Tap, tap, tap came the sound. I wasn't sure from where, but it certainly was a tap, tap, tap kinda sound. There it went again, tap, tap, tap and this time as I re-entered Earth's atmosphere I realized it was merely someone at the front door.
Duh!
No one ever comes to the front door unless it's an occasional package delivery during the day. This was evening, and besides it was Christmas – ain't no delivery person that's for sure, so I opened the door very cautiously. It helps if you read this with a Elmer Fudd voice in your head. I opened the door very cautiously.... See much funnier!
On the other side of the glass storm door was a small, three foot-something, little girl with a bag in her hands. Un-threatened, I opened the last gate of protection and said “Hey there!” in my goofy, down-south kinda way. She ignored the process of giving the typical response we grown-ups offer each other and jumped directly to the point of her visit; “Y'all want dees taters?” as she held the bag up a little higher.
Now, to say this engagement on Christmas night caught me off guard would be a definite understatement. Here I was, all snugged up in comfort, sitting on the sofa watching a ballgame and out of nowhere I'm attacked by some weird kid I've never laid eyes on before, armed with a snaggle-tooth smile and a partial sack of potatoes. What the heck!
New Year's resolution number one - get a guard dog, or at least one of those recorded barking devices for such situations as this.
My immediate response was, “No thanks!” but then, unexplainably I asked, “How much you want for 'em?” Apparently, somewhere in my mind I had quickly figured her parents had sent her out with these, (probably semi-rotten) “taters” to raise some funds for their immediate need for cigarettes or whatever. Ah ha, a scheme using a innocent looking little girl to separate me from what little money I have. I knew it! I watch television – I know how these things work – it's the ol' sell taters door-to-door to get rich quick thingy. I may be a bit slow when caught off guard, but I've learned to keep one hand on my wallet at all times for just this very reason.
“Nothing, they're free if you want 'em” the girl stammered out as she stared up at the man in the doorway with the amazed, bewildered, and embarrassed look on his face. Again, What the heck!
As I began to turn down her offer again I immediately saw the look of disappointment come across her face, so I swallowed the lump in my throat, stopped mid-sentence and said in a shaky voice, “Sure we'll take 'em.” But before I could offer her something in return ie; a couple bucks, a cookie, my personal insight as to who was going to win the football game, or a simple 'thank you' she ran down the steps and into the night. She left me standing at the door holding five pounds of store bought potatoes, and feeling like an idiot for being so mistrusting on the one day of the year when most of us stress the importance in the act of giving. I really suck at this stuff!
Dale looked up as I walked across the living room with the sack and asked; “What's that?” and without hesitation I responded, “taters.” She asked where they came from, and I told her what you now know. She had a puzzled look on her face as well. Ain't every day you get free taters from a six year old you've never seen before, or at least this was my first encounter with such a thing - your story may be different.
Been nearly a week now and I can't get this off my mind. A thousand questions and scenarios raced across my mind Christmas night, but I wasn't sure which theory came the closest to being the truth – if any. Each time I'm outside now I've been on the lookout for that little girl. I want to get to the bottom of the free taters case, but I don't want to scare the ba-Jesus out of her in the process. Haven't seen hide nor hair, but I'm still looking. Couldn't claim to be much of a Private Investigator if I can't solve this mystery, now could I? My reputation is at stake here, so I'll not rest until I know exactly what transpired, and trust me, I'll be sure to let you know how it turns out. I'm sure you can hardly stand the suspense. Right!
A few weeks ago as I was sitting on the sofa watching a ballgame at night with my mind adrift, (Are you starting to see a pattern here?) when something struck home with me. I was thinking about all the things I was involved with at this time last year. Teaching GED students, working at a homeless shelter giving away coats, coaching a bunch of first and second graders in basketball, participating in a couple of mid-week Bible study classes, and helping in some small ways to build a church on the outskirts of a housing project, and oh yeah, I worked full-time as well. Yet, here I was a year latter sitting on the sofa night after night watching the Outback - Mighty Muffler – Frito-lay - Holiday Punch Bowl games with little to no interest in who won or lost. Wasting away again, as Jimmy Buffett and I like to say!
Then I heard God say, (and don't you just love it when someone says this) “For the third time now, I'm telling you there's a nursing home right across the street where you could be sharing My message of love.” and for the first time this year I took this notion seriously. For literally “right across” the street from our home (say a mere thirty yards or so) really is a nursing home - and that really was the third time this year I've mentally heard the words “Go there”.
A game plan started developing in my mind and heart that night and by the next morning I was on the phone with the Administrator explaining to her that I was her neighbor across the street and simply wanted to bring over a gift for each of their patients the week of Christmas. She excitedly said, that would be terrific! Then I asked how many patients they had, a question I probably should have started the conversation with. One hundred and twenty or so was her answer. “Whew, that many” I struggled to say as I swallowed hard. "Okay, I'll be over in few weeks." As I hung up the phone I said; Okay God, this is your idea so you better come through here - please.....
You see, this hasn't exactly been the best of financial years for me. Unemployed, trying to start up a company of my own, poor economy etc, etc... You know where I'm coming from because many of you are facing the same struggles. Few of us see ourselves as blessed as my friend Ken, who has declared all along that as far as the economic recession or depression we're going through is concerned - he simply chooses not to participate. Which I simply love his attitude!
Anyway, that day I headed down to the store and bought up as many boxes and packs of brownie mix as I could afford. What I had planned on doing was to make all the patients a very modest little treat bag (like the ones I used to get as a little kid when I went to the Christmas program at church with my Papaw) with all kinds of assorted fruits, nuts, candies and baked goods. The problem was, I hadn't figured on a hundred and twenty something, (more like half that) so now the scope of the project was going to be much bigger than my original vision. I think God really enjoys doing stuff like this to me!
As soon as Dale found out what I had in mind she jumped into the act and started baking cookies - as she'll do almost anything to keep me from making a mess in her kitchen. Actually, she'll do almost anything to help show God's love to others is what motivated her to pitch in as usual. With brownies, fudge (which we won't talk about) and Christmas cookies in the works I headed off to the local produce shop to do a little haggling over the selling price for cases of fruit. I explained to the feller how many oranges, tangerines and apples I needed and that the apples needed to be of the soft variety for the elderly patients to enjoy. We shook hands after settling on a price, and I headed out to seek God's help with raising the money.
Without going into all the details, I can truly say God came through as usual with the resources to make all this happen - for I know without any doubt it came from Him!
Dale had a great idea as we bought plain ol' brown paper lunch bags and several packs of Christmas stickers and decorated the bags ourselves. We wrapped the brownies and cookies (again, I refuse to talk about my botched attempt to make fudge- ain't going to go there) and prepared the candy and other items for the bagging process. Instead of traditional Christmas cards I copied down the scripture where Jesus told the parable of the widow-woman and her offering of the two copper coins and printed it onto pieces of paper and placed one in each bag.
Our dining room looked more like an assembly line operation for days. I headed back down to the produce stand,simply called The Corner Market where I found God was still at work. The previously agreed upon price was still in affect for the cases of fruit, so I paid that amount. But then, the owner and his wife (I assume that was who they were) started bagging up more and more fruit to give to the process at no extra cost. I was amazed at their generousity! I loaded my van with boxes and bags of fruit which just a week earlier I couldn't have afforded.
Last Tuesday arrived rather quickly as we got the nearly 150 bags made up (a few for the staff as well) and my wonderful mother-in-law and son joined in as we made it across the street with the goodies. I stepped into the nursing home for the very first time that day, and I knew immediately it was exactly where God had called me to be. We talked and smiled and laughed with so many wonderful people that day. I received hugs, kisses, hand-shakes, advice, and compliments that far outweighed the bags of fruit and stuff we handed out over the span of a few precious hours that day.
Every person I spoke to on the wing where the windows faced our home commented on the work Dale and I had done landscaping and decorating the front of our house all year. I had no idea we had such an audience, so we'll have to do an even better job making the place look nice next year. And oh yeah, I'll be sure to never pick my nose or scratch my behind outside again. Important lesson here, you never know who's watching!
Included in this group was a ninety-two year old woman that had requested they move her to a room on that wing, so she could see our house. For, as she tells the story that is the place she was born in 1917. Her daddy had built our farm house around the turn of the century and it was her only home as a child. I feel so much more proud of our humble little farm house knowing some of the wonderful history it holds. Thank you Jeanette! What a wonderful experience we had that day being blessed in so many ways by such loving, yet somewhat lonely friends. I've lived here for more than eight months now and this was my first visit across the street to meet the neighbors. I feel ashamed but I assure you it won't be my last visit there.
Free taters, kisses, hugs, smiles, tears, little girls, senior citizens, produce shop keepers filled with the spirit of Christmas as well as being reminded in a very tangible way of a well-known parable about giving from the heart as opposed to only giving from our surpluses - God working in amazing, yet simple ways through so many people to give me such a wonderful Christmas gift this year. As you know, I don't typically speak of things such as this, because I believe we take something away from our blessings when we tell others what we've done - but in this situation I feel led to share what God did over the past few weeks. It brings to light even more so, how wonderful His love for each of us truly is.
He reminded me once again, it's doing the small stuff that really matters in His kingdom. You don't have to spend a great deal of money, or make every project in ministry an elaborate event – we simply need to do it out of our love for Him. He used all of the things I've written here to carry a message to my heart – a message I needed to hear. I learned this past week that what He really wants me to do is to quit longing to return to the things He has blessed me with in the past and take sight of what He has in store for me today, which just so happens to include a nursing home full of wonderful people that need to see His love a little bit more.
His un-failing love, as well as His miraculous birth - both amazing stories being celebrated this year in my little piece of the world, how bout yours?
I guess you've figured it out by now, I've solved the case of the free taters, so let's get back to watching some college football games, whatta ya say.
Happy New Years! Doug
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Match-less.com
Growing up, matches were a big NO - NO. Never should a kid be caught with a book of matches. Never. So one day my kid sister Pam and I found ourselves in possession of a book of matches. Actually, I think I found them then looked for an accomplice / scapegoat in the event I got caught. After all she was already known for picking up a cigarette butt or two to stick it her mouth, so it would be believable that she had indeed dragged me, “always the innocent one” into the crime of the century. At the ages of six and four we had no clue as to the destructive nature of matches, we just knew they were pretty cool. Over the years I've found danger often disguises itself in a cloak of coolness, haven't you? We had matches, and all we knew was, we didn’t want to get caught with them. Who knows what terrible beating would lay at the end of mom’s hickory switch if she found us to be in possession of a book of matches. No, we couldn’t take that chance, so we headed into the over-grown thicket filled land behind our house.
Notice we didn’t weigh the consequences and simply put the matches down and walk anyway from the situation. As I think about it now, for a great deal of my life that was never the course of action when temptation came my way. Simply putting down the matches and walking away from the danger just wasn't an option for me, for far too many years. Anyway....
Within a matter of minutes the field was engulfed in a raging storm of fire and two young pyromaniacs were seen running like crazy for home. It wasn't long before Sis and I were left standing alone in mom's interrogation spotlight. It didn't take long for Pam to breakdown and tell the truth, and I was left to take the beating of my young life. So as the story goes, on one summer's day in the early 1960s a fire raged out of control across two acres of Strawberry Plains Pike as well as across the backside of a mischievous little boy. I can still remember now, (so many years later) just how bad the stripes on the back of my legs felt that night as I tried to fall asleep. I mark that incident as the day I decided I would never smoke cigarettes, carry matches, or trust my sister to lie for me. Things you learn in times of trouble, even at the age of six - huh!
God led me to think about all of this a few nights ago while gazing at a beautiful lake as it was being overwhelmed by the arrival of nightfall. I was having one of those “bad” days I all too often have, and had just been arguing with my wife over something silly. I somehow found myself in possession of a small box of matches, and sat there striking one after another just to watch them burn. NO, I didn't set fire to anything! What kind of irresponsible monster do you think I am? And here's what I concluded in such a priceless time of inner-reflection. Emotions, like matches are inherently good, yet when a person carrying them around loses control and fails to act in a responsible manner they can become dangerous, and fields can get set ablaze.
Lately, more often than I care to admit, I've allowed my emotions to get the best of me. People said something about my wife that I didn't like, and I want to straighten them out the old-fashion way. Someone gets in the way of me doing the thing I believe I should be doing, and I want to cause them problems right back. The neighbor's kids play their music way too loud while I trying to watch a ballgame, and I want to get up at three in the morning and crank up my stereo outside their windows. It doesn't matter that I didn't do any of these, I thought about it – just the same. Several circumstances and people have roused my frustration level to a point where I've said and done things that I quickly regret. I don't want to be that way.
Trust me, I don't wake up in the morning plotting how I'm going to “go off” on someone. No, I'm actually a relatively calm person but you would never know it if you've been around me the past few months, as my wife has. I suspect by now she's concluded I'm a raging idiot and just wants to throw me in the same lake I was sitting by the other night. It also seems lately that God has been placing a lot of mirrors in my life so I can see exactly what I look like when I allow my emotions to get out of control, and how unlike His Son I look in those situations. Books, sermons, etc; all filled with stories and examples of folks and stories filled with out-of-control emotions. This all seems to be falling in my lap as if He's tapping me on the side of the head, wanting to know if ol' Hard Head (as I'm affectionately known by the Father) is paying attention to the lesson He's teaching.
Recently, I was reading about two guys that allowed their emotions to get so out of control that in the end it cost them their lives. Not only theirs, but a host of innocent people got killed or had their lives seriously altered. Behind these two dudes lay a burned-out field that (even through the eyes of a six year old boy with stripes across the back of his legs) could be seen for what it was – a messed up situation. I found this story in the second Book of Samuel where Abner and Joab serve as good examples as to how things can get very ugly in a hurry when we lose control of our emotions. Though most of you already know the story, I'll recap my version of it anyway - one of the benefits of being on the writing end of this relationship.
As you may recall, Abner and Joab were two of the highest ranking and most revered military leaders of their day. Joab in David's kingdom, and Abner in Saul's. Though their respective Kings had issues with each other, Abner and Joab actually had a great deal of respect for each other, that is until.... Pushed into a situation he didn't want, Abner ended up killing Joab's brother, and that's where things began to get out of control for the two. Joab swore to avenge his brother's death and pursued Abner and his soldiers relentlessly. Many a good man was killed from both camps, but the two leaders never found themselves in personal engagement. After a long and tiring time of back and forth battles the two armies resolved to go home and take a break. Yet, as with all periods of peace in the Middle East it didn't last long. This, even I know, whenever someone is carrying around a book of matches there's always the possibility of a fire breaking out, even in a small and peaceful looking field out back of the house.
During their time of peace one of Saul's sons made an accusation against Abner, something about him sleeping with ol' so and so and boy, did that not set well with Abner. He started feeling a bit disrespected after such a long and distinguished military and political service to his King and the more he studied on it the madder he got until finally he had a come-apart. Swearing to bring the same kingdom he had served for so many years to it's knees, he plotted his course while still fuming with anger. Ever done that? Yeah, me too. He decided he would go to his enemy's camp and volunteer his services to help bring all of the lands of Israel under King David's rule. Guess what, David was all for this! Joab, not so much! He wasn't too excited about having to share the military spotlight with the same man that had killed his brother years earlier. So as jealousy, anger, and insecurity often manifest itself, Joab lost control of his emotions and took action. He quickly ambushed Abner and killed him, and this really didn't go over well with David. Just as he finally had all the pieces of the puzzle in place to begin the expansion of his kingdom, Joab goes and ruins everything with a senseless and undignified murdering of Abner.
