The Strength of His Might

 Eph 1:18-19

 I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you will know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe. These are in accordance with the working of the strength of His might. 

Pastor was teaching on this portion of Paul’s letter to the church at Ephesus this weekend.  My mind was having a hard time focusing on the depth of this short section of my favorite book in the New Testament.  I had some thoughts that I scratched out…

We are, in this life, constantly on a battlefield. The principles are, on one side, what the world sees as right, and on the other side, The Gospel. We are warriors on that field, fighting with (Eph 6:11) the full armor of God against (Eph 2:2) the “course of this world.” Often the battles begin and end in our minds as we study God’s Word, and those battles are regularly played out in the battlefields of our heart as we beat back the darkness of the world (and of our old self) that tries to bring up the (Eph 4:22) “old man” we once were. It’s here that Hell looks to attack us by distracting us from conforming to God’s will through our study of The Word.  

Sometimes we are called to share our faith, to wield The Word or to draw a line in the sand, standing firm on a promise and on our hope (Eph 2:1-9) which is confirmed by His word. This is where the principalities of this world shudder in fear as we obediently follow our Lord into battle… KNOWING that HE HAS ALREADY WON THE DAY, but (Eph 3:14-19) loving Him, not with the faith of child, but with the faith of a transformed and mature believer who has an understanding of HIS surpassing greatness and His good, pleasing and perfect will because of the time spent IN HIS WORD guided by The Spirit who strengthens us.  

This is me talking to myself… reminding myself that His word is true.  We are called to remain in the word, to study it like workmen, to lean upon its wisdom, to encourage other believers, and to reach out to them when we need help… we need to be (I need to be more) diligent about our faith, about our apologetic, and about remembering the “strength of His might.”

Sheep, Wolf... or Sheepdog?

 This may step on a few toes, but I’m going to write it anyway.

I have carried a knife every day since I got my tote-em chip as a Cub Scout, some days I carry more than one.  I make some of the knives I carry.  Some were given to me by men I love and admire.  I carry them everywhere except into the courthouse when called for jury duty and while traveling on a plane.  (The first thing I do when I get off the plane is find a store and buy an inexpensive throw-away knife.) 

In the almost 50 years that I have carried a knife I have never used one in anger against another person. 

For the past 6 years I have legally carried a gun everywhere I go (except one place that’s not a courthouse or an airplane).  I carry one at home, on my property, in church, at the store, in restaurants, to my doctor’s office, to my dentist’s office, when I hike with my wife… you get the picture.  I practice regularly.  I spend a lot of money and time to make sure I am competent in the use of the firearms I carry.

I have never drawn my weapon in anger against another person.  

The one place I do not carry is at work.  You see, I am a teacher and though the law in my state says that I can choose to go through training and testing to make myself eligible to carry a weapon on my campus, so that, should the unthinkable happen I would be able to defend my students and teammates, I work for a superintendent and school board who have chosen to say no… you are not to do that.  I submit to their authority, as they are following the letter of the law and have chosen to lead in a way they feel is best... whether I agree with them or not.  Until that rule changes, I will protect my charges with whatever I have at hand.  If I must use a stool, a walking stick, or my bare hands, I will be their protector.  

All around the world, the unthinkable happens in places with restrictive gun laws.  People use knives, hammers, cars/trucks/vans, and their bare hands to kill other people.  They use lead pipes, candlesticks, ropes…. No this is not a game of clue, but I think you get the idea.  If LEGAL, LAW-ABIDING citizens who owned guns were the source of the problem the death toll from firearm use would be astronomically higher.  I am not the problem, and neither are the millions of other law-abiding citizens who own guns.  

The world is a fallen place and the heart of man is sinful and some men choose to put their desires before even the very lives of others.  Yes, I choose to believe that the 2 greatest laws in all the world are: 

-Love God

-Love people….

I choose, also, to exercise my 2nd amendment rights because, “to protect those I love I will do great and terrible things.”

I have heard this analogy often used to describe the role of the protector: In the world there are sheep, wolves and sheepdogs.  The sheep are helpless against the wolf.  There is no reasoning with the wolf.  The wolf cares nothing for the fact that the sheep belong to the shepherd.  The wolf wants only to feast upon the dead bodies of the sheep.  The wolf only flees when the sheepdog is present.  The wolf is an opportunist, he is not brave.  The sheepdog must be steadfast, for the wolf is ever on the prowl waiting for the sheepdog to turn his back.  Sometimes the sheep are afraid of the sheepdog, because he has teeth like the wolf and is fierce like the wolf, but the sheep run to the sheepdog when the wolf comes because he will always put himself between them and the wolf.   Which will you be….?  There is no middle ground.  The great song-smith and philosopher, Neil Peart, wrote; “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.”  

The man who shot his grandmother, and killed those kids and their teachers was a wolf… 

The man who walked into Parkland High and pulled the fire alarm to get victims into the halls was a wolf.

