Mary, Did You Hear?

She was so young when it all began. Betrothed to be married, yet still a teenager. Mary… a woman more to be esteemed than any other in history. “Highly favored by God”, said the angel, Gabriel. But it was no easy task, nor was it glorious, to be the center piece for God’s greatest miracle, the incarnation.

Mary, did you hear what the angel said to you? “You will bear a son, a baby conceived not by Joseph but by the Holy Spirit of Almighty God. The boy will be named Jesus, Savior of your people, but he will come to be known as the Son of God. Believe it, Mary, for nothing is impossible with God.” But how could she believe? Never before had a virgin given birth. She had never heard the Rabbis and teachers speak of Messiah coming in such a way. To whom could she confide when the pregnancy began? Who would believe her? Perhaps, she thought, her aunt, Elizabeth.

Mary, did you hear what Elizabeth said to you? “Mary, Mary, my dear Mary. You are so blessed. But why me? Why am I so favored to have someone so special come to my home, the mother of my Lord?” Oh Aunt Elizabeth. Through tears of joy Mary hugged and rejoiced that someone understood. Someone believed. Someone knew that it was true. Elizabeth’s unborn son leaped for joy in her womb, and that was enough for two women to believe. Mary stayed there until her pregnancy began to show. Just long enough, too, to witness the birth of Elizabeth’s baby, John, who would one day be the forerunner and baptizer of Jesus. Then she went home, to face family and friends. And to tell Joseph.

Mary, did you hear what Joseph said to you? “When you first told me you were pregnant I planned to divorce you quietly. It was impossible to believe, what you told me. But I was not willing to disgrace you, though that is what the law required of me. But while I considered this, I had a dream. God told me the same thing the angel told you. The baby is truly of the Holy Spirit. And God told me to marry you, and not be afraid of what everyone else would think. He told me, too, to name the boy Jesus. I do not understand, but I do believe. This baby, Jesus, will save us all from sin. Mary, I love you. And I believe.” Now there were three who believed. Three pillars of faith. And Mary could only marvel.

Mary, did you hear what the Magi said to you? “We have come from the east, following a most unusual star. It led us to this home, to this child. Your baby is King of the Jews, a Son of the Most High God.” They bowed before the baby, and worshipped. They left precious gifts, too. But it was because of this visit that the young family moved to Egypt, to escape the sword of Herod. What to believe? Must many baby boys be killed, all because Jesus was born? By a dream, another dream, Joseph knew to leave.

Mary, did you hear what Simeon said to you? She went to the temple, in Jerusalem, for her own purification, and for consecration of her firstborn. The Holy Spirit moved Simeon to take a stroll through the outer court, where a woman with a small baby might be found. Finding and recognizing the promised Messiah, only forty days old, he asked to hold the babe in his own arms. “This child will be extraordinary, causing many to stumble and fall, but others to be raised up into glory. He will reveal the very thoughts of men’s hearts. But, my dear Mary, your heart will be pierced, as by a sword, because of this child.” Through all the confusion, the turmoil, and the broken heart times that Mary would endure, she clung to the belief that her son Jesus was truly God’s redemption for mankind. Simeon, along with Anna, so simple yet faithful, were added to Mary’s growing group of believers.

Mary, did you hear what Jesus said to you? There he hangs, on that despicable cross. Disgraced. Humiliated. The lonely road that began with an angel’s visit now seems to end at the edge of a deep, dark precipice. But through his unbearable pain and anguish your son whispered something to you. Mary, did you hear it? “Dear woman, here is your son. John, here is your mother.” Joseph was gone. Her other sons were yet to believe. But here is a new pillar, one who knows and believes. Such love, tending to his mother Mary, while in the very moment, the very climax of the eternal plan of redemption. Such incredible love. Love born in a stable, nurtured in the home of Mary and a simple carpenter, now crucified on a cross.

God’s perfect plan, and the astounding love of Jesus, the only peace for our troubled souls. Do you believe?

The Seven Cow Wife

Someone once said, God gave to women beauty, and to men He gave strength. The following story illustrates the truths of Ephesians 5 and I Peter 3, truths for men and women, husbands and wives. It is not my own story. It is a story from my “top ten list” of favorites.

The Seven Cow Wife

Johnny Lingo is known throughout the islands for his skills, intelligence, and savvy. If you hire him as a guide, he will show you the best fishing spots and the best places to get pearls. Johnny is also one of the sharpest traders in the islands. He can get you the best possible deals. The people of Kiniwata all speak highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet, when they speak of him, they always smile just a little mockingly.

A couple days after my arrival to Kiniwata, I went to the manager of the guesthouse to see who he thought would be a good fishing guide. "Johnny Lingo," said the manager. "He’s the best around. When you go shopping, let him do the bargaining. Johnny knows how to make a deal."

"Johnny Lingo!" hooted a nearby boy. The boy rocked with laughter as he said, "Yea, Johnny can make a deal alright!"

I wondered. “If he’s all you say he is, why does everyone laugh at him behind his back?"

"Well, there is one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He gave her father seven cows!"

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. A dowry of two or three cows would net a fair wife and four or five cows would net a very nice wife. "Wow!" I said. “Seven cows! She must have beauty that takes your breath away."

"She’s not ugly, …" he conceded with a little smile, "… but calling her ‘plain’ would definitely be a compliment. Sam Karoo, her father, was afraid he wouldn’t be able to marry her off. Instead of being stuck with her, he got seven cows. This price has never been paid before. She was skinny and she walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She was scared of her own shadow. All of the cousins urged Sam to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure Johnny would pay only one. To their surprise Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said, ‘Father of Sarita, I offer seven cows for your daughter.’ "

I wanted fish and pearls, so the next afternoon I went to the island of Nurabandi. I wanted to meet this Johnny Lingo. As I asked directions to Johnny’s house, I noticed Johnny’s neighbors were also amused at the mention of his name. When I met the slim, serious young man I could see immediately why everyone respected his skills. However, this only reinforced my confusion over him.

As we sat in his house, he asked me, "You come here from Kiniwata? Do they speak of me on that island?"

"Yes. They say you can provide me anything I need. They say you’re intelligent, resourceful, and the sharpest trader in the islands."

He smiled gently. "My wife is from Kiniwata. What do they say of her?"

"Why, just … ." The question caught me off balance. "They told me you were married at festival time. They also say the marriage settlement was seven cows." I paused. "They wonder why."

"They ask that?" His eyes lighted with pleasure. "Everyone in Kiniwata knows about the seven cows? And in Nurabandi, everyone knows it too." His chest expanded with satisfaction. "Always and forever, when they speak of marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo paid seven cows for Sarita."

So that’s the answer, I thought: Vanity.

Just then Sarita entered the room to place flowers on the table. She stood still for a moment to smile at her husband and then left. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, and the sparkle in her eyes all spelled self-confidence and pride. Not an arrogant and haughty pride, but a confident inner beauty that radiated in her every movement.

I turned back to Johnny and found him looking at me. "She … she’s gorgeous." I said. "Obviously, this is not the one everyone is talking about. She can’t be the Sarita you married on Kiniwata."

"There’s only one Sarita. Perhaps, she doesn’t look the way you expected. You think seven cows was too many?" A smile slid over his lips.

"No, but how can she be so different from the way they described her?"

Johnny said, "Think about how it must make a girl feel to know her husband paid a very low dowry for her? It must be insulting to her to know he places such little value on her. Think about how she must feel when the other women boast about the high prices their husbands paid for them. It must be embarrassing for her. I would not let this happen to my Sarita. You say she is different from what you expected. This is true. Many things can change a woman. There are things that happen on the inside and things that happen on the outside. However, the thing that matters most is how she views herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing. As a result, that’s the value she projected. Now, she knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands. It shows, doesn’t it? I wanted to marry Sarita. She is the only woman I love. But, I wanted a seven-cow wife."

The original story was copyrighted by Patricia McGerr in 1965, and a similar version printed in Reader’s Digest (February. 1988)

A Seed Tree

He was a logger with years and years of experience. I tried to learn from him as much as I could during the few weeks he worked for me harvesting my timber. He pointed to one exceptionally large Douglas Fir tree and pointed out how much taller it was than all the surrounding trees. There were eighty other exceptionally fine trees harvested within 500 feet of it, but that one tree was stronger, taller, broader, better. He explained how it would be a good seed source for starting good strong seedlings, trees that would grow up with the same genetics.

Tree farming often turns my thoughts to ministry and to leadership. Why does one teacher stand above the many others of his time or locale? How is it that a few teachers are capable of starting huge followings? Jesus, the ultimate teacher, trusted the propagation of his seed to twelve convinced, well-trained disciples. And Christianity has never stopped its spread.

Others have seeded similar followings, but not by the providence of God. Mohammed started the Islam faith in 610 AD and Muslims now constitute the second largest religion in the world, and arguably the fastest growing. Joseph Smith, in the 1830s and 1840s, persuaded a few disgruntled Christians to believe his visions and new ideas, and the Mormon religion has been growing ever since. Ellen G. White, with her prolific writings, laid the groundwork for the start of the Seventh Day Adventist group in 1863, and it continues to grow and to thrive. A friend of mine attends an SDA church and says that whenever they teach they usually teach directly from Ellen White’s writings, not from the Bible. “The Bible is confusing and hard to understand, but she always says it so clearly.”

