Dear Readers,
Pardon the awkward initial grandparent attempt here, but allow me to introduce our first grandchild, Emily Anne Clark, born 6:13 a.m. on February 8 in Bozeman, Montana.
Megan and I were able to spend a week with this new little family last month, and while it was hard to leave, we did not leave them alone: Bruce and Maddie’s relational roots in the church and community run deep, and there are three generations of Clarks in town. Psalm 90:1-2 has been as true for Bruce’s family as for our own:
“Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”
On our layover in Denver heading back to Illinois, Megan and I talked of Emily’s happy addition to our family and the joy of being able to help Maddie and Bruce establish a few important routines. We also cried a few tears in acknowledgment of our current reality that prayer will have to be our prime contribution to Emily’s well-being in these youngest years (but it’s not like we’re the only grandparents who have ever had to wrestle with this).
I’ve heard that, though being “out-of-town” (or in our case, “out-of-state/region”) grandparents requires more intention with phone calls, FaceTime, letters, and in-person visits, it also comes with potential benefits of “specialness” in the relationship different from the more frequent and familiar engagement. I hope there’s something to that, not at any one’s expense (we have a wonderful relationship with Bruce’s parents), but in a way good for all. Thus, on this first visit, we did our best to follow the example Luke captures in 2:19, in which,
“…Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.”
For sure, we treasured up all we could with Emily and are still doing plenty of pondering, the latter of which is part of this month’s newsletter. I hope you enjoy the meditation.
Thanks (as always) for reading Second Drafts,
Craig
PS: As you think of it this month, follow Emily’s lead (below) and pray for my ordination exams, three of which (Bible, theology, Book of Church Order) need to be completed by April 1. More on ordination progress and ministry plans to come next month! Thanks for praying.
Life & Death (And Why It Matters to Talk of Both)
February is not as depressing a month in which to be born as one might think. In my family, we have six February birthdays: Aunt Jan has celebrated 85 of them on the 8th of each year (a birthday she now shares with Emily); youngest sister Jill’s birthday rolls around every 365 days on the 19th; my nephew, Titus, celebrates his birthday on Valentine’s Day (poor guy); and daughter, Katie, and I share the 5th (she is the best birthday present ever). Yours truly excluded, everyone is mostly likeable, well-adjusted, and has successfully endured the travails of having a February birthday.
Dying in February, however, has a different feel: the cold, frozen ground makes the thought of a funeral more sad than it already is, and if there’s ice or snow, survivors can feel isolated. On February 25th, Megan and I marked the tenth anniversary of losing her mother, Moleta, to ALS (a disease a friend calls “Satan’s masterpiece”). And even Emily’s birthday was not without taint. A day after receiving the good news of her arrival, I posted the following on Facebook:
“As life goes, I would be remiss today if I didn't mention and acknowledge a deep sadness in the midst of our great joy—and all on the same day of February 8th. Long-time NavPress editor, writer, friend, and counselor Don Simpson died from stage four cancer the day Emily was born, and though I was able to FaceTime with him in October as well as say goodbye in person in December when we were in Colorado Springs for Katie's wedding, his loss makes things bittersweet.”
In a kind response to the post, a friend well-acquainted with grief—not long divorced, mother of three (though she lost her first during birth), recent breast cancer survivor by way of double mastectomy)—responded with a touching sentiment:
“It always causes me to pause when one amazing life leaves this world on a day when a new born baby enters. I feel there must be a strong connection in the way God intermingles us with death and life, reminding us of the work of beauty from ashes.”
Indeed, life and death are not things to be ignored with too much regularity, lest we run the risk of becoming numb to both. Even as I celebrated Emily’s entry into the world, I lamented Don’s exit from it for the next one. The older I get, the more so much of life feels like this. This isn’t to say that good things still don’t happen; it’s just that as the years pass, our losses slowly begin to outnumber our gains.
