I purchased a banjo a couple of weeks ago. After two weeks of testing, I am fairly certain that one may not play a banjo and be sad at the same time. If a sad person tries to play the banjo, either they will become happy in very short order, or they will promptly put the banjo down, being unable to play it. Banjos will not abide sad players.
I suspect there is a similar issue at work when we praise God, but I’m still investigating that one.
I ate at McDonalds for lunch today. I proudly marched right in and I didn’t even have a kid with me. I even liked the food.
There. I’ve said it. What almost no one else will admit. Ask just about anybody about McDonalds and they will get this high-brow look on their face as they tip their head ever so slightly back, looking down their nose at you. “McDonalds? Uuggh! We hardly ever go there unless the kids insist.” It’s what they say, but I don’t think it’s what they do. If it were, McDonalds would be a lot less busy at lunch, and nearly everybody there would be under the age of 10.
At lunch today I saw kids and parents, single people, business people, people in ties, people in uniforms, hippies, yuppies, red necks and high brows. They were all there, but none of them like McDonalds. If you ask them, none of them eat there.
So what makes people this way? Why do we all refuse to admit that we actually like to eat at McDonalds on occasion? I think I know. It’s pride. We think people will think less of us if they know we indulge in a Big Mac, so we fall victim to an issue that got the Pharisees in so much trouble over 2000 years ago. A pet sin that grew so ugly it demanded Jesus’ death rather than admit its own existence. The sin that tries to hide all others.
That site where they serve all those x-rated pictures? Uuggh! I never go there! Juicy gossip? Are you kidding me? That’s so unhealthy! I would never consume that! Dishonesty? Never. We meet our Christian friends at church then head to lunch for some holy fellowship. We pass right by the busy McDonalds, but nobody even suggests we go there. Why would we? Nobody eats at McDonalds.
“Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer: `I thank you, God, that I am not a sinner like everyone else. For I don’t cheat, I don’t sin, and I don’t commit adultery. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’
“But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, `O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
– Luke 18:10-14 NLT
I am quickly approaching another birthday. It’s funny how we think of getting older only on our birthday, like it happens only one day of the year. Really, I am getting older every second, but like most people, I live life in chunks. We all divide up our days in nice neat sections; chunks of time. Big chunks like our 25th or 50th wedding anniversary. Yearly chunks, like when we become “a year older.” Or even smaller ones, like seasons, months, or week-ends. We even divide the days into “working hours” and “quitting time.”
Big or little, we see our time pass by in chunks. The whole world recognizes many of them in the same way. A week is seven days. A day is 24 hours, no matter where you live. The sun may not take the same track in the sky, but unless you live on another planet, a day is pretty much 24 hours. Most of us agree on the calendar too. In fact, we divide it into two really big chunks. We have the years “BC” counting backwards, and then the years “AD” counting forwards.
More recently, the BC / AD convention has been called into question. Folks don’t like what the “BC” and “AD” stand for, so they changed it. They now call it “BCE” and “CE”. The “Common Era” they call it. Personally, I think it’s a bit laughable to change the name. The dividing line is still the same, and no matter what you call the eras on each side of the line, we all still know Who the line is. Isn’t it interesting how our calendar consists of two infinite chunks. All of time stretching forever in both directions from a single point. Eternity, divided by a birthday.
Sam Watches the Falls
We took a short vacation this week-end and went to one of my favorite places: Cloudland Canyon State Park. I never get tired of looking at the natural beauty there. On Sunday morning, Sam and I skipped a traditional worship service and made the 3 mile hike down (and back up!) more than a thousand stairs. Near the bottom of the canyon, we worshiped the Creator of two beautiful waterfalls. We stood for a while, immersed in nature’s spectacular visual display. Every direction, every perspective, provided a feast for the eyes.
Finally, we just sat for a while and watched the water fall over the canyon bluff. Sam said it was like watching “nature’s TV.” I think he is right. My compliments and admiration go to the Producer of the show.
The tree is gone. The big hackberry tree. The one that lived and grew in my back yard for 30 years or more. The one that provided so much shade. The one that provided food for the birds. The one that held the rope swing that we all enjoyed, flying through the air in long swooping arcs, toes pointed to the sky. The tree is gone, and I will miss it.
We had to cut it because it had begun to split and crack from it’s aged and weakened forks. It seemed we were only one gusty thunderstorm away from major backyard disaster. I was afraid of how it’s frailty might cause me harm, so we did away with it before it had a chance to collapse.
Sometimes I feel like that tree. Weak, barely holding it together. Starting to crack and split apart, I feel like just one more storm might do me in. I wonder why God doesn’t just take me out before I fall apart and do great harm in the process. But I suppose He has more patience than I. And I suspect He knows a bit more about how to deal with such things. Perhaps He has a bit more knowledge about holding weak trees together . . . and a lot more strength to do so.
A bruised reed He will not break, And smoking flax He will not quench, Till He sends forth justice to victory; And in His name Gentiles will trust.”
– Mathew 12:20-21 NKJV
So I’m praying on my way to work this morning. Praying, and complaining a little. “God, why can’t I know you in a more real way? I want to talk WITH you as a friend, not TO you. Why does it have to be so hard to hear your voice? I wish you would speak directly to me in a more practical and concrete way.” My prayer ends with a puny bit of praise, then I walk in the office and get started with the “practical” and “concrete” part of my day.
Lunch time comes. I decide to go to Wendy’s, which I do every now and then. As I pull into the parking lot, the urge hits me to go in the Dollar General Store that is at the other end of the small shopping center parking lot. I walk into Wendy’s, thinking I might head into the Dollar General AFTER I eat, if I still have time. The line at the Wendy’s counter is way long. Change of plans. I walk over to the Dollar General and go in.
It’s probably been at least 6 months since I was in here last. I wander about a bit, killing time, waiting for the Wendy’s line to diminish. I walk down a little aisle containing a few cheap books. One catches my eye. It’s titled When God Winks At You. It’s only $3. I feel impressed to pick it up. Something tells me “It’s why you are here.” I buy the book and head back to Wendy’s. The line is gone, so I buy lunch.
As I munch on lunch, I crack the book open and begin to read. It’s perfect. I scribble this story on napkins. I stuff the napkins in the book and walk out with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. I have tucked under my arm, a little book with a few inky napkins in it. The book’s title is When God Winks At You. But I am especially drawn to the subtitle: “How God Speaks Directly to You Through the Power of Coincidence.”
My son was ruthlessly attacked by vicious angry beasts this weekend. He was just trying to do a good deed. It made them angry, so they swarmed from the bowels of the earth and attacked.
At first Sam didn’t understand what was happening. As he was mowing the grass, the pain hit him from out of nowhere and shot up with increasing intensity. He yelled and writhed as he was hit over and over again. He didn’t know what to do or how to stop the merciless, agonizing attack.
I heard his cries, looked and saw what was happening. As the attack continued, I yelled “Run Sam! Run!” He was too tortured to hear. I finally ran to him, guiding him to the safety of the garage. Even there, one of the tenacious monsters still continued to cling to the sock around his ankle, inflicting wound upon wound. He yanked off his shoes and socks then ran in the house, suffering in pain.
It made me so angry. How dare these evil monsters attack my son with such ruthlessness. I grabbed a can of wasp spray, dashed out the door, and emptied its contents on the yellow jacket nest. It knocked down some, but still more swarmed around the nest. I went for a second can, gave them another dose, then turned attention to Sam. He had so many stings we had to take to the emergency room.
There are still some yellow jackets in that nest, but their time is very limited. I will not rest until they are all gone forever. They will suffer my wrath for hurting my child. Tonight, while they are all in the nest, I am going to pour gasoline in their hole. Then, just to finish the job for sure, I’m going to throw in a lighted match.
Today is Father’s day. On this day I think about what it means to be a father. And as I plan my vengeance on those evil monsters that attacked my son, I realize my wrath burns so hotly because of the love I have for my child. I also think about God, the perfect father, who has adopted as His children those who will accept Him. Although I can’t pretend to understand Him, I do feel like I am beginning to have an inkling of understanding about “the wrath of God.” It’s funny, but somehow now, it feels like love.
A friend and neighbor gave me an old hymn book a while back. I have thumbed through it a few times since, smiling as it brings to mind songs I haven’t sung since I was a kid. Every now and then I can’t help but stop on a page and hum or sing a few words.
I must be getting old. Tonight I actually sat down with the hymn book and my guitar. I cracked the book open and flipped a few pages, looking for a tune to play. After a few casual page turns, I came to one. It wasn’t long until my fingers were picking, my mouth was singing, and my heart was beating to the tune . . .
More about Jesus I would know,
More of His grace to others show;
More of His saving fullness see,
More of His love, who died for me.
More, More about Jesus . . .
I don’t really know who Hewitt and Sweney were, but they sure could write a decent song. Copyright 1887, and still stuck in my head.
The poison ivy got me. I put on gloves and went to war, pulling it up by the roots, yanking it up and breaking it off with reckless abandon. I’ve beaten it. It no longer lurks in the shrubs, waiting to ambush a hapless victim, but it didn’t go down without a fight. It’s left me wounded, struggling with itchy blisters around my wrist.
An Encounter with Poison Ivy
It occurred to me this Sunday. I was walking down the aisle to take communion. I looked at my ugly sores and thought how wonderful it would be to just wash away the poison and all the ugly, itchy painful mess all over my wrist. As I took the bread and the juice, I realized that over 2000 years ago, on a wooden cross, Jesus had done it. For sure, He still does it today. He offers the cure for a sore and blistered heart. The satisfaction for a soul that itches for peace. He offers it freely, if we will only take it. The bread and the juice had special meaning to me today. He is the Antidote for the poison.
Sam held up the dandelion stem with it’s white fluffy seed ball ready to blow into the wind.
“What are the odds this dandelion will get me my wish?” he asked.
“That depends on what you wish for,” I responded. “Of course, even if you DO get what you wish for, it’s almost certain that it is NOT because of the dandelion. But on the other hand, there is one wish the dandelion will fulfill. You could take a big breath, and just before you blow on that puffy ball of seeds you could wish for . . . more dandelions.”
Sometimes I feel my prayers are like dandelion wishes. If I pray for what God already wants to do, then He might do it in His own time. But why pray for something God is already going to do anyway? Of course I could spend my prayers trying to convince God to see it my way and grant what I want. But if I can convince God to do what I want, instead of what He would do, then something is wrong with the whole picture.
So, in the end, I just try to talk to God about everything and let the dandelion seeds blow where they may. He may not grant me everything I’ve “wished” for, but in the end, at least I have shared my heart. And I think perhaps, that is the best prayer of all.
Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.
– Philippians 4:6-7 NLT