The man who killed the kids in Sandy Hook was a wolf.

Where were the sheepdogs???  We did not allow them to guard the sheep…  If the sheep are really important, we need to guard them.  The sheepdog will never harm the sheep, but he must have teeth and claws fierce enough to keep the wolf from acting on his murderous desires.

Created in His image....

 

The incident took less than 15 seconds from start to finish….

I took a long ride this Saturday, a loop through Downtown.  I rode from the house, east on 90, over to Tharpe St. and all the way to Monroe.  From there I planned to ride south on Monroe to Gaines, west to the stadium, and back out 20 to the house.  I tried to ride every day during the long spring and summer while I and many of my fellow teachers were stuck at home, and except for a few days here and there, and those days it rained, I accomplished that goal.  I was actually able to gradually work myself up week by week a mile at a time to a point where a 20+ mile ride is very do-able. 

For you veteran riders out there please understand, the last time I was on a bike I was dealing with long term chronic pain and ended my last ride a year and a half ago on the side of the road, after only 5 miles, in such severe pain that I was vomiting.  So now, when I’m on my bike riding again, I feel pretty good about myself.  I feel accomplished again.  With school back in play again I get to ride once or twice a week so I try to make it a good one when I get the chance to get out for a ride.  One of the things I like to do as I ride is to call out greetings to the people I pass along the way.  It makes me feel good when I get a smile or a wave back in reply.  It’s good to share a smile with a stranger.

So there I was about halfway through the ride coming into downtown Tallahassee.  I was getting stopped by lights and contending with traffic and distracted drivers, but having a great ride.  Up ahead, in front of the Chain of Parks, I caught site of protestors…  “This should be good,” I thought as I rode closer.  As I got closer I noticed that there was more than “a” protest going on, there were what look like from a distance a chain of protests, each with their own little cluster of people and signs.  Nothing in particular stood out to me as I passed by the line of sign-bearers… until I notice him.

He stood with his own group of fellow protestors, I won’t mention their name because it really isn’t any more or less important than the name of any of the other groups out that morning.  His skin glowed with the kind of ghostly hue of one who might be venturing out into the daylight for the first time, on purpose, in months.  He had a softness that hung about him which spoke of a life totally unfamiliar with the concept of hard work.  In his hands was a sign with the words, “WE ARE RELENTLESS,” written out in uneven block letters.  (I admit that I spell-checked it as I took in the scene.)  I started to giggle… “Relentless about getting to the fridge.”  At first it was a private snigger, but then I began to giggle out loud, shaking my head and smiling from ear to ear at the sight of this clueless little marshmallow with the sign.  As I passed the protestors I called out a few greetings and salutations and I made a point of making eye-contact with Mr. Relentless and giggled through a hearty, “have a GREAT day,” as I went past him.  “What a maroon,” my inner Bugs Bunny said…

Again, the whole thing lasted 10 or 15 seconds, an almost insignificant amount of time.  As I rode on, my giddiness changed to shame as I remembered the he too was created in God’s image.

Grace for ALL

 The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.  Rev 22:21

Literally the last words in the Bible.  Is this a command, a promise, or a model for life?  Yes.

We were blessed this morning with a word from our pastor about the final 2 chapters in the Bible, speaking about those we will find there.  Much was shared about the light we'll find in Heaven, about the saints we miss and look forward to seeing and about the Heavenly beings (the angels, seraphim and cheruim) and then he closed with the final verse in the Bible.  

Listen to the words slowly......   The GRACE... of The LORD Jesus... be... with ALL.   Amen (may it be so).  

I must admit that both my wife and I jumped to referencing Captain Picard ending a command statement with, "make it so."  Funny, we chuckled to each other.  But what if that was really what it meant?  Are the final words in the Bible a command statement?  And if this is the case, how do we, "make it so?"  How do we make available the Grace of the Lord Jesus to all?  

Step one I think is remembering that it was made available to us, to me.... you.  Be honest right now, there was no good reason for you to be saved, you were a sinner, a liar and unworthy of grace.  I can say this because I know that I was not worthy.  I sometimes ponder the goodness and mercy of God to have saved me.  The moment I forget this fact I find myself being judgmental of others and the Spirit steps in, using various means, to remind me of who I am... the adopted son of God.  I was chosen by Him to receive His grace which He freely makes available.... to all.  

Step 2 is to remember that because He overlooked my unrighteousness, I am to overlook the same in others when showing grace, mercy and when opportunity presents itself to share the gospel unselfishly.  Jesus went to prepare a place for me in His Father's house, could he not then also prepare a place for another unworthy soul; of course he could.  

step 3 is to make it so.  I don't have to pray about it, He's already commanded it multiple times.  I don't need to ask for clarification, He said to go to my neighbor and to the whole world.  I don't need to ask for an example, His proverbs told us long ago what the Kingdom of Heaven is like.  I was the 100th sheep, I was the leper washed clean.  I need to act on it, keeping my eyes open for His next sheep, His next leper.  