A Passionate Hunger for Truth
Don Simpson was one of the first people I knew and thought of as an “intellectual” in the best of ways. Growing up out east on Massachusetts Bay, Don suffered from Tourette’s Syndrome and dyslexia as a child, hating reading as a result (ironic, since he was one of the most well-read men I ever met). But also from a young age, he was a deep thinker and observer of people, with a passionate hunger for truth.
Don was drafted by the Army to go to Vietnam, but ended up on a Hawk missile site near Nuremburg, Germany, keeping an eye on East Germany and Czechoslovakia. In 1966, he returned to Massachusetts before moving to Colorado Springs, eloping a year later with his wife, Becky. With his Tourette’s under control and decades of adaptation in place to overcome his dyslexia, he wrote creative coursework for three week-long seminars for Systemation, which is how he discovered his love for writing.
Not long after eloping, Becky became a Christian. New in her faith, she invited Don to attend church with her (which he did), as well as to read John’s Gospel. My long-time friend (and Don’s unofficial biographer), Leura Jones, records his thoughts in response to Becky’s invitation to read the Word:
“To humor her, after dinner I sat down with her Bible and my usual highball and started reading. I read well into the wee small hours of the night. And I discovered something amazing. Here was Jesus saying, ‘Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.’ Here was Jesus saying, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’ I was astonished to find John’s Gospel indicating that truth was not a formula, not an idea or a concept you would discover only after long years of study in a chilly attic. The truth was not a concept but a living Person, Jesus Christ, and he was striding toward me in love.”
At age 30, Don became a believer in Christ. Recalling that time, he told Leura,
“The first stepping stones of my pilgrimage as a new believer were vital and exciting. I plunged into the Scriptures, finding them to be what theologian Karl Barth called ‘the strange new world of the Bible.’ I was earnest about prayer and Scripture memory. Becky and I were in Bible studies and part of First Presbyterian in Colorado Springs. In the early mornings before sunup, I would ride my motorcycle to a large park nearby that had canyons, high rock overlooks, many dirt paths, and forests of pine and scrub oak. Alone there, I would pray and seek God. What drew me to Christian faith was the fact that the truth I encountered was not a concept or a theory such as I had been seeking in the Existentialists. The truth was a living Person, Jesus Christ. I was astonished by this, for I had assumed that I would find the truth only after long and exhausting study of many books.”
Ideas, Words, People & Jesus
Growing in both his faith and writing career, Don worked at World Evangelical Fellowship for two years before being hired in 1978 to work at then three-year-old NavPress, the new publishing arm of The Navigators. He became part of the team that launched NavPress’ flagship magazine, Discipleship Journal, handling advertising and marketing for the publication.
In 1987, with an inheritance from his father, Don took a break from NavPress and started his own publishing company, Helmers & Howard, bringing back into publication Eugene Peterson’s book, Traveling Light, after InterVarsity Press retired it. With Don’s encouragement and collaboration, this book, containing Peterson’s original translation of Galatians, lit the spark that eventually became The Message.
Unfortunately, as Leura observes,
“Though they published some 22 books, Don said he always felt like he was tugging and pushing Helmers and Howard. Working against him was a dramatic shift in the Christian bookselling industry. As Christian bookstores started selling décor, jewelry, and other products, the clientele changed. Booksellers became merchandisers—not just lovers of books, like Don, who wanted to see lives changed.”
Returning to The Navigators in 1991, Don served as a staff writer, then director of the organization’s Communications Department, before becoming senior book editor at NavPress in 1998. Pick up any NavPress book by authors of the caliber of Peterson, Jerry Bridges, Dallas Willard, or Michael Card (among many others) and you’ll find a thank you to Don in the preface.
In 2013, Don retired from NavPress to be a full-time caregiver to Becky, with whom he had two kids, Abe and Mara. A lover of ideas and words, and an even greater lover of people and Jesus, Don was a friend, counselor, and mentor to me for 30 years.
The Lord Is Near
In the middle of December 2023, Don, sent a Christmas letter to a small group of us:
“Perhaps this Christmas card will seem startlingly inappropriate coming from a man who has been given less than six months to live. For my world turned upside down on July 30 when I learned I have stage four pancreatic cancer. However, on one day recently, the word ‘rejoice’ entered my consciousness in a powerful way. What was I thinking? Why would a dying man rejoice? It made no sense. And yet, there the word was, brightly shining in my mind.
