My prayer last night, as we started our men’s group was this. “Spirit of God, help us tonight to help each other.” I like that word, “help”. We all need help, whether we know it or not, whether we admit it, or not. And we all can offer help, if we are being led by the Spirit of God. Every one of us.
The Holy Spirit lives in each one of us who has chosen to trust Jesus. Fathom that, God’s Spirit dwelling in me. He is there to be my helper. That is the name that Catherine Marshall gives to the Holy Spirit, “The Helper”, interpreting the title that Jesus gave to the Spirit whom the Father would send to us (John 14:16). Others translate the term as counselor, advocate, or paraclete. But I like the name, Helper.
And the Helper doesn’t just help me, but He helps me to help others. That is what the grace-gifts are all about. The Sprit of God in me empowers me and motivates me to help others.
That is why I prayed that prayer. I wanted to turn loose the Holy Spirit in that group of guys that night. And I wanted them to be empowered and encouraged to help one another. And wow, you should have been there to see it happen. I wish you could have peeked in on us.
Following are some excerpts from a recent online article, Why We Don’t Need “Women’s” Ministries. I don't know the author, Sarah Bessey, but some of the things she wrote are worth sharing.
Dear Women's Ministry:
We're choking on cutesy things and crafty bits, safe lady topics, and if one more person says that modest is hottest with a straight face, I may throw up. We are hungry for authenticity and vulnerability…. Some of us are drowning, suffocating, dying of thirst for want of the cold water of real community. We're trying really hard--after all, we keep showing up to your lady events, and we leave feeling just a bit empty. It's just more of the same every time.
We need Jesus. We are seeking deep spirituality. We are seeking fellow travelers. We are hungry for true community, a place to tell our stories and listen to another, to love well. But above all, point me to Jesus--not to the sale at the mall.
You know what I would have liked instead of decorating tips or a new recipe? I would have liked to pray together. I would have liked the women of the church to share their stories or wisdom with one another, no more celebrity speakers, please just hand the microphone to that lady over there that brought the apples. I would love to wrestle with some questions that don't have a one-paragraph answer in your study guide. I would like to do a Bible study that does not have pink or flowers on the cover. I would have liked to sign up to bring a meal for our elderly or drop off some clothes for a new baby or be informed about issues in our city where we can make space for God
We want to wrestle through our theology. We want to listen to each other. We want to worship, we want to intercede for our sisters and weep with those who weep, rejoice with those that rejoice, to create life and art and justice with intention.
Let's be a community of women, gathered together to live more whole-heartedly, to sharpen, challenge, love, and inspire one another to then scatter back out to our worlds bearing the mandate to be women that love.
I'll bring the cupcakes next time (although they likely won't look as cute).
(http://www.churchleaders.com/pastors/pastor-articles/155219-sarah-bessey-why-women-s-ministry-needs-jesus.html#.Tt6516W_Aio.facebook)
The same can be said of men’s ministries. And home groups, too. Don’t think otherwise. Small groups are where church really happens. We have to be real; we have to trust God and others with who we really are. We have to know how to love and minister grace, not just bandy about truth, rehashed and hand-me-down. We have to let the love of God change our hearts, the truth of God change our direction, and the Spirit of God help us with real life issues. Then we can be men and women empowered and focused on helping others.
By the way, just so you know, I bring Chewy Chips Ahoy. My favorite. But then there’s those times that Pete’s wife sends something delectable. Oh yeah!
“The church is only the church when she exists for others.” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)
December 14, 2011
December 7, 2011
Dear Friends And Gentle Hearts
On an icy January morning many years ago, a man was found collapsed and bleeding in a twenty-five-cent-a-night flophouse, the North American Hotel on the lower east side of Manhattan, New York. He had fallen and hit his head on a sink, shattering the porcelain, causing a severe laceration. Doctors sewed up the gash in his head as best they could, but the wound and the booze had taken their toll. Three nights later he died in his sleep. He was only 37 years old.
A nurse gathering his belongings found a dirty coat with a few personal belongings. In his worn leather wallet, there was found a scrap of paper on which was written, "Dear friends and gentle hearts", along with 38 cents in Civil War scrip and three pennies. Those five words seemed almost like the words of a song, she thought. And she was right. This poor man turned out to have been the songwriter who penned some of America’s most beloved music, including “Swanee River,” “Oh! Susanna,” “My Old Kentucky Home,” and hundreds more. He was Stephen Foster, considered by many to be the father of American music.
He wasn’t always down on his luck, an outcast. Like any derelict, he wasn’t always in that condition. He was once successful, full of promise and hope, happily married, creative and hard-working. But eventually, and way too early in life, he was cut down by the pruning knife of time. A few wrong choices, some unfortunate circumstances, plenty of unrealized dreams, no income from his life’s passion -- all led to the tragedy of an unfulfilled life.
How do we look at the down and out, the man or woman who has lost hope, the hurting and needy? Are we cold and aloof, judging that they brought it upon themselves? Do we think that if they only tried a little harder they could get out of the deep dark hole they got themselves into? Do we say “I’m too busy”, presuming that someone else will help them?
Jesus told the story of “The Good Samaritan” (Luke 10:25-37). A man was beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the Jericho Road. Two godly, respectable, honorable men came upon the beaten man. Certainly the priest or the Levite would be prompted by God’s love to help this man. But no, they walked right on by, crossing over to the sidewalk on the other side of the street to go around him. Then a Samaritan man happened by, a social outcast himself, a man despised by those to whom Jesus was telling the story. The Samaritan man stopped and gave first aid, transported the man into town, and paid for his medical care. Jesus then asked the legalist standing at the front of the crowd, the man who had prompted the story, to tell him which of the three was the “neighbor” to the injured man. He answered, “the one who acted in mercy.”