Love Thine Enemy.....

Matthew 5:44-47

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;

That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.

For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?

And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?

I had a terrible thought, 2 really, that came to my mind in the past 3 or 4 days.  They're political thoughts, so if you ain't in for that kind of thing, cut out now.  I've been taking in all this vocal effluence in over the past few weeks concerning the COVID deaths and the Presidential campaigns and all the little ways the media overlords are trying to twist public opinion one way or the other.   My wife is very good at reminding me as I argue or present a point during a family meal or in a small-group setting that my points may be valid and true, but there are any number of opposing points from the other side of the argument that are valid and true as well.  And she is right, in fact it's that exact counsel that exploded behind my eyeballs when these two thoughts finally clarified in my mind.  

Yes I am one of those guys who thinks the media is out to hoodwink us all.  I believe they take sides and purposely miss-inform and under-inform the public in order to drive the dollar signs up in their ratings.  I can't listen to network news without rebutting the on-air personality as though they were in my living room.  Opinion matters, though it may be wrong or skewed or misinformed, it matters.

Love your enemies...

The first thought focuses on the terrible thing has happened in the state of New York, thousands of old folds and sick folks living in rehab centers and nursing homes have died because the State of NY opted to send patients WITH COVID to those places to finish their recovery process once they were over the danger hump.  Most of those patients who were moved to the places where old and sick people died got better and went home, but the  old folks who lived there, who were spending their last months and years of life there suddenly found that those months and years turned to weeks and days when they were taken by the much feared disease.  Many of these elderly patients never got a chance to see their families again because of the "safety" rules put into place by the medical boards and the State.  Many died alone, scared and confused.  Many died WELL before their time.  This point was driven home by a story from NY about a Mrs. Janice Dean, who lost both of her in-laws, a couple married for almost 60 years, after first the wife, then the husband, contracted COVID when their nursing home was used to house infected patients.  She called out the Governor of the state for his buck-passing and politicizing of the death rates in the nursing homes.  She pointed out that he never once voiced the fact that it was his executive order that moved the infected patients to places where the MOST at risk populations could be found.  Right after reading her story I read that the US Navy Hospital Ship Mercy was leaving NY because it was not being used, and the Javits Center temporary field hospital is closing down because it was not being used....   A terrible thought struck me as I finished the second story, "I'll bet that lousy good-for-nothing Cuomo didn't use the hospitals provided by the Federal Government via the Military because he didn't want to give Trump ANY opportunity at receiving good press.  He sent those COVID patients to the nursing homes KNOWING old people would died by the thousands all because HE WANTED TO WIN some stupid political game of "Who Has The Biggest Set!""  In that moment I wanted him to die.... I raged in my heart that HE should be tied to a bed in one of those nursing homes in a room FILLED with COVID patients and be left to suffer the consequences he forced on thousands of families....   I HATED HIM.

The second thought that hit me a day later was concerning Joe Biden.  It was on the day he uttered the words that probably cemented Donald Trump's second term as POTUS.  During an interview on a nationally syndicated radio show, he closed the interview (because HE was pressed for time even though the host had many more questions for him) by telling the host, "If you have a problem figuring out if you're for me or Trump, YOU AIN"T BLACK."  "Ouch," I thought, "that's gonna leave a mark.  How are his "handlers" going to handle this one?"  Joe Biden has a history of saying the wrong thing at the worst time, and at first I just tossed that one into the Homer Simpson file of fame.  "Biden is SUCH an idiot," I thought to myself... I may have even said it out loud.  As I pondered Biden's latest gaffe, I soon found myself pitying the man.  He can't continue this fight.  As we sit and watch, his entire list of life accomplishments is being covered up by a series of mental lapses in judgement that always seem to happen on tape.  "The man is being used by his own Party," I thought.  "They are going to ride him until he is spent and useless to them and they'll finish him off publicly at the Convention in as shameful a way as they can, by either dumping him for a "surprise" candidate or tying him to the greatest political failure in modern history..."  and at that moment I pitied the poor schmuck.

Yesterday I got to pondering these two things; my hatred for Cuomo (based on my unprovable theory) and my pity for a man I do not respect in the least.  And that's when the words of Matthew 5 spoke to me.  I was the pharisee, the publican, the hypocrite (depending on your translation).  I was ready to curse these men, I was ready to hate them in my heart, but had I prayed for them?  I was guilty of choosing whether they were worthy of redemption. I wept, for I was ashamed.  As I prayed for them to find true peace,  I hated and pitied myself.  

I'm glad no one made that choice about me 30 years ago when I was a different man. 

My Purpose

As a believer in Christ, my purpose is explained in the 1st question and answer of the Westminster Shorter Catechism....  What is the chief end of man?  To glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

As a Husband to my wife, my purpose is clearly explained in Ephesians chapter 3....  Love her, as Christ loved the church, giving Himself for her even unto death.  Oh, how I love her.

As a father my purpose is clearly given throughout the Proverbs.  To raise my children in fear and reverence of the Lord and to cultivate in them wisdom which flows from my own growing understanding of God's amazing word.   To love, encourage and correct them in love and in the light of God's calling given to each father.  To love them when they are triumphant and when they fail.  To love their mother, giving constant witness of that love to them. 

As a teacher.... that is where I now find myself immersed in a quagmire of confusion.  All that I do has fallen before closed eyes and ears.  Mercy seems an outcast and Wisdom seems a stranger in schools today.  How do I hold on to my purpose when all that I have ever used to muster myself to the call seems to be valueless to those to whom I call out?

Revive me, oh God.  I have no strength to fight.  Revive me....

Still Searching....

What am I called to be?  Each of us is specifically skilled to do something.  I teach, at least I did.  What am I doing now; is it baby-sitting, crowd control, molding minds, cultivating citizens? Is it teaching?  Is this teaching now? Is this what I have to look forward to for the next few years if I continue acting on this calling?  Will it change my standards for them?  Will I begin to incrementally give in?  I hope not.  I pray not.  Hold fast..... Stand firm... Pray for help.

It will not return void.....

Isaiah 55:10-11 says

For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:

So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.

I have been weeping over these words today.  Three times today I have broken down in tears thinking of these words.  Why?  I am a teacher, so these words hold a special place in my heart, in my calling.  The possibility each day that something I do or say might change the thinking of a young mind, leading the learner to a better outcome than the trajectory on which they are currently is often what gets me out of bed.  Teaching is different than when I started in 1989, it's different than when I started anew in 2008, and not different in a good way.  

So why weep, why not just do something else?  Because I must do what I am called to do.  I cannot run from what I am called to do (more on that later).  Every good teacher that I have known has one thing in common; a desire to improve the life of children.  That is not to say that all children are in a miserable state, it speaks to seeding their future with tools they can use to reap future successes and experience that future in a deeper way.  I find myself more and more often looking into the eyes of my skilled fellows, women and men of passion and empathy, and seeing dejection, disillusion and despair.  Yes, everyone goes through hard moments, but seek out a group of teachers and ask them what they place their hope meters at.  The answers you get will show a dark level of morale.  But ask them what make them keep coming back every day and the answers will be all about the kids.  

So why am I weeping.....?  I don't see the promise of a harvest the way I did in years past.  I see fields of young minds stagnant and rotting.  Too many are in the classroom because they have to be.  These see no problem with trading 7 hours of their life for nothing; new knowledge holds no value to them.  Many have given up caring about their academic rights after being forced to live years with the first group, made to be tolerant of the daily drain of time caused by miscreant classmates whose right to waste precious classroom time is more important than their right to be enriched.  A growing group are the ones whose parents either do not respond to your suggestions meant to aid or lay the blame for 10 years of poor parenting on you the teacher who has been in the child's life for mere months; those children who move through their 7 hours with you like dark eyed ghosts or empty shells who have already given up on life.  I weep because that group in the middle, the ones I can reach are torn from me by the first, and because the last group cannot hear from my lips the words they really need to hear; that they are preciously made, valued and loved by God and therefore loved by me.  I weep because that first group is too often the focus of a darkness that I would rather deny exists within my own heart and because they refuse to take my hand, the very same hand that I will offer to them every day knowing that it will be rejected.  I weep because our culture has turned our 10 year-old children into something that resembles angry cast members from the Jerry Springer Show.  I weep because I don't see the harvest any more.  

I keep going, each day, because I have hope there will be a harvest, that somehow, in spite of the current struggles, seeds have found fertile ground, taken root and will grow and prosper despite what I fear.  I open the door to my classroom in the dark each morning, before most people are even out of bed, because I hope that today I will see signs of a harvest.  I prepare my classroom each morning to make wise use of every minute because of a hope that one student, once entangled by the vines of ignorance, will be able to break free from the darkness and begin to produce the fruit of knowledge.  I keep striving because I have a promise that a harvest will occur.

Yes, I believe I am called to be a teacher.  I have run from God's callings in the past, and always I end up right where He wants me.... eventually.  Often my running is because I don't see the logic in the calling.  I run to avoid that which I fear or find uncomfortable.  I have found that I most often run from that which I am called to do.   So for every excuse that my heart tries to use to keep me from teaching, I must remind my heart that it is this struggle for which I was made.  

Verses 8 and 9 say:  For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.  It is this that I tell myself in the morning as I step in front of the bathroom mirror, during the struggle in the middle of class, in the afternoon when I am home alone weeping over failures from the day, and at 3 in the morning when I wake up afraid, full of doubt.  It is this upon which my hopes rest,  hoping for the harvest today, being aware that I may never see that harvest, but knowing that if I speak truth the harvest will come. 

Verse 11 says,   So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.  So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.  

So what am I to do?  I will go forth.  I will heed the call.  I will trust my God.  His word will not return void.

It's not about crime... It's about sin

I just read a post from a dear friend on Facebook and I was moved almost to tears.  The post concerned the newest movement focused on ending gun violence.  I know, why would that move me to tears, it's a noble effort, and gun violence... wouldn't it be wonderful if it could be wiped out?  Here's the thing, gun violence is not what we need to work on, it's only  a symptom of the true sickness that causes pain throughout the world... sin.

Every country in the world has outlawed slavery, yet every day in thousands of cities and communities around the world girls, women and young boys are bound against their will to do unspeakable things for those powerful enough to break the laws of civilized society at the most base levels.

Every country in the world has laws against theft, rape, physical violence, and murder, yet every day people become victims of these crimes.

It is illegal to kill someone yet we see throughout the world, people use numerous means to bring life to a violent end.  If a gun is not available a knife will do, if no knife then maybe a hammer, no tools, then the wheels of a car..... or maybe a nasty dose of poison, drugs, a push into traffic, or a plain old fashion beat-down... 

We have made laws against violence since Old Testament times, and most cultures have a common legal code.  So why do we still have death and violence when we have such strict laws?  the answer is simple; it's sin.  We are immersed in sin.  Sin is in our hearts.  There is only one way to combat sin, and that is through a daily growing relationship with Jesus Christ. 

There in lies the problem, Jesus..... because we are sinful, we are averse to admitting our need of this relationship, and we avoid it because it would mean changing who and what controls our life. 

So now I will write a statement that will be very unpopular in the current social flow.  Passing another gun law will do nothing to change what happens on a daily basis.  People will still kill each other.  Starting a new feel-good movement to outlaw guns or knives (sticks, stones, sharp sticks) will do nothing but make the people involved feel like they have accomplished something, but in reality nothing will change.  The only thing that will change society is people meeting Jesus in a personal and life changing way. 

You will know them by their Fruit

One of my favorite movies is "Saving Private Ryan."  I have watched it 3 times, I have watched other movies more, but this film always has a powerful effect on me.  The most powerful scene for me is the scene near the end of the film where an elderly Ryan, for whom we saw so many sacrifice so much, is shaken by emotion as he looks at the grave of one of the men responsible for saving him.  through his tears, he pleads with his wife, asking her to reassure him that he was a good man, that the life he has led was worthy of the sacrifice of these men he has come to visit.  "Tell me that I lived a good life.  Tell me that  am a good man."  In this scene he is faced with a full understanding that if his life was an empty one, the men before him died in vain.  He needed proof that someone saw value in his life.  I remember seeing the movie for the first time and when that scene was over, I realized that I had that same question, was my life a life of value, a life of evidence?

Last weekend was an amazing weekend for me as a father.  So many memories happened, so many smiles spread, so many tears shed.  At the end of those two short days I was worn out (in a good way) by the blessings that God had showered over me.

As I negotiated the days after this past weekend, the ones fill with the day-to-day trivialities that often make us feel like a faceless cog amongst the machine of life, I found myself coming back to the promise of Christ in Matthew chapter 7; "So then, you will know them by their fruits."  I know I might be taking this verse slightly out of context, many will say that Jesus was teaching his disciples how they will be able to identify true teachers from those that are false, those with the gospel of grace and those with a twisted version of it.  I began to see it as a statement made in connection to Proverbs 22; "Train up a child in the way they should go..." that it was a measure of a father as well.  As the week went on, the words that I prayed in church on Sunday morning, thanking God for the blessing of those teenagers in the youth choir who lead us in such a pure and transparent worship time, kept returning to me.  It was almost as if God was reminding me that I had some part in it.

What a full weekend.  Jac had an amazing performance at a local gym meet, and seeing him interact with his teammates and fellow competitors was more uplifting than seeing him earn medals from his performance.  Alex blew away the judges at her solo and ensemble performances though her music and her presence.  Chris expertly supported his future bride during a very busy visit from her mom and grandma as they pushed through plans for their May wedding.  Domi made me cry as her voice led a room of hundreds in worship during a county wide youth choir event.  Not only was I touched by my own children, but kids with whom I have worked were present in the memories made.  The girls from our Life group danced during both the worship time at church and at the concert.  Teens that were in my bike group over the past 2 years were involved in the glorifying of God, their faces showing an amazing desire to serve our Lord.

Those moments last weekend have left me with assurance that there is evidence in this life of my value.  My children and the children that I listened to and saw last weekend were God's proof that I had produced fruit.  I hear myself think these thoughts and I feel as though I am being egocentric, but I know his thing called life is not about me, it's about Him and them.  Sometimes, though, a man needs the reassurance that comes from being able to look back at his work and know that his efforts were fruitful.  This past weekend was one of those moments for me.  Now it's time to shut up and go make more of those moments.

Give and Take

We (Terri, the 2 younger guys, Mom & Dad, and I) just spent the past 4 days North of Atlanta in the Middle of the Chattahoochee National Forest.  The cabin we stayed at for the second time is a little home about 1/2 way down hwy. 60 between Blue ridge and Suches.  This picture is one of the creek that is not more than 25 feet from the front porch.  It's sounds will sing you to sleep and its water are crystal clear so that you can see the fool's gold littering the streambed.

This trip for me was a lesson on what I am and what I am not.  I learned that I am very comfortable in the mountains, living a little more simply and apart from large numbers of people.  I also learned that I am NOT meant to live in Atlanta.  There is something about that town that, for me at least, oozes stress and anxiety.  We had to go through the ATL on the way in and during that part of the trip I found out my car has a cooling issue.  We were there for a gym meet that my son was competing in on Saturday, and so were 50,000 cheerleaders, their coaches, parents, and there make-up support staff.  We found out that they were there when we tried to go the last 2 miles of the drive to the meet on Saturday.  That 2 miles took an hour, not exaggerating, an hour.  Terri and Jac actually walked the last mile and a half while we fought through the traffic.  They made it there about 20 minutes before mom and I did.  It took a lot of effort to bring me back down off the emotional ledge that evening.  The drive back through the mountains did it, that and the laughter that we shared in the car on the drive back (thanks Mr. Bag).  

The next morning it was in the teens and the sky was crystal clear.  Coffee is just better in the woods.  The dogs were absolutely having a ball.  All day Friday Alexandra and Jac were in the woods out back exploring.  Rocks look better in the woods.  There were pockets of ice all along the stream.  The kids found walking sticks and poked at all sorts of stuff.  Sticks are better in the woods.  

On the way home today we drove out through the forest heading SE.  If the road was a twisting snake coming into the cabin from the NW, then the road to Suches and Dahlonegah was like a tangle of snakes.  We took time to stop and smell the views on the way out, I kept thinking I wish I was on my bike.... except it was 25 degrees.  

The best part of the trip was seeing my son compete.  He had a really rough competition, but through it all he kept on giving what he had to give.  In the end he came away with a 6th place in one event, but he pushed through and in the end he had a positive outlook toward the future.  

Attitudes are better in the woods.

A short Thank You

My ears aren’t so good any more; they haven’t been for some time.  I think I started loosing my hearing right after the first bad incident I had with electricity back when I was in college doing refrigeration work during the summer time.  Any way, I really notice it when I wear headphones, one sounds like it’s turned way up and the other is seems as though it’s only up half way.  I found that I have to wear both in one ear in order for the balance to not be messed up.  It’s kind of weird looking, but it works for me.  The thing that has really been the hardest about the loss of my hearing is that I have a hard time having a conversation in a crowd or hearing a person speaking at a distance in a crowded room.  Funny, I’m more comfortable in front of a crowd than in the midst of one, at least up at the front I don’t have to worry about what the other guy is saying.

Funny though it sounds, I think God blessed me through the loss of my hearing.  One of the first things I had to do was to learn how to compensate in crowded situations.  There were times when I would completely miss someone saying something to me, even my wife, that couldn’t end up good.  I found that the only way I could hear people was to really focus on them.  I had to be looking straight at them, something I really didn’t do well.   I have never been really good at paying attention to people, always had too many things going in my head to much care what others were saying… another thing that was bound to end poorly.  I had to learn how to actually listen to people; start to learn, I’m still learning.  Over the years I have gotten better at hearing conversations and voices in crowds, not by concentrating harder on the sounds people make, but by reading what their lips told me.  That has been a huge blessing for me, it’s taught me to clear away, if only for a few short minutes, all the distractions in my head so that I can share an unrepeatable moment with someone else. 

Dear Father God… Thanks for the blessings on the side of my head.

A Time for Giving Thanks

One of the songs that usually brings me to tears in my new life, my empathetic life, is a song by Todd Agnew entitled, "Still Here Waiting."  The chorus recalls the fact that when the singer/writer finally turned around and stopped running toward the things he desired and started walking back toward God and the things He wanted for the sinner, that God was there, waiting with arms open, every time.  It seems I spend a lot of time like the sinner in this song, walking purposely away from this God who wants to warmly cloth me in His blessings.  I spend days and weeks walking angry at life around me ignoring God who is always there waiting quietly.  Each time I catch a glimpse of Him through my anger fueled view of the world I am halted, forced to view myself as the worst of what I see in this world.  I have had a few of those moments recently, each time catching a glimpse of the joy I could be enjoying instead of the blackness that fills me most days.

I read somewhere that purposely expressing thanks to someone each day is an easy way to change your outlook, though it takes persistence, making it a habit is the key.  I am going to use these days leading up to Thanks Giving Day to poke a few holes in my attitude, letting a little light in. "How hard can it be?"

God forgive me...  You have given me eyes with which I can see.  I can see the glories of your hands.  I daily look upon the master strokes of this world you have created.  I am able to look at blessing after blessing that you have purposed to place in my life.  All these things I do, and yet I choose to close my eyes to all of them and instead look at what appear to me as wrongs and mistakes.  I look too often at the things sinful man has made of this world and I let my heart turn dark.  Lord, help me to look for those things that you purpose for me.  These eyes you have given me are not as clear as in years past, and maybe they have grown dim because of the darkness I have chose to fixate on.  One thing I have noticed in the past few months is that I am forced to look more closely at things when I really want to see them, and I wonder if that is by design.  Are you helping me to more closely attend to the people in my life? Thanks I give to you, as well as I can, for these eyes I have.  Thanks for the glimpses of beauty that are still present around me though I have chosen to darken my view of things.  Thank you, Lord, for giving me new opportunities to see You more clearly.  Help me to be more aware of the blessings you have designed for my eyes to see.

Hands

I was in the middle of communicating back and forth with my boss today.  She sent out a reminder to the faculty about the up-coming "Take Your Child to Work" day.  I shot back an off the cuff comment about how it's funny that day happens on a school day and not on one of the 100 plus days off from school.  She wrote back, telling me about why the day was picked and how it had been switched to a day after the yearly testing, I felt she had taken my reply too seriously.  So to that end I wrote back to her, thanking her for the extra info and pointing out that I was just pointing out a "funny."  My boss is so great, and patient with me.  She wrote back again, and as I was responding to her, I realized that I was writing about my dad, and that reminded me of how much I miss him.

My dad was in the mechanical service and food service industries for most of my life.  

When ever I had a day off I was up at 0-dark-30 and out the door with him, 

his helper for the day, loading trucks, moving crates in a warehouse, 

climbing through dirty crawlspaces and dirtier attics…  From the time I was 

8 till I left for college, If I was not working at my own job or at school, I was

 working with dad.  The last thing I would have ever wanted as a kid was another day off.

  I was too worn out from my last "day off" with dad.  It was on those 

days off, that I learned the most important thing about him; my dad worked hard. 

To this day I remember his hands.  As I picture them I am reminded of how hard my dad worked.

I had to stop and catch my emotions up for a minute.  I lost my dad a little over 2 years ago, I did not grieve for my loss, for I knew he was a believer, but i am not sure that I ever took the time to really think about how much I missed him (and would miss him as time goes on).  I wrote about my father once.  I told about the things he taught me, that I knew because of him.  I knew he loved my mother.  Every day he greeted her with a hug and a kiss and a loving word.  He made sure to tell me as a young man that nothing on this earth was as important to him as his wife, and I knew it to be true.  He taught me that a man was supposed to have 2 qualities: constancy and honor.  He taught me these traits daily in what he said and did, and in how these things agreed in how he lived.  He also taught me a man had to be strong and how he must sacrifice for his family.  

But I understand now that he taught me one lesson without ever saying a word.  He taught me this lesson through his hands.  My dad was a big man, 6'2", over 200 pounds.  He had arms that were long and strong... but his hands... I remember when dad was laid out in his casket, the first thing I saw were his hands.  I turned to my sister and said, "They got his hands right."  She agreed.  They looked hard, toughened by work, calloused and wrinkled by years of labor: my dad's hands.  His hands were huge, probably a good 50 percent bigger than mine.  My hands would disappear inside his when 

he sat with me and held mine as we talked (I needed a lot of counseling as a kid).  When he showed me how to work with the tools of his trades those hands were skillful, moving with gracefulness and purpose.  When he tossed me in the air each night as I ran to greet him I was sure his strong hands would catch me.  I can't remember a single time in my life that my dad's hands were anything but gentle toward those he loved.  Yes, I was spanked at times, but never out of anger.  Those huge, hard, calloused, mighty hands were always used for my good, no matter what.  

Most of this doesn't make much sense, but that's okay, because I'm writing to myself today.  What will my hands be remembered as by my children?  

Life...

For about 3 years I have been trying to fix my roof.  Over that time we have had several reasons to postpone the job; lack of funds, oral surgery, dying drain fields.  Well, finally, some very good friends brought the roof restoration to fruition.  About 3 months ago 2 of them with extensive experience in building came to inspect my house and map out a plan.  Over the next weeks materials were bought and several tries were made to plan a work day.  Weather got in the way until today.  Twelve caring brothers in Christ came out today to fix my roof.  As the work began it was soon clear that there was no way we would get the work done today because there was much more wood rot than we thought.  As more shingles came up, more and more wood rot raised its ugly head.  What we thought would be replacing  3 to 4 sheets of plywood sheeting turned into almost a third of the roof surface.

