Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Suspension  July 4, 2024

The final night’s hotel reservation for my high school trip to Washington, DC would have been the last one anyway. Our group’s taste of freedom and liquor resulted in an ice-bucket water-war that spilled into the hall and the floor below. If I hadn’t participated, it was because I wasn’t invited; I would have done almost anything to fit in. All of us were incriminated in a hotel suite “class action” suit.

The night we returned, my father came to my room to inform me that the school had informed him that I faced a 3-day suspension. (I thought being punished by missing school was like Br’er Rabbit begging Br’er Fox not to be thrown in the brier patch.) Dad and I decided the ground rules for my confinement.

Today, as I recall the disappointment in my father’s eyes, I admire his actions.

He did not let me avoid the consequences, use his influence to get me off, or rescue me from the results. I’ve observed how dangerous powerful people who never are held accountable for their actions can be. I was allowed to take personal responsibility, as I learned a lesson about collective responsibility.

He did not punish the punishment. He allowed the consequences without adding to them. He was not angry or violent; he did not abandon me or withhold his love. He suffered shame with me.

That’s one experience that led to my view about God. We are not punished for our sins; we are punished by our sins. God does not smite us with bad things in our lives. God does not rescue us from the consequences of our personal and collective responsibilities. God does not seek retribution with violence and vengeance. God suffers with us. As I learned in high school Latin “com-passion” literally means to suffer with.

How has seeking to be saved from responsibility kept you from learning from your mistakes? Where do you see the lack of personal and corporate responsibility enabling escalating problems like gun violence and climate change? How has being punished by your sin helped you cultivate an abundant life?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Bone Bank    June 10, 2024

The surgeon explained he would cut out the benign tumor in my arm, and screw in a replacement bone. I asked, “Where do you get the new bone?” “Oh, we have a bone bank with healthy tissue donations. Otherwise, we’d have to take it from a larger bone in you.” 

On the phone my aunt had so many questions about the bone in the bank. What’s the history of the person? Will you get some traits from him? How did his family decide to donate his bones when he died? Could it be a woman’s bone?

They started an IV don’t-care-drug and wheeled into the OR. My surgeon patted my shoulder and said, “Mr. Landrum, we’re about to do begin. I just have to go to the bank first.” “That’s ok doc,” I slurred back, “you don’t have to check on dad at the bank. He can afford this. His check’s good.” Since I didn’t remember any of it, after the successful surgery, the surgeon told my parents he went to his knees laughing so hard.

Three years later, when her 24 year old daughter was brain dead from a car wreck, my aunt’s family chose to donate all her organs to help others. Their painful decision didn’t just help make a surgery less painful, it saved several lives. Years later, she gave me a bumper sticker that reads: “Don’t take your organs to heaven; heaven knows we need them here.”

When have you received a gift from a stranger you couldn’t thank? How do you live a generous life of thankfulness? Who do you talk to about organ and tissue donation for yourself and your loved ones?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Life Islands  June 7, 2024

On Sunday evening, as I went into my hospital room, my parents went out. It wasn’t personal; it was business. They had been invited to dinner with the CEO of M.D. Anderson Hospital. I was left alone to listen to “Godspell” on a cassette tape while my youth group was performing it live.

One nurse sensed my sadness. She sat with me as I told her about my friends, my church, and what I was missing that night. Back then, on a slow Sunday, a nurse had time to be present for over an hour. Back then, I was admitted on Sunday for a surgery on Wednesday. I was 18 and healthy, and I needed something to fill the two days of waiting besides feeling sorry for myself.

On Monday my weekend nurse invited me to her weekday floor. Her patients were teenagers with cancer whose immune systems were compromised by chemotherapy. They lived in “life islands” for 3 months in a germ-free environment. Only sterile food and items could be passed into a plastic bubble that surrounded a bed, a chair, and a table. If I entered their space, I could kill them; if I were a companion through the plastic, I could help to heal their isolation.

Except for a few scheduled tests, I had two days of being teenagers together — strangers in a strange land. I wasn’t another cancer patient, parent, sibling, doctor, or nurse — I was someone new to listen, laugh, share, and care. Centering on their needs dispelled my self-centeredness.

Away from my private prep-school, I was becoming a chaplain without credentials. I visited 8 kids one on one. Soon enough I would ask myself: “Was a preppie preparing for a calling?”

How have you answered the question, “What is mine to do?” When has focusing on another’s needs taken your mind off your own? How have past situations become preparations for your future?

Posted on by Wallis Landrum (Wally)

Playing Jesus   June 3, 2024

As a high school senior, before I was to play Jesus, I was John the Baptist. In front of God and the hundreds in worship, accompanied only by my friends, I sang “Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord”. I belted out my solo as I paraded down the aisle to promote our youth group’s coming production of “Godspell”. As we rehearsed “It’s All for the Best” I was transformed from John to Jesus, but I never got to play Jesus on stage. (And no, I’ve not been trying to play Jesus ever since).

A fortnight before the production, I went to the doctor because I had a sore arm. I was joking with the x-ray technician, before he changed his demeanor. The x-ray revealed a hole in my left humerus bone. I sensed something was wrong when we went from being humorous to a serious humerus. The doctor said it looked like bone cancer and we should go to MD Anderson Cancer Center to get their insights. He said it might take a month to get in, but we flew out the next day to stay with cousins in Dallas while dad tried pulling strings in Houston.

Two days after the production, the cast gathered to call me in the hospital. It was the day before my surgery. One teenager after another got on the phone to ask, “How are you doing?” The 20 questions never got creative, but the meaning of their compassion grew with each voice. I don’t really remember what we said, but I’ll never forget that they called.

The lesson for my ministry was this: my presence was more important than my avoidance stemming from worry I might say the wrong thing. A simple phone call from a lined-up youth group provided a healing balm such as I would never have imagined before my experience. 

When have you received a simple act of caring you will never forget? Where have you sought to show your caring to another person? How might you look for opportunities to bring compassion to the world?