So I allowed it to stay there, to take up residence; and I determined to search out the biblical basis for the Apostle Paul’s famous use of the word. From his prison cell, the Apostle has no hesitation in sharing the word with the Philippians:
‘Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.’ (Philippians 4:4-7)
There’s a lot in that passage, but rejoicing washes over all of it. Paul urges us to rejoice in every situation. Does he really mean every situation? He seems to indicate rejoicing is the key to much of what we long for in the spiritual life, such as freedom from anxiety, answered prayer, and the peace of God that passes all understanding. Further, he says: ‘The Lord is near.’ This is why we can rejoice. Jesus is closer to us than we are to ourselves.
Does this mean that we won’t have dark moments of fear, anguish, and troubled imaginings? I definitely have these things. They test my faith, they rattle my confidence, they cause anguished fretting. And while I have had significant pain from my rheumatoid arthritis, so far internal pain from the cancer is only slowly increasing. I expect that pace my change soon.
The Apostle Paul seems to ask: ‘What more do we need? Jesus is near.’ So in this time of celebrating our Savior’s birth, I have one desire: to share with you this always-appropriate word: Rejoice! For the Lord is near!”
This would be Don’s last written piece, responded to honestly by Leura below:
“Somehow, in a feat that we, his friends, could hardly understand, Don learned to love a life that was marked by pain. He learned to rejoice even to the very end. Someone once compared Don to Job; both had the ‘gift’ of suffering. Decades of rheumatoid arthritis ravaged Don’s body. A heart attack nearly took his life. What little physical strength he had left evaporated after a rare spinal event that left him partially paralyzed. Cancer came after him hard, spreading quickly from the pancreas to his liver, lungs, and lymph nodes. From the age of 39 to the day he died, Don lived with constant pain. And here we’re only talking about physical pain. He also experienced the pain of childhood rejection, unattained dreams, a failed business, and severe hardships within his family. Don was well acquainted with all types of pain.”
Knowing I was going to be in Colorado Springs for Katie’s wedding at the end of December, I contacted Leura and asked how Don was doing. “He’s doing well, though I can’t believe it,” she said. “You should try to see him when you’re out.”
That was my plan, so I contacted Don and set up a time in the afternoon of the first day we hit town. I went to his house, where he was set up in the same hospital bed beneath the window in the picture above. It was a warm, beautiful Colorado day (the weather that whole week was amazing). Don was basking in the rays when I arrived.
I sat with him for over two hours. We reminisced about breakfasts together at The Omelette Parlor, and he spoke frankly but peacefully about his coming death. I thanked him for his friendship and tried to communicate what he had meant to me. Then I reached for his hand and asked him to pray for me the things he wrote of in his Christmas letter. He did. I then prayed (or tried to—it took me a while to stop crying), thanking God for Don’s life and asking Him to help Don die a good death.
After we finished, I gave Don a long hug. He insisted on walking me to the door, and though we didn’t get a last picture like the one above, I took a mental one of the moment: Don, in his robe, in the doorway, leaning on his cane, smiling with his hand up as if sending me off with a silent blessing (which, knowing Don, he probably was).
A Sad But Sweet Overlap
On January 30th, I texted Don to tell him I had purchased and started reading Revolution of Character, the book he wrote with Dallas Willard. I never got a response.
A few days later, I emailed Leura to see how Don was. She told me he had been moved to a nursing home, was no longer able to communicate, and was in a great deal of pain. Sullen, we both committed to pray for a quick end to Don’s suffering.
When Emily was born February 8th, I texted Leura to share the news. She rejoiced with me, then let me know Don had passed that morning. I had no words. Sad, but always sensitive to others, Leura’s words were precious: “I think the overlap is sweet.”
