Four or five years ago the husband of a former roommate of two of my sisters was working on the little farmlet where he and his wife lived and kept a menagerie of small animals. The man, John, suddenly had difficulty breathing. And to make a long story short, within a few hours he was on life support. His entire body was paralyzed—except for the ability to move his eyes. The culprit: Guillain-Barre Syndrome.

In a matter of hours, John’s wife, Carolyn, found herself dragged from a relatively ordinary life into the vortex of a non-stop nightmare of fear and loneliness and stress. Would John survive? Would he recover? How would she survive?

Communication with John was a big problem. But he could hear. And he could control his eye movement. So communication wasn’t impossible. Just laborious. Caregivers would hold up a poster that showed the letters of the alphabet scientifically divided into four quadrants.

Was the first letter of the word he wanted to spell in Quadrant 1? Quadrant 2? Quadrant 3? Quadrant 4? When he moved his eyes to indicate a positive answer, the process was repeated for each letter within the quadrant until the right letter was found. Eventually a word, then a sentence, was formed.

A person in such a state requires attentive monitoring. John was unable even to close his eyelids, so drops had to be put into his eyes every few minutes to keep them lubricated.

He was 100 percent dependent on human technology to keep him alive. If the electricity supply were cut, that would be the end. But John was a fighter. And he made it clear he wanted to live. No "Do Not Resuscitate" orders for him.

I’m glad to say, John has made remarkable improvement—recognizing, of course, that the word "remarkable" must be seen in context. In the years since the malady first struck, John has recovered sufficiently that he can talk, though it’s a challenge to deal with both breathing and talking.

John spends several hours each day off the ventilator. And he can move his head just enough to chin-control the "joy stick" on a very sophisticated wheelchair.

In fact, John has improved to the point that he can actually go out for the occasional excursion in a van that resembles a science lab, granted all the electronic devices with which it’s outfitted. Of course, such an outing is no small undertaking. And Carolyn or any other caregiver knows that if the gadgetry fails, John’s life could be over almost instantly. Needless to say, life is unbelievably complicated despite his improvement.

The amazing thing is John’s spirit. He loves life. And while one might expect him to be morose or to want to throw in the towel, he maintains his can-do attitude—though he’s fully aware that his life still hangs by a thread.

What can easily get overlooked in such a situation, however—which we’ll discuss next week—is the unbelievable impact on the spouse.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

The process went something like this: A group of us would decide to play a game. We’d argue over which game to play. Some kids would strongly support one option and some another. Quite a few kids stayed quiet and watched which way the "wind" was blowing––because they always wanted the satisfaction of having backed the winner!

After considerable squabbling, some dominant personality would unilaterally make the final decision. Eventually everyone would go along with his or her choice. Usually it was "his" choice because "her" choices weren’t all that common back in those days. (For example, when I graduated from high school in 1970, no girl had ever yet been elected class president in our school. And it wasn’t because there were no capable girls. There just weren’t enough class members––male or female––capable of recognizing female capability.)

Anyway, if the chosen game required an It, kids would start shouting, "Not It! Not It!" The last person to shout such a denial automatically was It. Or, more likely, the most dominant kid in the group would appoint himself judge and declare someone It––whether the choice for It had actually been the last one to call out or not.

Being It meant that the boy or girl was essentially against everyone. Being It was a lonely experience. You had to race around trying to tag people, who then became It too and joined you in trying to make even more Its. The winner was the person who escaped ever becoming an It.

It strikes me––no pun intended––that we have here a rather apt metaphor for life. After all, the term It suggests a nameless, faceless, genderless, friendless thing desperately trying to make some kind of impact. All others do everything within their power to avoid contact with an It. Its are life’s untouchables. And many an It would give almost anything to avoid being one.

In the little school I attended as a youngster, boys dramatically outnumbered girls. There weren’t many girls at all, and only two who ever even attempted to venture onto male turf. Their audacity didn’t go unpunished. Instead of calling them by their names, we boys called them "It" and "Thing." Let’s just say, it didn’t suggest a welcome mat or a warm-fuzzy of any kind.

The sad fact is, there are games with an It, and there’s an It game that’s really no game. It’s for real. And people get hurt.

In children’s It games, there are two changing goals: The first is to avoid being an It. But if one accidentally becomes one, the goal is to try to reduce as many others to It status as possible.

John 10:10 suggests that in real life the picture is both the same and different: "The thief [i.e. the devil] comes only to steal and kill and destroy [i.e. to reduce everyone to It status]; I [Jesus] have come that they may have life, and have it to the full [i.e. avoid or escape It status forever].

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

The other day I was riding my bike through the Wal-Mart parking lot. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk a couple of feet from where I was riding on the road was a store security guard. And as I rode past, he said, "You’re not riding on the sidewalk, are you?"

Now please excuse my derisive tone. But when he’s standing on the section called "sidewalk," and I’m riding on the section called "road," it seems somewhere in the general neighborhood of stupid for him to ask me if I’m "riding on the sidewalk"!

It was all I could do to bite my tongue and respond with no more than a simple "No." My inner smart-aleck was definitely straining to break fee!

Which brings to mind a biblical passage: "No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it (1 Corinthians 10:13).

So what’s this passage saying?

First, you and I face the same kind of temptations as every other human. We don’t face super-human temptations. We don’t face temptations from an altogether different sphere––from the angelic realm, for instance. So, bad though our temptations may be, they’re the common lot of humanity. Let’s not delude ourselves that we’re being singled out for particularly harsh treatment.

Second, God has provided a way of escape for every temptation. One of the ways we resist––Jesus used this method––is turning to scripture: "I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you" (Psalm 119:11). We also can put on the "armor of God" (Ephesians 6:10-20). In fact, an array of texts give hints about how to avoid being dragged into bad behavior.

Third, the tricky part of the passage is the promise that we won’t be tempted above what we’re able to bear. It seems to suggest that God tailor-makes––or at least approves or vetoes––any temptations that come our way. It’s as if when He sees us getting too close to a temptation that might overpower us, He’ll intervene.

Suppose, for example, that the security guard was actually planning to add to his sidewalk question: "Oh, by the way, are those things are your feet shoes?" But God knew that such a comment would push me over the edge. So He momentarily struck the man dumb just before that comment came out of his mouth! Is that how it works?

Or let’s say I go to a potluck. I can control my gluttony when it comes to cookies and ice cream. But cheesecake? I lose all restraint. So God impresses people not to bring cheesecake. Or He changes the cheesecake into cookies. Or He disables my ability to see or smell cheesecake, so I don’t even know it’s there. Is that it?

I’m not going to deny it, this is a difficult passage to understand. So difficult, in fact, that I’m asking you to tune in again next week as we take a second bite at it.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor