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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday October 1, 2001 Volume III Number 40 |
FOCUS - Bedtime Prayers
We arrived at the wedding five minutes late.
The invitation said three o’clock on Saturday afternoon. I pulled a four-wheel skid into the parking lot at the harbor hotel just after three. We jumped out of the car, I grabbed my blazer, clipped my Palm Pilot to my belt (just in case things got boring, I wanted to have Tetris handy) took Carolyn by the hand, and off we went to find the ceremony.
This wedding would be fundamentally different than our daughter’s wedding just a few weeks ago. The groom is an old friend, near my age, marrying for the second time. His bride is a classic beauty; and we’ve known the groom long enough to remember his first wife and his children. It’s a hard story, but an all too familiar one. And since we believe in second chances, and we believe that life gets complicated and that we can not make judgments or decisions for others, and that life goes on even though it probably means heavy baggage from the past, well, we wanted to be there and let my old buddy know that he’s got friends. His new bride, too.
The wedding tables were set, linen and china and silver for an intimate dinner on the waterfront that would follow the simple ceremony in the ocean breeze. The minister appeared in a wonderful flowing robe with blue and black velvet accents and a touch of gold braid with the groom in a jet-black tux and a rose in his lapel. I took a deep breath, relieved that our tardiness didn’t keep us from catching the opening scene of the drama played out like a soap opera right there on the green grass in the manicured gardens of upscale Southern California and in the presence of countless white yachts tied to the docks with the ropes dangling from the masts clanging like chimes, swaying back and forth against a deep blue clear sky.
We found our places in two white chairs lined up with an aisle up the center just in time for the processional.
The minister stood at the center, groom on his left, bride just before him standing next to her father who seemed to be about my age, and he opened a worn leather Bible. I wondered who the preacher might be. There was no program naming the cast of characters. He is aging, with a pleasing pastoral presence, and a smile that makes the whole crowd glad. And then I heard his voice. A familiar voice.
I leaned over to Carolyn and whispered, “I do believe that is Pastor Ted Cole… ya think?”
Ted Cole. A pastor’s pastor. A long and memorable tenure in three successive growing churches. Now retired, but not really.
“How did he end up here?” I wondered in another whisper. Carolyn wondered, too.
I settled in for the remainder of the ceremony, as Dr. Ted Cole invited the two to make their sacred promise and then he asked God to pour out his blessing on my old friend and his new bride.
It was as though this preacher believed in second chances, too.
* * * * * *
Dixie Fraley addressed an upscale group of major donors. She was clearly nervous. Her first words: “I am not a public speaker.” Emotion filled her voice. “But I have a story to tell…” she took a deep breath. “My story will not come from the intellect…” and she paused again, “… it will come from my heart.”
As she pondered her introduction, emotion welled up again. This was not an easy narration. As many times as she has replayed the events she was about to recount, the story remains painful… and will be for many years to come.
“Sixteen months ago, your radio and television and newsmagazine told you about a Learjet out of control,” she said.
I remember those reports. I heard about that Learjet while it was still airborne. News flashed around the world as the FAA noted a corporate jet on autopilot that had veered off its filed flight plan heading north. There was no response on the radio. Military jet fighters intercepted the plane at some forty thousand feet and saw no signs of life, just clouded up windows, looking like ice from the inside of the cabin. The world sat in stunned silence, wondering what would be the fate of this highflying missile, hurtling aimlessly forward, with no visible sounds or movement inside.
“When that airplane went out of control, that was my life. My life went out of control, too.” There was silence in the room as she spoke.
I remember the sequence. While the craft remained in the air, the report came – the owner of the corporate Learjet (one of the most coveted airplanes ever made) was a PGA professional.
Dixie continued, “You heard on your radio that one of the men on board was golf pro Payne Stewart. Your radio did not tell you that one of the other passengers was my husband, Robert Frayley.”
