASTORDAVE:  He told me to build an orphanage for kids, for 70 million dollars.

INTERVIEWER:  Why that exact sum of money?
PASTORDAVE:  My friend, these things are spiritually discerned.  Of course you do not understand!  One million dollars for every foot of His glorious height.
INTERVIEWER:  That was a big Jesus!
PASTORDAVE:  But, you know, He had the sweetest breath.