Soon, Joab found himself under the King's curse, but because of political reasons David didn't have him killed or imprisoned as one would expect. Yet, if you fast-forward forty years into the future of Israel's history (1st Kings 2:6) you'll see that all was not forgotten of this incident. King David, while handing over control of Israel to Solomon made him pledge to deal with Joab for the killing of Abner. Doing as he promised, Solomon had his men track down the gray-haired Joab to kill him. Joab ran into the Lord's tent and took hold of the horns of the altar, refusing to let go and come out. The men were left with no other choice, so they killed him where he stood - and so, nearly half a century after the matches were lit, the raging fire that began with out of control emotions was finally extinguished.
The burned out fields these two men had laid waste in the land of Israel was filled to the brim with innocent blood and missed opportunities to forgive. As I suspect it is with some of our past. Ever had a time or situation where your anger or frustration has gotten the best of you and you did something you later regretted, such as trying to exercise a measure of revenge or judgment against someone that has done you wrong? Hands going up all over the room I see! Most of us are forced to answer yes to that question, but then we like to add, “We're only human, it happens to everyone.” Maybe we don't always take it to the level Joab or Abner did, but we do indeed leave fields aflame at times. Sometimes purposefully, and at others as innocent but mischievous six year olds. Matches and emotions neither one bad, yet dangerous if allowed to get out of control.
Speaking of such, let's get back to that night at the lake last week. You see, there wasn't a happy ending this night for Dale and myself as we broke the golden rule thing about not going to bed mad at each other, or at least I did. I felt completely justified in my position and fully expected she would come to her senses and see things my way. Then she would apologize and I would let her grovel a bit and then give in and forgive her. I had it all laid out, all she had to do was, well -exactly what I expected of her. Just the way it should be, “right.” Wrong! It didn't work out that way, nor should it!
What I forget sometimes, is that regardless how often we try and make it so, it's not about being right or wrong, it's about being Christ-like. The next morning I woke up early despite a restless night due to an uneasy spirit, and the first thing that popped in my head changed the entire day. Pastor Bob Bryant loves for the praise team at his church to do a fun little song right before he preaches. He requests they do it so often that he's even apologetic about it sometimes. The song goes something like “He woke me up this morning, started me on my way - give Him the glory – give Him the praise.” And there it was, the reminder I needed! How could I lay there singing that tune, even as bad as I sing, if I still had resentfulness, pride, and anger in my heart. God put me in a situation where I was forced to ask myself, would I choose to try and live a day Christ-like as possible, or would I hang on to my book of matches looking to burn something or someone to the ground. Can't do both!
Reading an item written by a friend this morning reminded me of something that I decided to include here. What Carrie-Beth was writing about was our reactions to the hurt others cause us, and then it hit me - we focus so little attention on the hurt we cause others. All too often we write about, talk about, and cry about the injustices that come our way. Rarely ever do we focus on the fires that are started with the matches we carry around in our pockets. It's so much easier to look at what has been done to us, for self-pity soothes the hurting soul. But, to take a hard look at some of the nasty, rotten things we've done to others - wow, now that really hurts. It forces us to see ourselves for who we really are, and how dependent we are on the Holy Spirit for such things as sound reasoning and mere goodness. We can't rise above the fleshly beings we are on our own, it has to come from Him.
Lighting candles on an eight year old little girl's birthday cake – a good thing. Biting the head off of your friend or spouse when they say something that irks you - not so good. Setting fire to a stack of wood in the cool morning air of a campground – good. Seeking revenge when your neighbor or co-worker does something to cause you problems – well, you get it.... And as I said earlier, all too often I struggle with this. I choose to carry around my little book of matches in the event someone ticks me off - and in every one of those situations I've been wrong. And here's the really bad part, in far too many of these situations I've failed to ask for forgiveness - something that has to change.
This morning I arise with the determination in my heart to go match-less. I pray He helps me to meet this simple but seemingly tough goal. I hope you're as fortunate as I am - to have friends that are willing to overlook my stupidity, a wife that continues to love me regardless how wrong I am at times, and a Lord that's doesn't lose hope in me even when He catches me red-handed like a six year old with a book of matches in my hand, and the field behind me blazing out of control.
Trust me, I still carry around the stripes on my legs from the whippings I so richly deserve. God forgives us for being irresponsible match users, but He doesn't fail to hold us accountable for our actions. Nevertheless, I can still hear His voice with every whipping; “now son this is going to hurt me as much as it does you.”
How 'bout you? Wanna go match-less today? Would you like to avoid an enemy's ambush - unlike Abner, the undying wrath of a King - unlike Joab, or simply the business end of a hickory switch - unlike me? I do!
So do me a favor, if you catch me carrying around a book of matches this week, “get a hickory switch after me” (as my papaw would say) - I'll deserve it. Doug
Notice we didn’t weigh the consequences and simply put the matches down and walk anyway from the situation. As I think about it now, for a great deal of my life that was never the course of action when temptation came my way. Simply putting down the matches and walking away from the danger just wasn't an option for me, for far too many years. Anyway....
Within a matter of minutes the field was engulfed in a raging storm of fire and two young pyromaniacs were seen running like crazy for home. It wasn't long before Sis and I were left standing alone in mom's interrogation spotlight. It didn't take long for Pam to breakdown and tell the truth, and I was left to take the beating of my young life. So as the story goes, on one summer's day in the early 1960s a fire raged out of control across two acres of Strawberry Plains Pike as well as across the backside of a mischievous little boy. I can still remember now, (so many years later) just how bad the stripes on the back of my legs felt that night as I tried to fall asleep. I mark that incident as the day I decided I would never smoke cigarettes, carry matches, or trust my sister to lie for me. Things you learn in times of trouble, even at the age of six - huh!
God led me to think about all of this a few nights ago while gazing at a beautiful lake as it was being overwhelmed by the arrival of nightfall. I was having one of those “bad” days I all too often have, and had just been arguing with my wife over something silly. I somehow found myself in possession of a small box of matches, and sat there striking one after another just to watch them burn. NO, I didn't set fire to anything! What kind of irresponsible monster do you think I am? And here's what I concluded in such a priceless time of inner-reflection. Emotions, like matches are inherently good, yet when a person carrying them around loses control and fails to act in a responsible manner they can become dangerous, and fields can get set ablaze.
Lately, more often than I care to admit, I've allowed my emotions to get the best of me. People said something about my wife that I didn't like, and I want to straighten them out the old-fashion way. Someone gets in the way of me doing the thing I believe I should be doing, and I want to cause them problems right back. The neighbor's kids play their music way too loud while I trying to watch a ballgame, and I want to get up at three in the morning and crank up my stereo outside their windows. It doesn't matter that I didn't do any of these, I thought about it – just the same. Several circumstances and people have roused my frustration level to a point where I've said and done things that I quickly regret. I don't want to be that way.
Trust me, I don't wake up in the morning plotting how I'm going to “go off” on someone. No, I'm actually a relatively calm person but you would never know it if you've been around me the past few months, as my wife has. I suspect by now she's concluded I'm a raging idiot and just wants to throw me in the same lake I was sitting by the other night. It also seems lately that God has been placing a lot of mirrors in my life so I can see exactly what I look like when I allow my emotions to get out of control, and how unlike His Son I look in those situations. Books, sermons, etc; all filled with stories and examples of folks and stories filled with out-of-control emotions. This all seems to be falling in my lap as if He's tapping me on the side of the head, wanting to know if ol' Hard Head (as I'm affectionately known by the Father) is paying attention to the lesson He's teaching.
Recently, I was reading about two guys that allowed their emotions to get so out of control that in the end it cost them their lives. Not only theirs, but a host of innocent people got killed or had their lives seriously altered. Behind these two dudes lay a burned-out field that (even through the eyes of a six year old boy with stripes across the back of his legs) could be seen for what it was – a messed up situation. I found this story in the second Book of Samuel where Abner and Joab serve as good examples as to how things can get very ugly in a hurry when we lose control of our emotions. Though most of you already know the story, I'll recap my version of it anyway - one of the benefits of being on the writing end of this relationship.
As you may recall, Abner and Joab were two of the highest ranking and most revered military leaders of their day. Joab in David's kingdom, and Abner in Saul's. Though their respective Kings had issues with each other, Abner and Joab actually had a great deal of respect for each other, that is until.... Pushed into a situation he didn't want, Abner ended up killing Joab's brother, and that's where things began to get out of control for the two. Joab swore to avenge his brother's death and pursued Abner and his soldiers relentlessly. Many a good man was killed from both camps, but the two leaders never found themselves in personal engagement. After a long and tiring time of back and forth battles the two armies resolved to go home and take a break. Yet, as with all periods of peace in the Middle East it didn't last long. This, even I know, whenever someone is carrying around a book of matches there's always the possibility of a fire breaking out, even in a small and peaceful looking field out back of the house.
During their time of peace one of Saul's sons made an accusation against Abner, something about him sleeping with ol' so and so and boy, did that not set well with Abner. He started feeling a bit disrespected after such a long and distinguished military and political service to his King and the more he studied on it the madder he got until finally he had a come-apart. Swearing to bring the same kingdom he had served for so many years to it's knees, he plotted his course while still fuming with anger. Ever done that? Yeah, me too. He decided he would go to his enemy's camp and volunteer his services to help bring all of the lands of Israel under King David's rule. Guess what, David was all for this! Joab, not so much! He wasn't too excited about having to share the military spotlight with the same man that had killed his brother years earlier. So as jealousy, anger, and insecurity often manifest itself, Joab lost control of his emotions and took action. He quickly ambushed Abner and killed him, and this really didn't go over well with David. Just as he finally had all the pieces of the puzzle in place to begin the expansion of his kingdom, Joab goes and ruins everything with a senseless and undignified murdering of Abner.
Soon, Joab found himself under the King's curse, but because of political reasons David didn't have him killed or imprisoned as one would expect. Yet, if you fast-forward forty years into the future of Israel's history (1st Kings 2:6) you'll see that all was not forgotten of this incident. King David, while handing over control of Israel to Solomon made him pledge to deal with Joab for the killing of Abner. Doing as he promised, Solomon had his men track down the gray-haired Joab to kill him. Joab ran into the Lord's tent and took hold of the horns of the altar, refusing to let go and come out. The men were left with no other choice, so they killed him where he stood - and so, nearly half a century after the matches were lit, the raging fire that began with out of control emotions was finally extinguished.
The burned out fields these two men had laid waste in the land of Israel was filled to the brim with innocent blood and missed opportunities to forgive. As I suspect it is with some of our past. Ever had a time or situation where your anger or frustration has gotten the best of you and you did something you later regretted, such as trying to exercise a measure of revenge or judgment against someone that has done you wrong? Hands going up all over the room I see! Most of us are forced to answer yes to that question, but then we like to add, “We're only human, it happens to everyone.” Maybe we don't always take it to the level Joab or Abner did, but we do indeed leave fields aflame at times. Sometimes purposefully, and at others as innocent but mischievous six year olds. Matches and emotions neither one bad, yet dangerous if allowed to get out of control.
Speaking of such, let's get back to that night at the lake last week. You see, there wasn't a happy ending this night for Dale and myself as we broke the golden rule thing about not going to bed mad at each other, or at least I did. I felt completely justified in my position and fully expected she would come to her senses and see things my way. Then she would apologize and I would let her grovel a bit and then give in and forgive her. I had it all laid out, all she had to do was, well -exactly what I expected of her. Just the way it should be, “right.” Wrong! It didn't work out that way, nor should it!
What I forget sometimes, is that regardless how often we try and make it so, it's not about being right or wrong, it's about being Christ-like. The next morning I woke up early despite a restless night due to an uneasy spirit, and the first thing that popped in my head changed the entire day. Pastor Bob Bryant loves for the praise team at his church to do a fun little song right before he preaches. He requests they do it so often that he's even apologetic about it sometimes. The song goes something like “He woke me up this morning, started me on my way - give Him the glory – give Him the praise.” And there it was, the reminder I needed! How could I lay there singing that tune, even as bad as I sing, if I still had resentfulness, pride, and anger in my heart. God put me in a situation where I was forced to ask myself, would I choose to try and live a day Christ-like as possible, or would I hang on to my book of matches looking to burn something or someone to the ground. Can't do both!
Reading an item written by a friend this morning reminded me of something that I decided to include here. What Carrie-Beth was writing about was our reactions to the hurt others cause us, and then it hit me - we focus so little attention on the hurt we cause others. All too often we write about, talk about, and cry about the injustices that come our way. Rarely ever do we focus on the fires that are started with the matches we carry around in our pockets. It's so much easier to look at what has been done to us, for self-pity soothes the hurting soul. But, to take a hard look at some of the nasty, rotten things we've done to others - wow, now that really hurts. It forces us to see ourselves for who we really are, and how dependent we are on the Holy Spirit for such things as sound reasoning and mere goodness. We can't rise above the fleshly beings we are on our own, it has to come from Him.
Lighting candles on an eight year old little girl's birthday cake – a good thing. Biting the head off of your friend or spouse when they say something that irks you - not so good. Setting fire to a stack of wood in the cool morning air of a campground – good. Seeking revenge when your neighbor or co-worker does something to cause you problems – well, you get it.... And as I said earlier, all too often I struggle with this. I choose to carry around my little book of matches in the event someone ticks me off - and in every one of those situations I've been wrong. And here's the really bad part, in far too many of these situations I've failed to ask for forgiveness - something that has to change.
This morning I arise with the determination in my heart to go match-less. I pray He helps me to meet this simple but seemingly tough goal. I hope you're as fortunate as I am - to have friends that are willing to overlook my stupidity, a wife that continues to love me regardless how wrong I am at times, and a Lord that's doesn't lose hope in me even when He catches me red-handed like a six year old with a book of matches in my hand, and the field behind me blazing out of control.
Trust me, I still carry around the stripes on my legs from the whippings I so richly deserve. God forgives us for being irresponsible match users, but He doesn't fail to hold us accountable for our actions. Nevertheless, I can still hear His voice with every whipping; “now son this is going to hurt me as much as it does you.”
How 'bout you? Wanna go match-less today? Would you like to avoid an enemy's ambush - unlike Abner, the undying wrath of a King - unlike Joab, or simply the business end of a hickory switch - unlike me? I do!
So do me a favor, if you catch me carrying around a book of matches this week, “get a hickory switch after me” (as my papaw would say) - I'll deserve it. Doug
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Let's Stay Together
Let's Stay TogetherAl Green(Al Green - Willie Mitchell - Al Jackson)
I love the classic Motown sounds. Since my days as a young white teen-age boy living in a housing project community where my skin color was among the minority, my taste in music regardless of genre has been influenced through what I loved about the soulful sounds of people like Al Green, Smokey Robinson, Wilson Pickett, Gladys Knight, and Aretha Franklin. It was all I listened to back then. Green went on to have other hits, I can't take my eyes off of you You ought to be with me Still in love with you I can't get next to you and Take me to the River, but none bigger than his number one hit Let's Stay Together. Just another of the many benefits of having wonderful friends from other races and cultures. I appreciate that era more today, for what I gained from it, than ever before in my life. But don't worry, this isn't another journal item about those experiences.