That night, at 8:41 p.m., I received an email from Substack telling me Don’s email address had been unsubscribed from Second Drafts. It seemed strange (what family member unsubscribes emails the evening a loved one dies?), but I wasn’t offended.
Don read thousands of books in his life. I was honored to have made his reading list.
(Note: To read a bit of Don’s writing, click here and scroll to the bottom of the page for one of my favorite pieces of his—a brief essay in response to a one-word writing prompt of “dirt”.)
Hope Not Lost to Grief
My friend and former colleague, Todd Wedel, lost his father at the end of January. His dad was a Christian who would have turned 78 on February 27th (which, as Todd reflected in a Facebook post that day, is still his father’s birthday):
“Today would have been his 78th birthday. ‘Would have been’ is wrong. ‘Is’ is more correct. Jesus says that God is the God of the living, not the dead, that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (and by extension all) live before Him…
…I drive, and there is still a vast sky under which my father no longer walks. My mind roves over the earth, seeking where I might plant my thoughts that ‘Here is my dad. Here, physically. Present.’ Instead, my mind wanders and watches and feels blown about. I find a world denuded of the presence of the man who stood between me and the vast horizon. Now, the world feels a vast empty sphere, the horizon an ever present encircling delimiter. He has passed beyond and is no more here.”
Though he is not able to be with his father now, Todd’s hope is not lost to grief:
“And yet that horizon beckons. He calls. The sky is full of the promise of his smile. The saints in Revelation are not unconcerned with the things of earth. They groan and long for the restoration of all things. Surely he is there and looks with joy in our joy and with longing for the end to pain and death and the ills of this life, to reunion. Yet not longing for our earthly ends but for our time to pass in its season, to come to our end when, as he, we are brought home, gently, I pray, as he.”
What’s My Motivation?
As I think about Todd and his father, about Don, and now about Emily, I find there is a shift in my heart that has come (is coming?) with age.
In my early days, I was passionate about sharing the Gospel and helping others respond to God’s forgiveness of our sins through Christ; I cared deeply about helping people embrace His gift of eternal salvation, love, and relationship by way of Jesus’s death on the cross. My motivation? It was because I believed that who God is and what He deserves is also good and best for others and our world.
Now old(er), I still believe and want all of that, but my motivation is more…selfish? In addition to the reasons outlined above, I find myself wanting to share the Gospel out of a longing to one day see and eternally be with those I have deeply loved. But I have no hope of this happening apart from God and His story of how we can be His people and He our God, for as the Apostle Peter says in Acts 4:12,
“…There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name (Jesus Christ) under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”
Upon my death, will I be surprised by who is or who isn’t with the Lord? Possibly. Will they be surprised if I am? I would be! For all my flaws, failures, and fiascos (as well as my sin nature), my only hope and assurance of eternal life is Jesus Christ and Him crucified (1 Corinthians 2:2); apart from this Gospel—which the Reformer Martin Luther called Christ’s “great exchange”—I am eternally and deservedly damned.
So are Todd and his father. So are Don and Leura. So are Maddie and Bruce.
So is Emily.
So are you.
I’m sorry if that stings, but it’s supposed to. As Paul writes in the first part of 1 Corinthians 15:57, “The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.”
God’s law shows us where we fail…and let’s be honest: we know it, without excuse.
The good news? As the rest of 1 Corinthians 15:57 reminds us, we’re not saved by the law: “But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
If you chance to reflect on (and perhaps rejoice in) any of this, I pray the Gospel would be “good news” for you as well as those you love this coming Good Friday and Easter.
I thank God it was for Don. And I pray God’s covenant promises it will be for Emily.
(Note: Without assuming too much, if you’re interested in talking about Jesus and the state of your soul or someone else’s, please contact me. It would be my privilege to listen, take you seriously, ask questions, and pray with you to whatever degree you desire or are comfortable.)
From Readers
I heard from a couple of you in response to the past two newsletters. Here’s a note from a reader who (get this) actually read a book suggested in January’s reviews :
“As per your recommendation, I read American Nations by Colin Woodard. I learned much more about our American History than was taught in standard high school American History. Thanks.”
