Why Cut a Tree?

 Consider This, Misc.  1 Response »
Jul 082011
 

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

 

Say What?

 Consider This, Misc.  1 Response »
Jun 222011
 

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.”

The Demise of Vicious Beasts

 Misc.  No Responses »
Jun 192011
 

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.

Stuck In My Head

 Misc.  2 Responses »
Jun 152011
 

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 Antidote

 Misc.  4 Responses »
Jun 052011
 

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

Last Monday I pulled up the poison ivy vines and threw them over the back fence.  They have probably long since withered in the hot June sun, but I’m still scratching and suffering because my gloves and my sleeves didn’t meet.  The gloves didn’t cover enough.  I was too careless.  Too confident.  The first day or so after the event, I was fine.  I thought I had gotten away with it.  All the while, the poison was working it’s way into my skin.  Now I’m paying the price and the evidence is clear to see.
 
This whole affair reminds me a little of another affair that has been in the news lately.  A past presidential candidate played with the poison and thought he got away with it . . . for a while.  Now the ugly mess is spread all over him.  Sooner or later, it always does.  It pops out and leaves a person miserable.  There is only one cure.
 

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.

Sand

 Consider This  2 Responses »
May 252011
 

I hate suffering.  Especially when it’s near me, and most definitely when it is me.  Unfortunately, many of us are called to do it.  I used to think that the only good suffering was the kind where I was suffering for being a Christian.  Persecutions and such.  Now I think there’s more to it than that.  There may be times when I suffer for Christ’s sake and don’t even know it.

Take the case of the man born blind in John chapter 9.  People asked Jesus why the man was blind.  Jesus said, “… so the works of God might be displayed in him.”  That’s pretty tough to swallow.  This guy was born blind and lived to adulthood without sight so that God could be glorified.  I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing this guy didn’t feel like he was suffering for God’s glory.  I’m betting there were lots of days, especially as an older child, when he was wondering why he could only sit and listen to the sounds of the other kids running and playing.   But even then, he was sitting there blind, for God’s glory. 

The day was coming.  A pivitol moment in history when this blind child had grown to be an adult.   Jesus would use this man to display his power and authority to the Pharisees.  The point where the line was drawn in the sand and people had to choose which side they were on.  By healing him, Jesus drew the line.  This man’s lifetime of suffering was the sand.

The point to me is this:  Sometimes I suffer for God’s glory and maybe I don’t even know it.  It doesn’t feel good at the time.  Nobody likes to suffer.  But whether I know it or not, whether I like it or not, it happens for God’s glory, and believe it or not, that is a priviledge.  Sometimes, I am called to be the sand.

For to you it has been granted for Christ’s sake, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for His sake, experiencing the same conflict which you saw in me, and now hear to be in me.
     Phillippians 2:3-4

So a second time they called the man who had been blind, and said to him, “Give glory to God; we know that this man is a sinner.”  He then answered, “Whether He is a sinner, I do not know; one thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”
      John 9:24-25

Dandelion Prayers

 Misc.  2 Responses »
May 152011
 
image
A fluffy ball of dandelion seeds

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

The Ice Cream Man

 Misc.  4 Responses »
May 092011
 

The ice cream man came by my house on Saturday.  If you are as old as I am, or a lucky youngster who happens to live in one of the few neighborhoods he still visits, you have seen him before.  He drives a beat-up white van or panel truck with colorful pictures of frozen treats all over it.  Sometimes there’s a big clown hat on the top, and always, there is a loud speaker blaring out some corny tune.  Nine times out of ten, it’s “Turkey in the Straw.”

As he slowly cruises by each house, he hopes to draw the kids out with his music.  It sounds fun.  The truck looks colorful and exciting with pictures splashed on almost every inch.   And the ice cream . . . the ice cream he brings is . . . well . . . mediocre at best.   Sometimes old.  Sometimes half thawed.  Other times frozen so hard you can hardly bite it.    But that doesn’t stop the kids from running to the curb and waiting for the truck to come by, eager to purchase the mediocre ice cream from the ice cream man.  Why?

It’s an even stranger question when I admit that I am at times, still one of those kids.    Hear the tune.  See the truck go by, headed deep into the heart of the neighborhood.  Now run to the curb and wait.  He’s coming back on his way out.  I hear the music getting closer.  What will I get?  An ice cream sandwich?  A red white and blue “bomb-pop?”  One of those orange push-up things on a stick?  The excitement of the purchase takes over.  It doesn’t matter that it is not the best ice cream.  What matters is that it is the best way to buy it.  This past Saturday I resisted the urge, but next time, I’m running to the curb.

Sometimes my heart overrules my head.   Sometimes it matters.  Sometimes it doesn’t.

 

 

How Many Beats ’till We’re There?

 Consider This  1 Response »
Apr 302011
 

My heart beats at 68 beats per minute.  That’s on the low end of average for a person who is sitting around doing  nothing.  When I get up and go for a walk, my heart works a little harder, speeding up to 72.  When I wake in the morning, it’s already thumping along at 66 bpm.  Not much change for a heart.

Although it’s drumming a steady beat now, there will come a day when it stops.  The last beat.  It’s been counting down ever since before I was born.  Only God knows exactly how many beats I have.  It’s a bit sad and introspective for me to think about it, but I wonder if God sees it differently.   I wonder if He is watching the count-down. 

Does He consider the day of the last beat, when my heart stops and my eyes open to really see Him for the first time?  Does He eagerly anticipate, like a Father waiting for his children to come home?   Is He marking off the beats on some Heavenly count-down clock?  I can almost imagine Jesus elbowing some big angel and saying, “Just wait ’till Mark gets here.  He’s going to be amazed at the place I’ve prepared for him.  Only 1,751,299,200 beats to go! ”

  “Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me.  In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.   And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.”
     – John 14:1-3

The Guy Who Works at Wendy’s

 Misc.  3 Responses »
Apr 202011
 

There is a guy who works at Wendy’s.  I have seen him there for the 20 years I have lived here, but he told me yesterday that he has actually been working there for 28 years.   He cleans the tables, throws out the trash, checks on the bathrooms and does a few other odd jobs.  He walks with a limp, which hints at some past injury that has left him less than “perfect.”

He is not management.  He is not a grill operator.  He does not work the register.  I suspect he has not been blessed with the talents necessary to do those jobs.   What he does do faithfully even after 28 years, is clean off the tables and throw out the trash.  I know it sounds crazy, but for reasons I don’t even fully understand, I find myself admiring him more than most managers, VPs and CEOs I know.

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