“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ." 1 Corinthians 2:16
In a sense, it seems like a contradiction, doesn't it? In quoting from Isaiah, Paul makes the argument that no one can begin to truly understand or completely comprehend the plans, feelings, views and designs of God. At the same time, the one who belongs to Christ, and is led by his Spirit, shares the views, feelings, and purposes of Christ. So, while we are in the flesh, it is not possible for man to fully understand God's nature but, through Christ, His nature can be revealed through us.
I mention this because my mind has been wandering again. As I sit in the quietness, I have spent time dwelling on everything from the creation of all things to the crucifixion of the one who created all things.
This type of contemplation is not an attempt to understand the, "hows' and the "whys," of the the Father, but rather it is an exercise that draws me into the vastness of the God I serve. It allows my soul to begin to touch the immenseness of the Father who has chosen me, with all my faults and imperfections, all my blemishes and scars, and whispered in my ear, "I am Abba. You belong to me." And, it is there, in the stillness, pondering the awesome grandeur of all he has done, that I begin to see more of the glory of my Father. I begin to see more of the perfection of his plan and his purposes.
It is in that place, not understanding, but lost in the vastness of the glory, plan and purposes of the Father, I begin to see beauty. I begin to experience the beauty of everything that is God. In the end, Jonathan Edwards would argue, that is the goal of the Christian life, "To enjoy and reflect the beauty of God."
In these moments, when my soul is captivated by the shear immenseness of all things and the beauty of my Lord, there is complete contentment. There is remarkable peace. There is indescribable tranquility. They are instants in time which provide glimpses of future glory when time will be no more. They are occasions of prayer without words. Praise without sound. Worship that bows my soul in silence before my Abba.
It is here that I relate to King David's greatest desire and his passionate request :
One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple. Psalm 27:4 (ESV)
God is holy, to be sure. His love is faultless, his plans and purposes flawless. His glory, reflected in all things, is indescribable. Every attribute of God is perfect in perfection. But, in eternity, when we gaze on all the divine virtues that make the Father who he is, we will see beauty. And, we will spend eternity gazing upon the sheer, continually increasing, beauty that flows from our Abba.
In these all to short times of silent prayer, my soul touches the outermost fringe of that beauty, and cries with deep longing, "Come, Lord Jesus!"
But I digress. Here's where my mind has been wandering this past week. The week in which we remember Christ's passion and resurrection.
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made". John 1:1-3 (ESV)
And:
"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14 (ESV)
My meditation has been on two thoughts from these verses. First, this Word, who both was with God and was God, created all things. And second, this Word somehow took on human form and dwelt with man.
Having the Spirit of God in me causes every part of my being to cry out that these words are true. And, with my mind, I can partially understand what this is saying. But I am not able to picture what this would even begin to look like. My mind cannot come close to grasping how it is remotely possible for the Word to create everything from nothing. In fact, I cannot begin to imagine what nothing would even look like. It's a God dimension thing that doesn't translate into my three dimensional world view.
The same is true of the Word becoming flesh. I get it. I even celebrate Christmas every year. But picturing how that happens in three dimensional terms is just not possible.
But the Father gives me the freedom to wonder. He allows me to take my three dimensional view, and try to wander in God dimensional territory. That is often where I get trapped in the vastness of God, and begin to sit transfixed, gazing on his beauty.
I wonder about the Word designing the perfect ecosystem on this blessed planet. Everything about it had to be ideal to support the life he was going to create on it. But, I wonder, when he created trees to gather energy from the sun he spoke into existence, and to convert the carbon dioxide that animal life would exhale into oxygen for that same life to inhale, what thoughts crossed his mind? When he created those trees, did he picture one of them cut into beams, and formed into a cross, in order to crucify the flesh he was going to become?
When he added thorn bushes to his perfect ecosystem, did he look toward the day when one of them would be used to form a crown of mockery that would be jammed onto the head of the flesh he was going to become?
When flax became part of his creation, part of the unique biosphere, did he envision the linen that would come from it being made into the garments that would be gambled for at the foot of the cross, or the robe that Herod would place on him to ridicule him? Did he see the flesh he was going to become being placed, broken, battered, beaten, and lifeless into the shroud of linen made from the seed of the flax he was creating?
When the Word placed iron ore into the ground of the favored planet, did he visualize the day it would be taken from the ground, smelted, and made into steel? Particularly, did he picture the day that steel would form the nails that would hold his flesh to the cross made from the tree he created? Did he imagine the same steel being formed into the hammer that would pound the nails through his hands and feet into the cold beams? Did he think of the steel that would form the spearhead of the spear that would pierce the side of the flesh that he would become?
There are so many things.
When the Word created man from the dust, and sent life giving blood pumping through his body, did he think of the future day when he would become flesh, and the life giving blood would drip from his body? When the Word gave man nerves to feel, and sense pain, did he imagine the pain that would be inflicted on him when he became flesh? When he gave man a body of flesh, did he anticipate the day the nails would be driven into the flesh of his hands and feet? Or the moment the spear would pierce the flesh of his side?
There are, obviously, no answers to these questions, for they belong to God's dimension alone. But, I consider them when I sit in stillness, not for answers, but because they take me to that place of the vastness of God. And from there, it is a short trip to beholding his beauty. And, for now, that is more than enough. For in that place, I become keenly aware that, while I may not know everything the Word was thinking when he spun things into existence, His Spirit bears witness to my spirit, that he was thinking of me. And, in that, there is rest.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Give, And it Will be Given to You
"Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:38 (ESV)
What a difference a semicolon can make.
Luke 6:38 is one of the most recognized scriptures in the bible, especially among my more Charismatic and Pentecostal friends. I cannot imagine the number of times I have heard it used to encourage believer's to give of their finances. I am certain I have used it on a number of occasions myself. To be sure, it is a solid and true principle of God, that giving of our resources to the building the Kingdom of God is the best investment we can make with our money. And the principle of reaping a sowing is, in my opinion, not just a biblical precept for the believer, but a universal law designed by God that is as sure and reliable as his law of gravity. (2 Corinthians 9:6) So, to be clear, I believe Christians should be giving of their finances, as God directs, for the building of his kingdom. And, I believe the Father honors that obedience.
As mentioned, Luke 6:38 was one of the scriptures I used to back that principle.
But then I saw the semicolon. More specifically, I saw the semicolon and the small letter, "g,." When I saw those two things, I had to ask myself what Jesus meant when he said, "give." The question became, what is he really asking me to give?
Whatever the give means, the rewards of giving it are awesome. It's going to be given back in, "Good measure." It's going to be given back, "Pressed down, shaken together, and running over." The picture Christ is painting here is that of a measuring container into which as much grain as possible is packed. The container is then shaken so that the grain settles, and more is poured in until the container overflows. The bottom line is, Christ is saying that when we give whatever it is we're supposed to give, whatever we have given will be multiplied back to us big time. And it will be measured back by the same measure we use to give it out.
So why did I begin to question what Christ was asking us to give? Let me explain. Every year, I use a different translation of the bible for my reading time. This year it happens to be the ESV. As I read this scripture in the ESV, I was reminded that the books of the bible were not written with chapters and verses. I think we forget that sometimes. While chapters and verses make it handy to identify a specific portion of the bible, there are times when they do us a disservice as we try to understand what was truly written. They can, for example, make us forget that a certain verse does not stand independently from what was written before or after the verse. When Luke was writing this portion of his letter to Theophilus, he didn't pause after verse thirty-seven and think, "Now what do I want to say in verse thirty-eight." Here's how these two verses are translated in the ESV:
“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:37-38 (ESV)
Do you see the semicolon and the small "g." The thought is continuous. It is continuous through the whole chapter, but for our purposes we will go back to verse thirty-five, and consider what Christ is asking his followers to do.
Matthew gives a condensed version of this teaching in Matthew 7:1-2 when he writes:
“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you." Matthew 7:1-2 (ESV)
In fact, both Matthew and Luke follow these words of Christ's with the caution of removing the log in our eye, before we try to remove the speck that is in our brother's eye.
Friend, when the Father withholds our final breath, and we pass from time to eternity. When our eyes are closed to this world and truly opened to the Kingdom of God, we will be overpowered with his love. Grace and mercy will flow through us and swirl around us. We will feel the Father's incomprehensible compassion as we realize for the first time the magnitude of his forgiveness toward us because of the Son's sacrifice on Calvary. If we belong to him, we will experience these things regardless of the love we've shown or the grace, mercy and compassion we've displayed. We will be forgiven, even if we have been slow to forgive while we walked the earth. Everything in eternity will be based on what Christ has done for us rather than what we have earned, and for that I am so very thankful. "For it is by grace you have been saved through faith: and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God." Ephesians 2:8.