My neighbors, Ruth and Earl must be at least in their 70's yet, they still work everyday as if they are in their 30's. Well before I roll my lazy butt out of bed they're busy doing whatever they have planned for the day. Today they mostly farm. They farm, grow stuff, and then sell it at the local farmer's market. Don't know yet what they do in the winter months, haven't been here long enough to say. I'm convinced they'll be working on something daylight to dark and beyond. If this is retirement, not sure I want any.
I do know this about them, they grow some of the best tomatoes you ever tasted in your life. Yes Alice, there is a difference in tomato flavors. We must have gone through six bushels this summer. Though I'm not sure how much a bushel is. It sounded like a lot when I wrote it, so it helps me get my point across.
Ruth is about four foot something (the perfect height for farming I suppose) and roundly shaped. "Squatty" is what I've always called it. And, Earl is tall and lanky. Probably taller years ago, but all that farming has taken it's toll and he's a bit stooped these days What I like about Ruth and Earl more than their tomatoes, and watermelons is that they are always together. Even though Dale and I both agree we don't want to be working sixteen hours a day when we're their age, we would love to be able to spend every minute of every day together. Now you gotta remember though, we've only been married since April so when I write something like that it may be slightly influenced by the newness of our relationship. I love her more than words can explain, and hope and pray that we'll always be singinging to each other "let's stay together."
But on the other hand, it won't surprise me none if Dale gets tired of being around me, and she starts drifting from those thoughts of us being attached at the hip for all eternity. It's not because I doubt the sincerity of Dale's love for me, but I know ME. I can wear on a person, and I know that! All you have to do is to look at my track record with relationships and you'll see a trail of people that simply grew tired of me to one degree or another. I reckon' I need to get busy workin' on that someday. Ruth and Earl I guess came to grips with who they are long ago and they figured out a way to spend all their time together without pinching each other's head off. I like that! I want some of that kind of Let's Stay Together relationship. Actually, I believe Dale and I have that as well.
This morning, in one of our daily devotional items the writer reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in awhile. He basically said ,but not in these words, that God is trying to fix us. He's shaping us and molding us - not that we can become better citizens here on earth, but in order that He can stand being around us throughout eternity. In other words before we spend too much time dreaming about jumping up in Big Papa's lap (as Wm. P. Young calls him in his book The Shack) to hear him sing in that same silky smooth voice he gave Rev. Al "let's stay together" we had better get some of our issues straighten out.
Now, I can hear some of you already saying, that's a bunch of &*@%+$ (same stuff Ruth and Earl put around their tomatoes plants) because the Word says He accepts us just as we are. Yes, this is true when we come to the cross for the first time, that's why it's called God's grace, rather than God's acceptance. But there's also a transfiguration process that occurs when we accept His forgiveness, and that's what I'm referring to here. The Apostle Paul described it as a transformation process God takes us through as we "work out our salvation."
Let me ask, how many of us can not truthfully admit God has been working on us ever since the day we accepted Him as our Lord and Saviour? I hope we all can say He has! Being "saved" didn't somehow make us perfect, but rather it should have opened our eyes to our short comings, and our sinful ways -something we really don't like talking about. If He isn't changing you, fixing you, teaching you a better way to live on a regularly basis you might want to make sure you're totally committed to becoming more "Christ-like" - which is the core definition of a Christian. I think we all probably need to be wearing tee-shirts that say, "Pardon the mess, still under construction!" don't we?
For me personally, I'm glad He's working on the enormous number of issues I have, and Dale would no doubt agree with that as well. Heck, let's be honest here, I can't stand being around myself some days, so I can just imagine how hard it is for her.
When you stop and think about it, to simply know that you know God is singing let's stay together and not just to you, me - but to all man-kind, helps us to realize even more so what an amazing love He has for us. You talk about chart toppers! I can hear Casey Kasem on the radio every Saturday throughout eternity (as he was in my youth) saying in that weird kind of voice everyone tried to mimic, "We still have the same No. 1 song we've had the last 1200 years, but the other 39 have changed a bit, so stay tuned to American's Top 40 Show." I believe God's version of Let's Stay Together wins out every time, especially over whatever the latest and greatest Jay-Z, or Beyonce' tune is.
Ruth and Earl - out there everyday picking tomatoes, watermelons, and okra, wearing themselves out, all the while singing to each other "let's stay together." What a beautiful view I have from my window when I choose to see God through it.
As I was searching on-line for the song lyrics for this journal item, I glanced at some of the feedback posted on the site I chose. Comments from people that for whatever reason feel they should share with the world every thought that crosses their mind, (which is so unlike me of course). Here are a couple that stuck out.
this is da best song yo me and my girl made this our song so it has a special place in my hart and so does she - Cheech 831 - 8/12/2004
Cheech's message is right on, but I guess Spell-Check really has no place in the world of instant messaging does it! It should come as no surprise, some folks write exactly as they speak. Self included! Here's the kind of comments I find truly enlightening coming from someone wanting to be known simply as Brotha_of_Soul.
Even Al Green's most gossamer pop songs hearken back to his gospel roots, so it makes perfect sense that 1971's "Let's Stay Together" — though for all intents and purposes a simple call for romantic reconciliation — resonates most deeply as a spiritual appeal, a Memphis soul sermon for a nation ripped apart by assassinations, riots, and betrayals. Green's lone number one hit, "Let's Stay Together" radiates compassion and understanding — there are no accusations, no finger-pointing, just tolerance and love with no strings attached. There are also no specifics — racial, political, or otherwise (Al Green actually said this was written as a "political" song, not a "love" song)— just the heartfelt plea not to give up, "whether times are good or bad, happy or sad." Willie Mitchell's lush production is subtly insistent, enhancing the immediacy of the song's message with staccato horns and a galloping beat while tempering its passion with cotton-candy strings and a silky guitar lead; he and Green made a lot of great records together, but none quite so perfect as this.
Now that's great information about the story behind the song, although I can't guarantee it's all exact. For whatever reason I tend to believe that Brotha_of_Soul knows what he's talking about here! I also find his take on the song acts as a great reminder for me in that the really "big picture" is so often a lot bigger than what's in my daily vision.
It's not just about me and Dale, Ruth and Earl, Ken and Jane, Barb and Al, Randy and Kim, Eddie and Debbie - it's about God and His creation. Its about us learning to get along with the same folks here on earth that we may be spending eternity side-by-side with. Jesus said it's easy to love those that love us - but to love our enemies, to love those that are different, difficult, ugly, mean - now that takes a true kind of Christian love. To stand in the choir loft and sing, let's stay together with those folks is a whole 'nother version of that song, isn't it.
It's about Him molding us, shaping us, fixing us in order that we can become the person He wants to be standing eye to eye and holding hands with, as He sings (in a voice Barry White can only dream of having) Staying around you is all I see - Here's what I want us to do - Let's, we oughta stay together - Loving you whether, - whether times are good or bad, happy or sad - Let's stay, let's stay together.
doug, Brotha_of_Yours
Click here to see/hear an Al Green video of this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVzYxqG9N1c
I, I'm so in love with you
Whatever you want to do
Is all right with me
'Cause you make me feel so brand new
And I want to spend my life with you
Since, since we've been together
Loving you forever
Is what I need
Let me be the one you come running to
I'll never be untrue
Let's, let's stay together
Lovin' you whether, whether
Times are good or bad, happy or sad
Whether times are good or bad, happy or sad
Why, why some people break up
Then turn around and make up
I just can't see
You'd never do that to me (would you, baby)
Staying around you is all I see
(Here's what I want us to do)
Let's, we oughta stay together
Loving you whether, whether
Times are good or bad, happy or sad
I love the classic Motown sounds. Since my days as a young white teen-age boy living in a housing project community where my skin color was among the minority, my taste in music regardless of genre has been influenced through what I loved about the soulful sounds of people like Al Green, Smokey Robinson, Wilson Pickett, Gladys Knight, and Aretha Franklin. It was all I listened to back then. Green went on to have other hits, I can't take my eyes off of you You ought to be with me Still in love with you I can't get next to you and Take me to the River, but none bigger than his number one hit Let's Stay Together. Just another of the many benefits of having wonderful friends from other races and cultures. I appreciate that era more today, for what I gained from it, than ever before in my life. But don't worry, this isn't another journal item about those experiences.
My neighbors, Ruth and Earl must be at least in their 70's yet, they still work everyday as if they are in their 30's. Well before I roll my lazy butt out of bed they're busy doing whatever they have planned for the day. Today they mostly farm. They farm, grow stuff, and then sell it at the local farmer's market. Don't know yet what they do in the winter months, haven't been here long enough to say. I'm convinced they'll be working on something daylight to dark and beyond. If this is retirement, not sure I want any.
I do know this about them, they grow some of the best tomatoes you ever tasted in your life. Yes Alice, there is a difference in tomato flavors. We must have gone through six bushels this summer. Though I'm not sure how much a bushel is. It sounded like a lot when I wrote it, so it helps me get my point across.
Ruth is about four foot something (the perfect height for farming I suppose) and roundly shaped. "Squatty" is what I've always called it. And, Earl is tall and lanky. Probably taller years ago, but all that farming has taken it's toll and he's a bit stooped these days What I like about Ruth and Earl more than their tomatoes, and watermelons is that they are always together. Even though Dale and I both agree we don't want to be working sixteen hours a day when we're their age, we would love to be able to spend every minute of every day together. Now you gotta remember though, we've only been married since April so when I write something like that it may be slightly influenced by the newness of our relationship. I love her more than words can explain, and hope and pray that we'll always be singinging to each other "let's stay together."
But on the other hand, it won't surprise me none if Dale gets tired of being around me, and she starts drifting from those thoughts of us being attached at the hip for all eternity. It's not because I doubt the sincerity of Dale's love for me, but I know ME. I can wear on a person, and I know that! All you have to do is to look at my track record with relationships and you'll see a trail of people that simply grew tired of me to one degree or another. I reckon' I need to get busy workin' on that someday. Ruth and Earl I guess came to grips with who they are long ago and they figured out a way to spend all their time together without pinching each other's head off. I like that! I want some of that kind of Let's Stay Together relationship. Actually, I believe Dale and I have that as well.
This morning, in one of our daily devotional items the writer reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in awhile. He basically said ,but not in these words, that God is trying to fix us. He's shaping us and molding us - not that we can become better citizens here on earth, but in order that He can stand being around us throughout eternity. In other words before we spend too much time dreaming about jumping up in Big Papa's lap (as Wm. P. Young calls him in his book The Shack) to hear him sing in that same silky smooth voice he gave Rev. Al "let's stay together" we had better get some of our issues straighten out.
Now, I can hear some of you already saying, that's a bunch of &*@%+$ (same stuff Ruth and Earl put around their tomatoes plants) because the Word says He accepts us just as we are. Yes, this is true when we come to the cross for the first time, that's why it's called God's grace, rather than God's acceptance. But there's also a transfiguration process that occurs when we accept His forgiveness, and that's what I'm referring to here. The Apostle Paul described it as a transformation process God takes us through as we "work out our salvation."
Let me ask, how many of us can not truthfully admit God has been working on us ever since the day we accepted Him as our Lord and Saviour? I hope we all can say He has! Being "saved" didn't somehow make us perfect, but rather it should have opened our eyes to our short comings, and our sinful ways -something we really don't like talking about. If He isn't changing you, fixing you, teaching you a better way to live on a regularly basis you might want to make sure you're totally committed to becoming more "Christ-like" - which is the core definition of a Christian. I think we all probably need to be wearing tee-shirts that say, "Pardon the mess, still under construction!" don't we?
For me personally, I'm glad He's working on the enormous number of issues I have, and Dale would no doubt agree with that as well. Heck, let's be honest here, I can't stand being around myself some days, so I can just imagine how hard it is for her.
When you stop and think about it, to simply know that you know God is singing let's stay together and not just to you, me - but to all man-kind, helps us to realize even more so what an amazing love He has for us. You talk about chart toppers! I can hear Casey Kasem on the radio every Saturday throughout eternity (as he was in my youth) saying in that weird kind of voice everyone tried to mimic, "We still have the same No. 1 song we've had the last 1200 years, but the other 39 have changed a bit, so stay tuned to American's Top 40 Show." I believe God's version of Let's Stay Together wins out every time, especially over whatever the latest and greatest Jay-Z, or Beyonce' tune is.
Ruth and Earl - out there everyday picking tomatoes, watermelons, and okra, wearing themselves out, all the while singing to each other "let's stay together." What a beautiful view I have from my window when I choose to see God through it.
As I was searching on-line for the song lyrics for this journal item, I glanced at some of the feedback posted on the site I chose. Comments from people that for whatever reason feel they should share with the world every thought that crosses their mind, (which is so unlike me of course). Here are a couple that stuck out.
this is da best song yo me and my girl made this our song so it has a special place in my hart and so does she - Cheech 831 - 8/12/2004
Cheech's message is right on, but I guess Spell-Check really has no place in the world of instant messaging does it! It should come as no surprise, some folks write exactly as they speak. Self included! Here's the kind of comments I find truly enlightening coming from someone wanting to be known simply as Brotha_of_Soul.
Even Al Green's most gossamer pop songs hearken back to his gospel roots, so it makes perfect sense that 1971's "Let's Stay Together" — though for all intents and purposes a simple call for romantic reconciliation — resonates most deeply as a spiritual appeal, a Memphis soul sermon for a nation ripped apart by assassinations, riots, and betrayals. Green's lone number one hit, "Let's Stay Together" radiates compassion and understanding — there are no accusations, no finger-pointing, just tolerance and love with no strings attached. There are also no specifics — racial, political, or otherwise (Al Green actually said this was written as a "political" song, not a "love" song)— just the heartfelt plea not to give up, "whether times are good or bad, happy or sad." Willie Mitchell's lush production is subtly insistent, enhancing the immediacy of the song's message with staccato horns and a galloping beat while tempering its passion with cotton-candy strings and a silky guitar lead; he and Green made a lot of great records together, but none quite so perfect as this.
Now that's great information about the story behind the song, although I can't guarantee it's all exact. For whatever reason I tend to believe that Brotha_of_Soul knows what he's talking about here! I also find his take on the song acts as a great reminder for me in that the really "big picture" is so often a lot bigger than what's in my daily vision.
It's not just about me and Dale, Ruth and Earl, Ken and Jane, Barb and Al, Randy and Kim, Eddie and Debbie - it's about God and His creation. Its about us learning to get along with the same folks here on earth that we may be spending eternity side-by-side with. Jesus said it's easy to love those that love us - but to love our enemies, to love those that are different, difficult, ugly, mean - now that takes a true kind of Christian love. To stand in the choir loft and sing, let's stay together with those folks is a whole 'nother version of that song, isn't it.
It's about Him molding us, shaping us, fixing us in order that we can become the person He wants to be standing eye to eye and holding hands with, as He sings (in a voice Barry White can only dream of having) Staying around you is all I see - Here's what I want us to do - Let's, we oughta stay together - Loving you whether, - whether times are good or bad, happy or sad - Let's stay, let's stay together.
And what is it He wants us to do? Simply sing along with Him for starters. Go ahead, try these lines out and see how it sounds.