A friend is one who responds with a gentle heart and acts out of compassion. Dear friends and gentle hearts, let’s go and do likewise.
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27; Deut 6:5; Lev 19:18)
A nurse gathering his belongings found a dirty coat with a few personal belongings. In his worn leather wallet, there was found a scrap of paper on which was written, "Dear friends and gentle hearts", along with 38 cents in Civil War scrip and three pennies. Those five words seemed almost like the words of a song, she thought. And she was right. This poor man turned out to have been the songwriter who penned some of America’s most beloved music, including “Swanee River,” “Oh! Susanna,” “My Old Kentucky Home,” and hundreds more. He was Stephen Foster, considered by many to be the father of American music.
He wasn’t always down on his luck, an outcast. Like any derelict, he wasn’t always in that condition. He was once successful, full of promise and hope, happily married, creative and hard-working. But eventually, and way too early in life, he was cut down by the pruning knife of time. A few wrong choices, some unfortunate circumstances, plenty of unrealized dreams, no income from his life’s passion -- all led to the tragedy of an unfulfilled life.
How do we look at the down and out, the man or woman who has lost hope, the hurting and needy? Are we cold and aloof, judging that they brought it upon themselves? Do we think that if they only tried a little harder they could get out of the deep dark hole they got themselves into? Do we say “I’m too busy”, presuming that someone else will help them?
Jesus told the story of “The Good Samaritan” (Luke 10:25-37). A man was beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the Jericho Road. Two godly, respectable, honorable men came upon the beaten man. Certainly the priest or the Levite would be prompted by God’s love to help this man. But no, they walked right on by, crossing over to the sidewalk on the other side of the street to go around him. Then a Samaritan man happened by, a social outcast himself, a man despised by those to whom Jesus was telling the story. The Samaritan man stopped and gave first aid, transported the man into town, and paid for his medical care. Jesus then asked the legalist standing at the front of the crowd, the man who had prompted the story, to tell him which of the three was the “neighbor” to the injured man. He answered, “the one who acted in mercy.”
A friend is one who responds with a gentle heart and acts out of compassion. Dear friends and gentle hearts, let’s go and do likewise.
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27; Deut 6:5; Lev 19:18)
November 30, 2011
To Love and To Cherish
Larry and JoAnn were an ordinary couple. They lived in an ordinary house on an ordinary street. Like other ordinary couples they struggled to make ends meet and to do the right things for their children. They were ordinary in another way. They had their squabbles. Much of their conversation concerned what was wrong in their marriage and who was to blame. Until one day. A most extraordinary event took place.
“You know, JoAnn, I’ve got a magic chest of drawers. Every time I open them they are full of socks and underwear,” Larry said. “I want to thank you for filling them all these years.” JoAnn stared at her husband over the top of her spectacles. “What do you want, Larry?”
“Nothing. I just want you to know I appreciate those magic drawers.” This wasn’t the first time Larry had done something odd, so JoAnn pushed the incident out of her mind until a few days later. “JoAnn, thank you for recording so many correct check numbers in the ledger this month. You put down the right number 15 out of 16 times. That’s a record.”
Disbelieving what she had heard, JoAnn looked up from her mending. “Larry, you’re always complaining about my recording the wrong check numbers. Why stop now?”
“No reason. I just wanted you to know I appreciate the effort you’re making.” Nevertheless, the next day when JoAnn wrote a check at the grocery store, she glanced at her checkbook to confirm that she had recorded it right. “Why do I suddenly care about those dumb check numbers?”, she asked herself.
She tried to disregard the incident, but Larry’s strange behavior intensified. “JoAnn, that was a great dinner,” he said one evening. “I appreciate all your effort. Why, in the past 15 years I figure you’ve fixed over 14,000 meals for me and the kids.” Then, “Gee, JoAnn, the house looks spiffy. You’ve really worked hard to get it looking so good.” And even, ”Thanks, JoAnn, for just being you. I really enjoy your company. I’m so glad God me you.”
JoAnn was growing worried. “Where’s the sarcasm, the criticism?” she wondered. Her fears that something peculiar was happening to her husband were confirmed by 16-year-old Shelly, who complained, “Dad’s gone bonkers, Mom. He just told me I looked nice. With all this makeup and these sloppy clothes, he still said it. That’s not Dad, Mom. What’s wrong with him?”
Whatever was wrong, Larry didn’t get over it. Day in and day out he continued to affirm JoAnn and the kids. Over the weeks, JoAnn grew more used to his unusual behavior, and occasionally even gave him a grudging “thank you.” She prided herself in taking it all in stride, until one day something so peculiar happened she became completely overwhelmed.
“I want you to take a break,” Larry said. “I am going to do the dishes. So please take your hands off that frying pan and leave the kitchen.” After a long, long pause, “Thank you, Larry. Thank you very much!” JoAnn’s step was now a little lighter, her self-confidence higher, and once in a while she hummed. She didn’t seem to experience blue moods anymore. She rather liked Larry’s new behavior.
That would be the end of the story except one day another most extraordinary event took place. This time it was JoAnn who spoke. “Larry,” she said, “I want to thank you for going to work and providing for us all these years. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate it.”
Larry has never revealed the reason for his dramatic change of behavior no matter how hard JoAnn has pushed for an answer, and so it will likely remain one of life’s mysteries. But it’s one I am thankful to live with. You see, I am JoAnn.
(Condensed From Deseret News, February 10, 1985)
“You know, JoAnn, I’ve got a magic chest of drawers. Every time I open them they are full of socks and underwear,” Larry said. “I want to thank you for filling them all these years.” JoAnn stared at her husband over the top of her spectacles. “What do you want, Larry?”
“Nothing. I just want you to know I appreciate those magic drawers.” This wasn’t the first time Larry had done something odd, so JoAnn pushed the incident out of her mind until a few days later. “JoAnn, thank you for recording so many correct check numbers in the ledger this month. You put down the right number 15 out of 16 times. That’s a record.”