I would suggest, however, that with these verses in Luke 6, Christ is inviting us to bring a taste of what we will experience through Christ in his heavenly kingdom, to our daily lives as we journey toward the indescribably brilliant home he has prepared for us. He desires for us to bring a portion of kingdom living to a narcissistic, self-indulged world. As we make our way toward everlasting grace and glory, he would have us leave traces of that grace and glory in the footprints we leave behind.
Follow me now.
In the middle of chapter 6, Christ spends a night praying on a mountain and then chooses his apostles. He comes down the mountain with the chosen twelve to a throng of people, stands before the crowd, and begins to preach. The sermon he preached is the remainder of chapter 6.
He begins with what has become known as the Beatitudes, in which he declares that the poor, the meek, those that mourn, the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure of heart, those that thirst for justice, and those that are persecuted provide the ideal heart condition of a kingdom citizen. (Expanded from Matthew 5) "Poor in spirit," speaks to an awareness of spiritual bankruptcy apart from Christ. Those who morn are those who are truly grieved and broken over sin. The meek exemplify Christ's gentleness. "Hunger and thirst," are descriptive of those who crave the righteousness of God. The merciful are forgiving and compassionate. To be, "pure in heart, " speaks to the internal cleansing that is required for entering God's presence. And, finally, there is a blessing for being, "persecuted for righteousness."
In general, Christ gives them an introduction to the journey he is about to take them on. A journey that will ultimately lead them to the blessings of an eternity with the God of creation in the glorious heaven he is preparing for them. But not before they wander for a time in the fallen wilderness of this world.
Next he explains that during this wandering, they will live in a way that is counterintuitive to the way the world lives. Along the way, they are going to love their enemies. They are going to do good to those who hate them, bless those who curse them and pray for those who abuse them. If someone takes something from them, they are not going to demand it back. In fact, they're going to even offer to give them more.
They are going to wander the wilderness leaving the grace and glory of their Father with every step.
That brings us to the verse we started began with:
"Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:38 (ESV)
Remember, when we walk into the glory of God's heavenly kingdom, we will be immersed in immeasurable love, grace, mercy, compassion and forgiveness. And, even though all of it was purchased for us by Christ at Calvary, we are not able to experience the true depth of any of it as long as we live in this body of decaying flesh. “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” 1 Corinthians 15:55 (ESV)
But God blesses us in allowing us to have a taste of it now. He allows us to have a measure of it now. I would suggest that the measure we use will be the measure we receive back. Not in eternity, but now. When I give love, I am able receive it back by the same measure that I gave it, with one exception. The measure will be pressed down, shaken together, and running over. The same is true when I choose grace over judgment, mercy over condemnation, and forgiveness over retribution. All of things have been purchased for us, they're free for us, we don't have to do anything to earn them. But to be able to receive them is greatly increased when, by the power of God's Spirit, we are able to give them.
Is it always easy. Absolutely not. But by the measure I give these thing, my ability to receive them will be measured back to me. Love for love, grace for grace, mercy for mercy, compassion for compassion, and forgiveness for forgiveness. More importantly, as I make my way toward the eternal heavenly kingdom, I will be leaving glimpses of that kingdom on the path I travel.
What a difference a semicolon can make.
Luke 6:38 is one of the most recognized scriptures in the bible, especially among my more Charismatic and Pentecostal friends. I cannot imagine the number of times I have heard it used to encourage believer's to give of their finances. I am certain I have used it on a number of occasions myself. To be sure, it is a solid and true principle of God, that giving of our resources to the building the Kingdom of God is the best investment we can make with our money. And the principle of reaping a sowing is, in my opinion, not just a biblical precept for the believer, but a universal law designed by God that is as sure and reliable as his law of gravity. (2 Corinthians 9:6) So, to be clear, I believe Christians should be giving of their finances, as God directs, for the building of his kingdom. And, I believe the Father honors that obedience.
As mentioned, Luke 6:38 was one of the scriptures I used to back that principle.
But then I saw the semicolon. More specifically, I saw the semicolon and the small letter, "g,." When I saw those two things, I had to ask myself what Jesus meant when he said, "give." The question became, what is he really asking me to give?
Whatever the give means, the rewards of giving it are awesome. It's going to be given back in, "Good measure." It's going to be given back, "Pressed down, shaken together, and running over." The picture Christ is painting here is that of a measuring container into which as much grain as possible is packed. The container is then shaken so that the grain settles, and more is poured in until the container overflows. The bottom line is, Christ is saying that when we give whatever it is we're supposed to give, whatever we have given will be multiplied back to us big time. And it will be measured back by the same measure we use to give it out.
So why did I begin to question what Christ was asking us to give? Let me explain. Every year, I use a different translation of the bible for my reading time. This year it happens to be the ESV. As I read this scripture in the ESV, I was reminded that the books of the bible were not written with chapters and verses. I think we forget that sometimes. While chapters and verses make it handy to identify a specific portion of the bible, there are times when they do us a disservice as we try to understand what was truly written. They can, for example, make us forget that a certain verse does not stand independently from what was written before or after the verse. When Luke was writing this portion of his letter to Theophilus, he didn't pause after verse thirty-seven and think, "Now what do I want to say in verse thirty-eight." Here's how these two verses are translated in the ESV:
“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:37-38 (ESV)
Do you see the semicolon and the small "g." The thought is continuous. It is continuous through the whole chapter, but for our purposes we will go back to verse thirty-five, and consider what Christ is asking his followers to do.
- Love your enemies, and do good.
- Lend, expecting nothing in return.
- Be merciful.
- Do not judge.
- Do not condemn.
- Forgive.
- Give love to your enemies.
- Give to those who are in need expecting nothing in return.
- Give mercy.
- Give grace instead of judgment.
- Give compassion instead of condemnation.
- Give forgiveness.
Matthew gives a condensed version of this teaching in Matthew 7:1-2 when he writes:
“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you." Matthew 7:1-2 (ESV)
In fact, both Matthew and Luke follow these words of Christ's with the caution of removing the log in our eye, before we try to remove the speck that is in our brother's eye.
Friend, when the Father withholds our final breath, and we pass from time to eternity. When our eyes are closed to this world and truly opened to the Kingdom of God, we will be overpowered with his love. Grace and mercy will flow through us and swirl around us. We will feel the Father's incomprehensible compassion as we realize for the first time the magnitude of his forgiveness toward us because of the Son's sacrifice on Calvary. If we belong to him, we will experience these things regardless of the love we've shown or the grace, mercy and compassion we've displayed. We will be forgiven, even if we have been slow to forgive while we walked the earth. Everything in eternity will be based on what Christ has done for us rather than what we have earned, and for that I am so very thankful. "For it is by grace you have been saved through faith: and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God." Ephesians 2:8.
I would suggest, however, that with these verses in Luke 6, Christ is inviting us to bring a taste of what we will experience through Christ in his heavenly kingdom, to our daily lives as we journey toward the indescribably brilliant home he has prepared for us. He desires for us to bring a portion of kingdom living to a narcissistic, self-indulged world. As we make our way toward everlasting grace and glory, he would have us leave traces of that grace and glory in the footprints we leave behind.
Follow me now.
In the middle of chapter 6, Christ spends a night praying on a mountain and then chooses his apostles. He comes down the mountain with the chosen twelve to a throng of people, stands before the crowd, and begins to preach. The sermon he preached is the remainder of chapter 6.
He begins with what has become known as the Beatitudes, in which he declares that the poor, the meek, those that mourn, the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure of heart, those that thirst for justice, and those that are persecuted provide the ideal heart condition of a kingdom citizen. (Expanded from Matthew 5) "Poor in spirit," speaks to an awareness of spiritual bankruptcy apart from Christ. Those who morn are those who are truly grieved and broken over sin. The meek exemplify Christ's gentleness. "Hunger and thirst," are descriptive of those who crave the righteousness of God. The merciful are forgiving and compassionate. To be, "pure in heart, " speaks to the internal cleansing that is required for entering God's presence. And, finally, there is a blessing for being, "persecuted for righteousness."
In general, Christ gives them an introduction to the journey he is about to take them on. A journey that will ultimately lead them to the blessings of an eternity with the God of creation in the glorious heaven he is preparing for them. But not before they wander for a time in the fallen wilderness of this world.
Next he explains that during this wandering, they will live in a way that is counterintuitive to the way the world lives. Along the way, they are going to love their enemies. They are going to do good to those who hate them, bless those who curse them and pray for those who abuse them. If someone takes something from them, they are not going to demand it back. In fact, they're going to even offer to give them more.
