Thursday, December 19, 2013

Ivan the lovable




There is a category of friendship that often goes unnoticed, and undervalued.  Some relationships are on a must see, must call basis, or something is wrong.  But at the far end of the friendship spectrum are the friends who you might only see once a week, month, or a year.  Or go years between visits, and yet you pick up where you left off, confident in your relationship with that person, knowing it is the quality and not quantity of time spent that is important.  And last month, one of those special friends of mine, Ivan, changed addresses for good, no for excellent, and only in heaven will I see him again.  Just as it should be.  A special friend, a special relationship, that on the surface may not seem like anything special, but the best things are left private.  So here is a attempt to give some insight into Ivan you may not know about, a side of him that made him your friend, and how you wanted to be his.
I met Ivan after starting to attend Calvary Chapel Escondido.  At the time we didn’t know it, but they were about to purchase an empty strip mall, that had been empty for many years.  In and Out was going to put in a store right by our house, and when the city of Escondido denied them a 70’ sign, they decided to go elsewhere.  Today as a reference the sanctuary is where you would have eaten your Double Double.  But Ivan stepped forward, leading a group of men in renovating the site into classrooms, and a sanctuary, decorating the grounds, and seeing they were maintained.  A grounds so meticulous that SDG&E was glad we had adopted their parking lot, and the neighborhood now had some class to it.  Ivan worked tirelessly there, not delegating, but encouraging others by his actions, and you could feel God’s love and the property reflected it.  But my first lesson from Ivan was about to be taught, as one day we sat and visited, and he told me how he no longer could volunteer, they had put him on staff, and now had bosses, and a board to report to.  And his labor of love had become a job, with a paycheck, one that money could never meet in terms of satisfaction of a job well done for the Lord.  Not many knew this, and it would serve as example to me later in ministry, that the best paying jobs are ones done for God, the ones He gives you, never mind the salary.  Is anyone listening?
Ivan had a heart condition, and had stints installed when I was doing hospital ministry, before I got sick.  He was in Palomar, and it was only family members allowed to visit.  Many who had come to see him were turned away, but when asked it I was family, I simply said “he’s my brother.”  Brothers in Christ, and was let in, at first with a questionable look, we are separated by a generation and different last names, but brothers indeed.  And I got to visit him when no one else could, and we used to joke of our special brotherhood, even introducing each other as brothers.  And bringing a smile to his face when I would visit him later in a nursing home.  “Just tell him it’s his brother,”  and I was always greeted with that big smile.  Brothers today, brothers forever, Ivan just got home first.  Making heaven that much more valuable to me.  A visual of how it takes a personal relationship with God to get in where no man may.  Jesus was that connection.
Many also knew him as Moses at the Harvest Festivals, and he was perfect in character.  He looked like Moses, sorry Mr. Heston, this guy knew the author!  And many kids would flock to him, hanging on him even when not Moses.  He was Ivan, no last name needed-and the kids loved him, and miss him now.  But like me, Ivan had a son who was always in trouble, and never came to the Lord, thankfully both mine have and are saved.  But Darrin was a special prayer for me, and kept Ivan on his knees till Darrin passed away a few years ago.  Bearing a burden of knowing his son didn’t make heaven, and reinforcing how important it is to share Jesus in words and deeds.  For like Darrin and Ivan, we can be here today, yet a memory tomorrow.  If only Darrin had seen what his Dad did.
There are many like Ivan out there, evident only in their not being there, and when things aren’t getting done, we miss them.  And I miss my brother, for that and many other reasons.  As Christians we know heaven awaits, and I know where Ivan is, but I miss him and have for some time.   After my open heart surgery, I have been told to stay out of hospitals, changing my hospital ministry, but God opening other doors.  He is like that, when one closes, another opens, that we may have missed because we weren’t looking.  and although I visited Ivan a few times in the nursing home, he loved visitors, he understood why I couldn’t and didn’t visit.  And on my last visit, he was laying down, tired, and told me he just wanted to go home.  He was ready for heaven, but God said “just not yet.”  And then I got the simple e-mail a few months later that he had died.  But that really life had just begun for him in a new city, under a new name, just as God promised.  But somehow we will still know each other when get there, and we will pick up where we left off, for time between visits is time we are building testimonies.  And we will both have much to share.  That was and is my friend Ivan.
History tells us of an Ivan the Terrible.  Like the news, history records the bad guys and their sin more than those of the good guys.  So I wish to recall Ivan as, “Ivan the Lovable.”  Maybe just a face in the crowd, or a man who kids loved, or a man who built a church with his hands encouraging others, a worker, who was my friend and a friend of many.  Ivan the Lovable, a great example for those who many aren’t, and of a man whose life was changed by Jesus Christ.  No funeral date that I know of, but as Doug assured me the other night, “look around, these are the friends who will be at your funeral.”  Thanks for reminding me of my brother Ivan when I see you.  And for being my friend too.  Ivan would have liked that.  A memorial service that lasts more than an afternoon.  A simple man, yet a great example of Jesus in my life.  That’s my brother!
love with compassion,
Mike
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