Disbelieving what she had heard, JoAnn looked up from her mending. “Larry, you’re always complaining about my recording the wrong check numbers. Why stop now?”
“No reason. I just wanted you to know I appreciate the effort you’re making.” Nevertheless, the next day when JoAnn wrote a check at the grocery store, she glanced at her checkbook to confirm that she had recorded it right. “Why do I suddenly care about those dumb check numbers?”, she asked herself.
She tried to disregard the incident, but Larry’s strange behavior intensified. “JoAnn, that was a great dinner,” he said one evening. “I appreciate all your effort. Why, in the past 15 years I figure you’ve fixed over 14,000 meals for me and the kids.” Then, “Gee, JoAnn, the house looks spiffy. You’ve really worked hard to get it looking so good.” And even, ”Thanks, JoAnn, for just being you. I really enjoy your company. I’m so glad God me you.”
JoAnn was growing worried. “Where’s the sarcasm, the criticism?” she wondered. Her fears that something peculiar was happening to her husband were confirmed by 16-year-old Shelly, who complained, “Dad’s gone bonkers, Mom. He just told me I looked nice. With all this makeup and these sloppy clothes, he still said it. That’s not Dad, Mom. What’s wrong with him?”
Whatever was wrong, Larry didn’t get over it. Day in and day out he continued to affirm JoAnn and the kids. Over the weeks, JoAnn grew more used to his unusual behavior, and occasionally even gave him a grudging “thank you.” She prided herself in taking it all in stride, until one day something so peculiar happened she became completely overwhelmed.
“I want you to take a break,” Larry said. “I am going to do the dishes. So please take your hands off that frying pan and leave the kitchen.” After a long, long pause, “Thank you, Larry. Thank you very much!” JoAnn’s step was now a little lighter, her self-confidence higher, and once in a while she hummed. She didn’t seem to experience blue moods anymore. She rather liked Larry’s new behavior.
That would be the end of the story except one day another most extraordinary event took place. This time it was JoAnn who spoke. “Larry,” she said, “I want to thank you for going to work and providing for us all these years. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate it.”
Larry has never revealed the reason for his dramatic change of behavior no matter how hard JoAnn has pushed for an answer, and so it will likely remain one of life’s mysteries. But it’s one I am thankful to live with. You see, I am JoAnn.
(Condensed From Deseret News, February 10, 1985)
November 16, 2011
I'm So Glad Grandpa's Truck Broke Down
I took over the driver’s seat from my daughter. The headlights looked somewhat dim and I suspected possible problems. Down the interstate a bit further the gauges on the dash quit working, and the headlights got even dimmer. I figured that the alternator had quit working. So I pulled in behind Tyler’s car and turned my lights off, driving in pitch black, following their taillights. We got as far as Red Bluff and pulled off the highway. The truck died. It was 4:00 in the morning, Saturday morning, the weekend, in a little town in central California.
It was a vacation to Southern California. We had been planning it forever, it seemed. It was a big, big family vacation – Carol and me, four of our six kids, and five grandchildren. We were heading for Oceanside, with every day of the week planned. Beach, Sea World, San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Lego Land. And then some more beach. Oh, and the pool, in the sun.
We all piled into two vehicles, two SUV trucks, all twelve of us and all of our luggage. We had six drivers amongst us, so we decided to leave at 7:00 Friday evening, drive all night and arrive at our vacation condos on Saturday afternoon.
Everything was going well on the drive down, until Grandpa’s truck broke down. We were pretty disheartened, thinking of how much time we were going to lose. How much time? It was anyone’s guess. Where could we get an alternator, or get a mechanic on a Saturday morning. We called a tow truck. The driver towed the truck to a mechanic’s yard that he knew would be coming in to work sometime on Saturday morning.
Then we all headed to Denny’s. What a treat to sit and eat breakfast together in the middle of a sixteen hour drive. Then we hiked over to the city park to kill time. We played on the playground, walked down to the river, laughed, joked, teased, watched the sunrise, and had fun. Dominick, our oldest grandson, came and sat by Carol and said, “I’m so glad Grandpa’s truck broke down. We would have missed all this fun!”
The mechanic had the truck ready to roll by 9:30, and we were on our way again. Catastrophe was averted, and in its place an enjoyable few hours became one of the greatest memories of that vacation.
Lesson learned: God can break into my plans anytime He wants and I will welcome Him. It may seem like a huge inconvenience, it may be costly, or it may even be painful, but I will look for His grace and not become anxious or angry. I have learned to trust this truth, “all things work together for good to them who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city”…. Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow…. Instead you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)
It was a vacation to Southern California. We had been planning it forever, it seemed. It was a big, big family vacation – Carol and me, four of our six kids, and five grandchildren. We were heading for Oceanside, with every day of the week planned. Beach, Sea World, San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Lego Land. And then some more beach. Oh, and the pool, in the sun.
We all piled into two vehicles, two SUV trucks, all twelve of us and all of our luggage. We had six drivers amongst us, so we decided to leave at 7:00 Friday evening, drive all night and arrive at our vacation condos on Saturday afternoon.
Everything was going well on the drive down, until Grandpa’s truck broke down. We were pretty disheartened, thinking of how much time we were going to lose. How much time? It was anyone’s guess. Where could we get an alternator, or get a mechanic on a Saturday morning. We called a tow truck. The driver towed the truck to a mechanic’s yard that he knew would be coming in to work sometime on Saturday morning.
Then we all headed to Denny’s. What a treat to sit and eat breakfast together in the middle of a sixteen hour drive. Then we hiked over to the city park to kill time. We played on the playground, walked down to the river, laughed, joked, teased, watched the sunrise, and had fun. Dominick, our oldest grandson, came and sat by Carol and said, “I’m so glad Grandpa’s truck broke down. We would have missed all this fun!”