Even within evangelical Christianity we have teachings that grow widespread, but are a seed born from a suspect tree. Consider the “seed tree” of the teaching of the Great Tribulation. John Darby came up with a new teaching of “end times”, ca 1830, the idea to separate the seventieth week of Daniel’s Messianic prophecy from the previous 69 weeks (Daniel 9:24-27). He came up with the novel idea of setting apart this seven year period to the end of the church age, a unique and theretofore unknown dispensation. C.I. Scofield picked up on Darby’s idea and popularized the new teaching in his famous “Scofield Reference Bible” notes, first published in America in 1909. Then Moody Bible Institute and Dallas Theological Seminary put this seed to the wind. Today you can hardly find historical premillenial teaching of the Bible in America. Rather, teaching about the end times centers around colorful, detailed charts of the “seven year tribulation”. Only problem is, it’s not in the Bible. But with all the charts, books, and teachers to propagate it, how would anyone know that?

By the way, that enormous seed tree was left standing by the logger. With his keen eye he noticed a barely detectable scar on its back side, about 40 feet up. He told me that the wood of the tree was worthless. Someday I’ll cut it down for firewood. Lots and lots of firewood. What a crash it will make when it comes down.

“Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire… by their fruit you will recognize them.” (Matthew 7:19-20)

“Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.” (James 3:1)

Let's Go Get Some Water

After singing a few songs for a handful of people, some of them asked him if he wanted to go get some water. It was a warm sunny day, so that sounded like a great idea. He carefully set aside his guitar. They handed him a bucket and said, “let’s go.” He had no idea what he had volunteered to do. He thought he was just going for a short walk to get a drink.

It was a treacherous half hour hike down a steep hill with a five gallon bucket to get water for the family for the evening. When he got down to the water source he found many people there in line waiting to get water. Not waiting, actually, but fighting. In Haiti, after the earthquake, a bucket of water was so precious that people pushed and shoved to get their turn at the spigot.

He reached into his backpack and took out his water bottle and took a drink while watching and waiting. You see, he was an American musician, brought to Haiti by a Food Relief Organization, to see the need and carry the message back to America. He was supplied with water. The poor destitute people of the island were not. While waiting he noticed a young boy sitting patiently waiting his turn. The boy would just wait until all the fighting was over to get his turn. So the music man took the boy’s jug, along with the five gallon bucket he carried down the hill. He fought his way to the water pipe and filled them up. He handed the jug back to the boy, and then turned to head back up the hill with his few Haitian friends.

The climb down the hill had been difficult. The climb up the hill with an open pail of water was almost impossible. An hour later he made it. As they continued their walk back to the village he noticed the boy with the jug. He had climbed up just behind them. He was told that the boy had yet another hour walk back to his family. He made the trip every day, five or six hours, to get one jug of water for his family. One jug of water. The same amount of water we flush down the sewer every time we use the toilet in America.

When the music man returned to America he quickly got back into the hustle and bustle of his many responsibilities. He was stuck trying to sell his house during the recession that hit America. He complained to his wife about it. He was also concerned what to do with his investments, since he was taking a beating there, too. He went out into the yard to do a little yard work, set down, and remembered the trek for water in Haiti. It caused him to consider how far he would have to walk to get a drink. About ten steps. In fact, he counted up eleven different sources of water in and around his house where he could get a drink, in just a matter of minutes.

The music man told this story to the crowd at his concert. In summation he said, “We in America never ever give an ounce of energy thinking about where we will get water for our daily sustenance. We are blessed, we are truly, truly blessed.”

But I thought to myself differently. A different conclusion to the story. A different word. Perhaps, in reality, we are spoiled. Truly spoiled. I was reminded of the time I took a group of people to Monterey, Mexico to minister for a couple weeks. As soon as we crossed back into Texas we headed for McDonalds, and then half of the group checked into a motel for a cozy night’s sleep. The weeks before we had used toilets which we could not even flush for lack of water. We put a brush arbor roof on a poor widow’s home. We held an evening worship service in the poorest of poor communities, the City of Pigs. How soon we put it behind us. Peanut butter sandwiches weren’t good enough. Sleeping in tents at the KOA campground wasn’t good enough. We are spoiled. And we don’t even have a clue.

If wealth and ease of circumstance were God’s primary concern for me how perverted my heart would become – turned from love, and grace, and peace, to wanton selfishness. Nevertheless, that is what we want and expect from Him. We think, “I deserve it.” And then we wonder why our service and spiritual destiny are so fleeting and fruitless.

“Give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?” (Proverbs 30:8-9)

Handprint of the Holy Spirit

It might seem like just any ordinary effort to meet human need with an organized plan. An orphanage. But when Zoila ran from Terry in tears it proved to be a “God thing”. In fact, the handprint of the Holy Spirit showed up everywhere.

We marvel at God’s handprint in creation -- the beauty and wonder of the galaxies, the splendor of mountain peaks, the intricacy of living cells and human anatomy. But do we marvel at the handprint of the Holy Spirit in the events of our lives? Francis Chan, author and pastor, poses a question to ask of ourselves, “When was the last time I undeniably saw the Spirit at work in or around me?” (Forgotten God, p. 35)

Hogar De Gozo is an orphanage in San Pedro, Sonora, Mexico. It is a home of joy for some twenty children rescued from despair and desperate home situations. Its beginning, in the year 2009, is a marvelous story to consider.

A missionary in Sonora for some twenty years, Terry Lingle has helped to start several churches, an orphanage, a drug rehab center, and a camp. Pedro and Zoila were raised in the first orphanage he started. They were married and began to raise a family. While working for the Sonora state police Pedro also served as pastor of a church. He approached Terry and offered to help in any way needed, in appreciation for the years of loving care he had received at the orphanage. He helped with the camp, he helped with church ministry, and he helped with a new church plant that Terry began.

While canvassing for the new church plant Terry was alerted to a home where three children were locked in, unfed, and uncared for. He located the mother and talked to her, but there was no way to help, since the orphanage was already full. So he and his wife, Lori, felt it was time to begin praying earnestly about starting a second orphanage.

Two weeks later, in April, at a street concert to help launch the church, Terry approached Pedro and Zoila. He asked them if they had ever considered the possibility of directing an orphanage. They did not respond… could not. Zoila burst into uncontrollable tears and turned and ran from Terry. He apologized to Pedro and assumed it must have been a poor time to bring up the subject.

A week later they got together again and Zoila apologized to Terry. Then she explained. When they had married they committed to God their desire to someday run an orphanage, similar to the one in which they had been blessed. They told God that Pedro would work as a policeman for ten years. By the end of that time they wanted God to clearly open the door for them and bring someone to them who would ask them to run an orphanage. They entrusted to God this desire of their heart, but told no one else. Then she said this, “last week was the first day of the tenth year. We prayed that morning and reminded God of our commitment and of our request that the Holy Spirit would make it manifestly clear by bringing someone to us. Nine hours later you asked us if we wanted to direct a new orphanage. That is why I turned and ran in tears.”

They decided to take two years to allow God to unfold his plan, waiting upon Him for direction and provision. But by June they had already found a perfect home, in the very community where they had wanted to start a second orphanage a few years earlier. That time, though, God shut the door. This time the house they found had a large ballroom added on the back, perfect for turning into two large dorms and a family room. They made an offer. A business man in Idaho loaned them the money, interest free. They closed on the property in September. Ten days later they had their first children, eight to start with, including the three that had been found locked in a home, alone. Pedro and Zoila live there, with their two children, plus many more, directing the new orphanage, House of Joy.

“After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you his Spirit and work miracles among you because of your great effort, or because you trust Him?” (Gal. 3:3,5, with a bit of paraphrase)

Moses, speaking to God: “How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” (Exodus 33:16)

We may as well face it: the whole level of spirituality among us is low. We have measured ourselves by ourselves until the incentive to seek higher plateaus in the things of the Spirit is all but gone… We have imitated the world, sought popular favor… and produced a cheap and synthetic power to substitute for the power of the Holy Ghost. (A. W. Tozer)

Loves Me, Loves Me Not

When I was a boy we used to get a flower and pull the petals off, one by one. And as we pulled the petals we would say, alternatively, “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.” And the last petal would be the verdict. If it ended with “she loves me”, then the girlfriend of the moment was in love with us. But if the last petal ended with “she loves me not”, then we were out of luck. If it was someone we really, really liked then we would do it over and over until it ended the way we wanted it to end.

Why is love so difficult, so fleeting, so choosy? Why is it said of Christians that they are the only army that shoots their own? A young applicant for a summer camp ministry team was recently asked by the director, “Have you ever worked in ministry before? You need to know that we tend to eat our own.”

The story is told of a man walking across a bridge one evening, who happened upon another man, sitting on the railing, planning to jump off into the river below to end his life. The man on a stroll asked the despondent man some questions, hoping to calm him down and gain his trust, so as to help him out of his despair. He asked if he was a man of faith, and he was. He asked him what church he attended and they discovered that they were both Baptist. He asked which branch of the Baptist he was and again they found they were the same. So they began to rejoice, and drew close, like long lost brothers. They he asked him if he was in agreement with the view of the Southern Synod on the issue of ecclesiology. The man answered firmly, “No, I am not. I hold to the view of the Western Synod.” And with that the first man shoved him off the bridge.

Love is the greatest. The greatest gift, the greatest fruit, the greatest evidence, the greatest empowerment. But we tend to turn it on and turn it off at will. We pour it on when convenient, or when it is to our advantage. Then we turn it off for those whom we choose.

One of my favorite movies is “Princess Bride”. It has some classic quotes in it. “Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line.” Or the one I have on a t-shirt that my wife got for me, “Inconceivable!” But the best ones have to do with love. “As you wish.” Or the doctor saying over the almost dead Wesley, “True love, now that’s a noble cause.” The movie appeals to me because it tells a story of true love, love that cannot be deterred or defeated, not by years as a pirate, not by torture or the deceit of a competing paramour, nor even by the duty and mission of war and revenge. Love is the greatest.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…. These three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” ( I Corinthians 13)

My prayer is this. “Lord, you told us to love our enemies. But sometimes I find it easier to love my enemies than to love my brothers. And I am appalled at myself. Not great big moral differences, but simple little irritations cause me to avoid loving. I become negative, pessimistic, biting, or just plain silent. So help me Lord to love. To love like you love, full of grace and encouragement. When I get to the last petal of the flower it is not a 50/50 chance of love, but a choice. I choose to love.”

Makor

“Always go to the source. That’s my rule. Always go to the source.” He was a lawyer. We were talking, trying to sort out a “character assassination”. What he meant was that unless, and until, you go to the source you will have only opinion, rumor, misinformation, and confusion. “Go to the source.” And I never forgot his advice.

Makor is the Hebrew word for source, usually applied to a fountain, a spring, a well, a source of fresh, living water. This source has nothing to do with getting accurate information, though. Rather, it has everything to do with spiritual life. But the advice is the same, “Go to the source.”

I woke up from a dream with a single word, makor, the focal point. In the dream a group was reading and studying Revelation. Spontaneously, everyone got excited and started pointing at a verse, thumping their Bibles, and exclaiming, “Makor, Makor.” The context of the dream wasn’t important, but the word was, I knew for sure. So I began to study and research the word. It turned out to be a Hebrew word, and I have never studied Hebrew. After several weeks, and many pages of “bunny trail” notes, my wife Carol got up early one morning and interrupted my study and told me that she just had a dream.

She was driving along a highway and crossed over a beautiful, inviting stream. She stopped her car, got out, and went to the stream. Others were there, and they said that the stream was a natural spring-fed stream, and very refreshing. So she knelt down and scooped up several handfuls of water to drink. As she started back to the car, her curiosity drew her to want to go up to see the spring. But there was no road, only a trail. So she had to hike. Alone.

When she got there she found a large cave with a pure lake of water inside of it. The stream flowed from the cave. She walked into the large cave. Inside she noticed an old red and white pickup truck parked beside the lake. Behind the truck was an opening into a smaller cave, from which flowed water into the lake of the large cave. A man walked out from the smaller cave and began to talk with her. He said that it was his job to take care of the spring, to watch over it. He enjoyed having a visitor and had lots to say about the spring water. He enjoyed explaining and sharing his knowledge. He said that he wished others would come up to learn about the water, the source of the stream.

When she finished telling me her dream I was both amazed and relieved. Excited to have a word picture of “makor” In jest, I said to Carol, it’s not fair that I study for weeks to know what God is trying to get into my pea brain and you get a beautiful word-picture dream in ten minutes. The other thing I said was to ask her, how did that man get a truck up there in the cave if there was no road? Before she could respond I answered myself. “Well, I guess if you’re the Holy Spirit you don’t need a road, you can just plop down your pickup wherever you want to.”

Psalm 36:9 – “For with you is the fountain of life.”

Jeremiah 2:13 – “My people have committed two sins: they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”

John 4:14 – “Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

John 7:38 – “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him. By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive.”

Revelation 7:17 – “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their Shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.”

Revelation 22:1,17 – “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb… Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes let him take the free gift of the water of life.”

Here are some questions to ponder:

The concept of “fountains of living water” is common throughout the Bible. Do we understand it as a word picture, an illustration of spiritual thirsting after the source of abundant life, namely, Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Or do we view it as a label on a bottle of tonic water, something to be ingested through the mouth? Did you notice, in Carol’s dream, that she never even took a drink from the source of water flowing from the small cave, but rather she fellowshipped with the mystical man of the red and white pickup truck? If I, Jesus, came to you personally, how would you drink of the living water I continually offer you? How did the woman at the well of Sychar (John 4) drink of the living water I offered her? Or did you miss that fact (John 4:39-42)?

Which seems more living? A drink from a spring-fed stream several miles from its source, after it has flowed through stagnant little eddies, and through pastures polluted by animal waste and other contaminants? Or a drink from the source of that stream? Is the hike up the little trail worth it, away from the highway and group watering hole? Or worse yet, how often do we seek to satisfy our spiritual thirst with cistern water, pots of water drawn from the stream but stored for quick and easy access? Is it even possible to store up the source of life in a putrid cistern?

How often do you ever get thirsty? With water instantly available at the turn of a faucet can we contemplate and appreciate how valuable the wells were that Isaac and Jacob dug in the land of promise? Can we even relate then to the word picture of spiritual thirsting for the source of living water? For what do you thirst in your inner being? How often do you drink of Jesus, joyfully and worshipfully reliant on Him and upon the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus poured out in us in power and love, a river of life?

Are you one who thinks that fellowshipping with the man in the cave by the red and white pickup is far too mystical? Do you view the Word of God as the only source of living water? Then you must ask yourself, in all honesty, is the Word living and powerful to you (Hebrews 4:12), or has it become lifeless, a mere icon? Have you allowed the incessant verbiage of books and teachers to shape your inner person rather than the living truth of the living Word of God? Is it possible that the Word of God can become an end in itself rather than a conduit to the Source (see John 5:39-40)?

You are not full until you are overflowing. First you must thirst, then you must be filled, then the fountain of living water will flow out of you (John 7:38).

A Tale of Two Farms

Jacob’s farm was the best. For miles and miles around it was the best. Choice piece of land – level, fertile, and accessible. Fenced and cross-fenced, with plenty of roads. Roads that were graveled, not muddy, well drained and maintained. Big beautiful barns – some for equipment, some for storage, some for processing. Immaculately manicured. Nice new tractors. Plenty of wells and water rights. And productive. Buyers, sellers, employees – a bustling, busy productive farm.

Ben was a farm hand for Jacob. It was a great place to work. Ben was happy, well-cared for, satisfied, almost pampered. He had no reason, no need, no ambition to look elsewhere or otherwise. Jacob was known for miles around, just like the farm. He was the best. He knew all the facts and procedures, kept a tight reign, and paid promptly. He really had his act together.

But one day that all changed. Not the farm, but for Ben. It’s amazing how one letter, a single mystery could change the whole course of one’s life. He had heard recent accounts of a few brave souls who had begun to settle in a wild valley over the mountains in the next great watershed. But he thought they were foolish to leave the comfort, the ease, the security of working for the great plantation farms such as Jacob’s. But what slipped out of the envelope that day was a deed. A deed for eighty acres, written out in his name. A half section of land was his, for free. The letter with the deed simply read, “Please accept my gift. You can do it. I know. I’ll be looking in on you. The land isn’t the only thing that will change. Take courage, my friend. Blessings!”

Ben wrestled and debated, deep in his heart, struggling to make a decision. He hadn’t a friend or confidant on the farm whom he could trust to give him counsel, for they would all consider it foolish to accept the deed and start from scratch. But out of struggle and turmoil arises courage and determination.. His life was set upon a new mission, a destiny hatched by a mysterious letter with a gracious deed.

When the day came to announce his decision and bid farewell, Jacob begged and bartered with Ben to stay. The offers were enticing. But Ben’s heart was unshakeable. So Jacob told him he was always welcome to return. “Come back anytime,” he said, fully expecting that he would see him again soon.

The task that Ben set upon was daunting. The work was hard. Trees to fall, stumps to remove, brush to clear, earth to prepare. It seemed that the process was so slow. Piece by piece, acre upon acre. But sometimes it felt as though he was making no progress at all. Others in the valley were doing the same, and they would help each other out constantly. The friendship that developed was so kindred that Ben wondered if he had ever really had a true friend back at Jacob’s farm. Each day Ben would pause to reflect upon what was transpiring, starting with the deed, resulting in an unquenchable sense of hope, of adventure, and purpose. Each morning he seemed to be renewed with power and guidance. What seemed impossible he found he could accomplish. What he had always been told to do by Jacob he now had to figure out for himself – the why, the when, the how. Crop selection, planting, tilling, herbicides and pesticides, thinning and trimming, hiring and training, harvesting, marketing.

There were times, you must know, when Ben made mistakes. Costly, blundering mistakes. And times when he sat on a stump and just let the tears pour out. There were even times when the memory of Jacob’s farm overwhelmed poor Ben. One time he even drove up to the hilltop to gaze down at all the beautiful farms, all laid out so nice and orderly, with various crops, farmers, foremen, and laborers all doing their part. He dreamt of going back, but only momentarily. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to the mystery that started him on this new venture. He was so thankful for the deed, for the donor, for the land, for the progress. But most of all for the mystery of the envelope that had long since morphed into a greater mystery, a heart that was totally reliant on a living source of strength, peace, hope, and purpose. Yes, even an intangible sense of love. An inwardly empowering love and an outgoing love that encouraged everyone that came into his circle – neighbors, employees, family, and clients. No, his farm was not easy, and it was far from perfect. But this wild valley farm was his joy, his life.

And The Winner Is

There’s a saying, “He who dies with the most toys, wins.” And another, “The difference between a man and a boy is merely the size of his toys.”

I watched in amazement, over the course of several years, as my grandparents grew older and eventually passed on to be with the Lord. My grandfather was a rugged logger in Washington, back in the day when they cut down old growth trees that were six to eight feet in diameter. He homesteaded a property near Elma, clearing the land, with primitive tools and horses. And he built a barn and home by his own two hands. No chainsaws, no electric power tools, no nail guns. Maybe some dynamite. But no excavator. Eventually he moved to the big city to work for Lockheed, building airplanes.