I'm so in love with you - Whatever you want to do is all right with me - Cause you make me feel brand new - And I want to spend my life with you - Since we been together - Loving you forever - Is what I need - Let me be the one you come running to - I'll never be untrue - Let's stay together - Lovin' you whether, whether - times are good or bad, happy or sad.
Next He calls us to live out this song. Go ahead, try those same lines out again, see how.....
doug, Brotha_of_Yours
Click here to see/hear an Al Green video of this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVzYxqG9N1c
Friday, October 23, 2009
shattered
One night last week my wife asked me to give her a hand with dinner. Even though I was already in the middle of a very important project (watching the History channel) I agreed, or rather I did as I was told. She was in the process of making a couple of home-made pizzas to take over to her son's house. The important role she gave me was to cut the Italian sausage, (which was already in the skillet and on the stove) into smaller pieces. Seeing this as an opportunity to do something productive while sitting down, I moved the skillet over to the cutting-board, sat down on the stool, and began dissecting the meat.
Re-reading that first paragraph just reminded me of the old business adage, no one wants to see how the sausage is made, they just want to eat it. Same with mindless ramblings in a journal item as well I suppose.
Anyway, just as I finished my chore I turned to make sure I had a clear path back to the stove with a semi-hot skillet and that's when I noticed she had sat a glass, rectangular casserole dish on top of the eye which was still turned on medium. She'll be the first to admit she's done a lot of silly little things like that over, and over during her life span. Sometimes it's like living in a modern day version of the old I Love Lucy show, yet I wouldn't want to be anywhere else since I love her greatly! Suspecting correctly that she had not tuned the eye off, I sat the skillet back down as I knew I needed to get the glass dish off of the hot stove before the heat shattered it. In the span of a second or two as this raced through my mind the casserole dish exploded.
Now, when I say it exploded, I mean it EXPLODED! Fortunately, I had turned away from the stove, and Dale was somewhat protected by all the "stuff" at the end of the counter where she was rolling out the dough for the crust. There easily could've been major injuries to one or both of us if not for God's grace. Fragments of glass sprayed throughout the kitchen and living room with the force of a load of buckshot being fired from a 12 gauge. Just to explain, we have this huge open area with only a counter space separating our kitchen, dining area, and living room dark lavender colored glass went flying everywhere. Later on I picked up pieces of jagged glass nearly twenty-five feet from the stove. What a mess!
Long story shortened just a bit, we cleaned up the mess as best we could (although again today I found another piece of glass with my bare feet) and went about the business of finishing up the pizzas. We took them over to my step-son and his wife's new home, and we ate until our bellies were full. Mine as usual was more than full, which is a story for another time.
I mention "new home" because for Jennifer and Luke this is their new home. Though it was actually built three years ago, it's new to them. It is a gorgeous home I might add. Let me give you a quick background as to how they got here though. One Sunday night back in April, just as Dale and I had finally made it to bed we received a phone call alerting us to the fact that the kid's home had been hit by a tornado. We immediately jumped from the bed, and while still putting on rain gear got in the pickup and raced into the stormy night. Due to downed trees and power lines we had to hike in total darkness (thanks to the weak batteries in our flashlight) the last part of the journey. What we could see of the severely damaged home was startling.
There were missing porches, roof, and large sections of the home itself. There were boats, trucks, storage buildings, trailers, dogs, horses, and a swimming pool all moved, turned upside down, missing or destroyed. Trees, big trees uprooted and laying on the ground everywhere. The entire property they owned looked like, and indeed was a disaster area. The good news was Luke and Jennifer were alive and unharmed despite being in the home when the storm caused the house to explode. I remember looking up from the base of the stairs which led to the upper level of the home, and seeing hundreds of stars that filled the sky once the storm clouds had passed. Everything they had worked hard to accumulate had been shattered within a matter of minutes that night, and there wasn't a thing they could do about it. What a mess!
Now, six long months later they're starting over in this larger, and much more beautiful home (with it's built-in storm shelter). To celebrate we brought pizza. Though only being step dad, and step dad-in-law for six months I love them dearly and I'm so glad they're still in my life today. The storm took stuff, but it didn't take them and I'm so blessed by this. Especially if that good-for-nothing Luke keeps his promise and finally takes me on that fishing trip we've talked about all summer. Hopefully his mom will forward him a copy of this and he'll see how upset I am about this. Just kidding, he's a great guy and I love him dearly - fishing trip or not.
This past Sunday afternoon I drove to Birmingham to attend the grand opening ceremony of a new 150 bed men's center at a long-standing branch of God's love for the outcast, hurting and homeless in this area. I half-way suspected it was going to be one of those times when politicians and community workers gather together to pat themselves on the back for their service to the needy. Boy, was I ever wrong! What a great facility and group of wonderful people, yes including some of the politicians that attended. Tony Cooper, the Executive Director and his family are keeping alive today the dream of long ago shared by Jimmie and Jessie Hale. They simply wanted to have a meaningful impact on the lives of those in desperate need of love, food, and shelter in their community. Their dream has become a reality I suspect even more than they imagined possible.
As I've said before, I love hanging out with folks who actually live out a Christian life as opposed to those that merely talk in theory as to what it should look like. On this day I found that the people at Jimmie Hale Mission are the real deal. You should check them out yourself!
While there, I was blessed to be led on a personal tour of the men's dormitory area by a fellow named Stephen. He gave me detail after detail about the facility and the many on-going programs. You see, the reason I chose him (from among the many others offering to assist) was simple. Stephen doesn't work at the Jimmie Hale Mission, he's a "guest" as the Cooper's call them. I wanted to know what the programs and facility were really like from someone on the receiving end, rather than from the ones on the giving, teaching, and serving end. I wanted a full-flavored taste of what this ministry was all about, and I got exactly what I was looking for!
For over the next hour or so I heard about the many programs that make this place much more than a homeless shelter. I heard several stories about the people, the love, the quality of the food, and even the expectations placed upon the guests. Never a word of complaint, only compliments and gratefulness. I found it to be a very sincere and thought-out version of what this place is really all about. I left there very much impressed!
As I found out during my tour with Stephen, this is his second time around at the Mission despite being a college graduate and coming from a financially solid family. Stephen I would guess is in his late thirties, or early forties. He also admitted to being a long-time alcoholic as well. He recently returned to JHM after a brief stint in Dallas. With all of his past employment experience (since his early days in college) coming from the hotel and resturant industry he finds it much easier to get a job in that line of work, especially in a tough economy as we all know how scarce jobs are. He stayed "clean" long enough to get a good paying job in a resturant within a large hotel in Dallas. The only catch was that he had to tend bar every now and then. You guessed it, soon he began drinking again and before long there went the job. Stephen was very open about all of this. He made no excuses, no pitiful cries for help. In a relatively short period of time I found him to be very much a realist and a sincere person. He's a self-admitted alcoholic, but never the less he's what I would call a "good guy."
Here's how all of this fits together. As one of the speakers at the ceremonial event reminded us that day; people are not like glass. We may not be able to do much about a shattered Pyrex dish, but God specializes in putting shattered people back together.
Stephen is one of those folks that has had his life shattered (mostly by his own doings) several times over. I left him that day thinking that he's probably just too embarrassed to go crawling back home. I took it that he's too proud to beg and doesn't want to burden anyone. You see what I found out that day is at the JHM the "guests" have lots of expectations placed upon them. One of these is that they must be willing to help maintain and run the facility. I figure the Coopers probably don't have a big pile of money stashed away in a room for paid staffers and overhead allowances. At least I didn't get to tour that area if they do. Everyone seems to be needed. They're expected to help out any way they can, guest included. I also found that folks like Stephen can find a purpose there. They can find joy in doing what they may be good at. Stephen works in the kitchen cooking meals (some 14,000 per month) and he's good at it. I could tell as he shared this with me that he takes a great deal of pride in what he does. He sees himself as more than a "shattered" person at the Jimmie Hale Mission. He's believes he's part of a family there.
Even though he's on his second stint, I consider him to be one of the many "success" stories to come out of a ministry that's been around for more than a half-century now. You may be asking yourself; how can I rightfully call a man, an admitted alcoholic, who's living in a homeless shelter a "success" story? Good question! Let me tell you where I find the justification for my observation.
I found it in the answer he gave me to a question during my tour. I simply asked, why did he travel all the way from Dallas back to Birmingham when he realized that his life was "shattered" once again? No family here,no job waiting for him and with Dallas having many more programs and homeless shelters than Birmingham. Why come back here? The answer he gave me clearly and without hesitation was that he knew at Jimmie Hale he could find people willing to love him and accept him just as he was. He knew he these people truly cared about him and would give him an opportunity to have a bit of self-esteem - even if would come from the depths of the kitchen at a homeless shelter.
It was at that moment I realized for the Stephens of the world (and there are so, so many out there) the distance between Dallas and Birmingham doesn't seem too far to travel in order to receive something as valuable as love, and acceptance. We all know as mere humans we don't have the ability to put "shattered" lives back together no more than we can a shattered casserole dish. Yet, we read in His word that through God all things are possible. I love Dale's home-made pizza more than almost anything, but I love spending time with folks like Stephen and those that serve him even more so. Among the shattered it's hard to pretend to be perfect, or even to simply say "I'm okay." Among the shattered it's alright to say I'm an alcoholic, a drug addict, a sinner, a mess. Among the shattered God does his finest work. It's no wonder His son spent most of his time living, ministering, and fellowshipping with the shattered.
I long to be more Christ-like everyday, yet I continuously fall short, as we all do to some extent. I long to be found worthy of a love deep and sincere enough that someone would travel from Dallas, Knoxville or wherever just to be with me. Just to be loved by me, and accepted by me. In a week or so my son is moving down here for exactly that. I simply ask that you please pray that Dale and I give him all that he needs in order to truly see God's amazing ability to put shattered lives back together. How bout you? When's the last time someone hitched a ride across town more less half way across the country just to hear you say it's okay to be shattered, we love you anyway? If it's been awhile, or maybe never (as with me) it can be a scary thing to ask yourself the hard question. Why not? Why doesn't someone in need see the love I have to share? Maybe some changes are needed in our priorities, or in our life as a whole.
As Luke and Jennifer found with their shattered home, if you're willing to let go of what you've been very comfortable with for so long, you might find that God has something much better in His plans for you. I'm coming to realize more and more the importance of mimicking the life of Christ by becoming a human shelter for the hurting, the hungry, and the poor in spirit? I pray that God continues to show each of us that seek out His will that there are still yet better ways we can demonstrate His love to the "shattered" of this world. doug
Re-reading that first paragraph just reminded me of the old business adage, no one wants to see how the sausage is made, they just want to eat it. Same with mindless ramblings in a journal item as well I suppose.
Anyway, just as I finished my chore I turned to make sure I had a clear path back to the stove with a semi-hot skillet and that's when I noticed she had sat a glass, rectangular casserole dish on top of the eye which was still turned on medium. She'll be the first to admit she's done a lot of silly little things like that over, and over during her life span. Sometimes it's like living in a modern day version of the old I Love Lucy show, yet I wouldn't want to be anywhere else since I love her greatly! Suspecting correctly that she had not tuned the eye off, I sat the skillet back down as I knew I needed to get the glass dish off of the hot stove before the heat shattered it. In the span of a second or two as this raced through my mind the casserole dish exploded.
Now, when I say it exploded, I mean it EXPLODED! Fortunately, I had turned away from the stove, and Dale was somewhat protected by all the "stuff" at the end of the counter where she was rolling out the dough for the crust. There easily could've been major injuries to one or both of us if not for God's grace. Fragments of glass sprayed throughout the kitchen and living room with the force of a load of buckshot being fired from a 12 gauge. Just to explain, we have this huge open area with only a counter space separating our kitchen, dining area, and living room dark lavender colored glass went flying everywhere. Later on I picked up pieces of jagged glass nearly twenty-five feet from the stove. What a mess!
Long story shortened just a bit, we cleaned up the mess as best we could (although again today I found another piece of glass with my bare feet) and went about the business of finishing up the pizzas. We took them over to my step-son and his wife's new home, and we ate until our bellies were full. Mine as usual was more than full, which is a story for another time.
I mention "new home" because for Jennifer and Luke this is their new home. Though it was actually built three years ago, it's new to them. It is a gorgeous home I might add. Let me give you a quick background as to how they got here though. One Sunday night back in April, just as Dale and I had finally made it to bed we received a phone call alerting us to the fact that the kid's home had been hit by a tornado. We immediately jumped from the bed, and while still putting on rain gear got in the pickup and raced into the stormy night. Due to downed trees and power lines we had to hike in total darkness (thanks to the weak batteries in our flashlight) the last part of the journey. What we could see of the severely damaged home was startling.
There were missing porches, roof, and large sections of the home itself. There were boats, trucks, storage buildings, trailers, dogs, horses, and a swimming pool all moved, turned upside down, missing or destroyed. Trees, big trees uprooted and laying on the ground everywhere. The entire property they owned looked like, and indeed was a disaster area. The good news was Luke and Jennifer were alive and unharmed despite being in the home when the storm caused the house to explode. I remember looking up from the base of the stairs which led to the upper level of the home, and seeing hundreds of stars that filled the sky once the storm clouds had passed. Everything they had worked hard to accumulate had been shattered within a matter of minutes that night, and there wasn't a thing they could do about it. What a mess!
Now, six long months later they're starting over in this larger, and much more beautiful home (with it's built-in storm shelter). To celebrate we brought pizza. Though only being step dad, and step dad-in-law for six months I love them dearly and I'm so glad they're still in my life today. The storm took stuff, but it didn't take them and I'm so blessed by this. Especially if that good-for-nothing Luke keeps his promise and finally takes me on that fishing trip we've talked about all summer. Hopefully his mom will forward him a copy of this and he'll see how upset I am about this. Just kidding, he's a great guy and I love him dearly - fishing trip or not.
This past Sunday afternoon I drove to Birmingham to attend the grand opening ceremony of a new 150 bed men's center at a long-standing branch of God's love for the outcast, hurting and homeless in this area. I half-way suspected it was going to be one of those times when politicians and community workers gather together to pat themselves on the back for their service to the needy. Boy, was I ever wrong! What a great facility and group of wonderful people, yes including some of the politicians that attended. Tony Cooper, the Executive Director and his family are keeping alive today the dream of long ago shared by Jimmie and Jessie Hale. They simply wanted to have a meaningful impact on the lives of those in desperate need of love, food, and shelter in their community. Their dream has become a reality I suspect even more than they imagined possible.
As I've said before, I love hanging out with folks who actually live out a Christian life as opposed to those that merely talk in theory as to what it should look like. On this day I found that the people at Jimmie Hale Mission are the real deal. You should check them out yourself!
While there, I was blessed to be led on a personal tour of the men's dormitory area by a fellow named Stephen. He gave me detail after detail about the facility and the many on-going programs. You see, the reason I chose him (from among the many others offering to assist) was simple. Stephen doesn't work at the Jimmie Hale Mission, he's a "guest" as the Cooper's call them. I wanted to know what the programs and facility were really like from someone on the receiving end, rather than from the ones on the giving, teaching, and serving end. I wanted a full-flavored taste of what this ministry was all about, and I got exactly what I was looking for!
For over the next hour or so I heard about the many programs that make this place much more than a homeless shelter. I heard several stories about the people, the love, the quality of the food, and even the expectations placed upon the guests. Never a word of complaint, only compliments and gratefulness. I found it to be a very sincere and thought-out version of what this place is really all about. I left there very much impressed!