The mechanic had the truck ready to roll by 9:30, and we were on our way again. Catastrophe was averted, and in its place an enjoyable few hours became one of the greatest memories of that vacation.
Lesson learned: God can break into my plans anytime He wants and I will welcome Him. It may seem like a huge inconvenience, it may be costly, or it may even be painful, but I will look for His grace and not become anxious or angry. I have learned to trust this truth, “all things work together for good to them who love God, who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city”…. Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow…. Instead you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)
November 9, 2011
I Still Believe In Running
Larry’s Dad stood there in dismay. He thought he must have missed seeing his son finish the race. There I was, middle aged youth pastor, crossing the finish line of the 10K run. And the last time Larry’s Dad had checked on the progress of the race his son was well ahead of me. I told him that Larry would be coming in about a minute or two behind me. He couldn’t believe it.
I had fallen behind Larry, a high school cross country runner, to run with another friend. At the 8K marker I decided to pick up my pace and race to the finish. That’s the thrilling, exhilarating part of running. Pushing yourself even harder when you think you’re too tired, and finding out there is a whole new power waiting to be tapped. I caught up to Larry shortly and ran with him a bit. Then I gave him a slap on the back and asked if he wanted to race me to the finish. He gave me that look of disbelief, and I knew his answer. So I took off and ran hard to the finish, the last mile probably pushing a five minute pace. Larry’s Dad had no idea how much I liked to run.
It started in high school, growing up in Arizona. I ran on a cross country team that had the best runner in the state as our anchor. The rest of the team trained hard and was highly motivated. We took fourth in the state meet. After high school I kept running. That’s when it became fun. I ran a marathon, once, and I got some buddies to run with me in a 10K or 5-mile run whenever we had the opportunity. I looked forward to getting up at 6:00 in the morning and meeting down at the high school track with a group of guys, and going for a five mile run. It was great fellowship, intense camaraderie. One particular guy would always be on my shoulder at the four mile mark and we would finish the run in an all out race, pushing each other to our utmost, challenging ourselves to finish strong. It was exhilarating.
I gave up running twenty years ago. The last run I had was at a church picnic, four years ago. I played a few innings in the softball game. I came up to bat and actually got a hit. All the way out into left field. I thought maybe I could stretch it out to a double. I started running to first base and realized I was running in slow motion. Run as fast as I could but each pace was an eternity. Half way to first base I thought how embarrassed my wife must be over on the sidelines, watching me run in slow motion. I got to first base one step ahead of the relay throw from left field. I never made it to second base. And that was the last time I ran.
I still believe in running, I just don’t run anymore.
I’m afraid that’s how it is with grace, too. Far too many Christians still believe in grace, but they no longer live in grace. They started off with joy, with the thrill of discovering a new life. God’s amazing grace transformed their heart, and they knew the presence and power of God. But then the connection with Jesus began losing its joy and intimacy and pretty soon they quite running. They now try to please God by their own self-effort, keeping up the appearance and pretending to still be in the race. Shame and guilt bring their spiritual walk to a slow motion crawl. Broken and needy they forget what it was like to live in grace. They cannot trust God nor anyone else with who they really are. Oh, they still believe in grace, they just don’t live in it anymore.
“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Sprit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?” (Gal 3:3,5)
I had fallen behind Larry, a high school cross country runner, to run with another friend. At the 8K marker I decided to pick up my pace and race to the finish. That’s the thrilling, exhilarating part of running. Pushing yourself even harder when you think you’re too tired, and finding out there is a whole new power waiting to be tapped. I caught up to Larry shortly and ran with him a bit. Then I gave him a slap on the back and asked if he wanted to race me to the finish. He gave me that look of disbelief, and I knew his answer. So I took off and ran hard to the finish, the last mile probably pushing a five minute pace. Larry’s Dad had no idea how much I liked to run.
It started in high school, growing up in Arizona. I ran on a cross country team that had the best runner in the state as our anchor. The rest of the team trained hard and was highly motivated. We took fourth in the state meet. After high school I kept running. That’s when it became fun. I ran a marathon, once, and I got some buddies to run with me in a 10K or 5-mile run whenever we had the opportunity. I looked forward to getting up at 6:00 in the morning and meeting down at the high school track with a group of guys, and going for a five mile run. It was great fellowship, intense camaraderie. One particular guy would always be on my shoulder at the four mile mark and we would finish the run in an all out race, pushing each other to our utmost, challenging ourselves to finish strong. It was exhilarating.
I gave up running twenty years ago. The last run I had was at a church picnic, four years ago. I played a few innings in the softball game. I came up to bat and actually got a hit. All the way out into left field. I thought maybe I could stretch it out to a double. I started running to first base and realized I was running in slow motion. Run as fast as I could but each pace was an eternity. Half way to first base I thought how embarrassed my wife must be over on the sidelines, watching me run in slow motion. I got to first base one step ahead of the relay throw from left field. I never made it to second base. And that was the last time I ran.
I still believe in running, I just don’t run anymore.
I’m afraid that’s how it is with grace, too. Far too many Christians still believe in grace, but they no longer live in grace. They started off with joy, with the thrill of discovering a new life. God’s amazing grace transformed their heart, and they knew the presence and power of God. But then the connection with Jesus began losing its joy and intimacy and pretty soon they quite running. They now try to please God by their own self-effort, keeping up the appearance and pretending to still be in the race. Shame and guilt bring their spiritual walk to a slow motion crawl. Broken and needy they forget what it was like to live in grace. They cannot trust God nor anyone else with who they really are. Oh, they still believe in grace, they just don’t live in it anymore.
“Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Sprit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?” (Gal 3:3,5)
November 5, 2011
Swept Away
As we descended down the muddy road, the rain water began to collect more and more. In little rivulets, then in the ruts, eventually forming little streams. There were three or four of us walking together, not minding the rain, being careful for the puddles and slick mud. We were talking and chatting and enjoying the time together, immensely.
Suddenly, Carol, my wife, slipped and landed face down in a large drainage ditch alongside the road. I expected her to bounce back up, shake off the water like a wet dog, borrow a jacket, and continue on. Maybe a little more hurried than before. But what happened was totally unexpected. Surreal. Horrifying. She did not get up. Instead she was swept along by the current. Somehow the water was not muddy, but rather crystal clear. There she went, swept away, deeper and deeper. Not swept along on top of the water, but under the water, like she was imbedded in the current. I just stood and watched, helplessly.
The swift current swept her through a canyon and carried her under a rock formation, where the stream went underground. I figured it must be a rock grouping that had plenty of crevasses and air pockets, like a lava formation of some sort. So as I ran and climbed over to the rocky mountain and began to search for some way to rescue her. I started looking in crags and crevasses. But I could not find her. I thought I could hear a faint voice crying for help, but I was not sure. So I told the others that I was going to hurry out to get some help. A rescue crew of some sort. It was already past noon, and I knew that daylight would run short if I did not get help real soon.
I came back without anyone to help. Why, I do not know. But when I returned Carol was standing on the rocky crags. I was excited, almost overwhelmed, to see that she was fine. But she was looking very bewildered. Then she told me that Kari, our daughter, was now caught in the watery maze down in the rocks. Kari had stayed behind while I went for help. She had found a way for Carol to escape, but in the process she herself had been swept under.
And then I awakened.
Depression is like that, just like that. It sweeps away its victim in a swift current and carries them away into a cave where they can barely breath. Others stand by and watch in dismay, helpless to avert the descent or to rescue them from the cave. Help is hard to find, oh so very hard. The constant fear is that the clutches of despair might trigger the most dreadful of travesties. And just when you see someone through it, just when they are rescued, it happens again, with the next generation -- from great-grandmother, to grandfather , to mother, to daughter.
If only there was a magic cure. A counselor or psychiatrist who could bring it to an end. A drug that would make it go away, not just lessen the darkness. A prayer for deliverance from bondage.
The poor caregiver, the husband or wife, can not understand why the victim doesn’t just cheer up, get a life, get out and help others instead of being so absorbed with their own little world. They don’t understand how to help, nor how desperately there help is needed. So they run away, find their own solace elsewhere. How do you instill courage, hope, perseverance into a sick person? It seems it should work. Any other sickness and the person usually gets well. But not depression. It just keeps going. And it seems to be the victim’s choice to stay depressed. Oh, but banish that thought, though, if you would help. Love must take on the very character of the Heavenly Father if you will see your loved one through depression.
Lend Me Your Hope
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily,
Pain and confusion are my companions.
I know not where to turn;
Looking ahead to future times does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see troubled times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me;
Listen to all my ramblings, recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing seems like a long and lonely one.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Stand by me, offer me your presence, your heart and your love.
Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.
Lend my your hope for awhile;
A time will come when I will heal,
And I will share my renewal, hope and love with others
(Author unknown, copied from Victory over the Darkness, by Neil T. Anderson)
Suddenly, Carol, my wife, slipped and landed face down in a large drainage ditch alongside the road. I expected her to bounce back up, shake off the water like a wet dog, borrow a jacket, and continue on. Maybe a little more hurried than before. But what happened was totally unexpected. Surreal. Horrifying. She did not get up. Instead she was swept along by the current. Somehow the water was not muddy, but rather crystal clear. There she went, swept away, deeper and deeper. Not swept along on top of the water, but under the water, like she was imbedded in the current. I just stood and watched, helplessly.
The swift current swept her through a canyon and carried her under a rock formation, where the stream went underground. I figured it must be a rock grouping that had plenty of crevasses and air pockets, like a lava formation of some sort. So as I ran and climbed over to the rocky mountain and began to search for some way to rescue her. I started looking in crags and crevasses. But I could not find her. I thought I could hear a faint voice crying for help, but I was not sure. So I told the others that I was going to hurry out to get some help. A rescue crew of some sort. It was already past noon, and I knew that daylight would run short if I did not get help real soon.
I came back without anyone to help. Why, I do not know. But when I returned Carol was standing on the rocky crags. I was excited, almost overwhelmed, to see that she was fine. But she was looking very bewildered. Then she told me that Kari, our daughter, was now caught in the watery maze down in the rocks. Kari had stayed behind while I went for help. She had found a way for Carol to escape, but in the process she herself had been swept under.
And then I awakened.
Depression is like that, just like that. It sweeps away its victim in a swift current and carries them away into a cave where they can barely breath. Others stand by and watch in dismay, helpless to avert the descent or to rescue them from the cave. Help is hard to find, oh so very hard. The constant fear is that the clutches of despair might trigger the most dreadful of travesties. And just when you see someone through it, just when they are rescued, it happens again, with the next generation -- from great-grandmother, to grandfather , to mother, to daughter.
If only there was a magic cure. A counselor or psychiatrist who could bring it to an end. A drug that would make it go away, not just lessen the darkness. A prayer for deliverance from bondage.
The poor caregiver, the husband or wife, can not understand why the victim doesn’t just cheer up, get a life, get out and help others instead of being so absorbed with their own little world. They don’t understand how to help, nor how desperately there help is needed. So they run away, find their own solace elsewhere. How do you instill courage, hope, perseverance into a sick person? It seems it should work. Any other sickness and the person usually gets well. But not depression. It just keeps going. And it seems to be the victim’s choice to stay depressed. Oh, but banish that thought, though, if you would help. Love must take on the very character of the Heavenly Father if you will see your loved one through depression.
Lend Me Your Hope
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily,
Pain and confusion are my companions.