When I really got to know him was when he retired to Kingman, Arizona. He wasn’t there long because he moved back up to his “home”, near Elma, and bought a modest little house with a big shop and several acres to plant trees. At eighty years of age he still felt compelled to plant fir trees, knowing that someone else would someday be the benefactor of harvesting the lumber.

When he got to the point that he couldn’t keep up with the little farm they sold it and moved into an apartment in Olympia. They had a huge estate sale to get rid of so, so much of their tools, furniture, housewares, and belongings. In just a few short years my Grandmother passed on. So Grandpa got rid of more stuff and moved into an assisted care center. He wasn’t there long before he went back to Arizona to live with his daughter, my mother and father.

The memory that made such an impression on my mind was when he boarded the plane to leave his home state of Washington to live his last few months or years in Arizona. He had with him one suitcase. All his worldly possessions were whittled down, step by step, to just one suitcase.

And when we leave this earth, bound for eternity, we won’t be taking even a single suitcase.

In America, land of the free and the brave, the wealthiest nation ever to live on planet Earth, we view possessions and ownership far different than most other people. I was only twenty-five years old when a church sent a man to Oregon to move me down to Arizona to begin ministry there. We nearly filled up an entire U-haul truck. His comment to me has stuck with me ever since. “I’m impressed with how much stuff you have – tools, collections, furniture. That tells me you must be quite a guy.” Rather than flattering me it humbled me. It caused me to change my heart, and begin to try to buck the culture. I would rather God be impressed than men – impressed by how much I give away and by how much I share, not by how much I possess.

“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)

My Gift of Love, A New Vacuum

I don’t know what I was thinking. Mother’s Day was coming up and I wanted to get something really special for Carol, my wonderful bride of only a few years. And now a Mom, with our first little girl. Housework was a big part of her life, her lot in life, you might say. And she often mentioned how poorly the vacuum cleaner was working. So I decided that it was the perfect opportunity. An opportunity to show her the magnitude of my love. Not just something ordinary and mundane. Not something that would wilt and be thrown out onto the compost pile in a week or two. Not some chocolates that would soon be eaten up and have nothing left to remind her of my nice, loving gift. Instead, a new vacuum cleaner. Besides, I could kill two birds with one stone, turning a necessary purchase into a “gift”.

I was sure she would be elated. Her work would be made easier. Her wonderful husband splurging to get her this fine piece of machinery. I could hardly wait until Sunday to give it to her.

Surprise! Oh, not hers, but my own surprise. Dismay. She wasn’t nearly as overjoyed as I had anticipated. In fact, there was not even a smile, not even a smirky little fake smile. No big hearted gratitude. Merely a curt, obligatory thank you. I still didn’t get it. Not until a few days later when she had the courage to explain to me how she felt. A vacuum cleaner, as a gift, meant to her that my love was conditioned upon her worth as a housekeeper. There was no love or romance expressed in receiving a vacuum cleaner.

I really don’t know what I was thinking. I got her some belated flowers, or candy, or something. But it wasn’t the same. The damage was done.

Carol is not even my mom. But she is the mother of my children. An incredible mother, I might add. So now I try to give her a gift expressive of my true love. Flowers, for one. My son Jon always gives her flowers, too. He didn’t learn it from me. He’s smarter than his Dad. Not just flowers or chocolates, though, but also a card. Always a card that says, “Love always!”

In the children’s book, Sidney and Norman, by Phil Vischer, two pigs are invited to Elm Street for a meeting with God. The one pig, who is neat, fastidious, and highly disciplined is told by God, “I love you. But you must stop being so critical of everyone else who can’t perform like you do.” The other pig is ashamed to meet God, but musters up courage and overcomes his fear. And this is what God had to say to him. “First of all, I want to tell you that I love you. Secondly, I want to tell you again, I love you. And thirdly," after a long pause, "I love you.”

There is power in love. And vacuum cleaners, I now know, have nothing to do with love!

By love alone God changes our hearts. He told me that one time, and I believe it.

Grand Canyon

There’s nothing like it. The grandeur, the majesty, the panorama, the colors of the Grand Canyon. Unless, that is, you decide to hike down to the bottom instead of just stand on the rim and take it all in. And that’s exactly what we decided to do.

“Could you please be quiet!” The other campers down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon were very upset at us for making our dinner. We got into Phantom Ranch about 6:00 in the evening and did not understand their reaction. Climbing down the Kaibab trail took only three hours so we left from Phoenix in time to hit the trail by 2:00. The next day we would climb out of the canyon on the Bright Angel trail. We planned it such so we could enjoy different scenery. And being a much longer trail it was therefore less steep.

We were novices at hiking the canyon, we found out. Carol and I had only been married six months. My younger brother, Don, went along, too. He is quite the venturous soul, having rafted the Canyon several times since. But this was our very first venture to the bottom of the Canyon. I have never been into serious climbs, like Mount Hood, or hiking the Pacific Crest trail. So I was unaware of the difficulty of the hike that was to be our fate the next day.

When we woke up at sunrise the next morning we looked around the campsite. For sure, we didn’t want to make any noise and bother anybody again. But we were the only people left. Everyone was gone. Long gone. On their way up the canyon. Well before sunrise. Then it made sense why they were so upset at us the night before, making noise getting our dinner ready while they were desperately trying to get to sleep.

Climbing out of the Grand Canyon is about a mile vertical climb. That’s a greater climb than Mt Hood, from Timberline to the summit. No ice to contend with, though, just dry hot sun, sweat and dirt. The trail was nearly twelve miles of switchbacks -- switchback after switchback. So much for the scenery. By the middle of the afternoon we were worried whether we would make it out before dark.

We enjoyed a nice dinner that evening, in an air-conditioned restaurant with a wonderful view of the canyon, lit up by moonlight. It was amazing how our two day adventure made that view far more meaningful than ever before. We marveled at what we had accomplished. Despite our ignorance and lack of planning, it was a conquest, never to be forgotten.

“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…. Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)

Pipe Wrench

It was the highlight of my week in Hermosillo. We were sitting in a little restaurant on Saturday evening listening to Terry Lingel, the host missionary, as he told us a few stories of God’s leading him to Mexico. Terry is very unassuming, and it took quite some effort to settle the chatter of the group and draw him out. But the stories were priceless. Jewels of faith.

We were there in Hermosillo to help Terry get a bunch of work done on a house he had purchased, by God’s provision, to start up yet another orphanage. Casa de Gozo, the House of Joy. In just a few months he had twelve children, already, and a wonderful Mexican couple to direct the orphanage. We were there to install all the toilets, sinks, showers, fans, electrical, and lighting in the new dormitory part of the building. We put in “miles” of conduit and wiring, a new panel, and tied in the old part of the house with the new. The day we left, with room to grow, they received five additional children. Terry and Pedro were afraid they wouldn’t be able to cap their number at thirty, because the need was so great.

Terry grew up in Idaho. Hardly ever ventured very far. But shortly after marrying Lorie they took a vacation to California. Since they were so close they ventured on down to Mexico. That was the beginning of God’s stirring their heart. Back in Idaho he encouraged the youth pastor to consider a mission trip to Mexico with some students the next summer.

The pastor was afraid of such a venture, so Terry took him on an exploratory trip. They wanted to meet up with a pastor and makes plans for the upcoming summer. When they arrived at the church on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, there was no one there to greet them. After waiting an hour they eventually met someone from the church. They were told that the pastor would be there soon, just to wait. After another hour they asked again when the pastor might arrive. They were told that he had gone down south for a funeral and would be back in about two weeks. Just wait.

So they headed for Kino Bay, and found another church. They asked around for the pastor, and once again they were told, “just wait”. Soon, though, the pastor did arrive. They began to make plans to come down and help him with his building and his ministry that summer. In the process they had to come up with a place for the students to “live” for the time they were there. They came up with a rustic setting. But one thing missing, which they must have, was working plumbing. They asked a man of the church, an expatriate American, if he could get the restrooms up and ready by the summer. The man said that he could, if only he had a pipe wrench. There was only one pipe wrench in the entire community, and it was in big demand, and cost much to rent.

Terry had taken all his tools out of his van before leaving Idaho. He brought with him only a few emergency tools for the road. Four blocks from home, though, he stopped and turned around. He went back home and picked up one more tool to take with him on the trip. A pipe wrench. He gave it to the man. With tears in his eyes, the pastor said that the pipe wrench would be an incredible blessing for their church families, and for the community. He promised to have their little “camp” ready by summer.

Kino Bay soon became the Lingel’s new home -- site of their first church, a camp for orphans, and a base from where they helped start several orphanages, a rehab center, and several other churches.

“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, This is the way; walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:21)

Fireworks

The border guard took only two minutes to search, and he turned to me and said, “Sir, I’d like you to come with me.” He even threatened me, right in front of all the students – threatened to throw me in jail and impound the bus. I felt humiliated. But I also felt betrayed.

We took our youth group down to Rocky Point, on the northern tip of the Baja California. From Phoenix it was about a four hour trip that provided a couple fun days of camping and romping on the beach. One of the big attractions in going to Mexico was buying cheap fireworks. Firecrackers, bottle rockets, M-80s – big stuff, loud stuff, the kaboom kind of fireworks. Even though I warned them clearly and sternly that they could not take any of the fireworks back across the border, I knew the desire to try and sneak them in anyways. I was younger once upon a time – been there, done that, got the t-shirt. And in the old days you could get away with smuggling them out of Mexico. The American border guards didn’t really check all that thoroughly.