As I found out during my tour with Stephen, this is his second time around at the Mission despite being a college graduate and coming from a financially solid family. Stephen I would guess is in his late thirties, or early forties. He also admitted to being a long-time alcoholic as well. He recently returned to JHM after a brief stint in Dallas. With all of his past employment experience (since his early days in college) coming from the hotel and resturant industry he finds it much easier to get a job in that line of work, especially in a tough economy as we all know how scarce jobs are. He stayed "clean" long enough to get a good paying job in a resturant within a large hotel in Dallas. The only catch was that he had to tend bar every now and then. You guessed it, soon he began drinking again and before long there went the job. Stephen was very open about all of this. He made no excuses, no pitiful cries for help. In a relatively short period of time I found him to be very much a realist and a sincere person. He's a self-admitted alcoholic, but never the less he's what I would call a "good guy."
Here's how all of this fits together. As one of the speakers at the ceremonial event reminded us that day; people are not like glass. We may not be able to do much about a shattered Pyrex dish, but God specializes in putting shattered people back together.
Stephen is one of those folks that has had his life shattered (mostly by his own doings) several times over. I left him that day thinking that he's probably just too embarrassed to go crawling back home. I took it that he's too proud to beg and doesn't want to burden anyone. You see what I found out that day is at the JHM the "guests" have lots of expectations placed upon them. One of these is that they must be willing to help maintain and run the facility. I figure the Coopers probably don't have a big pile of money stashed away in a room for paid staffers and overhead allowances. At least I didn't get to tour that area if they do. Everyone seems to be needed. They're expected to help out any way they can, guest included. I also found that folks like Stephen can find a purpose there. They can find joy in doing what they may be good at. Stephen works in the kitchen cooking meals (some 14,000 per month) and he's good at it. I could tell as he shared this with me that he takes a great deal of pride in what he does. He sees himself as more than a "shattered" person at the Jimmie Hale Mission. He's believes he's part of a family there.
Even though he's on his second stint, I consider him to be one of the many "success" stories to come out of a ministry that's been around for more than a half-century now. You may be asking yourself; how can I rightfully call a man, an admitted alcoholic, who's living in a homeless shelter a "success" story? Good question! Let me tell you where I find the justification for my observation.
I found it in the answer he gave me to a question during my tour. I simply asked, why did he travel all the way from Dallas back to Birmingham when he realized that his life was "shattered" once again? No family here,no job waiting for him and with Dallas having many more programs and homeless shelters than Birmingham. Why come back here? The answer he gave me clearly and without hesitation was that he knew at Jimmie Hale he could find people willing to love him and accept him just as he was. He knew he these people truly cared about him and would give him an opportunity to have a bit of self-esteem - even if would come from the depths of the kitchen at a homeless shelter.
It was at that moment I realized for the Stephens of the world (and there are so, so many out there) the distance between Dallas and Birmingham doesn't seem too far to travel in order to receive something as valuable as love, and acceptance. We all know as mere humans we don't have the ability to put "shattered" lives back together no more than we can a shattered casserole dish. Yet, we read in His word that through God all things are possible. I love Dale's home-made pizza more than almost anything, but I love spending time with folks like Stephen and those that serve him even more so. Among the shattered it's hard to pretend to be perfect, or even to simply say "I'm okay." Among the shattered it's alright to say I'm an alcoholic, a drug addict, a sinner, a mess. Among the shattered God does his finest work. It's no wonder His son spent most of his time living, ministering, and fellowshipping with the shattered.
I long to be more Christ-like everyday, yet I continuously fall short, as we all do to some extent. I long to be found worthy of a love deep and sincere enough that someone would travel from Dallas, Knoxville or wherever just to be with me. Just to be loved by me, and accepted by me. In a week or so my son is moving down here for exactly that. I simply ask that you please pray that Dale and I give him all that he needs in order to truly see God's amazing ability to put shattered lives back together. How bout you? When's the last time someone hitched a ride across town more less half way across the country just to hear you say it's okay to be shattered, we love you anyway? If it's been awhile, or maybe never (as with me) it can be a scary thing to ask yourself the hard question. Why not? Why doesn't someone in need see the love I have to share? Maybe some changes are needed in our priorities, or in our life as a whole.
As Luke and Jennifer found with their shattered home, if you're willing to let go of what you've been very comfortable with for so long, you might find that God has something much better in His plans for you. I'm coming to realize more and more the importance of mimicking the life of Christ by becoming a human shelter for the hurting, the hungry, and the poor in spirit? I pray that God continues to show each of us that seek out His will that there are still yet better ways we can demonstrate His love to the "shattered" of this world. doug
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Chasing, once again....
One day last week, on the way back to my nook I ran into a severe storm. The rain got so thick I could barely see to drive. You know the kind! Being the dummy that I am, I slowed way down but kept moving forward - despite not being able to see past the frontend of my van. As I topped a hill some five miles or so from home the sun began to light up the sky above the rain clouds. It was still raining like crazy, yet now my visibility was also hampered by this overwhelming glare of sunlight. Then suddenly it appeared. The rain had barely let up a bit, yet there was this awesome looking rainbow right there in front of me. Not in the distance ahead, or off to one side or the other, it totally engulfed me and my soccer-mom van. At first I thought it was merely an oily film on my windshield that the rain and sunshine was reflecting off of, but then I rolled down my window and I could see that the entire four-lane highway around me was covered with this beautiful array of colours. I was literally at the end of a rainbow.
Here's a few things I learned immediately: First and foremost, there wasn't a pot of gold anywhere in sight. Stinking Irish folklore! And secondly, rainbows move. They do to! I always thought God planted rainbows in one place, then arched it way over to wherever, and it stayed put to remind everyone of His promise to Noah and the rest of us. Just as I was told as a kid. Not so fast says the Maker of rainbows, to this stunned and shallow thinking human-being. Rainbows also come in the mobile variety, or maybe they all move I don't know yet. Regardless, I found myself not only at the end of the rainbow, but I was also traveling along with it. Apparently I was driving at or about the same speed the rainbow was traveling. And not just me. I looked to my left as a couple passed me in a car where the lady was sitting in the passenger seat, leaning on the dashboard, taking pictures with her cell phone. Our eyes met for a split second and I could see her look of amazement, as I'm sure she could mine. This went on for nearly a mile or so, not me looking at the car next to me, but riding along inside the rainbow. No lie! What an overwhelming number of thoughts and questions crossed my mind during that time. As the great prophet of old, Bart Simpson would say, It was awesome, dude!
I slowed down as I reached into my briefcase for my digital camera. Struggling to get it out of the carrying case while keeping the car in my lane so I pulled over to the shoulder. As quickly as I could I turned the camera on and began taking pictures. The problem became obvious though, for as soon as I stopped the car I got out of pace with the rainbow as it continued to move on, heading straight toward the city. I tried chasing after it, but gained no ground. The somewhat flooded highway, and the continuous downpour created a situation far too dangerous for fast driving. Now that I think about it, maybe I really am getting old, for there was a time... Anyway, I finally concluded the chase was futile as the rainbow sped through town much faster than the speed limits would allow me to. Although I was able to get a few distant shots with my camera I missed out on the opportunity to capture the beauty of it as it surrounded me and my van. You'll just have to believe me, it really did happen. Maybe it's happened to you as well I don't know, but for this fifty-one year old man it was a first.
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Last Sunday I heard a couple of people speak about God's chosen prophet, Elijah and his big show down on the mountaintop with the prophets of Baal - which is well known scripture from the 1st. Book of Kings. As typically is the case when this story is retold the focus is always on the main event of the story. You know, when God sends fire down to set ablaze the water-soaked wood Elijah had placed upon the altar. So many seem to easily find the obvious lessons of faith, and God's power in these few verses, yet I rarely hear sermons or comments about that event without thinking about the whole story. You see, for whatever reason no one ever wants to talk about what happens next. What happens after Elijah does his victory lap around the mountainside of Carmel and has all of Baal's men killed. What happens after he sends his servant out seven times to the mountain's edge to get an updated weather report before the rain clouds finally formed. What happens after he tucks his robe in his belt and chases down, and then outruns Ahab's chariot all the way to Jezreel. What happens next and why, is it rarely ever talked about?
If you really look at the characteristics of Elijah you'll find he wasn't the most humble of all God's servants. As a matter of fact he was a little "full of himself" at times, for which he became known as the "trouble maker of Israel." The whole fire raining down on the altar contest wasn't something he simply gave into. No it was his idea. And when he couldn't get the fish (Baal's boys) to bite immediately, he taunted them until they finally gave in save face. That's one of the reasons he made sure all the people of Israel was present for the big show down. He boastfully reminded anyone that would listen, over and over that it was him, (a mere Army of One), versus four hundred-fifty of Baal's finest, though he wasn't afraid. He, himself came up with the contest rules, and then pushed them into going first, as if to say "Come on boys, give me your best shot." Oh no, Elijah wasn't humble at all. He was more like a traveling pool hustler arriving in town to take some easy money from the local boys that have no clue as to what's fixin' to happen. He taunts and bullies his opponents to no end, not unlike many today that proudly declare to have God on their side. (Please excuse the side-bar commentary, I can't seem to help myself sometimes.)
But here's the real lesson in the story - at least for me anyway. It isn't about how great God is, I already know that. It isn't about Elijah's running skills or his masterful salesmanship, for what's that to me anyway. It isn't about how God can choose to use even the somewhat foolish ones for His purpose, for I surely know this one first hand. Yet, for me it's really all about what happens with Elijah after his public encounter with God. I know you probably remember this, but it's worth repeating; When Ahab gets to Jezreel he runs over to Jezebel's house of ill-repute and updates her to the events back at Mount Carmel. She, in turn sends word to Elijah that by the same time the next day she'll have him killed, or let God strike her down also. (Oh my, we have a threat of violence here, it's getting interesting). In one corner we have the mildly feared, demon possessed harlot of the south, and in the other corner stands the undefeated and most powerful heavyweight champion that God himself has chosen. It's The Rumble in Jazreel or something like that. Where's Don King when you need him? By any account it should be a pretty good contest - the fight of the century, right?
So what does the bold, speedy and powerful prophet of the Lord, just coming off his enormous upset victory in front of a packed out mountaintop stadium do? My Bible puts it fairly simply: Elijah was afraid and fled for his life. What? Even after experiencing all that he had, seeing first-hand how mighty God truly is, he chooses to run off like a scared chicken because Jezebel threatens him. Wow! Where's his audacious faith in God now? Where's all his boasting, and oneupmanship? He could face down 450 men a few days earlier, but not a single woman? (No offense intended women!) But, come on you big sissy, at least stay and fight it out. You're supposed to be "representin" God dude!
Here's what's at the heart of this story for me. Maybe some of us don't like talking about the full version of this story, because it looks a whole lot like our lives? One minute were living the life of a conquerer, smoking big cigars and buying the crowd drinks, and next we're hiding beneath a rock, or in the belly of a fish. Though God's power is absolute, yet for some of us our faith may be much more fragile than we would ever want others to know. We can be bold enough to overturn tables and chase merchants from the temple one day, and then be seen running scared for our lives the next. Maybe it's that we're so much like Elijah, Jonah, Peter, Sarai, Thomas, Zacchaeus, Adam, Eve, Cain, and Paul, etc. that it shames us to admit it. We can be found full of faith at times, and then running on empty the next day.
Just like Elijah, some of us can be found almost everyday chasing after God or running from some person or some situation in our life. Full of energy to give chase to the Almighty one moment, yet too afraid to step out of the boat the next. Sometimes the situations that can scare us from the chase can be simply what we know to be God's Will for our lives. Or the ministry He has called us into. Or, staying put in the place He has put us. Or maybe, just maybe we can be found running from God, himself. I believe there's a reason the Bible is chocked full of stories of the same weak people with character flaw issues as we see in our world today. I believe it's because He knows that in our weaknesses His strength can be seen so much more clearly by those that need to see Him. I find His strength to be in is His love, His grace, His mercy, and His sovereignty. In the perfect world His strength is all that is needed. Yet, we all know how much more beautiful it is when it's told through the tales of our struggles and failures in this imperfect world we actually live in.
I openly admit, I too am an Elijah! Lately I've stopped chasing after God, and started running scared of what might happen in my future, or I've been too busy chasing after rainbows instead. Thus, you haven't seen any journal items from me for the past couple of months.
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Most of you, no doubt have read Tommy Tenney's "God Chasers" book as I have. I love that Tenney had the boldness to declare in it that he was sick and tired of reading about where God had been in the past, and instead hungered to be where God was in the right now. I believe he received a lot of unfair criticism for that statement, yet in my opinion he's right on the money. I'm just like many others, such as Tenney in that don't want to spend anymore time gazing at pictures of rainbows. Instead I want to be riding along with one. In other words, I don't want to be huddled up in church any longer, singing and praying the same ol - same ol. I've grown tired of only reading and hearing stories of how the folks of old experienced an encounter with God - I want to experience God first-hand today myself! I want Him to come crashing in with a bang loud enough to wake the dead, as well as the unconscious and lifeless people our churches are so full of today.
In my heart I still want to chase after God until my feet give out. I want to run as far and as long as I need to until I have one close encounter, and then another. I heard someone recently declare that their church service on Sunday morning wasn't a visit to a rest stop. It was more like pulling up to a gas pump. Yeah, now that's what I'm talking about! Filling up the tank and getting back to the chase. For I think if we only seek to find an encounter with God between 10 - 12 on Sunday mornings before heading out for the shortest buffet line then we're giving up a whole lot of other opportunities during the week to experience the greatness of His presence. I don't know about you, but I want Him right now, today, and then again all day tomorrow. I don't want to wait and hope that a preacher or worship leader can lead me to Him on Sunday morning, or on Wednesday night. I'm chasing after what He promised me - Him! Seek and ye shall find - knock and it shall be opened - ask and it shall be given. It doesn't get much simiplar than that.
I recently loaned my wife's copy of Francis Chan's book "Crazy Love" to Pastor Bobby, a friend of mine. Before handing it to him, I told him that since he was already preaching the same message as Chan he might as well read his book. He read it alright, as well as did his wife Carolyn. Then they went out and bought as many copies as they could find, and gave them away. You see, Pastor Bobby, isn't just preaching about the possibilities of living a life controlled by a crazy love for Christ, he's living it. So much so, that the denomination he has been associated with for almost of his entire life, (and he's quite a few years older than I am) is asking him to conform back to their way or churching, or get out. You gotta absolutely love religiosity don't you - not!
At this point in his life he's choosing to chase after God as opposed to following the "guidelines" of a denomination, and it doesn't seem to be a very hard choice either, and his congregation agrees. I'm very proud to call this man my friend.
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I wish I could say to you that last week while engulfed in that rainbow, I felt God's overwhelming presence amidst the beauty of the moment. That as I was covered with the colours of such an unusual meteorological event I also felt a mighty and moving experience through the Holy Spirit. I wish I could say truthfully that it was a moment fit to be included in the writings of the Bible, but I can't. For one reason, my wife reads these and she knows how hard it's been to see even the slightest evidence of Christ in my life lately. That's hard to admit, but it's never the less true. I've been so caught up lately in my own situations and circumstances - just as Elijah, I've ran, and ran and ran, until I found myself hiding in a cave waiting for the inevitable to happen.