They are going to wander the wilderness leaving the grace and glory of their Father with every step.
That brings us to the verse we started began with:
"Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:38 (ESV)
Remember, when we walk into the glory of God's heavenly kingdom, we will be immersed in immeasurable love, grace, mercy, compassion and forgiveness. And, even though all of it was purchased for us by Christ at Calvary, we are not able to experience the true depth of any of it as long as we live in this body of decaying flesh. “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” 1 Corinthians 15:55 (ESV)
But God blesses us in allowing us to have a taste of it now. He allows us to have a measure of it now. I would suggest that the measure we use will be the measure we receive back. Not in eternity, but now. When I give love, I am able receive it back by the same measure that I gave it, with one exception. The measure will be pressed down, shaken together, and running over. The same is true when I choose grace over judgment, mercy over condemnation, and forgiveness over retribution. All of things have been purchased for us, they're free for us, we don't have to do anything to earn them. But to be able to receive them is greatly increased when, by the power of God's Spirit, we are able to give them.
Is it always easy. Absolutely not. But by the measure I give these thing, my ability to receive them will be measured back to me. Love for love, grace for grace, mercy for mercy, compassion for compassion, and forgiveness for forgiveness. More importantly, as I make my way toward the eternal heavenly kingdom, I will be leaving glimpses of that kingdom on the path I travel.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Conversations With Myself
"But I am not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day." 2 Timothy 1:12 (NASB)
I have been, by my own admission, a rather bipolar person when it comes to my spiritual walk. I have had marvelous mountain top experiences, only to find myself in the lowest of valleys digging a well. But I am convinced that the same grace that held me as I soared from the peaks, cradled me as I was tunneling in the valley. I was no more saved on the days when I was soaring than I was on the days I was tumbling, and I was no less saved when I was burrowing into the depths than on the days I was ascending. Schizophrenic in my walk at times, but always secure....."For I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
Most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, will admit that our journey has not always been a straight ascent to the spiritual perfection that we envisioned when the walk began. There are highs and there are lows. Some of the lows are self inflicted, some them are inflicted by others, and sometimes things just happen that cause the footings of faith to give way and the slide to begin.
As I prayed this morning, I contemplated these things. I questioned these things. I considered what I would, if it were possible, tell the young man that would become the person I am today, if I could speak to him at the beginning of the journey. After six decades of living, what advice would I pass on to him. As I begin to enjoy the sunset, what would I want to have known as I watched the sun rise on this excursion that would be my life.
To be sure, I would try to tell him the things he should do, as well as the things he should stay away from. I would outline the paths to take, and the routes to avoid. I would tell him those things knowing full well that they would be ignored for I have obviously lived with the DNA my younger self was dealt, and understand fully the challenge. The DNA that drives the compulsiveness, the self-sufficiency, and the rebelliousness. I have lived with the pride and ego that accompanies the human experience. So I would tell him, but knowing our nature, understanding all the while that they would largely be discounted.
I would tell him that the world will often hate him. Sometimes for things he has done. For not being the person he should have been. Other times for not allowing himself to be molded into something he wasn't created to be. But the world, for all it's attractions, would not be his friend. The world would make every attempt to persuade him to define himself by his actions. To define himself by the things he has done.....either good or bad. I would tell him that the prince of the world he would be traversing draws no greater thrill than causing him to label his identity by his mistakes. His enemy's greatest victory comes from persuading him that his identity lies in his failures. That he is defined by what he has done.
But then, I would place my hands on the sides of his face, look him squarely in the eyes, and with all the intensity that was in me tell him, "But listen.... 'I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
And then I would tell him that he was going to have a friend that was going to stick closer than a brother. I would tell him that friend was so intimately acquainted with him that he weaved the DNA that made him the person he was. For the designer's purpose alone, for the Creator's plan,and with his divine direction, that friend wove the strands that would form the mold of what made us who we are.
I would tell the younger me that it would be from that friend that he needed to draw his identity. When the world says that you are worthless, that friend says that you were worth him coming to earth to be nailed to a tree. When the world says that you are unlovable, that friend says that you are loved with the unconditional love of the Creator of all things. When the prince of this world whispers in your ear that you are the chief of all sinners, the King of Kings wraps his scarred hands around you and says that you are sinless. When the world tells you that you are lost, Christ smiles and reminds you that he is the one leading you home. He reminds you that he will never leave you or forsake you.
I would tell him these things hoping that he would spend more days listening to the truth from his Savior, rather than living with the identifiers placed on him by the world. Hoping that he would draw his worth from who he belongs to rather than the things he had done.
But then I would tell him that if he forgets everything else...if he takes some wrong paths....if he defines himself more by what the world says than what his Savior says. Even if he forgets all that I tried to tell him, I would tell him to write these words on his heart...."Never, ever, even on the darkest, most stormy of days forget that, 'I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
I have been, by my own admission, a rather bipolar person when it comes to my spiritual walk. I have had marvelous mountain top experiences, only to find myself in the lowest of valleys digging a well. But I am convinced that the same grace that held me as I soared from the peaks, cradled me as I was tunneling in the valley. I was no more saved on the days when I was soaring than I was on the days I was tumbling, and I was no less saved when I was burrowing into the depths than on the days I was ascending. Schizophrenic in my walk at times, but always secure....."For I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
Most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, will admit that our journey has not always been a straight ascent to the spiritual perfection that we envisioned when the walk began. There are highs and there are lows. Some of the lows are self inflicted, some them are inflicted by others, and sometimes things just happen that cause the footings of faith to give way and the slide to begin.
As I prayed this morning, I contemplated these things. I questioned these things. I considered what I would, if it were possible, tell the young man that would become the person I am today, if I could speak to him at the beginning of the journey. After six decades of living, what advice would I pass on to him. As I begin to enjoy the sunset, what would I want to have known as I watched the sun rise on this excursion that would be my life.
To be sure, I would try to tell him the things he should do, as well as the things he should stay away from. I would outline the paths to take, and the routes to avoid. I would tell him those things knowing full well that they would be ignored for I have obviously lived with the DNA my younger self was dealt, and understand fully the challenge. The DNA that drives the compulsiveness, the self-sufficiency, and the rebelliousness. I have lived with the pride and ego that accompanies the human experience. So I would tell him, but knowing our nature, understanding all the while that they would largely be discounted.
I would tell him that the world will often hate him. Sometimes for things he has done. For not being the person he should have been. Other times for not allowing himself to be molded into something he wasn't created to be. But the world, for all it's attractions, would not be his friend. The world would make every attempt to persuade him to define himself by his actions. To define himself by the things he has done.....either good or bad. I would tell him that the prince of the world he would be traversing draws no greater thrill than causing him to label his identity by his mistakes. His enemy's greatest victory comes from persuading him that his identity lies in his failures. That he is defined by what he has done.
But then, I would place my hands on the sides of his face, look him squarely in the eyes, and with all the intensity that was in me tell him, "But listen.... 'I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
And then I would tell him that he was going to have a friend that was going to stick closer than a brother. I would tell him that friend was so intimately acquainted with him that he weaved the DNA that made him the person he was. For the designer's purpose alone, for the Creator's plan,and with his divine direction, that friend wove the strands that would form the mold of what made us who we are.
I would tell the younger me that it would be from that friend that he needed to draw his identity. When the world says that you are worthless, that friend says that you were worth him coming to earth to be nailed to a tree. When the world says that you are unlovable, that friend says that you are loved with the unconditional love of the Creator of all things. When the prince of this world whispers in your ear that you are the chief of all sinners, the King of Kings wraps his scarred hands around you and says that you are sinless. When the world tells you that you are lost, Christ smiles and reminds you that he is the one leading you home. He reminds you that he will never leave you or forsake you.
I would tell him these things hoping that he would spend more days listening to the truth from his Savior, rather than living with the identifiers placed on him by the world. Hoping that he would draw his worth from who he belongs to rather than the things he had done.
But then I would tell him that if he forgets everything else...if he takes some wrong paths....if he defines himself more by what the world says than what his Savior says. Even if he forgets all that I tried to tell him, I would tell him to write these words on his heart...."Never, ever, even on the darkest, most stormy of days forget that, 'I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
Monday, June 9, 2014
Random Thoughts on Praise and Worship
"But I am not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day." 2 Timothy 1:12 (NASB)
I have been, by my own admission, a rather bipolar person when it comes to my spiritual walk. I have had marvelous mountain top experiences, only to find myself in the lowest of valleys digging a well. But I am convinced that the same grace that held me as I soared from the peaks, cradled me as I was tunneling in the valley. I was no more saved on the days when I was soaring than I was on the days I was tumbling, and I was no less saved when I was burrowing into the depths than on the days I was ascending. Schizophrenic in my walk at times, but always secure....."For I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
Most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, will admit that our journey has not always been a straight ascent to the spiritual perfection that we envisioned when the walk began. There are highs and there are lows. Some of the lows are self inflicted, some them are inflicted by others, and sometimes things just happen that cause the footings of faith to give way and the slide to begin.