But things were different when I started making the annual treks as a youth pastor. The search was becoming more serious. I was having to be more careful. So I came up with a great idea. The last night of our trip I instigated an all out fireworks war. We divided into two teams. We assigned points for all sorts of things – rockets over the back defensive lines, end around attacks, big points for a rocket hitting the enemy cache and setting off a major explosion. I don’t think anyone ever did it, but it was fun trying. Mainly, it was a way to blow off all that they had left before heading home the next morning.

My mistake was to be too trusting, too naïve, and not check for fireworks myself before heading for the border. I assumed that the students would all heed my warning and obey my instructions. But that was not the case. As the border guard boarded the bus to inspect he was congenial. But I could tell quickly that he was all business, too. He went to the back of the bus and began to check through some of the luggage. It wasn’t two minutes into the inspection that he pulled out some fireworks. That’s all he needed to make his point. He came to the front of the bus and spoke clearly and loudly, so everyone could hear it. He threatened to impound the bus, detain me, and maybe throw me in jail. I was embarrassed. We went inside and he proceeded to question me. I felt so betrayed by my students that I don’t even remember what he asked or what he said. Looking back, after the fact, I realized that he was making a statement to the students as well as to me. They got all their fireworks and turned them over when we returned to the bus. He didn’t even have to inspect. And they learned from someone much more authoritative than me that rules were rules, and they were not to be broken.

I often look back at that experience and marvel at the feeling of betrayal. And I wonder what God must feel like when I so often ignore his advice and wisdom, and betray his authority. But I also remember the grace that the border guard showed to me and the students once there was a sense of repentance. It’s a good thing he didn’t just go by the law, and throw the book at us with all its punishment and consequences. It would have turned one fun trip into a hell, never to be forgotten.

“The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 5:20-21)

Turmoil At The Tomb

The crowd was beyond imagination. The audience at the tomb was innumerable. But we all assume that no one was there except a few guards posted by the Roman governor. The Jews were afraid someone might come to steal the body of Jesus, crucified that Friday. He hinted that he would rise again in three days. So they wanted to be sure that his determined little band of followers could not heist the body and keep that rumor growing. In reality, the few loyal followers of Jesus were devastated, alarmed, and hiding in fear. All their hopes and dreams were dashed. Utterly confused by the crucifixion, they thought their faith and trust in Jesus was for naught.

But God’s eternal plan had its vortex in those three days. All spiritual hell broke loose and all heavenly power was displayed. Despite the earthquake, the darkness, the curtain of the temple torn in two, those in Jerusalem saw only what was observable on the surface of things. The Jewish leaders thought they had put to death a false prophet, a great blasphemer. While for Jesus’ followers hope seemed dead. Along with the man they thought was Messiah.

God said at the beginning of time a truth that was fulfilled in those three days. One who would come from the seed of Eve would have his heel bruised by Satan, but that promised one would crush the head of the serpent.

Some years ago a girl whom we were helping to be set free from serious demonic possession had a particular demon manifest to her outside the high school one afternoon. He tricked her into looking at a demonic object, a sigil of sorts, and let her go on. As she continued her walk to the church to come for some counseling a snake slithered out in front of her. She stopped to watch it. Suddenly its head crushed. It exploded, she said. She told me about both things when she arrived. I told her of the prophecy of Genesis 3:15, and explained the profound image God had just shown her. Several days later a poor innocent little snake walked across my own path. Reluctantly, but with purpose, I stepped on its head and crushed it. And as I did it I spoke out loud to Satan and his spiritual realm. “Satan, you are defeated and sealed for destruction. You and all your hosts. By God’s grace you have no authority over me, or over anyone who stands against you in the name of Jesus.”

So now picture the crowds, the innumerable throngs of beings who were congregated all around the tomb. The hosts of demons, the legions of misguided and duped beings who chose allegiance to Satan. They knew the prophecies. They knew what Jesus had said. Yet they thought they had won. They thought they had put to death the Son of God. They thought that God’s eternal plan of the ages was foiled. God, they were convinced, had underestimated how effective they could be in persuading the hearts and minds of the Jewish leaders, the political figures, and the throngs of the descendants of Abraham who trusted those leaders. They had won. They were celebrating. Dancing, slapping each other on the back, congratulating. Getting drunk in their own blind glory.

But then came Sunday. All of creation had been in turmoil for two days, but the third day dawned eerily quiet. A hush fell over the legions of Satan’s minions. They watched and waited. And waited. And when God’s power broke forth in all its eternal glory it was witnessed only by this horrible throng. The tombstone moved. It wasn’t visible at first. But they heard it. It creaked and groaned as it ground, ever so slightly against the rock of the hillside. The groans grew steady and the stone began to roll. They could see it. Little by little it rolled back. They stood in silence, disbelief, and defeat. Then the unthinkable. Overwhelming dismay. Bright, glorious, alive, and victorious, Jesus walked out of the tomb. He didn’t float, he walked. He wasn’t mere spirit, he was alive. They fled. Every last one of them. Yelling, screaming, accusing, back stabbing, disgraced. Celebration turned to turmoil

On the cross Jesus said, “It is finished”. The price was paid, the blood shed, our sins forgiven, redemption accomplished. They, the host of demons, did not believe it, nor could they comprehend it. In front of the tomb Jesus declared, “It now begins. Death is conquered. Grace is real and it is full of power. Try all you want to come against my saints, now, but they are mine. And your doom is sealed.”

Turmoil at the tomb. So, so much more than what met the human eye. Power that creaked and slowly rolled a stone the distance of some five or six feet. Then the vortex of eternity was fulfilled. Jesus stepped out from the grave. Our hope, our eternal life. our forever salvation. Ours, by trust alone. Do you believe?

Savior, He can move the mountains,
My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to save
Forever, author of salvation,
He rose and conquered the grave, Jesus conquered the grave.
(from the song “Mighty to Save”, by Hillsong)

Techno Development

I can remember when my family got their first television, when I was a kid. Before that I used to sit and listen to programs on the radio. Danny Orlis stories, on Saturday mornings, were my favorite. For years and years the picture on the TV was black and white. Color TV and color movies were quite the invention. I learned to type on an electric typewriter at school. But at home we still had a manual typewriter. In my first car, a 1964 Chevy pickup, I installed the latest, greatest new sound system, an eight track tape player. A few years later it became hopelessly outdated so I updated to a cassette player, and then several more years later, a CD player. The centerpiece of my first prized home audio system was a belt-drive turntable. It played music off of a big round black vinyl disc with grooves in it.

I had been a pastor for over ten years before I got my first computer. It was so slow I would turn it on in the morning and go make a pot of coffee and come back to see if it had booted up yet. All it did for me was word processing. I suppose it could have run other programs, too, but I was slow to get on board. I don’t know that I ever got on the internet until about the turn of the millennium, when I came to work at Eagle Fern. I had heard about it, and everyone was incredibly excited about the newest revolution in techno electronics.

To make copies in the old days we used a spirit duplicator machine, or a mimeograph machine if you could afford it. The first copy machines were like an invention on par with the first printing press. Then came color copiers, fax machines, e-mail.

But, wow!! Technological development in the last ten years has been incredulous. Dial up internet went to high-speed internet, analog gave way to digital. Fiber optics move information at the speed of light. Search engines put information, images, and videos within the click of a mouse button. Much of it extremely helpful, but much of it morally destructive. Cell phones have replaced home phones. Texting has become the norm. High speed became 3G, then 4G. Laptops, wireless, skype, Ipod, Ipad, Iphone, broadband, paperless, google, high definition, self-publishing, blogs, twitter, video games, youtube, social networking, eCommerce, online banking, cloud computing – the development is like a tsunami. Not one wave, but wave after wave, after wave.

And most of us, particularly the younger generation, think that this is normal. That this is the way it’s always been. That this kind of invention and development is how the world has always progressed. Not so. This is unparalleled. And it is scary, too, if you think of all the ramifications upon our youth and young adults, all the hideous uses of this technology, all the driving forces behind this development, and all the potential for government and global control of commerce and enterprise.

Is this unparalleled development foreseen by the God of the universe? Was he aware that the incredible intelligence and creativity of the human mind, which He created, could lead humanity into a culture so dominated by electronic and technological advances? Did he foresee and foretell this very era?

Yes he did. Somewhat cryptic and ambiguous. But yes, God told us it was coming. In apocalyptic, symbolic visions, God revealed it to John, the apostle. Revelation 13:11-18 is that prophecy. And we would be wise to see it and to understand it, and to heed it. Not in fear and isolation, but in hope and in holiness.

“This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man’s number.” (Revelation 13:18)

Lessons From A Soccer Son

He was only ten years old and he brought a hush over the entire crowd as he executed a perfect bicycle kick from the sideline to a team mate in front of the goal. A few years earlier I can remember him as a pee-wee player. He waited patiently as his team was getting beat goal after goal after goal. Finally the frustration got the better of him. He took the ball to himself, didn’t think of passing to a team mate, wove and dribbled through the other team and went down and slapped a shot into the net. But only once. Out of frustration he had to show the other team, and his own team, that it could be done. We can score. We just have to want it. I kind of wanted him to keep doing it, to dominate the game, to show he was the best player out there. Maybe so I could strut after the game and say, “That’s my boy!” But he didn’t. He settled back down, preferring that his team do it together.