And here’s some feedback to my February critique of unchecked technology:
“On the surface, I am thrilled by the prospect that such accommodations might offer a blessed means to overcome their disabilities. And yes, I too must admit a pursed-lipped smile as I read how such a utility could prove problematic for gentlemen such as you and I: we who are all-too prone to shooting from the hip, ourselves in the foot.
But the first serious thought that occurred to me as I read these lines is the vital importance of timely and robust Christian ethic for these seemingly ‘futuristic’ dilemmas. For, though they seem a sort of contention that Peter, Paul, Origen, and Augustine could never conceive of, we also know that—yea verily—there is nothing new under the sun.
Regardless of how shiny the technocratic package, it’s still the same dialectic from the ancient serpent's first words, ‘Did God say...’”
Good thoughts, both. Thanks for reading and writing to say you did. I always enjoy hearing from readers and usually post what you write. Email me if you have feedback.
Peaches’ Picks
To finish up this month’s newsletter, it seemed good to Peaches and me to feature Revolution of Character: Discovering Christ’s Pattern for Spiritual Transformation, the 2020 book Don “co-wrote” with Dallas Willard, a professor at the University of Southern California School of Philosophy.
I put “co-wrote” in quotations, however, because, as Willard wrote in the preface, “The text of this book has been composed entirely by Don Simpson and expresses our shared understanding of Renovation of the Heart” (the latter being Willard’s original 2002 book written more in philosopher style). In Revolution of Character, Don takes the cookie jar from the top shelf and brings it down to a more accessible level for the rest of us.
From the beginning, Don writes about the possibility of Christian spiritual transformation with a hope that is practical:
“Transformation is possible because our inner being is an orderly realm where, even in the disorder of its brokenness, God has provided a methodical path of recovery. Grace does not rule out method, nor method grace. Graces thrives on method and method on grace.” (p. 19)
Don then walks through several chapters to help readers better define, describe, and understand exactly what we’re dealing with when we talk about our heart and soul. As part of this discussion, he holds nothing back in explaining how “sin” has left our language…and we are the worse for it:
“In our present thought world, the horror of our ruin is hidden from polite and enlightened conversation. Sin as a condition of the human self is not available philosophically or ethically to explain why life proceeds the way it does…Our social and psychological sciences stand helpless before the terrible things done by human beings. But the warped nature of the human will—the reality of sin—is something we are not allowed to admit into ‘serious’ discussion. We are like farmers who diligently plant crops but can’t admit the existence of weeds and insects and can only think to pour on more fertilizer. Similarly, the only solution we know to human problems today is ‘education.’” (p. 40-41)
Next, he tackles the battle for our thoughts, the education of our feelings, the transforming of our character, and the importance of our physical body, which he calls “an ally in Christlikeness” (put that in your pipe and smoke it, gnosticism).
The book ends with an outward focus—how we relate to others as we strive to being the light of the world Jesus calls and wants to transform us into—and each chapter has 6-8 questions at the end for further engagement on one’s own or with a small group. (As much as I could hear Don’s voice in the chapters, I really heard it in the questions, as I was on the receiving end of so many like them over the years.)
I love Don’s words from the final chapter:
“This is where we now stand in our world—within earshot of the continuing call of Christ to take part in a revolution of character. We are beyond the point where mere talk can make an impression. Demonstration is required. We must live what we talk, even in places where we cannot talk what we live. If the bewildering array of spiritualities and ideologies that throng our times really can do what apprenticeship to Christ can do, what more is there to say?…
…The call of Christ today is the same as it was when He left us here to serve Him ‘even to the end of the age’ (Matthew 28:20). That call is to be His apprentices, alive in the power of God, learning to do all He said to do, leading others into apprenticeship to Him, and also teaching them how to do everything He said.” (p. 183-184)
The best part of reading Revolution of Character is knowing Don aspired to live what he wrote about walking with Christ. He died trying, always trusting in grace. Revolution of Character can help us do likewise.
Until next time.
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