For the first few decades of my spiritual journey, I absorbed books and sermons like a parched desert greedily soaks up a few drops of rain. I studied, preached, led bible studies and studied some more. Through those years, theologically, my views of the God I served changed dramatically from the day I first bowed before Christ and confessed him as Lord.
The most significant change came in my understanding of the unlimited grace that was...and is...and always will be poured out on the believer's behalf. For me, beginning to grasp the magnitude of that marvelous grace has become the unmovable anchor through even the most unstable segments of my walk. Ironically, it has been my slide into some of the deepest pits that has demonstrated to me the impossibly unshakable nature of of God's grace. Regardless of the depth of the pit, his grace went further. Looking back, I can see that his grace has always enveloped me.
One time, many years ago, I was evaluated by a psychologist. He was an elderly, experienced practitioner who visited with me for a couple of hours asking a series of questions and conducting a variety of tests. While the questions and tests have long since been forgotten, his phone call with my evaluation has stayed with me over the years. He began with, "You are the most compulsive person I have ever met." It is true. I am compulsive. In the days that I was involved with politics, I remember driving an older, retired teacher home after an event I had organized. She stared at me as we rode in silence for a portion of the trip, and finally said, "You don't do anything just a little bit do you?" That is also true. Whether studying about the God who owns me, or digging a hole in the valley, "I don't do anything just a little bit."
I mention this personality trait of mine, not because I am overly proud of it, but to introduce my most recent compulsion. Praise and worship.
Now, I have always been a fan of worship services. Over the years, I have been to many Christian concerts, and have taken groups of people to enjoy the talent of a variety of Christian artists. Sadly, however, Christian music was not part of my every day life. I would have been much more inclined to absorb myself in study than to surround myself in praise.
A few years ago, I felt the Spirit of God leading me to spend a year with the Word of God alone. No other books. No commentaries. No sermons. No podcasts. Just me reading the bible. During that time I found myself listening to more and more Christian music. I was particularly drawn to praise and worship.
Perhaps it is the season of my life. Or, it could be the depth of the appreciation I have developed of the Father's grace and mercy. Then again, maybe it's just my compulsive nature....but I find the growing need to surround myself with praise and worship. My Ipod is packed with Christian music, and nearly every radio station I listen to plays Christian music constantly. When I work around the house or jog with my dogs there is always praise in my ears. In the car and at my job, when possible, there is worship flowing from the radio. This new compulsion is amazing, and I am beginning to realize how natural it will be to enter the glory of eternity praising this God who has lavishly showered me with his marvelous grace.
At the minimum, this music provides a background that helps me to follow Paul's advice to the Philippians in Philippians 4:8, "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." But, beyond that, there are times when a song will come on that causes me to raise my voice and hands in praise. In the next moment, another song may cause my soul to bow in worship. Sometimes, the song becomes a prayer and, often times, it brings to remembrance something to pray about. Then, there are the most special times, as the music softly plays, that my mind becomes still before my Abba. In those times, as I quiet myself before him, I feel the gentle breath of his Spirit softly whisper a fresh truth to the spirit that gives me life. Wonderful moments. Glorious moments.
Perhaps, as mentioned, this new found love of praise and worship is just a new compulsion. I don't really care. If it is, it is one that I am going to nurture until the Father withholds that final breath, and my voice joins the chorus of saints who have gone before me.
For decades, I tried to understand the nature of the God who saved me through study....and that was good. It was a necessary part of my walk. As I enter these latter years of my life, I find my contentment comes through praising and worshiping this glorious God who has chosen to love me and has poured out grace upon grace in my life. I understand that part of it is me "Not doing something just a little bit," as my teacher friend once observed. But a deeper part of it is realizing that I am just a blink away from my faith being my eyes....from knowing the Father as he knows me. In that moment, not only will the praise and worship continue, but it will be raised to a dimension and intensity that cannot be imagined by my limited, puny mind. I am, for sure, only tasting a portion of the feast that is to come, but the taste...Well, the taste cannot be described, and I long for the day that I will be totally immersed in praise and adoration before my King.
I wait with my hands raised to heaven, my heart longing for my Father, and my soul cradled by my Savior. And I wait, "Not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day." 2 Timothy 1:12 (NASB)
I have been, by my own admission, a rather bipolar person when it comes to my spiritual walk. I have had marvelous mountain top experiences, only to find myself in the lowest of valleys digging a well. But I am convinced that the same grace that held me as I soared from the peaks, cradled me as I was tunneling in the valley. I was no more saved on the days when I was soaring than I was on the days I was tumbling, and I was no less saved when I was burrowing into the depths than on the days I was ascending. Schizophrenic in my walk at times, but always secure....."For I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."
Most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, will admit that our journey has not always been a straight ascent to the spiritual perfection that we envisioned when the walk began. There are highs and there are lows. Some of the lows are self inflicted, some them are inflicted by others, and sometimes things just happen that cause the footings of faith to give way and the slide to begin.
For the first few decades of my spiritual journey, I absorbed books and sermons like a parched desert greedily soaks up a few drops of rain. I studied, preached, led bible studies and studied some more. Through those years, theologically, my views of the God I served changed dramatically from the day I first bowed before Christ and confessed him as Lord.
The most significant change came in my understanding of the unlimited grace that was...and is...and always will be poured out on the believer's behalf. For me, beginning to grasp the magnitude of that marvelous grace has become the unmovable anchor through even the most unstable segments of my walk. Ironically, it has been my slide into some of the deepest pits that has demonstrated to me the impossibly unshakable nature of of God's grace. Regardless of the depth of the pit, his grace went further. Looking back, I can see that his grace has always enveloped me.
One time, many years ago, I was evaluated by a psychologist. He was an elderly, experienced practitioner who visited with me for a couple of hours asking a series of questions and conducting a variety of tests. While the questions and tests have long since been forgotten, his phone call with my evaluation has stayed with me over the years. He began with, "You are the most compulsive person I have ever met." It is true. I am compulsive. In the days that I was involved with politics, I remember driving an older, retired teacher home after an event I had organized. She stared at me as we rode in silence for a portion of the trip, and finally said, "You don't do anything just a little bit do you?" That is also true. Whether studying about the God who owns me, or digging a hole in the valley, "I don't do anything just a little bit."
I mention this personality trait of mine, not because I am overly proud of it, but to introduce my most recent compulsion. Praise and worship.
Now, I have always been a fan of worship services. Over the years, I have been to many Christian concerts, and have taken groups of people to enjoy the talent of a variety of Christian artists. Sadly, however, Christian music was not part of my every day life. I would have been much more inclined to absorb myself in study than to surround myself in praise.
A few years ago, I felt the Spirit of God leading me to spend a year with the Word of God alone. No other books. No commentaries. No sermons. No podcasts. Just me reading the bible. During that time I found myself listening to more and more Christian music. I was particularly drawn to praise and worship.
Perhaps it is the season of my life. Or, it could be the depth of the appreciation I have developed of the Father's grace and mercy. Then again, maybe it's just my compulsive nature....but I find the growing need to surround myself with praise and worship. My Ipod is packed with Christian music, and nearly every radio station I listen to plays Christian music constantly. When I work around the house or jog with my dogs there is always praise in my ears. In the car and at my job, when possible, there is worship flowing from the radio. This new compulsion is amazing, and I am beginning to realize how natural it will be to enter the glory of eternity praising this God who has lavishly showered me with his marvelous grace.
At the minimum, this music provides a background that helps me to follow Paul's advice to the Philippians in Philippians 4:8, "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." But, beyond that, there are times when a song will come on that causes me to raise my voice and hands in praise. In the next moment, another song may cause my soul to bow in worship. Sometimes, the song becomes a prayer and, often times, it brings to remembrance something to pray about. Then, there are the most special times, as the music softly plays, that my mind becomes still before my Abba. In those times, as I quiet myself before him, I feel the gentle breath of his Spirit softly whisper a fresh truth to the spirit that gives me life. Wonderful moments. Glorious moments.