In high school he began to excel at defense. In his very first year his team went to the state playoffs and in three games the opposing teams could not score a goal. His team advanced and won 3rd place in the state, winning several games in a shootout. His team mates selected him and the goalie as their MVP for the season. Throughout high school he helped several more teams, both school and club, go to state playoffs, state semi-finals, and state championship games. His first and only year of playing college soccer his team came one game short of going to the national play-offs. When his coach called to see whether he was going to continue in college he told me that he would miss him greatly. He said that he was probably the best entering freshman he had ever recruited in over twenty years of coaching. I marveled at times. He had an innate ability to help his team play above their ability. He didn’t know he was doing it, he just wanted the team to excel, and helped lift them up.

Teamwork, simply stated, is this: Less of me, more of we. No stealing the show to yourself. No room for pride. No slacking off and expecting others to carry your load. Rather, striving to make others excel. Seeing the whole picture, not merely your cubicle. Helping and encouraging the weaker team member. Sharing the success and glory with every team member. Covering the back of the one who falters. Trusting others to cover your back. Playing to the strength of others and not criticizing their weakness. Sacrificing so that others may succeed and improve.

One of the greatest thrills this Dad has enjoyed were the many, many soccer games I’ve watched my sons play. But beyond the thrill was the realization that even I was learning a lesson, the importance of teamwork, while watching my soccer son.

“In Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. (Romans 12:5-6)

Easter Fire

Old lady Leary took a lantern to the shed,
And when the cow kicked it over
She turned around and said,
There’ll be a hot time in the ole town tonight.

I wasn’t planning to invite them, but they all showed up. Half the town of Estacada, it seemed. Now it’s typical for a few folk to show up at a fire. But here’s how to get a mob. Call 911 to report a fire while the fire department is hosting an Easter egg hunt. The whole community, all the kids and their families, were in the local high school football stadium for the big event. The news spread like wildfire.

It was the day before Easter, April, 2004. There was a stiff east wind that day, probably 20 miles an hour, steady, at times. The kind of wind I had grown to dread. I had burned more burn piles and slash rows that winter than any tree farmer in the county, I am certain. But I hadn’t burned any piles for several weeks, not since the last big scare.

That Saturday morning I was working with the tractor moving piles of firewood and cleaning up brush. It was a good thing that I happened to be there working that day. Really, really good. I noticed smoke coming out of the old burn pile that had burned two weeks earlier. That pile had been about the size of a small house when I first lit it up, when it first gave me problems and tried to go out of control. But this was two weeks later. And here it was smoldering and getting stirred up again. Soon I could see some flames and I knew embers must be blowing in the wind. So I decided to go over and check on it. I took my shovel and went to inspect and quickly noticed that the embers were blowing downwind and starting lots of little spot fires -- in old rotten stumps, in dry grass, and in lots of ground duff left over from logging and clearing. I ran around with the shovel trying to throw dirt on them but they were spreading way faster than I could control them. But I kept trying, kept running from fire to fire. It was futile. Pretty soon I saw some spot fires down the ravine heading for the neighbor’s woods. So I ran up to the renter’s house, bolted inside, and found their phone. Even they were at the Easter egg hunt. Fortunately they had left the house unlocked.

I also called home to have my boys come quick and help me control the fires. The fire department got there first, in time to spray foam on all the spot fires. I ran about showing them all the hot spots that they were missing. Pretty soon I collapsed from exhaustion and someone gave me a bottle of water. Then I noticed the boys, standing out of sight from the crowd. They didn’t know what to think. They didn’t want anyone to know they were related to that crazy guy who almost started a forest fire, the Estacada version of Old Lady Leary’s Chicago Fire.

All’s well that ends well. Right. It sure has made for some good stories.

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)

I knew weary that day. Exhaustion. How many fires do I try to put out in life? When God has pumper trucks full of foam and the “manpower” needed to deal with any and every situation. Teach me Lord to wait upon You.

Missed The Fire Call

The siren went off at 2:00 in the morning. I decided to stay in bed and skip the fire training exercise. I thought Chuck was taking it way too serious to do a training run in the middle of the night. The other guys in my staff cabin got up, threw on their clothes, and jumped on the truck as it passed by. An hour later, when they all came back, I found out I had missed out on a real fire. I missed the most exciting event of the summer.

Our camp, ten miles south of Prescott, Arizona, had a fire truck. And it was on call for the many cabins and the community nearby. We trained once or twice a week to be ready for a call. We would practice shooting a long stream to knock a fire out of the top of trees, or in a building. We practiced with a fine spray to put out brush fires. We practiced holding the nozzle, handling the hoses, manning the truck. One hot afternoon, while tending the truck valves, I decided to open an extra valve on top of the tank to get a drink. The pressure was so great it threw me back, I lost my balance, and had to jump off the top of the truck. The other guys laughed so hard they didn’t even think to check if I was hurt.

They laughed at me again when they go back from that 2:00 fire call. They had actually had the thrill of putting out a house fire. Probably the only time for any of us that we would ever have that opportunity. And I missed it.

I have often thought back to that missed fire call, and let it be a reminder to me to make the most of every opportunity. Both for life’s enjoyment, and for the kingdom of God. Every opportunity. You never know when it may be the only opportunity of your life.

Be very careful, then, how you live – not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is. (Ephesians 5:15-17)

Like A Child

She took me to the toy aisle and pointed out exactly what she wanted for her birthday. And I took note. She willingly and quietly came along with grandpa to do some grocery shopping. I even let her arrange things in the shopping cart. And she got to pick out the onions.

So I asked her, last thing, if there was anything she wanted in the store before we checked out. She first picked out a little tiny doll figure, then she asked me if she could show me one more thing. Her birthday was in just a few weeks, and she was looking forward to gifts. And what grandpa wouldn’t like to know exactly what his little girl wanted?

How refreshing it was to see the joy, the anticipation, and the humility of wanting and receiving a gift. When we get to be adults we become self-reliant, or we expect to earn everything we receive. Or we feel obligated to give something in return. But little Brianna was elated when she received that toy parrot that wiggled and danced with glee whenever a baby bottle touched its beak.

How do we receive God’s gift of love and grace? Or how about his gift of righteousness and redemption? Are we as humble and trusting as a child? Unpretentious? Full of hope and desire, of joy and satisfaction?

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:1-4)

Not by merit do we impress our heavenly Father. Nor by our “greatness”. Rather He is pleased when we simply and humbly trust Him.

Like a child, I humbly receive your precious love.
Like a child, I rest and trust in your strong embrace.
Like a child, I am who I am in your courts above.
Like a child, my only hope is to live in your grace.

On The Hot Seat

It couldn’t be as bad as everyone made it out to be. Kids would sit on the hot seat, the camp leader would push a little button switch, and Zap! The kid would be jumping and screaming, flying off the hot seat, while everyone else would be laughing and enjoying the fun. It was a simple stool, with a six-volt battery attached under the seat. Wires went up to a metal screen on top of the seat, covered by a pretty piece of fabric. Seemed harmless to me. So why the shock, the screams, the writhing pain? Come to find out the six-volt battery was attached to a Model-T voltage booster.

I got the bright idea that one of us should give it a try. Those of us who worked on the camp staff seldom got to join in the fun and the activities. We watched from a distance when we had opportunity. But this hot seat really caught our attention. We all dared each other to sit on the seat after lunch one day, after everyone had left the dining hall. No one was willing. So I decided to be brave and try it. I really thought it couldn’t be all that bad. Everyone was just playing along with the gag, I concluded, to thrill the crowd. But just in case, I decided that I would push the button, not one of my buddies. That way I could make it short and sweet. I wasn’t going to let them fry my back side.

We took a break from washing dishes to test my bravado. I sat on the seat, held the button in my hand, and everyone counted down. Three! Two! One! Zaaaaaappppppp! I couldn’t let go of the button. I was soaking wet from doing dishes, and the button had a short in it which had been mini-zapping the leader. The current went through me in a continuous circuit. My hand was frozen stiff and I couldn’t let go of the button. I couldn’t even scream. I just sat there and winced in pain. And fried! And all my buddies stood there laughing and screaming in delight. They didn’t know I was in trouble.

I figured the only thing I could do was lean over and fall off the stool. I don’t know how I had the presence of mind to figure that out, but it worked. Thud. I landed on the stage floor, probably looking white as a ghost. Then they all came running to see if was electrocuted. After they figured out what had happened they started laughing again, even harder.

I felt pretty foolish. Worse than a guinea pig. Duped and hoodwinked. Yes I had agreed to do it, but I had let myself get talked into it.

That’s how it is when we get deceived. Duped and hoodwinked by our adversary, Satan, and all his minions. If we didn’t have enough evil to contend with, standing against our own fleshly desires and the world’s influence upon us. But we have yet another deceptive, crafty voice trying to get us to trip up, step over the edge, push the button. And without realizing it, we take the bait, and we put ourselves in grave danger. Pain, disgrace, embarrassment, and shame.

We must beware of the darts of the evil one. Darts that he shoots into our mind. Flaming darts. We must extinguish them, taking every though captive to the obedience of Christ. We must put on the whole armor of God. And pray in the Spirit. Then stand firm. Stand strong. (See Ephesians 6)

Oh, and one more thing. Get some buddies around you that you can trust to keep you off the hot seat.

“The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” ( II Corinthians 10:4-5)

That's My Boy

He was hired to lead the worship band, but his brief testimony touched my heart almost as much as any of the other four keynote speakers. Dave paused between a couple songs near the end of the Men’s Conference, in front of 1200 men, and told his story.