Dixie did not have the polish of some of the other fine speakers addressing this upscale audience during the conference. But she was, perhaps, the most powerful communicator of all. She spoke about the morning they said good-bye. Bob had a bounce in his step. He was on his way to a weekend of professional golf. He had a reserved seat in a private jet. He traveled light. He kissed her warmly at the door. He told her how disappointed he was that she turned down the invitation to join him on this trip. He left, pulling his little wheeled cart – carrying one change of casual clothes, a laptop computer and his electric shaver. That’s all he needed, she said.
“I’ve asked myself a thousand times why I didn’t go,” she said through her tears. “I should have been there with him,” she confessed.
“To this very day, I’ve asked God why…”
* * * * * * *
After the ceremony, Pastor Ted brightened as the four of us reminisced. We’d known them from years ago. We caught up on some old news. Surprised that we also were friends of the bride and groom, Ted and his wife Dorothy swapped stories with us as we waited for dinner to be served there on a grassy knoll on the water’s edge.
“I told the soon-to-be bride and groom a little story about our wedding night during our pre-marital counseling session,” he said to us, his wife “Dottie” standing there beside Carolyn. “We were,” and he looked over to his wife of more than fifty years for the detail, “nineteen? Was it nineteen, honey?” She smiled and nodded, “Yes, you were nineteen, I was eighteen.” She confirmed it, and in the nod, we could tell. She’s heard this story more than a few times.
“Yes, yes. I was nineteen and Dottie was eighteen the day we were married.” Carolyn and I were a little surprised, but we did the math, and figured out the era… they were married at the end of WWII. Nineteen would be about right back then.
He went on to give us some surprising detail regarding their first night together following their ceremony. He painted the picture of this young couple, kids really, in a hotel someplace - timid, eager. Ted informed us that Dottie, appropriately, disappeared behind closed doors to change. When she reappeared, Ted said, she was wearing a wonderful little nightie and that was about all and the reality of the moment set in (by this time we were all four giggling at the thought) and then he confessed, you know, neither one of us really had any idea of what to do next. So, said Pastor Ted, we did, I suppose, what any perplexed young Christians would instinctively do… “I broke the silence and said to Dot, ‘I think we should pray.’”
So they did.
They knelt down on their wedding night at the foot of their wedding bed holding hands and Ted started his prayer. He thanked God for the wonderful ceremony. For their good friends. Their loving families. For the week they were about to enjoy together. He asked God to bless their life. And their relationship. And to help them to be loving and sensitive to each other’s needs and desires…
And before he said “Amen” he looked over at his bride kneeling beside him. And as he spoke, his voice caught a little, like the memory was as fresh as if it happened yesterday, and he said, “to my surprise, she was crying.”
But I could tell, he explained. She was crying not because she was afraid. Or because she was homesick. Or because she had regrets. She was crying, he said, because she was happy. And because she loved me, the pastor added… and as he spoke, he looked directly at his wife, now a great-grandmother, with the kind of love that makes you believe that lifetime commitment is not only possible… it’s a worthy goal. Dottie smiled back at her retired clergyman as she remembered too, as though she cherished the memory as much, maybe more than he.
And then he looked back at Carolyn and me, both of us with tears in our eyes, and he said, “I told that friend of ours, that handsome groom over there,” he pointed, “to take his beautiful bride tonight and kneel by that bed, and pray just like I did.”
“And you watch, I said to him, she’ll cry too. She’ll love you all the more for it.”
I told Pastor Ted I liked it. A lot. I think I said, “Cool.” Carolyn agreed.
“Time will tell,” he said. “I hope that man has the guts to do it.”
“Me, too.”
I meant it. So did he.
* * * * * * * *
In October of 1999, the Learjet 35 took off
from Orlando, Florida headed for Dallas, Texas.
Payne was scheduled to meet for a day of planning with the developers of
a new proposed PGA course. The
jet, piloted by Michael Kling, 43, and his co-pilot Stephanie Bellegarrigue,
27, reached a high cruising altitude of 45,000 feet when contact with the
ground suddenly terminated.
News spread rapidly. The theory emerged early on. Cabin pressure dropped, perhaps because of some puncture or leak in the on board system. Experts say that a catastrophic drop in pressure at that altitude (forty-five thousand feet) would instantly freeze the interior cabin, and all of its occupants. And since the pilot flipped on the autopilot, the airplane would fly itself, maintaining the high altitude until finally, the fuel ran out.