Perhaps, as mentioned, this new found love of praise and worship is just a new compulsion. I don't really care. If it is, it is one that I am going to nurture until the Father withholds that final breath, and my voice joins the chorus of saints who have gone before me.
For decades, I tried to understand the nature of the God who saved me through study....and that was good. It was a necessary part of my walk. As I enter these latter years of my life, I find my contentment comes through praising and worshiping this glorious God who has chosen to love me and has poured out grace upon grace in my life. I understand that part of it is me "Not doing something just a little bit," as my teacher friend once observed. But a deeper part of it is realizing that I am just a blink away from my faith being my eyes....from knowing the Father as he knows me. In that moment, not only will the praise and worship continue, but it will be raised to a dimension and intensity that cannot be imagined by my limited, puny mind. I am, for sure, only tasting a portion of the feast that is to come, but the taste...Well, the taste cannot be described, and I long for the day that I will be totally immersed in praise and adoration before my King.
I wait with my hands raised to heaven, my heart longing for my Father, and my soul cradled by my Savior. And I wait, "Not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day." 2 Timothy 1:12 (NASB)
Monday, April 28, 2014
Bringing Home a Bride
It is, I suppose, one of the highlights of most every parents lives. As we raise our children there are many highlights and milestones, but to watch our children fall in love, date, and eventually marry, has to be among the greatest. My wife Jacquie and I experienced it as her daughter Susan stood in our living room and spoke her vows to her husband Nate. We experienced it again as my son Ben stood before me on the shores of Lake Superior, and took Katie as his wife.
My eldest son, Josiah, did it differently. Since he is the child filled with wanderlust, it was to be expected. Not content with all that Pine County and the State of Minnesota has to offer, his life is one devoted to seeing as much of the world as possible, and witnessing first hand the cultures that most of us are only occasionally exposed to via television. It's the way he lives, and so when he called and told us that he was planning to marry Diana in the U.S. embassy in Egypt, it was not a big surprise. A Minnesota man marrying a woman from Mexico in distant Egypt is not something that I would have imagined when he was a child. But, as an adult, it fits him perfectly.
We are used to Josiah making his annual pilgrimage home in the summer to visit us for a hand full of weeks. This summer is different. This summer he will bring home his bride and, as his father, it is a greatly anticipated visit. Mind you, I have never met this young lady my eldest has chosen as his wife, but he has told me so much about her, I feel as if I do know her. This summer, she will be in our home and we will see her face to face. It is something that we are certainly looking forward to with joy.
And we are making preparations. I'm thinking of the meals we'll have, get-together's with family, and evenings sitting in the yard just visiting. I'm planning food, dates, times and, in general, preparing for their visit. The annual spring things we traditionally do around the house and yard to prepare for the summer have taken on an additional underlying motivation. I want things nice for the time Josiah and Dianna will be at our home.
While I perform some of the more mundane tasks such as raking and fertilizing the lawn, my mind wanders to other things. It is hard for me not to compare my anticipation and preparation to the spiritual.
It occurs to me that my heavenly Father is making preparations for his Son to bring home his Bride as well. Throughout scripture the church is referred to as the, "Bride of Christ." I am not wise enough to picture the form this will take. My mind cannot wrap itself around what it will look like. I do not know when it will happen, but I do know that there will come a time when my Father will turn to his son, Jesus, and say, "Son, bring home your bride."
And, "The Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord." 1 Thessalonians 4:17 (NASB)
In that instant, my Savior, Jesus Christ will bring his bride home. It will happen whether you believe it or not. It will happen whether you are ready for it or not. It will happen because the Creator of all things has set a time for his Son to bring his bride home. Somewhere in eternity, even before he spun this universe into being, and before there was a heaven and earth, the Father envisioned that day. Even before the first flower bloomed, or man drew his first breath, the Creator had chosen his Son's bride, and set a time for him to bring that bride home.
And, on a somewhat larger scale than my preparations for Josiah and Diana, my father has been making preparations for that day since he first envisioned it in the eternity before time. He's been preparing a wedding banquet. He's been preparing a home. He's been preparing a glorious eternity for the day when time ceases to exist, and the Son and his bride are by his side.
As a believer, part of the church and part of the bride, all I can do is bow before him and humbly pray, "Come Lord Jesus." I long for the day when I will see him face to face, to know him as he knows me, and to know the complete contentment that comes from truly being home.
My eldest son, Josiah, did it differently. Since he is the child filled with wanderlust, it was to be expected. Not content with all that Pine County and the State of Minnesota has to offer, his life is one devoted to seeing as much of the world as possible, and witnessing first hand the cultures that most of us are only occasionally exposed to via television. It's the way he lives, and so when he called and told us that he was planning to marry Diana in the U.S. embassy in Egypt, it was not a big surprise. A Minnesota man marrying a woman from Mexico in distant Egypt is not something that I would have imagined when he was a child. But, as an adult, it fits him perfectly.
We are used to Josiah making his annual pilgrimage home in the summer to visit us for a hand full of weeks. This summer is different. This summer he will bring home his bride and, as his father, it is a greatly anticipated visit. Mind you, I have never met this young lady my eldest has chosen as his wife, but he has told me so much about her, I feel as if I do know her. This summer, she will be in our home and we will see her face to face. It is something that we are certainly looking forward to with joy.
And we are making preparations. I'm thinking of the meals we'll have, get-together's with family, and evenings sitting in the yard just visiting. I'm planning food, dates, times and, in general, preparing for their visit. The annual spring things we traditionally do around the house and yard to prepare for the summer have taken on an additional underlying motivation. I want things nice for the time Josiah and Dianna will be at our home.
While I perform some of the more mundane tasks such as raking and fertilizing the lawn, my mind wanders to other things. It is hard for me not to compare my anticipation and preparation to the spiritual.
It occurs to me that my heavenly Father is making preparations for his Son to bring home his Bride as well. Throughout scripture the church is referred to as the, "Bride of Christ." I am not wise enough to picture the form this will take. My mind cannot wrap itself around what it will look like. I do not know when it will happen, but I do know that there will come a time when my Father will turn to his son, Jesus, and say, "Son, bring home your bride."
And, "The Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord." 1 Thessalonians 4:17 (NASB)
In that instant, my Savior, Jesus Christ will bring his bride home. It will happen whether you believe it or not. It will happen whether you are ready for it or not. It will happen because the Creator of all things has set a time for his Son to bring his bride home. Somewhere in eternity, even before he spun this universe into being, and before there was a heaven and earth, the Father envisioned that day. Even before the first flower bloomed, or man drew his first breath, the Creator had chosen his Son's bride, and set a time for him to bring that bride home.
And, on a somewhat larger scale than my preparations for Josiah and Diana, my father has been making preparations for that day since he first envisioned it in the eternity before time. He's been preparing a wedding banquet. He's been preparing a home. He's been preparing a glorious eternity for the day when time ceases to exist, and the Son and his bride are by his side.
As a believer, part of the church and part of the bride, all I can do is bow before him and humbly pray, "Come Lord Jesus." I long for the day when I will see him face to face, to know him as he knows me, and to know the complete contentment that comes from truly being home.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Best Part of Waking Up
I have recently observed a daily period of my life that, I assume, has always been there, but for some reason I have never paid it much attention. It is a phenomenal experience, and I am surprised that I have never noticed it before. Perhaps, with age, I am becoming more aware of the passing moments, and have become more appreciative of each passing second. All I know is that I experience this feeling every morning. It lasts for maybe a second....perhaps two. It may actually be a nanosecond. It truly is hard to measure the length of time, but it's there when I take the time to absorb and appreciate this daily fraction of a moment.
There is this instant, as I pass from being asleep to waking, that there is complete peace. I mean complete peace. Not a thought about what the day may hold, not a whisper about the challenges that life brings, or concerns about issues that may surround me. Just complete serenity. Quiet, all encompassing peace. It is a beautiful second or fraction of a second, or whatever length of time it may be.
Now, as Christians, I understand that we are to live our lives surrounded by the peace of God, and I am aware of the peace that the Holy Spirit gives us when we choose to walk in it. I feel a little of it as I walk along the Kettle River with my dogs praying. I feel a small portion of it in the occasional church service. I am aware of God's peace as I walk through the often mundane tasks of living. But this early morning instant is a deeper peace, a more amazing tranquility, a wonderful hush that envelops my soul. Short lived for sure, but marvelously perceivable none-the-less.
Even as I write this, I realize that perhaps this instant each morning is the measure between my body waking and my mind becoming active. When the mind kicks in....well, the deep peace is gone, the tranquility lifts, and the soul begins to absorb the work that will be required just to keep breathing. It is about this time each morning that I almost inaudibly whisper, "Lord, I give you this day." My father is faithful, and he gives the peace and strength necessary to walk through life, but nothing matches the peace of that waking moment.