The part I really like about Elijah's story (as well as my own) is that even with all of the lack of faith, all the character flaws, and the succumbing to fear - God stayed with him, me. In the depths of the cave God asked him simply, What are you doing here? Elijah, like me gave him some ridiculously sounding answer, and then God orders him to get his scared butt up and come outside and face his fears. Elijah does so and a great wind blows across the front of the cave, yet God wasn't in the wind. A great earthquake rumbles through the mountain range, yet God wasn't in the earthquake. Then a great fire rose up all around him, yet God wasn't in the fire either. Finally when all was silent, and Elijah grew quiet he experienced God in a still, small voice, and once again God asked, What are you doing here Elijah - Doug?
For far too long, I've been hiding out in my own cave of sorts, and yet once again He's spoken in a still, small voice through what I've seen from my friend Bobby's situation. And now I'm ready to once again begin the chase. No, not chasing after rainbows, or any man-made project or ministry, yet after God himself. I'm hoping and praying for another close encounter with Him through the splendor of the Holy Spirit manifested in a church service like the ones of my past, or even during a quiet time at home all alone. In the car during a rain storm, or while simply talking with a friend, or praying along side my wife.
I want God, and I want a lot of Him! I don't want Him in a box or just in a book. Instead I want Him more and more in my life, turning everything that I know or think to be true upside-down leaving me in awe of His wondrous ways! So, if you see me at your church next Sunday you'll know now why I'm there. It's not to sit in the pew beside you, although I would enjoy that as well. It's not to hear your voice sing beautiful songs of praise, nor will it be to jot down notes from your pulpit insight as to what God's message for our lives is, although I can use all the help understanding this that I can get. No, I'll be there looking to once again experience first-hand God's presence in a very real and tangible way, and for no other reason.
I know, as well as Pastor Bobby does - He is worthy of our chase!
Who knows, maybe we'll see each other at the end of a rainbow soon, and if so I sure hope you bring a pot of gold with you. doug
Here's a few things I learned immediately: First and foremost, there wasn't a pot of gold anywhere in sight. Stinking Irish folklore! And secondly, rainbows move. They do to! I always thought God planted rainbows in one place, then arched it way over to wherever, and it stayed put to remind everyone of His promise to Noah and the rest of us. Just as I was told as a kid. Not so fast says the Maker of rainbows, to this stunned and shallow thinking human-being. Rainbows also come in the mobile variety, or maybe they all move I don't know yet. Regardless, I found myself not only at the end of the rainbow, but I was also traveling along with it. Apparently I was driving at or about the same speed the rainbow was traveling. And not just me. I looked to my left as a couple passed me in a car where the lady was sitting in the passenger seat, leaning on the dashboard, taking pictures with her cell phone. Our eyes met for a split second and I could see her look of amazement, as I'm sure she could mine. This went on for nearly a mile or so, not me looking at the car next to me, but riding along inside the rainbow. No lie! What an overwhelming number of thoughts and questions crossed my mind during that time. As the great prophet of old, Bart Simpson would say, It was awesome, dude!
I slowed down as I reached into my briefcase for my digital camera. Struggling to get it out of the carrying case while keeping the car in my lane so I pulled over to the shoulder. As quickly as I could I turned the camera on and began taking pictures. The problem became obvious though, for as soon as I stopped the car I got out of pace with the rainbow as it continued to move on, heading straight toward the city. I tried chasing after it, but gained no ground. The somewhat flooded highway, and the continuous downpour created a situation far too dangerous for fast driving. Now that I think about it, maybe I really am getting old, for there was a time... Anyway, I finally concluded the chase was futile as the rainbow sped through town much faster than the speed limits would allow me to. Although I was able to get a few distant shots with my camera I missed out on the opportunity to capture the beauty of it as it surrounded me and my van. You'll just have to believe me, it really did happen. Maybe it's happened to you as well I don't know, but for this fifty-one year old man it was a first.
____________________
Last Sunday I heard a couple of people speak about God's chosen prophet, Elijah and his big show down on the mountaintop with the prophets of Baal - which is well known scripture from the 1st. Book of Kings. As typically is the case when this story is retold the focus is always on the main event of the story. You know, when God sends fire down to set ablaze the water-soaked wood Elijah had placed upon the altar. So many seem to easily find the obvious lessons of faith, and God's power in these few verses, yet I rarely hear sermons or comments about that event without thinking about the whole story. You see, for whatever reason no one ever wants to talk about what happens next. What happens after Elijah does his victory lap around the mountainside of Carmel and has all of Baal's men killed. What happens after he sends his servant out seven times to the mountain's edge to get an updated weather report before the rain clouds finally formed. What happens after he tucks his robe in his belt and chases down, and then outruns Ahab's chariot all the way to Jezreel. What happens next and why, is it rarely ever talked about?
If you really look at the characteristics of Elijah you'll find he wasn't the most humble of all God's servants. As a matter of fact he was a little "full of himself" at times, for which he became known as the "trouble maker of Israel." The whole fire raining down on the altar contest wasn't something he simply gave into. No it was his idea. And when he couldn't get the fish (Baal's boys) to bite immediately, he taunted them until they finally gave in save face. That's one of the reasons he made sure all the people of Israel was present for the big show down. He boastfully reminded anyone that would listen, over and over that it was him, (a mere Army of One), versus four hundred-fifty of Baal's finest, though he wasn't afraid. He, himself came up with the contest rules, and then pushed them into going first, as if to say "Come on boys, give me your best shot." Oh no, Elijah wasn't humble at all. He was more like a traveling pool hustler arriving in town to take some easy money from the local boys that have no clue as to what's fixin' to happen. He taunts and bullies his opponents to no end, not unlike many today that proudly declare to have God on their side. (Please excuse the side-bar commentary, I can't seem to help myself sometimes.)
But here's the real lesson in the story - at least for me anyway. It isn't about how great God is, I already know that. It isn't about Elijah's running skills or his masterful salesmanship, for what's that to me anyway. It isn't about how God can choose to use even the somewhat foolish ones for His purpose, for I surely know this one first hand. Yet, for me it's really all about what happens with Elijah after his public encounter with God. I know you probably remember this, but it's worth repeating; When Ahab gets to Jezreel he runs over to Jezebel's house of ill-repute and updates her to the events back at Mount Carmel. She, in turn sends word to Elijah that by the same time the next day she'll have him killed, or let God strike her down also. (Oh my, we have a threat of violence here, it's getting interesting). In one corner we have the mildly feared, demon possessed harlot of the south, and in the other corner stands the undefeated and most powerful heavyweight champion that God himself has chosen. It's The Rumble in Jazreel or something like that. Where's Don King when you need him? By any account it should be a pretty good contest - the fight of the century, right?
So what does the bold, speedy and powerful prophet of the Lord, just coming off his enormous upset victory in front of a packed out mountaintop stadium do? My Bible puts it fairly simply: Elijah was afraid and fled for his life. What? Even after experiencing all that he had, seeing first-hand how mighty God truly is, he chooses to run off like a scared chicken because Jezebel threatens him. Wow! Where's his audacious faith in God now? Where's all his boasting, and oneupmanship? He could face down 450 men a few days earlier, but not a single woman? (No offense intended women!) But, come on you big sissy, at least stay and fight it out. You're supposed to be "representin" God dude!
Here's what's at the heart of this story for me. Maybe some of us don't like talking about the full version of this story, because it looks a whole lot like our lives? One minute were living the life of a conquerer, smoking big cigars and buying the crowd drinks, and next we're hiding beneath a rock, or in the belly of a fish. Though God's power is absolute, yet for some of us our faith may be much more fragile than we would ever want others to know. We can be bold enough to overturn tables and chase merchants from the temple one day, and then be seen running scared for our lives the next. Maybe it's that we're so much like Elijah, Jonah, Peter, Sarai, Thomas, Zacchaeus, Adam, Eve, Cain, and Paul, etc. that it shames us to admit it. We can be found full of faith at times, and then running on empty the next day.
Just like Elijah, some of us can be found almost everyday chasing after God or running from some person or some situation in our life. Full of energy to give chase to the Almighty one moment, yet too afraid to step out of the boat the next. Sometimes the situations that can scare us from the chase can be simply what we know to be God's Will for our lives. Or the ministry He has called us into. Or, staying put in the place He has put us. Or maybe, just maybe we can be found running from God, himself. I believe there's a reason the Bible is chocked full of stories of the same weak people with character flaw issues as we see in our world today. I believe it's because He knows that in our weaknesses His strength can be seen so much more clearly by those that need to see Him. I find His strength to be in is His love, His grace, His mercy, and His sovereignty. In the perfect world His strength is all that is needed. Yet, we all know how much more beautiful it is when it's told through the tales of our struggles and failures in this imperfect world we actually live in.
I openly admit, I too am an Elijah! Lately I've stopped chasing after God, and started running scared of what might happen in my future, or I've been too busy chasing after rainbows instead. Thus, you haven't seen any journal items from me for the past couple of months.
_______________
Most of you, no doubt have read Tommy Tenney's "God Chasers" book as I have. I love that Tenney had the boldness to declare in it that he was sick and tired of reading about where God had been in the past, and instead hungered to be where God was in the right now. I believe he received a lot of unfair criticism for that statement, yet in my opinion he's right on the money. I'm just like many others, such as Tenney in that don't want to spend anymore time gazing at pictures of rainbows. Instead I want to be riding along with one. In other words, I don't want to be huddled up in church any longer, singing and praying the same ol - same ol. I've grown tired of only reading and hearing stories of how the folks of old experienced an encounter with God - I want to experience God first-hand today myself! I want Him to come crashing in with a bang loud enough to wake the dead, as well as the unconscious and lifeless people our churches are so full of today.
In my heart I still want to chase after God until my feet give out. I want to run as far and as long as I need to until I have one close encounter, and then another. I heard someone recently declare that their church service on Sunday morning wasn't a visit to a rest stop. It was more like pulling up to a gas pump. Yeah, now that's what I'm talking about! Filling up the tank and getting back to the chase. For I think if we only seek to find an encounter with God between 10 - 12 on Sunday mornings before heading out for the shortest buffet line then we're giving up a whole lot of other opportunities during the week to experience the greatness of His presence. I don't know about you, but I want Him right now, today, and then again all day tomorrow. I don't want to wait and hope that a preacher or worship leader can lead me to Him on Sunday morning, or on Wednesday night. I'm chasing after what He promised me - Him! Seek and ye shall find - knock and it shall be opened - ask and it shall be given. It doesn't get much simiplar than that.
I recently loaned my wife's copy of Francis Chan's book "Crazy Love" to Pastor Bobby, a friend of mine. Before handing it to him, I told him that since he was already preaching the same message as Chan he might as well read his book. He read it alright, as well as did his wife Carolyn. Then they went out and bought as many copies as they could find, and gave them away. You see, Pastor Bobby, isn't just preaching about the possibilities of living a life controlled by a crazy love for Christ, he's living it. So much so, that the denomination he has been associated with for almost of his entire life, (and he's quite a few years older than I am) is asking him to conform back to their way or churching, or get out. You gotta absolutely love religiosity don't you - not!
At this point in his life he's choosing to chase after God as opposed to following the "guidelines" of a denomination, and it doesn't seem to be a very hard choice either, and his congregation agrees. I'm very proud to call this man my friend.
___________________
I wish I could say to you that last week while engulfed in that rainbow, I felt God's overwhelming presence amidst the beauty of the moment. That as I was covered with the colours of such an unusual meteorological event I also felt a mighty and moving experience through the Holy Spirit. I wish I could say truthfully that it was a moment fit to be included in the writings of the Bible, but I can't. For one reason, my wife reads these and she knows how hard it's been to see even the slightest evidence of Christ in my life lately. That's hard to admit, but it's never the less true. I've been so caught up lately in my own situations and circumstances - just as Elijah, I've ran, and ran and ran, until I found myself hiding in a cave waiting for the inevitable to happen.
The part I really like about Elijah's story (as well as my own) is that even with all of the lack of faith, all the character flaws, and the succumbing to fear - God stayed with him, me. In the depths of the cave God asked him simply, What are you doing here? Elijah, like me gave him some ridiculously sounding answer, and then God orders him to get his scared butt up and come outside and face his fears. Elijah does so and a great wind blows across the front of the cave, yet God wasn't in the wind. A great earthquake rumbles through the mountain range, yet God wasn't in the earthquake. Then a great fire rose up all around him, yet God wasn't in the fire either. Finally when all was silent, and Elijah grew quiet he experienced God in a still, small voice, and once again God asked, What are you doing here Elijah - Doug?
For far too long, I've been hiding out in my own cave of sorts, and yet once again He's spoken in a still, small voice through what I've seen from my friend Bobby's situation. And now I'm ready to once again begin the chase. No, not chasing after rainbows, or any man-made project or ministry, yet after God himself. I'm hoping and praying for another close encounter with Him through the splendor of the Holy Spirit manifested in a church service like the ones of my past, or even during a quiet time at home all alone. In the car during a rain storm, or while simply talking with a friend, or praying along side my wife.
I want God, and I want a lot of Him! I don't want Him in a box or just in a book. Instead I want Him more and more in my life, turning everything that I know or think to be true upside-down leaving me in awe of His wondrous ways! So, if you see me at your church next Sunday you'll know now why I'm there. It's not to sit in the pew beside you, although I would enjoy that as well. It's not to hear your voice sing beautiful songs of praise, nor will it be to jot down notes from your pulpit insight as to what God's message for our lives is, although I can use all the help understanding this that I can get. No, I'll be there looking to once again experience first-hand God's presence in a very real and tangible way, and for no other reason.
I know, as well as Pastor Bobby does - He is worthy of our chase!
Who knows, maybe we'll see each other at the end of a rainbow soon, and if so I sure hope you bring a pot of gold with you. doug
Monday, August 10, 2009
I pick you!
I guess because I know all too well how it feels to be “left out” I've developed a sort of empathy with the rejected and outcast. I know now during my tougher youthful experiences God was molding me into the person He intended me to be - long before I ever knew it. And because of those experiences I've always, (for as long as I can remember anyways) wanted to be an encourager to those that find themselves from time to time standing on the sidelines of life waiting and hoping to hear someone say “I pick you.”
I know that sounds like I'm saying ; poor little Dougie must have had it rough.....NOT!
Recently my wife, Dale and I were in Knoxville and we found ourselves driving throughout this town I grew up in. She rode quietly as I drove around looking at the places I had etched out my existence. Areas such as Strawberry Plains and Chipman Street, Fountain City and Whittle Springs. I drove for hours that morning sharing all my stories until I thought she was going to be physically sick from me rambling on and on. As we entered each neighborhood I began to tell her about this park, or that playground where we would gather together as kids to play sports and knock the crap out of each other, just 'cause we liked to do stuff like that back then. Your childhood probably has a lot of the same stories also.
We finally came to Christenberry Heights, (the government housing projects of my high school years) and as we turned up Tiberius Street the stories got a bit darker. The memories became more sensitive, and the feelings of being a “reject” started to creep back into my soul. For me anyway, it's hard to revisit the places of my youth without smelling those old smells, seeing those old faces, and feeling some of those old feelings that I thought had been long ago put to rest. I may be wrong here, but I think its okay to look back at our past as long as our vision doesn't get stuck there so long that we miss out on what God has in-store for us in the present.