The plane continued on unattended for four hours burning up the fuel in the tanks that were filled up just before take-off. It never made the turn west to Dallas. It flew aimlessly north, and finally the tanks ran dry over North Dakota. The engines flamed out and with no pilot to guide at the controls, the high-tech jet began its descent, no more whine from the two powerful engines, just the whistle of the wind over the wings. Helpless, the world watched as the plane nosed headlong into the earth at super-sonic speed. No one survived.
Bob Fraley was one of the six passengers on board. He was forty-six.
He was Payne Stewart’s agent, a tax attorney who had a solid business representing some big name athletes. He specialized in NFL coaches. One of his biggest clients, Joe Gibbs, was former head coach of the Washington Redskins. After the accident, he released a statement - "Robert knew the game and he knew the needs and desires of his clients. He was a good and decent man and a loyal friend. That's how I'll remember him."
As Dixie spoke to this affluent audience, she talked about the planning they did prior to the crash. Five years before, they engaged the services of a financial planner. With his guidance, they called together an estate planning attorney, their accountant, their investment advisor, their insurance agent and the planner, and laid out a thorough plan. Fraley had, by that time, experienced considerable success. But they wanted to work together, husband and wife, to be good stewards of their estate.
From that point forward, they prepared an annual budget. They set annual giving goals, supporting kingdom work all over the world. They met with their planning team consistently every year, up to the time of the crash.
As part of the plan, Bob wrote a letter to Dixie and put it in a sealed envelope in the safe-deposit box along with other important documents. In it, he specified clear instructions. The envelope would only be opened in the unlikely event of his death.
At night, before they went to sleep, they would read to each other. The night before Bob left on that fateful trip to Orlando, they read like they always did. A devotional book. Dixie remembers it well. It was a book about God’s work in the world. After reading a poignant passage, he set down the book, turned to Dixie and asked, “How could anyone NOT believe in the sovereignty of God?”
Dixie repeated Bob’s question to her audience, “How could anyone NOT believe in the sovereignty of God?”
The question haunts her to this day, she confessed.
Then she shared some of Bob’s letter, opened tearfully late one night after the crash. In it, he affirmed his love for her. He thanked her for the years of devotion and caring. He told her he believed in her; her ability to cope, to make good decisions, to rely on their proven team of professionals.
And he called her God’s gift. A woman of godly character. He praised her.
And through her pain, she challenged the men listening to take a lesson from the man she kissed good-bye at the doorway that ordinary Tuesday morning. As she stood watching him pull his little case on wheels toward the car, she had no idea this would be their final farewell.
There was a strange silence in the room that day as Dixie drew her remarks to a close. The speaking roster included professional theologians, financial specialists, motivational gurus; all of the first rank.
But this timid woman, in the simple description of a remarkable man whose life was tragically cut short in a fluke lamentable accident, through her tears, left the greatest impression of all.
On me, too.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
Bedtime prayers.
Perhaps you have small children. Hopefully, you are teaching them to pray - simple little prayers that remind them that there is a God in heaven who loves and protects them and stands guard all night long. A God who is greater than their fears. A God who is gentle and kind, and rejoices in their quiet rest. A God who will be there when dawn wakens your little one to a new day. A God who enables them to grow into a future that is good and wholesome and right.
But how about you? Do you take time to acknowledge the same God when your head hits the pillow? If you have one, do you share those prayers with your spouse?
Our oldest daughter just recently informed us that she and her husband of two years are expecting their firstborn to arrive this Spring. She will make Carolyn and I first-time grandparents. We are quite ready. And eager.
It’s hard to describe the joy this news brings.
Already, I’m planning to teach that new little rascal some choice bedtime prayers.
I’m taking a lesson from Pastor Ted Cole. And from Bob Frayley. Who knows what tomorrow holds?
Well, only One.
It’s a good idea to keep the line wide open with Him.
Don’t you think?
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2001
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
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