Here's my thought. Perhaps, in that instant of serenity each morning as I exit my night of sleep, the Father is giving me just a small taste of the serenity that comes when we enter the final sleep of death. My waking from sleep is a small reminder of what awaits me when I enter that eternal rest. If it is just a small morsel of what awaits. If it is just a split second appetizer of the tranquility and peacefulness that is to come....then bring on the banquet and come Lord Jesus.
There is this instant, as I pass from being asleep to waking, that there is complete peace. I mean complete peace. Not a thought about what the day may hold, not a whisper about the challenges that life brings, or concerns about issues that may surround me. Just complete serenity. Quiet, all encompassing peace. It is a beautiful second or fraction of a second, or whatever length of time it may be.
Now, as Christians, I understand that we are to live our lives surrounded by the peace of God, and I am aware of the peace that the Holy Spirit gives us when we choose to walk in it. I feel a little of it as I walk along the Kettle River with my dogs praying. I feel a small portion of it in the occasional church service. I am aware of God's peace as I walk through the often mundane tasks of living. But this early morning instant is a deeper peace, a more amazing tranquility, a wonderful hush that envelops my soul. Short lived for sure, but marvelously perceivable none-the-less.
Even as I write this, I realize that perhaps this instant each morning is the measure between my body waking and my mind becoming active. When the mind kicks in....well, the deep peace is gone, the tranquility lifts, and the soul begins to absorb the work that will be required just to keep breathing. It is about this time each morning that I almost inaudibly whisper, "Lord, I give you this day." My father is faithful, and he gives the peace and strength necessary to walk through life, but nothing matches the peace of that waking moment.
Here's my thought. Perhaps, in that instant of serenity each morning as I exit my night of sleep, the Father is giving me just a small taste of the serenity that comes when we enter the final sleep of death. My waking from sleep is a small reminder of what awaits me when I enter that eternal rest. If it is just a small morsel of what awaits. If it is just a split second appetizer of the tranquility and peacefulness that is to come....then bring on the banquet and come Lord Jesus.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
A Christmas Rose
As dogs go, he wasn't much of one. Part Newfoundland Hound, part Springer Spaniel, and all ugly. And, sadly, by any standard, he wasn't smart, but he had a smile that the little boy loved. For as long as the boy could remember...nine years to be exact...the two had been inseparable. The dog adored the boy, the boy loved the dog and, until this Christmas, life had been good for both of then.
When the boy's father was drinking, which was often, he had a tendency to become a theologian of sorts. He had a particular fondness for the prophets of the Old Testament and two hours after his birth, as his father was toasting the happy occasion for the sixth time, he decided on a name. On the birth certificate, the boy's name was listed as Amos Ezekiel, but since his mother did not have quite the same regard for the prophets as his father, everyone called him Bud.
Standing outside the flower shop window, the dog watched the boy as he admired the roses through the glass. With his hand on the shaggy, black head, Bud pictured himself walking to his mother's bed and laying the flowers in her hand. He only needed two...maybe three. It would make her Christmas so special and yet, the price was so much more than the few quarters jingling in his pocket.
There had been a time when he simply would have asked his mother for the money and she would have given it to him without much of a thought. That was before his father had left, and it was before the cost of medication and treatment for his mother had swallowed what little money they had. So, it was the dog, the boy, and his mother....and he had overheard the doctor tell his mother that this would likely be her last Christmas.
Running his hand through the dog's thick coat, Bud tried to envision life without his mother. The thought brought tears to his eyes, but he had to stay strong, for he was the man of the family now. His mother had told him that many times, and he tried to be brave, but Christmas without his mother....well, he just couldn't imagine it. If this proved to be her last Christmas, he wanted to make it a good one. The flowers would help, for his mother loved roses, but they were a luxury, and one thing they couldn't afford this year was luxury.
Using his coat sleeve to wipe the tears welling in his eyes, Bud took one more look at the flowers, and slowly walked on with the gray muzzled dog a step behind. He glanced back, and the dog was looking at him with his tongue hanging out, displaying his typical lopsided grin. The grin usually brought a warm feeling to Bud, but on this day before Christmas, even his dog's grin could not stop the cold fear growing in him.
The boy and the dog walked to the end of the block, crossed the road, and sat on the bench facing the Cathedral garden. It was a small but beautiful garden, and a place where Bud would often come when he needed time alone. The dog sat with his head on the boy's lap, as the boy gently rubbed the graying nose. His eyes followed families rushing to finish their Christmas shopping, and people entering the Cathedral to prepare for the evening service. But in his mind, he saw the roses in his mother's hand....only two or three....and they would make his mother so happy, for she loved roses.
A woman plopped down on the bench next to him. She was the choir director from the Cathedral and Bud could tell that she was angry. "Two months," she mumbled, partly to herself and partly to the boy. "We've worked on it for two months, and they still can't get it right...it will be a disaster! The tenors are tone deaf, the altos can't count, and the soloist is working up a great case of laryngitis. This is the last year I'll ever do this."
"I'm sorry," said the boy, for he knew nothing about choirs and really didn't know what else to say. "I'm sure it will go well."
"There's no possible was that it's going to go well!" the lady almost shouted. "Christmas will be ruined and I'll never be able to show my face in that church again." With a sigh, she lifted herself from the bench and started back toward the building. As an afterthought, she turned to the boy and said, "Have a good Christmas, young man."
Bud forced a weak smile and watched her walk away, but in his mind he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses....only two or three...and they would make her so very happy, for she loved roses.
"It's going to be the worst sermon I've ever preached!" the larger of the two approaching men shouted in a loud baritone voice. He was addressing the chairman of the deacon's board and the two had stopped at the street corner next to the garden bench. "I just haven't had time to work on it, and it reads like a bad novel. It'll be a catastrophe! Maybe I need a vacation."
"I'm sure it will be just fine, pastor," came the reply. "What really worries me is the music. Have you heard that choir? And even worse, Viola misses half the notes when she sings, 'What Child is This?' She used to have such a wonderful voice, but she should have stopped singing years ago."
For the first time, they noticed Bud. "Smile, my boy, it's Christmas Eve!" boomed the pastor. "Why are you sitting here with that glum look? You should be home with your family."
"I'm a little sad," said the boy as he looked away from the men and down at his dog, "My mother's not feeling well," was all he could say.
"Why don't you and your mom come to our Christmas Eve service tonight?" offered the deacon. "It might cheer you up."
"Splendid idea," said the pastor, as he reached into his coat pocket for a flyer. "All the information is on here," he said as handed the paper to Bud. "Now, I really must get to work on my sermon."
"And I need to pick up a few things before the stores close," added the deacon as they hurried away in opposite directions.
The flyer slipped from the boy's listless fingers and settled in the snow. He barely felt the dog lick his chin. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy....for she loved roses.
Two women walked from the church and crossed the road. "The tree started to die a week ago. There will only be brown needles left by tonight," one whispered to the other, as they waited at the corner. "And have you ever seen such pathetic looking wreaths?"
"I told you they started decorating too early," came the reply. "The whole thing was poorly planned from the beginning. Well, I'm tired of telling them. Just let them be embarrassed tonight. We'll be a laughingstock, but maybe they'll do it right next year. If I wasn't so busy, I'd do it myself!"
A whine from the dog, drew their attention to the boy. Bud was absentmindedly scratching behind the dog's ear, and the dog loved it. He whined again, completely content with life.
"What a cute dog," the lady lied. "But shouldn't you be home getting ready to open your presents? All you kids seem to think about these days is what you'll get for Christmas. You've lost sight of what the season is all about."
Bud sat quietly, staring at his hands. He hadn't even thought of what he might get, but he did know that it wouldn't be much. Before he could say anything, the woman was digging through her purse. "Here," she said, handing him a tract she had pulled from the bag. "This explains what Christmas really means."
"Thanks," was all the boy had a chance to say before the women hurried across the road. Bud read the title, "Putting Christ Back Into Christmas," but he couldn't get much further. He just didn't feel like reading. The tract soon found a place next to the flyer. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy, for she loved roses.
A man in an expensive suit hurried across the road and collapsed on the end of the bench. "Two months," he almost shouted at the startled boy. "For two months we've been shopping...we have dolls, doll houses, doll dresses, and doll cars....we have board games, computer games, CD's, DVD's, and clothes....we can barely walk through our bedroom. And this afternoon, the brat decides she wants a puppy for Christmas. A puppy! My wife chases me out of the house and tells me not to come back without a puppy. Why am I telling you this? You're just a kid and all you kids are just alike....spoiled rotten and always after something for nothing."