He met the girl of his dreams when he was eighteen. She was a cheerleader for the hockey team. Yes, hockey. I guess in North Dakota hockey teams have cheerleaders. His dream was to become a big-time musician in a big-time rock band. She made plans to go overseas for a short-term service. Before she could leave, though, she got pregnant. Both their plans were derailed. They got married, the right thing to do. But six months into marriage it was over. Almost. Several counselors tried to help, but to no avail. They visited with a pastor, who patiently and carefully let them air their complaints. He told them that their marriage had no hope. “Only one out of two marriages survive, and that’s when they have something going for them. Yours has no hope”, he said. Then he got up and went to Dave, knelt in front of him, pointed his finger in his face and said, “unless you, young man, determine to hope.”

Hope rekindled helped them to grow, and to mend. Their marriage healed and began to thrive. Four kids later they wanted to celebrate their tenth anniversary with a second wedding, a renewing of their vows. They staged it on a beach, at sunset. As the ceremony progressed Dave was overwhelmed with God’s grace that had flowed into his life, his marriage, his family. Grace that had rescued, grace that had forgiven and healed, grace that had salvaged and recommissioned a broken life. He felt God looking down on them and saying from heaven above, “that’s my boy. Yes sir, that’s my boy!”

Stories of God’s grace, his powerful grace, stir my heart and bring tears to my eyes. I’m not sure everyone felt the same. I’m sure that for many men the spiritual how-to advice was much more significant. But another comment, made by Don Miller, helped to bring context to my feelings. “Apart from failure and pain,” he said, “apart from adversity, or sorrow, or temptation, we would not have an appetite for the grace of God.” And in God’s redemptive plan, whenever there is hunger He will satisfy. Whenever there is an appetite for his grace he will fill it abundantly.

Many may agree that adversity or sorrow should direct us to God’s grace. But failure? Failure is grounds for disqualification, not grace, some would say. But for God, failure is an opportunity for the first step, or a renewed step, on the "narrow path" of grace, an opportunity for his powerful grace to love, to forgive, to repent. To redeem and to restore. An opportunity, once grace has done a marvelous work, for a proud Father to say, “That’s my boy!”

“Now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death, to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation.” (Colossians 1:22)

Heresy Trial

They came back with a verdict in twenty minutes. I thought it would take hours. After all, I gave them thirty pages of testimony, or more, and an extensive, humble, and heartfelt explanation. How could I have been so naïve? So blind and gullible, not to have even seen it coming? But then, maybe there’s not much difference between naivety and innocent faith?

Never, in my wildest dreams, would I ever have thought I would be the center of a heresy trial, and be kicked out of a church. They called it a Prudence Committee. The denomination called in five or six men from around the state to hear the evidence, weigh it, and give a recommendation. I really was naïve not to understand how seldom a committee like this is ever called. And when it does occur it is to fire the pastor, not to weigh testimony.

I had been helping a girl in the youth group to be set free from demon possession. It had gone on for many months. All along the way I felt, in good faith, that we were on the right track, not misguided. I kept the pastor and a few board members informed. But there was not a lot of support, except from two board members, alone. An associate pastor ridiculed the entire effort. The senior pastor died of cancer in the process, adding to the confusion. The fear and oppression upon the remainder of the board was incredulous, but of course never understood.

At the heresy trial my poor wife, Carol, sat up in the balcony by herself, dreading the process and the verdict, and ashamed of the flood of accusations and confusion. After the verdict she came to talk to me, in tears, and only could say, “They used against you your most favorite scripture in all of the Bible.”

I was told to pack up all my books and ministry belongings and be out of the office in 24 hours. That’s when it hit me, it really is over. All over. I am out of ministry, out of a job. It was in 1984, and the economy was in shambles. We lost our house and years of savings and equity. No biggie, though. I prayed, “Lord, you called me to ministry. But my reputation is smeared irreparably, now. Will I ever again be in ministry?” To my surprise he answered me, “within six months, by April 1”. Like Mary, I kept that hope, that secret, hidden in my heart.

Out of the pain, the disgrace, the lowest point in my personal and professional life, there arose one of the most beautiful and blessed opportunities. A group of three men took me under their wings, supported us through the lean time, and began to pray with me for God’s leading. One of them had been kicked out of the church along with me, and the other two left out of sympathy. No spite, just matter of fact, “God we did what you asked, and here we are in the fiery furnace. What do we do now?” God led us to begin planning to start a new church. He led us in so many incredible and specific ways. We decided to start getting together on Friday evenings for home meetings while we waited upon God for leading. The very first home meeting was on March 30.

My favorite Scripture, found in Philippians 2, was probably an early church hymn. It encourages humility, submission, and yielding personal rights: “Have this mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus, Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross. Therefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name… Jesus…. To the glory of God the Father.”

The Most Important Thing

Oh, what a night. Dinner in a beautiful restaurant overlooking the beach, right next to the turnaround in Seaside. We were celebrating our anniversary, Carol and me. A holiday at the beach, right after the new year, and less than a week late for our actual anniversary. But at least we got away, together, and alone.

In the restaurant there were only two couples having dinner, and one of them was us. We overheard the waiter talking to the other couple, and heard that they were celebrating their anniversary also. We called our daughter while waiting for dinner to tell her how we were celebrating, and where. She was excited for us.

After dinner we got up from the table and walked over to the other couple to greet them and congratulate them for their anniversary. They said that it was their 47th anniversary, only three shy of their golden anniversary. They asked us what anniversary we were celebrating. They must have heard us on the phone. We told them it was our 37th. We chatted, and compared dates, and talked about where we lived. But as we were about to leave the best part of the conversation happened.

Carol thoughtfully asked the other lady, “So what is your secret to a long and happy marriage?” She answered quickly, and with conviction, “Always make sure that he is the most important thing in your life!” Carol smiled and said, “Oh, he’ll like that.” Then she turned to me and said, “And she’s the most important thing in your life.” We all want to be the single most important person in the whole wide world to someone. We all have a deep desire to be totally accepted, wholly affirmed, and utterly precious to someone. That’s the longing of every heart – unconditional love. True love.

Your spouse is not just the most important person, but the most important thing, above all else. Not just the best person, but the only one. “The most important thing.” It was a great reminder. Great wisdom.

“Each one of you must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.” (Ephesians 5:33)

Son Of Thunder

Our fifth child was born with a full code hospital alarm. That should have been a signal to us that there would be more to come. Much, much more. Carol says that life turned into a storm that day in March, 1989, and has not slowed since. Behold, our son of thunder.

He slipped through the rail of his upper bunk, hanging by his neck (age 8).
He got hit in the head with a golf club, not once, but twice -- multiple stitches, same eye.
He lost his hair in splotches (age 10) – Doctor said it was due to stress. His stress or Mom’s?
He had a case of the shingles (age 15) -- Doctor said it was unheard of so young.

One afternoon I was riding ATVs at the camp with Michael. We came racing down a hill, around a curve. As I slowed down a bit, to wait up, his ATV came driving past me, without a rider. I looked back to see him laying in the gravel. He had rolled it on the curve, got thrown off, and away went the ATV. That was one of several ATV accidents. One rolled over him, backward, and required stitches. Another time he rolled it in a drainage creek up at Goldendale. It landed on him and pinned him underneath. Had there been more water he may have drowned.

What was I thinking? I let him get a driver’s license and drive a car. Two days after his sixteenth birthday he totaled his Mom’s car. The first time. She got a phone call, “Can you tell Dad to come pick me up, the car got in an accident and is dented bad enough that I can’t drive it home.” A neighbor picked up Carol, then picked me up where I was working, and we drove to the accident. Our hearts almost stopped. Fire trucks, ambulances, and sheriff cars galore. I didn’t know they had that many emergency vehicles in Estacada. He had turned left from behind a slow moving panel truck, directly into the path of an oncoming SUV. His car was so mangled it didn’t seem he could have survived. The fire chief said that if it weren’t for airbags in both vehicles they would have both been dead, or on Life Flight.

Then there were the many calls from the sheriff, asking us to come get our son. Bone-headed, risk-taking, stupid stunts. I sometimes joke that I got on a first name basis with a few local deputies. But we all survived a few humbling court appearances, some big lawyer bills, and some gut-wrenching lessons learned.

Several men told us how proud they were of Michael’s testimony when he got baptized in 2006. He admitted to his failures, but rejoiced in the grace of God. There would be more ups and downs, after that, but faith grows slowly with some. Especially a son of thunder. But like the first sons of thunder, the two disciples of Jesus (Mark 3:17), our hope is that God spared his life so many times because He wants to draw him close to His heart, for the glory of His incredible grace.

After the storm comes the sunshine. And with the sun, comes the rainbow -- the promise of God.

“There are two kinds of people -- those who say to God, "Thy will be done”, and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way.” - C.S. Lewis

“Above all else, guard your heart (i.e., the way you think and feel), for it is the wellspring of life.” “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 4:23; 3:5,6)

Ant Is As Ant Does

A highway in the sky. The ants were marching in a line as far as I could see. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. One line came up the wire, and another line went down the wire. Their highway was a power line that dropped in from a power pole to a masthead on the back of the roof. I was working on the roof that summer, as a contractor, replacing the shingles. Part of the job was to cut a hole in the roof to replace a furnace in the attic, while we had the roof torn off. And while the roof was opened up I went into the attic to find the nest where the carpenter ants were dwelling and spray it, destroying their home. But in the process, I was saving the home of my customer.

Before destroying them and their home I decided to sit on the roof, by the masthead, and observe. They were incredible. I marveled at their determination, their orderliness, their persistence. After all, it was a march of 80 feet on the wire to get to the power pole, then a climb down the pole of another 30 feet, and then out and about to forage for the queen and her workers back in the nest. And how many times a day did they make that trek? Rain or shine! From the moment the sun came up until the lasts rays of sunset. They never stopped, never rested. They didn’t even slow down, not even to pass one another on the wire. Busy, busy, busy. So diligent, so reliable, so punctual. So much so that Solomon praised their work ethic in one of his proverbs.