We drove by the place I spent the greatest amount of my teenage years – the basketball court. I explained to her how I had worked hard on my basketball skills for two solid years in that small (two-thirds the normal size) gym we called our Rec. Center. I shared with her how in the beginning I sat out more games than I played – but how I would show up everyday regardless. I sat hour after hour watching and learning while waiting for the games to be over so I could run to one end of the court, grab a few loose balls and shoot them toward the goal for the entire three minutes before the next game started up. Yet, I never lost hope that somehow I would hear the words “I pick you” - but it was rarely ever the case.
Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen I began to grow as I reached the height of six-feet tall. Then, by the summer of 1975 I topped out at six-feet two inches and finally I was no longer the shortest guy in the gym. Simply being taller didn't necessarily translate into more playing time, but my determination never wavered. Finally it happened, I got “picked” to play in a men's summer basketball league (me, a mere fifteen year old, how bout that) with the team from our housing projects. I always believed I would get my chance to play sooner or later if I hung in there.
As it turned out something good happened to me while spending all that time in the gym. ONE - I got a heck of a lot better at playing basketball, and TWO - I avoided a lot of the trouble my friends found themselves in on the streets. I literally believe that my life today has been shaped through the game of basketball. For by being hidden within the fortress of the block walls of that Rec-Center I was spared a life in jail, or even worse. I avoided the fights and the arrests that so many of my so-called friends ended up in. Now, don't get me wrong - the gym life wasn't without it's own physical confrontations and issues, but it was still safer than the streets and the alleyways. This I know - I'm a better person for choosing sports over the streets way back then.
Anyway, back to the men's summer basketball league story. I was picked to play on that team for one reason, and one reason only; the guys knew, no matter what I would always show up for the games. After all, they had seen me come to the gym day after day for years with no real chance of playing. So they figured I had what it took for this role. I may have been nowhere close to their level of talent, but having me on the bench sure beat forfeiting a game if someone wasn't able to show up, or too many of them fouled out (which as it turned out, both happened quite a lot). Not to pat myself on the back here, (okay, maybe just a little) I had gotten much better over the years. With the added length I could finally dunk and though I still couldn't handle the ball very well in traffic I almost always got myself positioned to pull down a few rebounds. More importantly, I had become a very tough competitor – I simply had no choice.
I also figured out while sitting on the sidelines that I was never going to see much court time unless I could somehow find a way to bring something positive to the game to offset my weaknesses. Kind of like the process I'm going through today as I try and find meaningful employment in this down-turned economy we're in. Funny how in life, as in sports some things just don't change very much.
The summer league turned out to be a time of real growth for me in several areas of life. The fun part was that we got to ride in a police station-wagon to and from the games. Many times we were high from smoking a joint or two before Bob, (a detective and our coach) would arrive with that disapproving look on his face stemming from the aroma which lingered around us. For the most part we played hard, but we were a lot less organized than most of the teams. After all our practices came from a much shorter than regulation-size court, so we weren't nearly as good at running a full-court offense as the other teams. Oh yeah, we were normally high also which didn't help much either.
As expected, I only got to play a few precious minutes the first half of the season, and even those times were filled with strife. I forgot to mention that I was not only the only white guy on our team, but also the only Caucasian in the entire league of a hundred or more players. I was relentlessly booed and taunted by players and fans alike. The laughter, jokes, cussing and threats were only surpassed by the flagrant fouls that came my way when I finally got the chance to play. More often that not, I faced guys wanting to take cheap shots at me rather than play legitimate defense for whatever reason. I understood that most of the disdain vented my way really had nothing to do with me personally, but never-the-less it always seemed to rattle me.
I found it very hard to concentrate on playing because of all the distractions around me and everyone seemed to notice. Thank God for loyal teammates though! Time after time Squirt, Teddy, Jimmy, Rob and the others were willing to come to my rescue when some ignorant person (and I use that term in the most loving of ways) tried to physically take me out of the game. There were a few fights that came close to being out and out riots, but we survived each one and somehow managed to make it back to the same paddy-wagon we came in.
Regardless what you may think none of this is exaggerated, it's simply the way things were. Trust me, I could tell story after story to top that one if that were the case, with several of them involving my (too fearless for his own good) brother, Ed. There were far too many incidents where the bottom-line issue was indeed the color of one's skin. Where we came from toughness and weakness weren't defined by your skin color, it was in how you handled yourself while facing someone that figured they were tougher than you. Ed (who always was the tougher in those situations) will be the first to tell you, there was plenty of testing coming our way.
I found out, at least as it related to the basketball court you didn't cry out pick me, pick me when you didn't have what it took to handle the situation. That was a good way to not only get your butt kicked, but more importantly to never get picked to play again. You sat there, kept your mouth shut and tried to learn what you needed to know in order to get better before your time of true testing came. It was a simple process!
Now hold on, let me drag out my soapbox for a minute.... For me, there's a lot of that kind of thinking that should also apply to our ministry work as well. So often we want God to pick us to do this, or do that - when what He has planned for us is totally different than the vision we have for ourselves. Instead of being focused on learning the game better and patiently waiting for Him to say, "I pick you" we stand on the sidelines, jumping up and down, yelling at the top of our lungs, "pick me, pick me, pick me." Some of us get so frustrated when He doesn't pick us we either try and find a way to put ourselves in the game, or we run off looking for another game where we can get picked to play a little quicker. And yes, we really like it when we get to do the picking, now don't we?
Sitting, watching, learning, and getting ready - just ain't fun. We want to be playing. We want to show everyone just how good we are, (or more like it) how much "better" we are than rest the team. We're all about the competition and being the best, aren't we? You ever think about how much patience God must have in order to put up with us and our immature ways? Yeah, me neither, but we probably should I guess. I think we need to be reminded at times that He picks us, and it's not up to us to choose how or when He uses us. For too many of us we see God as being on our team, rather than us being on His team. Nuff said, as my wife puts it!
As Dale and I turned the corner in front of the apartment building where I once lived I pointed to the one on the opposite corner and told her how it had played a big part in the summer of 1975 for me. As I shared with her - me and a couple of my teammates walked through the front door of that apartment mid-morning one Saturday simply wanting to hang out with rest of the guys. We figured we would catch the Soul Train show, smoke a little weed, and talk sports – our favorite things to do back then. Robert, our six-feet six inch center (who was by far the nicest and most likable player on our team) was first through the door. As he walked in he tossed the basketball toward Squirt our team captain, but he didn't expect the pass. The ball flew by him knocking over a tall boy of malt liquor that Kennith (who wasn't on our team) had sitting on the table where they were playing cards. Everything went silent for a second and finally someone began to laugh – then everyone began to laugh - everyone that is except Kennith. This next part I can still see in my mind today just as plainly as I did that morning. Kennith got up, grabbed a large kitchen knife, and stabbed Robert straight through the chest before anyone could bat an eye. In a matter of a few brief ticks of the clock our world had been turned upside down.
Robert pushed his way pass me, (as I was still standing at the door) and ran for home. He only made it as far as the flagpole outside the Rec-Center and as we helplessly watched he slid to the base of it and died in a puddle of blood. This was my first, first-hand encounter with death, and boy was it ever a significant event in the life of this fifteen year old kid. Simply put, the rest of the summer was nothing but a blur.
By the time we played our next game the word had gotten around the league about Robert's death. We showed up for the game and none of us were high on anything. Most of us weren't even sure we wanted to be there. When the crowd saw that I was starting the game at the center position in Robert's place there wasn't a boo or cuss word to be heard. Coach Bob had talked with me about a worse case scenario, yet we were all shocked at the crowd's response. The opposing players patted me on the backside as if I were one of their own, and none of us ever looked back!
Here was this slow moving, six-feet two inch goofy looking white kid replacing an almost irreplaceable six-foot six inch giant of a man in an all black basketball league - and it no longer seemed to bother anyone in the gym. For on this day I think everyone realized I was playing for Robert and not in replacement of him.
That night I grabbed more rebounds than I had ever grabbed in a game. I made more passes than I had ever made in a game. I played with more determination that I had ever played with in a game and yes, I hit the last basket as we went on to win one of the few games we won all year. We all knew that it was a day to be remembered, not celebrated! And so goes the summer basketball league of 1975.
We may not admit it to ourselves very often, but it is true - there's a lot of responsibility that goes along with being “picked” that we know nothing about.
We can't see the future events, but He certainly can! In my case, what I found was that until I had experienced all that I experienced both on and off the basketball court that summer, I really wasn't ready to face what I eventually had to face. I found that I couldn't focus on playing basketball at the level I was capable of playing because of all the distractions - then I learned those things really didn't matter. More importantly I learned that the color of a person's skin didn't matter, yet it was what's in their heart that did. And I finally was able to put the racial issues of that era into perspective as I learned more than I cared to learn one Saturday morning about life and death.
So as it was way back then, it is still true today.
I think somehow we are way too focused on being "picked for this and that" when we need to focus on learning what it really means to be to be "picked by God". The hard truth is that sometimes we're just not ready to handle all the responsibility that comes with being chosen. Regardless of the lies we tell ourselves, or the false encouragement we get from the enemy, there are times in our lives and situations that may arise where we need more seasoning before were ready.
Let's face it, God's decision when and how to use us makes a lot more sense than the over-inflated vision we have of our own abilities. Our dreams of possible stardom, or our perception of how the game should be played need to take a backseat to His wisdom, and purpose. At some point we need to recognize that He has us exactly where He has us for a reason - whether we're in the game or not.
Today, I'm still benefiting from the lessons I learned thirty-four years ago in the depths of a government housing project. From this experience I'm reminded again that I need to always stay focused on learning while waiting for that moment when He looks me directly in the eyes, and says – "I pick you."
A couple of quick reminders in closing; Never forget, you've already been “picked” if you have accepted the offer to play on His team. Simply count your blessings whether you're in the game or riding the bench at this moment.
Be prepared to ignore the boos and the heckling from the world (and they'll most certainly come) when He puts you in the game. We have to be able to get past the distractions in order for us to play the way we're capable of playing.
I'm finding more and more everyday that holding onto His word will most certainly get us ready to be "picked" when our time comes. Doug
I know that sounds like I'm saying ; poor little Dougie must have had it rough.....NOT!
Recently my wife, Dale and I were in Knoxville and we found ourselves driving throughout this town I grew up in. She rode quietly as I drove around looking at the places I had etched out my existence. Areas such as Strawberry Plains and Chipman Street, Fountain City and Whittle Springs. I drove for hours that morning sharing all my stories until I thought she was going to be physically sick from me rambling on and on. As we entered each neighborhood I began to tell her about this park, or that playground where we would gather together as kids to play sports and knock the crap out of each other, just 'cause we liked to do stuff like that back then. Your childhood probably has a lot of the same stories also.
We finally came to Christenberry Heights, (the government housing projects of my high school years) and as we turned up Tiberius Street the stories got a bit darker. The memories became more sensitive, and the feelings of being a “reject” started to creep back into my soul. For me anyway, it's hard to revisit the places of my youth without smelling those old smells, seeing those old faces, and feeling some of those old feelings that I thought had been long ago put to rest. I may be wrong here, but I think its okay to look back at our past as long as our vision doesn't get stuck there so long that we miss out on what God has in-store for us in the present.
We drove by the place I spent the greatest amount of my teenage years – the basketball court. I explained to her how I had worked hard on my basketball skills for two solid years in that small (two-thirds the normal size) gym we called our Rec. Center. I shared with her how in the beginning I sat out more games than I played – but how I would show up everyday regardless. I sat hour after hour watching and learning while waiting for the games to be over so I could run to one end of the court, grab a few loose balls and shoot them toward the goal for the entire three minutes before the next game started up. Yet, I never lost hope that somehow I would hear the words “I pick you” - but it was rarely ever the case.
Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen I began to grow as I reached the height of six-feet tall. Then, by the summer of 1975 I topped out at six-feet two inches and finally I was no longer the shortest guy in the gym. Simply being taller didn't necessarily translate into more playing time, but my determination never wavered. Finally it happened, I got “picked” to play in a men's summer basketball league (me, a mere fifteen year old, how bout that) with the team from our housing projects. I always believed I would get my chance to play sooner or later if I hung in there.
As it turned out something good happened to me while spending all that time in the gym. ONE - I got a heck of a lot better at playing basketball, and TWO - I avoided a lot of the trouble my friends found themselves in on the streets. I literally believe that my life today has been shaped through the game of basketball. For by being hidden within the fortress of the block walls of that Rec-Center I was spared a life in jail, or even worse. I avoided the fights and the arrests that so many of my so-called friends ended up in. Now, don't get me wrong - the gym life wasn't without it's own physical confrontations and issues, but it was still safer than the streets and the alleyways. This I know - I'm a better person for choosing sports over the streets way back then.
Anyway, back to the men's summer basketball league story. I was picked to play on that team for one reason, and one reason only; the guys knew, no matter what I would always show up for the games. After all, they had seen me come to the gym day after day for years with no real chance of playing. So they figured I had what it took for this role. I may have been nowhere close to their level of talent, but having me on the bench sure beat forfeiting a game if someone wasn't able to show up, or too many of them fouled out (which as it turned out, both happened quite a lot). Not to pat myself on the back here, (okay, maybe just a little) I had gotten much better over the years. With the added length I could finally dunk and though I still couldn't handle the ball very well in traffic I almost always got myself positioned to pull down a few rebounds. More importantly, I had become a very tough competitor – I simply had no choice.
I also figured out while sitting on the sidelines that I was never going to see much court time unless I could somehow find a way to bring something positive to the game to offset my weaknesses. Kind of like the process I'm going through today as I try and find meaningful employment in this down-turned economy we're in. Funny how in life, as in sports some things just don't change very much.
The summer league turned out to be a time of real growth for me in several areas of life. The fun part was that we got to ride in a police station-wagon to and from the games. Many times we were high from smoking a joint or two before Bob, (a detective and our coach) would arrive with that disapproving look on his face stemming from the aroma which lingered around us. For the most part we played hard, but we were a lot less organized than most of the teams. After all our practices came from a much shorter than regulation-size court, so we weren't nearly as good at running a full-court offense as the other teams. Oh yeah, we were normally high also which didn't help much either.
As expected, I only got to play a few precious minutes the first half of the season, and even those times were filled with strife. I forgot to mention that I was not only the only white guy on our team, but also the only Caucasian in the entire league of a hundred or more players. I was relentlessly booed and taunted by players and fans alike. The laughter, jokes, cussing and threats were only surpassed by the flagrant fouls that came my way when I finally got the chance to play. More often that not, I faced guys wanting to take cheap shots at me rather than play legitimate defense for whatever reason. I understood that most of the disdain vented my way really had nothing to do with me personally, but never-the-less it always seemed to rattle me.
I found it very hard to concentrate on playing because of all the distractions around me and everyone seemed to notice. Thank God for loyal teammates though! Time after time Squirt, Teddy, Jimmy, Rob and the others were willing to come to my rescue when some ignorant person (and I use that term in the most loving of ways) tried to physically take me out of the game. There were a few fights that came close to being out and out riots, but we survived each one and somehow managed to make it back to the same paddy-wagon we came in.