Bud looked at the grinning dog on the ground next to him. An uncomfortable thought was inching its way into his mind, and it kept advancing, regardless of how hard he tried to push it back. He stared at the stupid, lopsided smile, but all he saw were the roses...the roses in his mother's hand. Oh, how his mother loved roses, and he only needed two or three.
"Mister," the boy's voice was barely audible, as he kept his eyes on the ground away from the dog. "I'll sell you my dog."
Laughter burst from the man and the belly beneath the expensive suit jiggled. "Son, I appreciate the offer, and I'm sure he's a fine animal, but if I brought that mutt home, my wife would divorce me." He looked at the dog and giggled again. "Where can I find a puppy on the day before Christmas?" he spoke to himself as he stood and began to walk away. "Have a merry Christmas, kid."
Bud was ready to go home, but the dog had climbed up with him, and was sleeping soundly with his head in the boy's lap. Just as he was about to wake him and leave, an old man staggered across the road and dropped unceremoniously onto the bench. Fumes of whiskey enveloped the area as the ragged man shouted with a smile, "Merry Christmas, youngster," and gave him a slap on the leg. The drunk ran his hand through the thick hair of the sleeping animal and told the boy that he had a unique looking dog. "What do you make him out to be?" he questioned.
"I guess he's pretty much of a mutt," the boy answered. "But over the years, I've grown kind of fond of him." The dog was dreaming and his grin grew even more goofy and lopsided. Bud rubbed the nose as he had so many times over the years. Again he saw the roses in the hand of his mother, and almost without thinking, he turned to the man, "Mister, I'll sell him to you for six dollars.
"Now, why would you want to sell a fine dog like that for six dollars?"
The question caused words to flow from Bud like they had never flowed before. He told the inebriate about his mother...about her illness....about the roses, and his mother's love of roses.
When the boy had finished, the gray haired old man had a far away look in his eye. Somehow, through his alcohol muddled mind, he had traveled back more than half a century. Clearly, he saw his mother and he saw a child handing the woman a small bouquet of wild flowers. He recognized the child as himself, before the world had beaten him into the man he was today, living from drink to drink, waiting only for death to remove the pain.
His hand went to his pocket and he felt the well worn ten dollar bill he had hoarded to buy the whiskey that would make Christmas Eve and Christmas Day bearable, or at least help him sleep through it. He looked at the dog, then at the boy, and he saw himself all those years ago.
Standing slowly, and with much effort, the grizzled old man took the bill from his pocket and laid it on the bench. "Keep the dog," was all he said, as he slowly walked away. Bud jumped to his feet startling the dog. The boy grabbed the bill, and ran after the retreating figure. When he caught up to him, the old man smiled through the tears in his eyes, "You'd better get to the flower shop before it closes."
In his joy, the boy hugged the old man and turned toward the store. The man watched him go. "Kids nowadays," he said to himself as he turned toward his little shack on the edge of town.
Bud raced into the house with the grinning dog close behind him and three beautiful roses in his hand. Slowly he walked to his mother's room, looked inside, and made his way to the side of the bed. Her eyes opened slowly, and a smile crossed her face as she saw her son place the roses on her arm. She was to weak to speak but the smile, and the tears slowly moving down her cheek told Bud that his gift had touched her. He went to the other side of the bed, crawled in next to her, and held her hand. As he began to doze, he dreampt that the hand would always be there for him to hold. The peacefulness of the dream shattered when his eyes slowly opened. To him, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the world, and in death she remained so. While he had slept, she had pulled the roses onto her chest, close to her face as if to catch their fragrance. Her other arm was around Bud's shoulder, pulling him close. As he looked at her, through his tears, he pushed a wayward strand of hair back into place. He kissed her cool forehead and let the tears flow freely. The dog put his head on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the boy, and for the first time the boy could remember, the stupid grin was gone. In the background he heard the gentle music from the radio, "So this is Christmas....and what have you done...another year over....and a new one's begun..."
On the edge of town, the old man lay under his blanket on a small, rickety bed. He was starting to shake as his body demanded whiskey that he could not supply, and he knew it was just the beginning. The night would be a sleepless one and Christmas Day would be dreadfully long, but he remembered the joy on the kid's face and had no regrets.
In another house, closer to the center of town, a little girl had brought two months of shopping to an end in fifteen minutes. Wrapping paper and half used toys were scattered everywhere. The mother carried the little girl to bed while the father went to the kitchen to make a place for the puppy. It would be a long night for him as well.
As the Cathedral bells chimed, people began to file from the church. It had been an extraordinary service, by all accounts. The pastor had preached one of his best sermons in years, and was receiving the congratulations due him. The choir absolutely brought the music to life, and even Viola sounded twenty years younger. In the candlelight, the oldest members had to agree that the setting was the most beautiful they had ever seen in the church. It had been a most memorable Christmas indeed.
On the first Christmas Eve, a young woman prepared to give birth to the greatest thing to ever set foot on this spinning pile of dirt. The Creator God, wrapped in human flesh and taking human form would step from eternity into time. The Creator touching his creation. Some two thousand years later, as pastors preached, choirs sang, and gifts were exchanged, that same Creator was still touching his creation. He was gently wrapping his arms around a little boy....a boy holding three beautiful roses and hugging an ugly dog, as they sat through the darkest of nights. And, perhaps to the dismay of some of the more religious, He was also in a lonely shack on the edge of town, sitting close to the bed of a shaky old man who had given a few moments of Christmas joy to a young stranger.
When the boy's father was drinking, which was often, he had a tendency to become a theologian of sorts. He had a particular fondness for the prophets of the Old Testament and two hours after his birth, as his father was toasting the happy occasion for the sixth time, he decided on a name. On the birth certificate, the boy's name was listed as Amos Ezekiel, but since his mother did not have quite the same regard for the prophets as his father, everyone called him Bud.
Standing outside the flower shop window, the dog watched the boy as he admired the roses through the glass. With his hand on the shaggy, black head, Bud pictured himself walking to his mother's bed and laying the flowers in her hand. He only needed two...maybe three. It would make her Christmas so special and yet, the price was so much more than the few quarters jingling in his pocket.
There had been a time when he simply would have asked his mother for the money and she would have given it to him without much of a thought. That was before his father had left, and it was before the cost of medication and treatment for his mother had swallowed what little money they had. So, it was the dog, the boy, and his mother....and he had overheard the doctor tell his mother that this would likely be her last Christmas.
Running his hand through the dog's thick coat, Bud tried to envision life without his mother. The thought brought tears to his eyes, but he had to stay strong, for he was the man of the family now. His mother had told him that many times, and he tried to be brave, but Christmas without his mother....well, he just couldn't imagine it. If this proved to be her last Christmas, he wanted to make it a good one. The flowers would help, for his mother loved roses, but they were a luxury, and one thing they couldn't afford this year was luxury.
Using his coat sleeve to wipe the tears welling in his eyes, Bud took one more look at the flowers, and slowly walked on with the gray muzzled dog a step behind. He glanced back, and the dog was looking at him with his tongue hanging out, displaying his typical lopsided grin. The grin usually brought a warm feeling to Bud, but on this day before Christmas, even his dog's grin could not stop the cold fear growing in him.
The boy and the dog walked to the end of the block, crossed the road, and sat on the bench facing the Cathedral garden. It was a small but beautiful garden, and a place where Bud would often come when he needed time alone. The dog sat with his head on the boy's lap, as the boy gently rubbed the graying nose. His eyes followed families rushing to finish their Christmas shopping, and people entering the Cathedral to prepare for the evening service. But in his mind, he saw the roses in his mother's hand....only two or three....and they would make his mother so happy, for she loved roses.
A woman plopped down on the bench next to him. She was the choir director from the Cathedral and Bud could tell that she was angry. "Two months," she mumbled, partly to herself and partly to the boy. "We've worked on it for two months, and they still can't get it right...it will be a disaster! The tenors are tone deaf, the altos can't count, and the soloist is working up a great case of laryngitis. This is the last year I'll ever do this."
"I'm sorry," said the boy, for he knew nothing about choirs and really didn't know what else to say. "I'm sure it will go well."
"There's no possible was that it's going to go well!" the lady almost shouted. "Christmas will be ruined and I'll never be able to show my face in that church again." With a sigh, she lifted herself from the bench and started back toward the building. As an afterthought, she turned to the boy and said, "Have a good Christmas, young man."
Bud forced a weak smile and watched her walk away, but in his mind he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses....only two or three...and they would make her so very happy, for she loved roses.