I know not where to turn;
Looking ahead to future times does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see troubled times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me;
Listen to all my ramblings, recovery seems so far distant.
The road to healing seems like a long and lonely one.
Lend me your hope for awhile, I seem to have mislaid mine.
Stand by me, offer me your presence, your heart and your love.
Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.
Lend my your hope for awhile;
A time will come when I will heal,
And I will share my renewal, hope and love with others
(Author unknown, copied from Victory over the Darkness, by Neil T. Anderson)
April 14, 2011
The Great Deception
The last of seven articles, "Right At The Door"
No one likes the idea of discovering they have been deceived. That they have been misled, snookered, misguided. When I first came to understand rightly the beast of Revelation 13 and 17 it took me awhile to admit that I must let go of the belief system which I had been taught about a pre-tribulation rapture. It was years later that I came to understand that the whole concept of a Great Tribulation was a roadblock to understanding Revelation accurately. So I don’t expect many who hold to dispensational teaching to accept this concept of a great deception easily. That is why I moved this seventh article from its original spot at number one, so it would not be a complete roadblock to considering the other concepts. Go ahead and wrestle with putting all the pieces together. I did, for years.
In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a great deception captured the “enlightened” minds of scientists and educators around the world – Darwin’s theory of evolution. In that same time frame another deception captured the minds and hearts of the church. And it is no small matter, considering the end to which it leads. It is the doctrine of the Great Tribulation, a seven year period of alluring calm and then cataclysmic judgment, preceding the Millenium. Once this new concept became a foregone presumption, the debate in America amongst churches and Christians has largely revolved around the timing of the rapture, whether it occurs before, after, or in the middle of the Tribulation. Historically, though, debate centered on the Millenium, whether Jesus would return before the 1000 year reign on earth, after it, or whether it is allegorical.
So why is this doctrine of the Great Tribulation important, other than to win an argument. The answer has to do with spiritual awareness, preparedness, alertness to what lies ahead in God’s plan. God said it himself, “Surely the Sovereign Lord does nothing without revealing his plan to his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7). That is the key purpose of Revelation, stated in the preamble: “The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testifies to everything he saw – that is, the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near” ( Rev 1:1-3). Revelation is God’s prophetic dis-closure of the end times (and beyond), so his people can know, be prepared, and be overcomers.
Consider, though, that we who are spiritually minded don’t have a real good track record of understanding God’s prophecy. Think back to how effectively God’s people were prepared by the extensive prophecies of Christ’s first coming. Only a minuscule handful of people recognized the baby Jesus to be Messiah. Even when Jesus did signs and wonders in their midst, still they could not correlate the evidence and testimony with what the prophets had written.
The typical Christian who holds to a pre-tribulation rapture says this of Revelation, “I’m just glad that I’m not going to be here.” I wish I could have a dollar for every time I have heard that said. This subtle view might best be labeled escapism, and it stands in stark contrast to being prepared for great distress. Jesus spoke about the signs of his coming and of the end of the age in Matthew 24. He warned of deception (so great that it will deceive even the elect, if that were possible), persecution, turning away from faith, increase of wickedness, love which grows cold, and great distress. He did not say anything about escaping it.
Whether or not the dispensational view of the tribulation is accurate or a great deception, it would be very wise to know and understand from whence it derived. Agreed? 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 undiscovered 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?
One of the most important things we need to do is think for ourselves…Biblically think for ourselves. There are countless patterns in the American church community that we just follow, without even asking, “Is that the most Biblical way to do it?” We need to test our actions and our beliefs against Scripture, always. Is it really in The Book? If you were to just sit down, read, and study the Bible for yourself, asking the Holy Spirit to show you the truth, without anyone telling you what they think it means, would you come to the same conclusion? If given the opportunity for an accurate assessment, might you be surprised how many of your beliefs and actions are because someone said that to you?
Take a good look at Daniel 9:24-27 for yourself. The Messianic interpretation of Daniel’s great prophecy would suggest that the Anointed One, Messiah, who will be cut off sometime after the 69th week (9:26), by crucifixion, is the one who will confirm a covenant (9:27), the “new covenant”, and the same one who will bring an end to sacrifice in the middle of the seventieth week (9:27; cf Heb 10:1-18). Accordingly, the 70th week follows the 69th week, sequentially, and the middle of the seven years corresponds to the end of Jesus’ public ministry and his unimaginable crucifixion. If that is true, then this prophecy has nothing to do with an antichrist. But what is considered, historically, to be a grand Messianic prophecy, has been categorically transformed into the great prophecy of the Antichrist -- he being the one who would establish a covenant, with Israel for seven years, and in the middle of that period abruptly put an end to temple sacrifice. For those who want to wrestle with this very difficult passage to interpret, the big question centers on the pronoun, “he”, in verse 27. Does the pronoun refer back to the “anointed one” (9:26-27) or to the ruler who will come and destroy the city and the sanctuary (9:27; namely Titus, in 70 AD, who serves as an antitype of the antichrist)?
The biggest hurdle to letting go of the Great Tribulation is probably not wholly doctrinal, but emotional, as well. It’s scary, very scary -- the thought that I may not escape this time of great distress. I’ll admit that one myself. It’s also an uncomfortable step into ambiguity, like being cut loose from your mooring not knowing where the current will take you. Then there’s this hurdle -- admitting I allowed myself to be misled. Ouch! Some may even fear they are being tempted into heresy if they change what they believe. Yes, it’s life-altering in many ways. But don’t be ensnared by wishful thinking, holding onto beliefs because they might be pleasing to imagine instead of appealing to evidence, rationality or reality.