I was nearly brought to tears as I walked about the property finding needed supplies and tools for the men who came to fix my house.  First I was distraught at how bad the roof was and how much longer it would take to fix and how much more it would cost for materials, and how much harder these friends would have to work and how could I have let it go for so long, and how could I have been so ignorant of what was going on and and and a....   Then I was struck by how blessed I was, yeah, how blessed.  With that much rot, there should have been water pouring into the house, but there wasn't.  With that much damage I could have been looking at thousands more in repairs, but it wasn't.  With that much damage this should have been so much worse...  BUT IT WASN'T.  Some might call it lucky, but I call it blessed.  By that time I was just glad to be on the other side of the shop looking for an air line fitting.  No one was there to hear me talking to God.

Now, sitting back n my chair, watching the Gator game, I realized the life analogy waiting to be written about my roof.  So here goes.  Life outside of God is like a rotting roof.  From the outside and from a distance, it looks pretty good.  Even when the owner knows there are a few problem areas, they can be easily covered up with sealers and tarps.  You can put a few new shingles over the really weak spots, and if you avoid walking near them you can probably keep things under control.  Our culture drives us to make sure to focus on how the outside looks because that's what others see.  We can often ignore what's going on under the surface because everything seems so normal.  Ignoring what really needs to be done will ultimately lead to collapse.  Life outside of Christ can leave us ripe for a collapse.

Well the roof is now patched and about a third of the boards are in place to mount the metal.  The whole thing is covered in a single large tarp, and I am sitting amazed at what God did today through the hands, backs and knees of 12 amazing guys.  (Hmmmm, 12 guys.....)

Faith During the Pain

Twang!  No, it was more like TWANG!  that was the sensation I felt on the last day of school nearly 3 weeks ago at approximately 10:15 A.M. as I was in the middle of a baseball bat relay during 5th grade field day.  I had just spun around the bat 10 times, and knowing what normally happens next, I just dropped the bat and stayed bent over for a few seconds while the world, and my stomach, stopped spinning.  After 3 or 4 seconds I began the return sprint back to the finish line by standing up, and that's when it happened,  TWANG! went my left calf.  I knew something was wrong immediately, but I hopped back to the finish and went straight to our class's cooler for a bag of ice; my fun and games were over.  As bad as the initial pain was, the more the day drug on, the worse I felt.  When I got home I wrapped it up and started feeling sorry for myself.

I was most upset because in 2 days, I was supposed to be starting a bicycle trip with the youth from my church.  The longer I thought on it the more upset I got, because there was NO WAY I could ride a bike for 20-50 miles if I couldn't walk 100 feet.  I texted Pastor Robbin, who was leading the ride, and told him that he might be down one group leader.  The rest of the evening was spent splitting time with the Ice pack and heating pad.

When I woke the next morning, I spent 30 minutes stretching out my sore leg.  I figure out how to limp with a minimum of pain, wrapped up the swollen appendage in an Ace bandage and prayed a lot.  I spoke to God about my desire to do the trip; after all, I had spent 2 months and a small sum of money preparing for the journey.  There were words asking for help, asking for comfort, and telling Him I needed courage because I had no desire to increase my daily quota of pain any higher than it is normally.

A couple of hours later, after prepping my bike and the girls' bikes, I tried something that seemed totally ridiculous, I went for a ride.  Just walking the bike down the porch stairs hurt terribly, but I had to try to ride.  To my surprise, as I began to turn the pedals the pain in my leg abated.  I rode around the yard, then out on the cul-de-sac out front, then I turned toward the hill up the road and took off for a half mile of no pain.

Back in the yard I dismounted.  Once back in walking mode I was reminded in no uncertain terms that I was injured.  Every step brought a sharp pluck of pain, but I had ridden with no pain.  I made the decision right then that I was going to do the 1st leg of the ride the next day.  I should be able to do 20 miles even though I was hurt.  It was the second day that would bring the real yes or no.  I would either be swollen up and in too much pain to ride the next morning, or I would be the same as I was.  If I was the same, I would go.

Each morning for the next 5 days started and ended the same way; with me asking God for help comfort and courage.  He was faithful the entire time.  I am convinced that God wanted me to go on that bike trip, and I leaned on that in faith knowing that He would make a way for me to ride because it was His will.  I gave each mile up to Him, thanking Him every 5 minutes for the next mile to come.  At the end of each day's ride I was reminded of the pain as soon as I dismounted, but it was the end of that ride and rest awaited me.

I did not do this ride on my own; in my own strength I could never have done it.  It was the strength of God that brought me through.  The next couple of essays will be about the form that His strength took: OJ, MF, NB, CM, JK, KF.

(Yes, it still hurts all the time, some times a lot.  I suppose it will take some time to heal, but I have time, as much time as He sees fit to give me.)


2 Corinthians 12 -    8 Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me. 9 And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. 10 Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.