"It's going to be the worst sermon I've ever preached!" the larger of the two approaching men shouted in a loud baritone voice. He was addressing the chairman of the deacon's board and the two had stopped at the street corner next to the garden bench. "I just haven't had time to work on it, and it reads like a bad novel. It'll be a catastrophe! Maybe I need a vacation."
"I'm sure it will be just fine, pastor," came the reply. "What really worries me is the music. Have you heard that choir? And even worse, Viola misses half the notes when she sings, 'What Child is This?' She used to have such a wonderful voice, but she should have stopped singing years ago."
For the first time, they noticed Bud. "Smile, my boy, it's Christmas Eve!" boomed the pastor. "Why are you sitting here with that glum look? You should be home with your family."
"I'm a little sad," said the boy as he looked away from the men and down at his dog, "My mother's not feeling well," was all he could say.
"Why don't you and your mom come to our Christmas Eve service tonight?" offered the deacon. "It might cheer you up."
"Splendid idea," said the pastor, as he reached into his coat pocket for a flyer. "All the information is on here," he said as handed the paper to Bud. "Now, I really must get to work on my sermon."
"And I need to pick up a few things before the stores close," added the deacon as they hurried away in opposite directions.
The flyer slipped from the boy's listless fingers and settled in the snow. He barely felt the dog lick his chin. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy....for she loved roses.
Two women walked from the church and crossed the road. "The tree started to die a week ago. There will only be brown needles left by tonight," one whispered to the other, as they waited at the corner. "And have you ever seen such pathetic looking wreaths?"
"I told you they started decorating too early," came the reply. "The whole thing was poorly planned from the beginning. Well, I'm tired of telling them. Just let them be embarrassed tonight. We'll be a laughingstock, but maybe they'll do it right next year. If I wasn't so busy, I'd do it myself!"
A whine from the dog, drew their attention to the boy. Bud was absentmindedly scratching behind the dog's ear, and the dog loved it. He whined again, completely content with life.
"What a cute dog," the lady lied. "But shouldn't you be home getting ready to open your presents? All you kids seem to think about these days is what you'll get for Christmas. You've lost sight of what the season is all about."
Bud sat quietly, staring at his hands. He hadn't even thought of what he might get, but he did know that it wouldn't be much. Before he could say anything, the woman was digging through her purse. "Here," she said, handing him a tract she had pulled from the bag. "This explains what Christmas really means."
"Thanks," was all the boy had a chance to say before the women hurried across the road. Bud read the title, "Putting Christ Back Into Christmas," but he couldn't get much further. He just didn't feel like reading. The tract soon found a place next to the flyer. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy, for she loved roses.
A man in an expensive suit hurried across the road and collapsed on the end of the bench. "Two months," he almost shouted at the startled boy. "For two months we've been shopping...we have dolls, doll houses, doll dresses, and doll cars....we have board games, computer games, CD's, DVD's, and clothes....we can barely walk through our bedroom. And this afternoon, the brat decides she wants a puppy for Christmas. A puppy! My wife chases me out of the house and tells me not to come back without a puppy. Why am I telling you this? You're just a kid and all you kids are just alike....spoiled rotten and always after something for nothing."
Bud looked at the grinning dog on the ground next to him. An uncomfortable thought was inching its way into his mind, and it kept advancing, regardless of how hard he tried to push it back. He stared at the stupid, lopsided smile, but all he saw were the roses...the roses in his mother's hand. Oh, how his mother loved roses, and he only needed two or three.
"Mister," the boy's voice was barely audible, as he kept his eyes on the ground away from the dog. "I'll sell you my dog."
Laughter burst from the man and the belly beneath the expensive suit jiggled. "Son, I appreciate the offer, and I'm sure he's a fine animal, but if I brought that mutt home, my wife would divorce me." He looked at the dog and giggled again. "Where can I find a puppy on the day before Christmas?" he spoke to himself as he stood and began to walk away. "Have a merry Christmas, kid."
Bud was ready to go home, but the dog had climbed up with him, and was sleeping soundly with his head in the boy's lap. Just as he was about to wake him and leave, an old man staggered across the road and dropped unceremoniously onto the bench. Fumes of whiskey enveloped the area as the ragged man shouted with a smile, "Merry Christmas, youngster," and gave him a slap on the leg. The drunk ran his hand through the thick hair of the sleeping animal and told the boy that he had a unique looking dog. "What do you make him out to be?" he questioned.
"I guess he's pretty much of a mutt," the boy answered. "But over the years, I've grown kind of fond of him." The dog was dreaming and his grin grew even more goofy and lopsided. Bud rubbed the nose as he had so many times over the years. Again he saw the roses in the hand of his mother, and almost without thinking, he turned to the man, "Mister, I'll sell him to you for six dollars.
"Now, why would you want to sell a fine dog like that for six dollars?"
The question caused words to flow from Bud like they had never flowed before. He told the inebriate about his mother...about her illness....about the roses, and his mother's love of roses.
When the boy had finished, the gray haired old man had a far away look in his eye. Somehow, through his alcohol muddled mind, he had traveled back more than half a century. Clearly, he saw his mother and he saw a child handing the woman a small bouquet of wild flowers. He recognized the child as himself, before the world had beaten him into the man he was today, living from drink to drink, waiting only for death to remove the pain.
His hand went to his pocket and he felt the well worn ten dollar bill he had hoarded to buy the whiskey that would make Christmas Eve and Christmas Day bearable, or at least help him sleep through it. He looked at the dog, then at the boy, and he saw himself all those years ago.
Standing slowly, and with much effort, the grizzled old man took the bill from his pocket and laid it on the bench. "Keep the dog," was all he said, as he slowly walked away. Bud jumped to his feet startling the dog. The boy grabbed the bill, and ran after the retreating figure. When he caught up to him, the old man smiled through the tears in his eyes, "You'd better get to the flower shop before it closes."
In his joy, the boy hugged the old man and turned toward the store. The man watched him go. "Kids nowadays," he said to himself as he turned toward his little shack on the edge of town.
Bud raced into the house with the grinning dog close behind him and three beautiful roses in his hand. Slowly he walked to his mother's room, looked inside, and made his way to the side of the bed. Her eyes opened slowly, and a smile crossed her face as she saw her son place the roses on her arm. She was to weak to speak but the smile, and the tears slowly moving down her cheek told Bud that his gift had touched her. He went to the other side of the bed, crawled in next to her, and held her hand. As he began to doze, he dreampt that the hand would always be there for him to hold. The peacefulness of the dream shattered when his eyes slowly opened. To him, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the world, and in death she remained so. While he had slept, she had pulled the roses onto her chest, close to her face as if to catch their fragrance. Her other arm was around Bud's shoulder, pulling him close. As he looked at her, through his tears, he pushed a wayward strand of hair back into place. He kissed her cool forehead and let the tears flow freely. The dog put his head on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the boy, and for the first time the boy could remember, the stupid grin was gone. In the background he heard the gentle music from the radio, "So this is Christmas....and what have you done...another year over....and a new one's begun..."
On the edge of town, the old man lay under his blanket on a small, rickety bed. He was starting to shake as his body demanded whiskey that he could not supply, and he knew it was just the beginning. The night would be a sleepless one and Christmas Day would be dreadfully long, but he remembered the joy on the kid's face and had no regrets.
In another house, closer to the center of town, a little girl had brought two months of shopping to an end in fifteen minutes. Wrapping paper and half used toys were scattered everywhere. The mother carried the little girl to bed while the father went to the kitchen to make a place for the puppy. It would be a long night for him as well.
As the Cathedral bells chimed, people began to file from the church. It had been an extraordinary service, by all accounts. The pastor had preached one of his best sermons in years, and was receiving the congratulations due him. The choir absolutely brought the music to life, and even Viola sounded twenty years younger. In the candlelight, the oldest members had to agree that the setting was the most beautiful they had ever seen in the church. It had been a most memorable Christmas indeed.
On the first Christmas Eve, a young woman prepared to give birth to the greatest thing to ever set foot on this spinning pile of dirt. The Creator God, wrapped in human flesh and taking human form would step from eternity into time. The Creator touching his creation. Some two thousand years later, as pastors preached, choirs sang, and gifts were exchanged, that same Creator was still touching his creation. He was gently wrapping his arms around a little boy....a boy holding three beautiful roses and hugging an ugly dog, as they sat through the darkest of nights. And, perhaps to the dismay of some of the more religious, He was also in a lonely shack on the edge of town, sitting close to the bed of a shaky old man who had given a few moments of Christmas joy to a young stranger.
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