I hope you enjoy wrestling with God’s prophecy, seeking to understand the realities of the rapidly approaching end of the age. America has enjoyed incredible prosperity for over 100 years, and dominated the world scene unscathed since World War 2. And the church in America has been swept along by it. We have not suffered, we have not been persecuted. We have enjoyed freedoms and tax breaks the like of which the Church has never known. We have grown soft, and fallen into a spiritual stupor. That is not the church to which Jesus wants to return. He wants a very special bride. May we be prepared for hardship, and thereby become all the more anxious and ready for the Lord’s return.
No one likes the idea of discovering they have been deceived. That they have been misled, snookered, misguided. When I first came to understand rightly the beast of Revelation 13 and 17 it took me awhile to admit that I must let go of the belief system which I had been taught about a pre-tribulation rapture. It was years later that I came to understand that the whole concept of a Great Tribulation was a roadblock to understanding Revelation accurately. So I don’t expect many who hold to dispensational teaching to accept this concept of a great deception easily. That is why I moved this seventh article from its original spot at number one, so it would not be a complete roadblock to considering the other concepts. Go ahead and wrestle with putting all the pieces together. I did, for years.
In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a great deception captured the “enlightened” minds of scientists and educators around the world – Darwin’s theory of evolution. In that same time frame another deception captured the minds and hearts of the church. And it is no small matter, considering the end to which it leads. It is the doctrine of the Great Tribulation, a seven year period of alluring calm and then cataclysmic judgment, preceding the Millenium. Once this new concept became a foregone presumption, the debate in America amongst churches and Christians has largely revolved around the timing of the rapture, whether it occurs before, after, or in the middle of the Tribulation. Historically, though, debate centered on the Millenium, whether Jesus would return before the 1000 year reign on earth, after it, or whether it is allegorical.
So why is this doctrine of the Great Tribulation important, other than to win an argument. The answer has to do with spiritual awareness, preparedness, alertness to what lies ahead in God’s plan. God said it himself, “Surely the Sovereign Lord does nothing without revealing his plan to his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7). That is the key purpose of Revelation, stated in the preamble: “The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testifies to everything he saw – that is, the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near” ( Rev 1:1-3). Revelation is God’s prophetic dis-closure of the end times (and beyond), so his people can know, be prepared, and be overcomers.
Consider, though, that we who are spiritually minded don’t have a real good track record of understanding God’s prophecy. Think back to how effectively God’s people were prepared by the extensive prophecies of Christ’s first coming. Only a minuscule handful of people recognized the baby Jesus to be Messiah. Even when Jesus did signs and wonders in their midst, still they could not correlate the evidence and testimony with what the prophets had written.
The typical Christian who holds to a pre-tribulation rapture says this of Revelation, “I’m just glad that I’m not going to be here.” I wish I could have a dollar for every time I have heard that said. This subtle view might best be labeled escapism, and it stands in stark contrast to being prepared for great distress. Jesus spoke about the signs of his coming and of the end of the age in Matthew 24. He warned of deception (so great that it will deceive even the elect, if that were possible), persecution, turning away from faith, increase of wickedness, love which grows cold, and great distress. He did not say anything about escaping it.
Whether or not the dispensational view of the tribulation is accurate or a great deception, it would be very wise to know and understand from whence it derived. Agreed? 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 undiscovered 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?
One of the most important things we need to do is think for ourselves…Biblically think for ourselves. There are countless patterns in the American church community that we just follow, without even asking, “Is that the most Biblical way to do it?” We need to test our actions and our beliefs against Scripture, always. Is it really in The Book? If you were to just sit down, read, and study the Bible for yourself, asking the Holy Spirit to show you the truth, without anyone telling you what they think it means, would you come to the same conclusion? If given the opportunity for an accurate assessment, might you be surprised how many of your beliefs and actions are because someone said that to you?
Take a good look at Daniel 9:24-27 for yourself. The Messianic interpretation of Daniel’s great prophecy would suggest that the Anointed One, Messiah, who will be cut off sometime after the 69th week (9:26), by crucifixion, is the one who will confirm a covenant (9:27), the “new covenant”, and the same one who will bring an end to sacrifice in the middle of the seventieth week (9:27; cf Heb 10:1-18). Accordingly, the 70th week follows the 69th week, sequentially, and the middle of the seven years corresponds to the end of Jesus’ public ministry and his unimaginable crucifixion. If that is true, then this prophecy has nothing to do with an antichrist. But what is considered, historically, to be a grand Messianic prophecy, has been categorically transformed into the great prophecy of the Antichrist -- he being the one who would establish a covenant, with Israel for seven years, and in the middle of that period abruptly put an end to temple sacrifice. For those who want to wrestle with this very difficult passage to interpret, the big question centers on the pronoun, “he”, in verse 27. Does the pronoun refer back to the “anointed one” (9:26-27) or to the ruler who will come and destroy the city and the sanctuary (9:27; namely Titus, in 70 AD, who serves as an antitype of the antichrist)?
The biggest hurdle to letting go of the Great Tribulation is probably not wholly doctrinal, but emotional, as well. It’s scary, very scary -- the thought that I may not escape this time of great distress. I’ll admit that one myself. It’s also an uncomfortable step into ambiguity, like being cut loose from your mooring not knowing where the current will take you. Then there’s this hurdle -- admitting I allowed myself to be misled. Ouch! Some may even fear they are being tempted into heresy if they change what they believe. Yes, it’s life-altering in many ways. But don’t be ensnared by wishful thinking, holding onto beliefs because they might be pleasing to imagine instead of appealing to evidence, rationality or reality.
I hope you enjoy wrestling with God’s prophecy, seeking to understand the realities of the rapidly approaching end of the age. America has enjoyed incredible prosperity for over 100 years, and dominated the world scene unscathed since World War 2. And the church in America has been swept along by it. We have not suffered, we have not been persecuted. We have enjoyed freedoms and tax breaks the like of which the Church has never known. We have grown soft, and fallen into a spiritual stupor. That is not the church to which Jesus wants to return. He wants a very special bride. May we be prepared for hardship, and thereby become all the more anxious and ready for the Lord’s return.