I decided to talk to the little critters that so captured my amazement. (Okay, perhaps I was just daydreaming.) I asked one of the ants if he ever took a break. He said, “Nope. I got six legs. Work, work, work. All day long.” I asked another if he ever talked to any of his buddies, or the Queen, or the worker guys in the nest. He said, “What? Stop and talk? Are you kidding? Just work. Anyone get out of line they get their head bit off.” So I asked one other if he was a happy little critter. He snapped back at me, “Happy? What’s that? Ant is as ant does!”

A little later in the day I sat in the shade of a tree to eat my lunch. I noticed a butterfly floating by, carefree, and so very, very beautiful. I couldn’t help but think of the ants and the butterfly, in comparison. That butterfly had once been a caterpillar, with many, many legs. But it didn’t work, work, work like the ant. It did do enough work, albeit, to fill its belly with food, build a cocoon, and wait for a change to happen that would be incredible beyond imagination. I think that butterfly was happy. I didn’t ask it, but I think it was. It enjoyed a relationship with its creator that was so unique, so full of grace.

The butterfly’s metamorphosis is like repentance, God changing our heart and making us a new creation. The ant is like the Pharisees and legalists that work so hard to please God, to present themselves righteous and acceptable, all the while traveling the broad road to destruction. Self righteous. Unhappy. Keeping the rules. And the traditions. The butterfly, on the other hand, it found the narrow gate, and the narrow path. The Way. It lived in love. And freedom. It trusted someone bigger than itself to bring it into its destiny. Grace is so very, very beautiful.

“We know that a man is not justified by observing the law, but by faith in Jesus… I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing…. Did you receive the Spirit by observing the law, or by believing?.... After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?... The righteous live by faith.” (Galatians 2, 3)

Tried So Hard. Failed. Then Grace

The magazine had a contest, asking readers to describe their best birthday in six words. The next month, their favorite vacation, in just six words. So I thought to try to write my testimony in just six words. And this is it: “Tried so hard. Failed. Then grace.”

Now this was at the age of 57, mind you, and a lot of water had gone under the bridge. In fact I had written my testimony many times before, at different stages of my life, and a different theme captured my message each time. But this one says more than any other about me, about my life, about what God has done in me. It’s not easy to tell, but it’s real. The story is humbling, on my part, but glorious on His. For you see His grace is truly amazing. Almost scandalous. Had I not failed so miserably I may have just kept trying so hard. And the depths of the nature of God’s grace might have eluded my finding out.

I was a pastor for many years. Without knowing it, though, I was trying to make myself pleasing and acceptable to God by all my own effort. He saved me, yes, but after that I had to present myself righteous to Him. So I tried. Tried so hard. Then one year the effort was not enough. I caved into temptation. I had an immoral relationship with another woman. I resigned from the church and wondered if I could ever be healed or ever draw close to God again. My wife wrote in her journal, “What I could not imagine would ever happen, it happened.”

For several years, then, I lived in guilt and shame. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened, not unless I felt morally obligated to do so. Otherwise, I kept it quiet. I put on a bigger mask, one that not only hid my failures, but also my guilt and shame. Let me be clear, it was not my wife, Carol, who kept me in guilt and shame. She told me just once the incredible depths of her hurt and pain, and I shall never forget it. But she didn’t hold it over me, didn’t constantly harangue me. Her love and forgiveness, in time, were incredible. She is one precious gift.

Admittedly, I am a very slow learner sometimes. It began to dawn on me that God still loved me. Yes I had failed him. Miserably so. But Jesus makes me righteous, not Dave Eymann. By trusting Jesus, simple as that sounds, God sees me as righteous. He loves me, really truly loves me, even when I fail. I could not be good enough, let alone perfect, no matter how hard I tried. All I could do was trust His love. I figured out that it is by His love alone that He changes my heart. It’s that powerful. Then it got through to my head and my heart that he forgives me for my failure. Apart from His forgiveness, shame and guilt would be my life and my destiny. But I had the sense that forgiveness would not be complete unless I could confess, unashamedly, that I had failed and that I was forgiven. Oh, but that nasty shame, it kept me bound up and afraid.

While God’s Spirit was slowly teaching me these truths two things developed. I heard Bill Thrall1 teach on grace, and it gave shape and form to all these heart-felt concepts. They were true. They were real. There is hope. Grace really is all it’s cracked up to be. And more. Then I sought out a group of men to meet with. I was desperate for some guys to trust, someone who could help me take off the masks, to be real, who would still love me, and help me walk in grace. I told them later that I had planned to give the group a try for two weeks and if there was no realness then I had my excuse already prepared to quit. But there was a tinge of hope. After six months of building relationships and pushing for authenticity, I finally told them my story. I’ve told more since. Why? Because it’s important that Christians know that grace isn’t only good for salvation, it’s our every day meat and potatoes. We can’t repent and turn ourselves around 180 degrees. How often had I tried that, and failed every time. By trust, always and only, we live and walk in His love, His forgiveness, His repentance. That’s the power of grace.

“For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by trust relationship, from the first to the last, just as it is written, my righteous ones will live by trust relationship.” (Romans 1:17, my paraphrase)

“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?” (Galatians 3:3)

1 Bill Thrall, along with two colleagues, has written two books about grace, True Faced, and Bo’s Café.

Life Cycle Of A Giant

They took the sign down, and replaced it. Now it just reads, “Klootchy Creek County Park”. The old sign read, “Largest Sitka Spruce Tree in United States”. I can remember the first time I saw the tree, with Paul and Milt, on a trip to Canon Beach for a camping conference. We were awe struck. It was 17 feet in diameter, and 56 feet in circumference. It stood 200 feet tall. It was the largest tree in Oregon, and considered to be the oldest living organism in the entire state, of any kind, nearly 700 years old.

December 2, 2007. Hurricane force winds swept up the Oregon Coast and came inland near Seaside. Large swaths of trees were blown down, like toothpicks. Millions of board feet of timber. That wind storm brought down the top of that Giant Sitka Spruce, leaving only the base of the tree, 80 feet tall. It was sad. So much so that reporters on the TV news were choking up with tears.

If you were to pull into Klootchy Creek County Park today you would find a display sign which is now titled, “Life Cycle of a Giant.” It describes the time when the tree sprouted from the ground before Columbus discovered America. By the time it was 200 years old it had reached its height of 200 feet and would spend the rest of its life “bulking up”. Now that it is toppled it will stay in place as a nurse log to encourage native habitat and new trees to grow. The life cycle of that giant carries on to sustain the next generations.

Two times I have stopped to look at that tree, what’s left of it, and I still marvel at it. It reminded me, this last time, of one of my heroes of the faith, Samson. He was a giant in the early years of Israel. He was a judge, a warrior, a deliverer. He kept the Philistines at bay, and kept the Israelites safe. His birth was pretty special, too. An angel told his mother that she would give birth to this son. The angel told the parents that he should drink no wine, eat no unclean food, and never cut his hair. Samson observed that Nazarite vow faithfully throughout his life, one of only three men we know of who did so. He was pretty unconventional, it can go without saying, but he fulfilled God’s calling, with God’s blessing and anointing upon him. He must have been quite a guy, bulked up, with arms and legs of steel, and braids of hair down his back. I would have loved to hang around with him. And then there were the many times when the Spirit of God stirred in him, and anointed him with power. Wow! What a giant!

But the hurricane wind came through and toppled the giant. Her name was Delilah. But an amazing part of that story is often missed. The historian’s account of Samson’s life ends at the close of Judges chapter 15. The account of succumbing to Delilah, and of his eyes being gouged out, is an addendum. It is his own story, a self-disclosure. After three years in a Philistine prison his hair grew back. God wasn’t obligated to renew his part of the vow, but he did. That’s grace. Samson was a giant of faith, and God anointed him again. And he took 3000 God-mocking Philistines to their grave in his last epoch act as deliverer.

Samson’s personal testimony of his folly, his shame, his pain, and his restoration is an integral part of his grand story of faith. He trusted God, and God loved him. I have heard Bible teachers say, “The only reason that Samson’s story is in the Bible is to teach us how we should not live.” One time I wanted to stand up and scream, “No, no, no! His story is a story of faith!” It is an epic story of one of the great giants of faith.

That Bible teacher I wanted to scream at is typical of modern day “Pharisees”, who want to control people’s behavior by fear and guilt. They think that it’s more effective to coerce obedience than to teach how to walk in faith, in trust, and in grace. They presume that righteousness can be mustered up by self effort, rather than coming through the redemption of Jesus – always and only. Only those few “teachers” really think they can be perfect enough to make themselves pleasing to God, but sadly they lead so many more down the broad road of self-righteousness. Most of us, though, know we are more like Samson and need to be taught how to live in faith so that we can know God’s love, forgiveness, and repentance. Only his love can change us. Yes Samson failed. Miserably. But in his blindness he believed God. Anew, and deeper. That’s why he is a giant of faith, whose weakness was turned to strength (Hebrew 11:32-34). Never trust anyone who does not walk with a limp.

The life cycle of this giant, Samson, nurtures generations upon generations, for all who would understand faith. God doesn’t want us to be perfect. That’s impossible, anyways. He wants us to be real, honest, and humble. The opposite of sin is not virtue, but rather faith. To me, Samson’s faith is as thrilling to look at as that giant Sitka Spruce tree, what’s left of it.