Regardless what you may think none of this is exaggerated, it's simply the way things were. Trust me, I could tell story after story to top that one if that were the case, with several of them involving my (too fearless for his own good) brother, Ed. There were far too many incidents where the bottom-line issue was indeed the color of one's skin. Where we came from toughness and weakness weren't defined by your skin color, it was in how you handled yourself while facing someone that figured they were tougher than you. Ed (who always was the tougher in those situations) will be the first to tell you, there was plenty of testing coming our way.
I found out, at least as it related to the basketball court you didn't cry out pick me, pick me when you didn't have what it took to handle the situation. That was a good way to not only get your butt kicked, but more importantly to never get picked to play again. You sat there, kept your mouth shut and tried to learn what you needed to know in order to get better before your time of true testing came. It was a simple process!
Now hold on, let me drag out my soapbox for a minute.... For me, there's a lot of that kind of thinking that should also apply to our ministry work as well. So often we want God to pick us to do this, or do that - when what He has planned for us is totally different than the vision we have for ourselves. Instead of being focused on learning the game better and patiently waiting for Him to say, "I pick you" we stand on the sidelines, jumping up and down, yelling at the top of our lungs, "pick me, pick me, pick me." Some of us get so frustrated when He doesn't pick us we either try and find a way to put ourselves in the game, or we run off looking for another game where we can get picked to play a little quicker. And yes, we really like it when we get to do the picking, now don't we?
Sitting, watching, learning, and getting ready - just ain't fun. We want to be playing. We want to show everyone just how good we are, (or more like it) how much "better" we are than rest the team. We're all about the competition and being the best, aren't we? You ever think about how much patience God must have in order to put up with us and our immature ways? Yeah, me neither, but we probably should I guess. I think we need to be reminded at times that He picks us, and it's not up to us to choose how or when He uses us. For too many of us we see God as being on our team, rather than us being on His team. Nuff said, as my wife puts it!
As Dale and I turned the corner in front of the apartment building where I once lived I pointed to the one on the opposite corner and told her how it had played a big part in the summer of 1975 for me. As I shared with her - me and a couple of my teammates walked through the front door of that apartment mid-morning one Saturday simply wanting to hang out with rest of the guys. We figured we would catch the Soul Train show, smoke a little weed, and talk sports – our favorite things to do back then. Robert, our six-feet six inch center (who was by far the nicest and most likable player on our team) was first through the door. As he walked in he tossed the basketball toward Squirt our team captain, but he didn't expect the pass. The ball flew by him knocking over a tall boy of malt liquor that Kennith (who wasn't on our team) had sitting on the table where they were playing cards. Everything went silent for a second and finally someone began to laugh – then everyone began to laugh - everyone that is except Kennith. This next part I can still see in my mind today just as plainly as I did that morning. Kennith got up, grabbed a large kitchen knife, and stabbed Robert straight through the chest before anyone could bat an eye. In a matter of a few brief ticks of the clock our world had been turned upside down.
Robert pushed his way pass me, (as I was still standing at the door) and ran for home. He only made it as far as the flagpole outside the Rec-Center and as we helplessly watched he slid to the base of it and died in a puddle of blood. This was my first, first-hand encounter with death, and boy was it ever a significant event in the life of this fifteen year old kid. Simply put, the rest of the summer was nothing but a blur.
By the time we played our next game the word had gotten around the league about Robert's death. We showed up for the game and none of us were high on anything. Most of us weren't even sure we wanted to be there. When the crowd saw that I was starting the game at the center position in Robert's place there wasn't a boo or cuss word to be heard. Coach Bob had talked with me about a worse case scenario, yet we were all shocked at the crowd's response. The opposing players patted me on the backside as if I were one of their own, and none of us ever looked back!
Here was this slow moving, six-feet two inch goofy looking white kid replacing an almost irreplaceable six-foot six inch giant of a man in an all black basketball league - and it no longer seemed to bother anyone in the gym. For on this day I think everyone realized I was playing for Robert and not in replacement of him.
That night I grabbed more rebounds than I had ever grabbed in a game. I made more passes than I had ever made in a game. I played with more determination that I had ever played with in a game and yes, I hit the last basket as we went on to win one of the few games we won all year. We all knew that it was a day to be remembered, not celebrated! And so goes the summer basketball league of 1975.
We may not admit it to ourselves very often, but it is true - there's a lot of responsibility that goes along with being “picked” that we know nothing about.
We can't see the future events, but He certainly can! In my case, what I found was that until I had experienced all that I experienced both on and off the basketball court that summer, I really wasn't ready to face what I eventually had to face. I found that I couldn't focus on playing basketball at the level I was capable of playing because of all the distractions - then I learned those things really didn't matter. More importantly I learned that the color of a person's skin didn't matter, yet it was what's in their heart that did. And I finally was able to put the racial issues of that era into perspective as I learned more than I cared to learn one Saturday morning about life and death.
So as it was way back then, it is still true today.
I think somehow we are way too focused on being "picked for this and that" when we need to focus on learning what it really means to be to be "picked by God". The hard truth is that sometimes we're just not ready to handle all the responsibility that comes with being chosen. Regardless of the lies we tell ourselves, or the false encouragement we get from the enemy, there are times in our lives and situations that may arise where we need more seasoning before were ready.
Let's face it, God's decision when and how to use us makes a lot more sense than the over-inflated vision we have of our own abilities. Our dreams of possible stardom, or our perception of how the game should be played need to take a backseat to His wisdom, and purpose. At some point we need to recognize that He has us exactly where He has us for a reason - whether we're in the game or not.
Today, I'm still benefiting from the lessons I learned thirty-four years ago in the depths of a government housing project. From this experience I'm reminded again that I need to always stay focused on learning while waiting for that moment when He looks me directly in the eyes, and says – "I pick you."
A couple of quick reminders in closing; Never forget, you've already been “picked” if you have accepted the offer to play on His team. Simply count your blessings whether you're in the game or riding the bench at this moment.
Be prepared to ignore the boos and the heckling from the world (and they'll most certainly come) when He puts you in the game. We have to be able to get past the distractions in order for us to play the way we're capable of playing.
I'm finding more and more everyday that holding onto His word will most certainly get us ready to be "picked" when our time comes. Doug
Saturday, July 18, 2009
"gnothi seauton"
Howard Guidry, a Death Row inmate in Texas writes; On occasion they let me out of my cage. An hour for recreation, some minutes to shower, a walk to Disciplinary or some other institutional office. But it's rare that I fall out to visitation. The walk to the visitation room is the longest walk men experience on Death Row. That is, until the last walk. To me, walking to visitation is like smoking indonesia. It starts in moments like this, while I'm writing: “Guidry, you have a visit. Get ready,” says a picket control guard over the intercom. I put my pen down and take a deep breath; and then I'm high for the next six or seven hours. The escort guards have to take me out of the building that houses Death Row and into the open air in order to get me there. The outside walkway is lined on both sides with hurricane fence and covered by a steel roof. I always try to count the steps from my cage to the visitation cage, but I always lose count the moment I step “outside.” My senses are extraordinary for having been deprived. The subtle breeze against my skin, the scent of grassroot and freshly turned compost, the hypnotic vapor-blue sky, the earth's vibrations – nothing escapes me. The rhythm of my own feet against the concrete is the soundtrack to whatever fantasy I conjure up in a moment. The guards don't understand my silence. Silence is often a prelude to violence amongst a certain breed of men in prison. But my silence in these pseudo-serene walks is the silence of a child in awe.
When I moved here the front porch swing was of the standard variety. Made from a moderately light-weight wood, which was constructed with the intent of supporting two average-size peoples. Thus the problem, for as even though Dale is a relatively small woman it doesn't offset my very large and well-earned weight problem. So when our body mass index was combined by sitting close together we exceeded the swing's capacity to do it's job without cracking, and crying like a two hundred year old set of stairs. I quickly grew tired of the constant fear of hitting the concrete every time we sat in it, so I knew I needed to do something to improve the situation, and NO losing weight never crossed my mind....
If you know me very well then you might also know these two things about me – I'm a cheapo when it comes to spending money on “stuff” and secondly I have very few skills with hand tools. Yet, because the prior outranks the latter I decided to set out on the idea of “making” a new, heavy-duty, oversize porch swing. The picture you see is the finished product and thanks to the great job Dale did painting and adding cushions it turned out to be a pretty good swing. I'm happy cause the whole thing cost us less than twenty bucks, and she loves it - and that's really all that matters.
Almost everyday of her recovery period (from donating a kidney) we started our mornings by heading out to our front porch swing with a cup of coffee and an arm full of devotional books. We spent hour upon hour reading, talking, dreaming, philosophizing, and praying. We routinely waved at the many passer-byers and took a daily inventory of the growth of our flowers, bushes and trees. We often mused at the hurried life so many others seem to be caught up in and thanked God for the opportunity He gave us to share during this time. More often than not we began our days swaying endlessly while holding tight to each other's hand – all from the comfort of our very special front porch swing. We, like Howard Guidry stopped to smell the roses during that time, yet Dale and I both know that we haven't spent nearly enough time in the swing yet.
“Gnothi seauton” is Greek for “know thyself” but you probably already knew that.
It's a phrase that's been around since 6 BC or longer and it's become the one true calling of all serious-minded philosophers down through the ages. To "know thyself" is such a tough, and painfully exhausting process, isn't it! For some of us, it's the proverbial carrot tied to the stick hanging in front of us. We know deep down that we'll never catch it, yet we won't stop chasing either. I don't know about you guys, but for me I often try and somehow deny what I find out about “thyself” when it's embarrassing, or seemingly just too darn hard to fix. Yet, I all too often blare out the song of self-praise as if it were the sound of a trumpet when what I find to be true about “thyself” can be put into the so-called "Good" column. Oh, we're such a complex mixture of protons and neutrons and other gooey stuff, aren't we?
I found a picture of myself in Brennan Manning's writing of his book The Ragamuffin Gospel where he shares this insight; Our approach to the Christian life is as absurd as the enthusiastic young man who had just received his plumber's license and was taken to Niagara Falls. He studied it for a minute and then said, ”I think I can fix that.” Yeah, that's me!
It took a good number of years to reach the conclusion that for me to “know thyself” then any understanding of who, or what I am has to be derived first from knowing who God really is in my life. You see, I know that I'm a sinner. I know that I'm a beggar. I know that I am flawed beyond repair, and that my needs greatly exceed my ability to produce. Thus, God is my Savior. I know I need to feel loved, and I need to be taught a better way, that I have a need to belong to a family, and most certainly I know also that I need discipline in my life. Thus, God is my Father.
I finally came to the realization that for me to “know thyself” I had to find the answers to the same questions the lead character in Eugene O'Neill's play The Great God Brown asks of himself; ”Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music, and rhythm and grace and song and laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of the earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love love?”
For me it was, or rather it IS a process of overcoming the fear of who I have been in my past, in order to take grasp of who God declares that I am. He has made me whole. He has given me a new life, not simply a repaired one. He has set me apart and has given me an heir's claim to His kingdom. I, one that has lived among the dying for so long He has given me everything. The simple fact is that so many of us march step by step (even deep into our graves) never understanding the smallest amount of truth as to what it means to “know thyself.”
A young man who was severely crippled with pain and illness spent his lifetime dealing with a wretched physical existence that most of us will never face. He finally reached the conclusion as to what it means to “know thyself.” He wrote the following letter to his mother (who suffers from the same debilitating disease as he did) from beyond the exit door of the grave. I was blessed to hear his words this week and wanted to share them with you. I tried my best to copy it word for word, but I admittedly made minor adjustments to a few sentences in order to capture the fullness of the thought I believe he wanted to convey. So for that I apologize to his family.
To those I left behind. I don't look at my life as over, for it's just begun. Mother my purpose there wasn't so much as my life, but my death is where the worth is. You are all saying he's running now (an activity he longed so badly to do here on earth) well yes, I am but that's just it. My real joy is talking with the Master. Yes, I got my reward, but it's not the rewards we think of on earth, it's Him, our Lord and Savior. Please listen to me, I'm trying to tell you the reason people have afflictions and hurts is because we are the ones He has chosen to get people's attention - not pity. I was addicted to drugs and was never happy or satisfied. I was no different than you Christians, you who are addicted to life on earth. Money, cars, houses, nothing is ever enough! People want to go to heaven for selfish reasons, to live easier, no more troubles and hurt - whatever it is you yearn for. Mother you wonder why I went through what I did and why you have to go through the things you do. It's because God set us apart so He could get people's eyes on Him through us. That's what He wants you to do, let His light shine through you, so that nothing else matters. Wearing high-heel shoes (which she longs to wear, yet physically can't) and seeing me again are some of of the things you yearn to do when you get to heaven - don't let it be! You should want to get to heaven cause you want to walk and talk with our Master. He gave His life for us willingly. He took mine for you to use, so please use my mistakes and failures to tell others about His love, mercy and grace. I wanted to run so badly. I dreamed of a day without all the physical limitations I had and I've finally reached that place, but that isn't my reward. The reward is my Master, not living in a place where there's no pain. Mama, be honored God has set you apart. People look at you - you have their attention. Use it for His glory. Be honored that you are my mother, (and you still are) that God gave me to you. People looked at me, but many times like you, I struggled with life. I tried to tell Justin (his younger brother) don't walk in my path. If you love me, then love yourself. Mama, he needs to go to a God he's really never known yet. Our Lord is more that just someone for Justin to pray to, He is the answer that he's searching for. It's not the lifestyle or the cars or the money - he will never have enough of those things. Mama, please tell him he is part of God's plan, that the three of us were set apart. It didn't just happen! Mama, when I used to mow the yard, that's when I talked to God and He talked to me. I didn't always listen just like you, Justin, and everyone else. I was addicted to life on earth and all that went with it. Heartache, frustration, good, bad, all of it. That's why I'm telling you some of the answers to what you want to know. Me, you, Justin - God has and always has had a plan and purpose for us. Be honored! Give my life meaning! Justin, use my life, all of it as a guide for you. Please don't allow my death and life to be unused for His glory. I didn't know the answers then like you do now. The Lord is giving you mercy for allowing my voice to speak to you – please mama, please listen! Tell Justin to get up and take hold of the Master's hand. I am with you and him always. Live your life simple – for the Master. Thank Him, love Him! Here in heaven all we want to do is to sing praises and worship Him, but it's okay for you to cry out for, you are flesh and God understands, but remember you're also spirit. Allow the Spirit-man in you to rise up and be strong. Love, Heath
That letter was written after this twenty-one year old boy had been killed in a car accident several years ago. Don't ask me to explain how, but I think the reason why is obvious. “Live your life simple – for the Master” something both Howard Guidry and this young boy finally learned about after what they knew to be a normal life was taken from them. As for me, I'm praying that you and I learn the value of the lessons they shared with us, long before our life here on earth is changed so drastically.
I believe for many of us, (again, me especially) we need to quit asking ourselves these questions, Why am I afraid to dance? Why am I afraid to live? Why am I afraid to love ?” and merely get on with the dancing, living and loving God has designed us for. “know thyself” as I'm finding out more and more does indeed come from knowing who God really is in my life, and so far in this process I've reached one very important, yet simple conclusion, and I'll share it with you as my closing thought.
“I believe I can learn a lot more about God and myself while holding hands with my sweetheart while we sway back and forth in our front porch swing." And where is the Biblical support for such a notion one might ask? "For where two or more believers are gathered in My name, there I will be also.” Nuff said!
Be blessed, doug
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