March 11, 2011
Best Taffy On The Block
The sign in the window caught my attention. Don’t know why. We were just strolling down the sidewalk of Depot Bay, leisurely scoping out each little shop, making our way down to the tiny little inlet to watch the fishing boats go in and out. The sign read, “Best Taffy In the World”. I was still new to Oregon, and was not really aware that coast towns have a unique claim to fame when it comes to salt water taffy. Every beach town in Oregon has at least one prominent candy store, maybe more.
We were on our first little trip to the Oregon coast since moving to Oregon. It was kind of a second honeymoon. So we had lots of time to see the sights. I bought a couple dollars worth of the taffy from the candy store, probably two or three of each and every flavor. We continued down the sidewalk looking in windows and going in a few stores. We happened onto another store with another sign in the window. This one read, “Best Taffy in Oregon”. We got a good laugh. Which sign was really true? We crossed the highway and sat on the seawall and watched the waves crashing on the rocks. And ate a few pieces of our new found Oregon treasure.
Eventually we went back and finished our stroll down the street full of small store fronts. And wouldn’t you know, I found another sign in the window of yet another candy store. This one read, “Best Taffy on the Block.” I stared in amazement, not knowing whether to laugh at it, or admire it. I called Carol back to look at the sign, too, and she was just as amused as I was.
I went into that store and bought a whole pound of taffy. I really can’t say if it was better than the other. I couldn’t tell. I gave away what was left of the first candy, the “best taffy in the world”. I found a true treasure – “The Best Taffy On the Block”!
No big claim to fame, just a humble hard-working candy maker. In fact, I stood there in his store and watched as he pulled the taffy and made the candy. I look back, now, and wonder if the other two stores even made their own candy. They probably imported it from Tennessee or New Mexico, then put a sign in their window claiming to be the best.
Consider this little known medical fact: “The person most at risk for heart disease is not the high-powered executive, it’s the frustrated janitor stuck with existential despair.” Don’t worry about being the best in the world, or best in the state. Just make the best taffy on the block and people will be blessed. God is not impressed, like we are, with big numbers, fancy shows, or our self made claim to fame. He is pleased with his servants who are faithful, even in the small things. Do not despair, my friend.
“Your attitude should be the same as that of 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… Therefore God exalted him to the highest place” (Phil 2:5-9)
“Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave – just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mt 20:26-28)
We were on our first little trip to the Oregon coast since moving to Oregon. It was kind of a second honeymoon. So we had lots of time to see the sights. I bought a couple dollars worth of the taffy from the candy store, probably two or three of each and every flavor. We continued down the sidewalk looking in windows and going in a few stores. We happened onto another store with another sign in the window. This one read, “Best Taffy in Oregon”. We got a good laugh. Which sign was really true? We crossed the highway and sat on the seawall and watched the waves crashing on the rocks. And ate a few pieces of our new found Oregon treasure.
Eventually we went back and finished our stroll down the street full of small store fronts. And wouldn’t you know, I found another sign in the window of yet another candy store. This one read, “Best Taffy on the Block.” I stared in amazement, not knowing whether to laugh at it, or admire it. I called Carol back to look at the sign, too, and she was just as amused as I was.
I went into that store and bought a whole pound of taffy. I really can’t say if it was better than the other. I couldn’t tell. I gave away what was left of the first candy, the “best taffy in the world”. I found a true treasure – “The Best Taffy On the Block”!
No big claim to fame, just a humble hard-working candy maker. In fact, I stood there in his store and watched as he pulled the taffy and made the candy. I look back, now, and wonder if the other two stores even made their own candy. They probably imported it from Tennessee or New Mexico, then put a sign in their window claiming to be the best.
Consider this little known medical fact: “The person most at risk for heart disease is not the high-powered executive, it’s the frustrated janitor stuck with existential despair.” Don’t worry about being the best in the world, or best in the state. Just make the best taffy on the block and people will be blessed. God is not impressed, like we are, with big numbers, fancy shows, or our self made claim to fame. He is pleased with his servants who are faithful, even in the small things. Do not despair, my friend.
“Your attitude should be the same as that of 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… Therefore God exalted him to the highest place” (Phil 2:5-9)
“Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave – just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mt 20:26-28)
March 2, 2011
Burned Biscuits
When I was a girl, my mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me how my day was at school.
I don't remember what I told him that night, about school. But I do remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."
Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your momma put in a long hard day at work today and she's real, real tired. Besides... a burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!"
I never forgot that little “life lesson”. Life is full of imperfect things... and imperfect people. I'm not the best at anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. What I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each others’ faults, appreciating everyone’s best effort, and choosing to celebrate each others’ unique gifts, is one of the most important keys to creating healthy, growing, and lasting relationships.
So...please pass me a biscuit. And yes, the burned one will do just fine!
“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, but the mouth of the fool gushes folly…the tongue that brings healing is a tree of life (Prov 15:1,2,4).
“Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification… Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you” (Rom 14:19, 15:7).
(Author unknown)
I don't remember what I told him that night, about school. But I do remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."
Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Your momma put in a long hard day at work today and she's real, real tired. Besides... a burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!"
I never forgot that little “life lesson”. Life is full of imperfect things... and imperfect people. I'm not the best at anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. What I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each others’ faults, appreciating everyone’s best effort, and choosing to celebrate each others’ unique gifts, is one of the most important keys to creating healthy, growing, and lasting relationships.
So...please pass me a biscuit. And yes, the burned one will do just fine!
“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, but the mouth of the fool gushes folly…the tongue that brings healing is a tree of life (Prov 15:1,2,4).
“Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification… Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you” (Rom 14:19, 15:7).
(Author unknown)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
