The Quarter

I remember sitting in the third row church pew on the right hand side of the Wadena Alliance Church, as a child, on Sunday mornings.  It was always the third row. It was our place.  They could have hung a sign on the end of the pew that read, “The Olson’s,” but it really would not have been necessary.  Everyone knew it was our spot.  Everyone except…visitors.  Imagine our surprise when we arrived one Sunday morning to find strangers sitting in our spot.

“Dad! What do we do? There are people sitting in our spot!”

“We will sit elsewhere…like right behind them…the fourth pew is open”

“But then where will the Johnson’s sit? The fourth pew is their pew?”

“They are in Bemidji this weekend.”

Whew…disaster averted…barely.

Additionally, there were other traditions that our family held to in church.  One such tradition was that on occasion, our mother would hand each of us children a coin that we could place into the offering plates as they passed.  My mother’s generosity may have been fueled by efforts to eliminate the fighting amongst her offspring as each week we would fight as to who would get to put the week’s check into the offering plate.  Henceforth, she would be the one to take care of the check and each child would take care of their own quarter. 

On one particular Sunday morning, I joyfully dropped my shinny quarter from as high as my 3^rd grade arms could reach.  I am not sure what my actual intent was aside from the creative expression of giving. Imagine the surprise of my parents as the quarter bounced off of the bottom of the plate and pinged to the floor.  Once on the floor the coin did what loose coin would be expected to do…it rolled.  I, on the other hand, did what any excitable 3^rd grade boy would do…I chased it.  As the congregation sang “Jesus Paid it All,” I pursued the coin.  Imagine the surprise of the “visitors” as a young 3^rd grader popped up from under their feet pursuing a loose quarter. 

The good news is that I captured the loose quarter.  The bad news was the visitors never came back…but as a serendipitous benefit, my family got our spot back.

Now many years later, I remember placing coins into the hands of my own children, so that they too can place the gift into the passing plate.  I know that we are not the only family to do so, as I have watched others employ the same tactics.  Over the years I have come to see the beautiful parallel that this procedure displays.  In Matthew 14:12-21, we find the account of Jesus feeding more than 5000 people with merely 5 small loaves and 2 small fish…it is virtually nothing.  Jesus tells his disciples to “give them something to eat,” and yet the disciples have nothing to give.  Jesus in a sense gives them all that they need…in order to give what he has asked them to give. 

Far too often I fall into the trap of wondering what I can afford to give.  This is not just about money.  This includes giving of our time, abilities, finances, knowledge…etc.  Everything that we have has been handed to us by God Almighty, one way or another. 

May we come to see the incredible generosity that our God has bestowed his gifts upon us.  The greatest of which is His love expressed through His Son…Jesus...the gift of grace upon grace.

No Longer…

I recently came to the realization that I have been training to be a parent from a very young age.  Much of what I have learned as a parent, has come from watching my own parents and trying to imitate their style.  So, when my little brother and sister came into the walking age, I began to boss them around and have them do things that I didn’t want to do. 

“Rory, go haul wood into the house...Dad says.”  (Dad didn’t really say, but I found that Dad’s name had a great deal more authority than my own).

“Jasmine, go make my bed…Mom says.”

“Ross, go take out the garbage…mom says.”

When my siblings became wise to my tactics, I changed my methods…into manipulation.  I did not learn manipulation from my parents.  It was a strategy that I developed on my own and it became quite successful…for a season.

“Jasmine, if you make my bed I’ll play with you.” By “playing,” I meant steal Barbies and threaten them to bodily harm. 

“Ross, take out the garbage for me or I’ll punch you.”

“Rory, haul in the wood and I’ll let you live.”

Other parenting lessons came in unexpected ways.  For example, when “I” was forced to haul wood into the house, I didn’t realize that this was going to one day revolutionize my parental grocery shopping skills.  When we were young boys we were paid one penny for every piece of wood that was carried into the house.  Logically, I took the initiative to find the smallest available pieces and overload them into my arms making up to twenty five cents per trip.  In four trips I could make a dollar and go back inside to rest my weary bones and muscles over a nice cup of hot cocoa while my idiot brothers carried in larger pieces.  Fools!

I mentally relive those wood-hauling days when I walk the aisles of the local grocery stores.  My children mockingly ask me, “Dad, do you need a cart?,” knowing full well that, more times than not, I will refuse to take one.

“No, we only need a gallon of milk.” I will say. 

However, when a parent of multiple children enters a store, MCSSS (Multiple Children Surprise Sale Syndrome) often takes over. It is shocking how much food can be consumed in a home which inhabits multiple children.  This syndrome is manifest as a parent of multiple children enters a grocery store only to find that the items, which are regularly consumed by their multiple children, are currently on an incredible sale.  Since it would be nonsensical and a blow to the ego to go back for a cart, the parent will begin to load their arms with the sale items.  This continues until the parent can no longer safely carry any more items.  It is at this time that a parent will pass the extensive load of groceries to the children who are walking with him or her, which frees the parent to continue to gather additional sale items.  Once all of the sale items have been dropped…picked up…purchased and struggled to the car. The parent will go home and employ the same process of transferring the groceries into the house.  Once finally finished the parent’s spouse will ask, “Where’s the milk?”  At this time, the entire process will begin again.

Believe it or not…this makes me think of Easter. Not because I have dropped cartons of eggs buying groceries in this manner, but rather, I see Jesus carrying an even greater load than I could ever comprehend.  I see Jesus’ arms filled with the burden of my sins, my fears, my insecurities, my loneliness, my anxieties and my utter depravity.  He carried that load…my load…AND your load…AND the world’s load to the cross.  He died with my load.  He was buried with my load, and then in a beautifully mysterious way, he rose from the grave and left the tomb EMPTY! He has conquered it! He conquered and defeated sin and death.  When the angel tells the women to “Fear Not…He is no longer here…the tomb is empty…” I am struck with the reality that the empty tomb is proof that I no longer need to submit to sin.  I no longer need to fear dying…or loneliness…or insecurity. 

Because the tomb is empty, I no longer need to be…empty.

Jesus isn’t in the tomb any longer…he is in me.  He is in those who have put their trust in him.

May you come to find that Jesus has taken your burdens to His grave.  He wants to be in you too.  Will you invite him in?

 Self Preservation

I have become a strong proponent of self preservation, although my definition of self preservation has changed since I have found myself approaching the beginning of my 6^th decade. Egad! That last sentence made my stomach church, my toes curl and my skin crawl…and several hairs turn gray and fall from my scalp!  At my age self preservation involves putting on sunscreen and having someone hold the ladder while I stand precariously on the top rung.  However, when I was a younger person, self preservation was all about protecting my image. 

The things that I did as a child were always measured against the effects that they would have in keeping me in the “cool crowd.”  The problem was that I was never “in” the cool crowd and thus I had no barometer of comparison to know what to do or not to do to attain this. Yet, I was not detered from attempting to gain access into the upper class of Wadena Elementary School.  So when a “cool kid,” said, “Hey Ryan…eat this…ha ha,” I usually did, even if it was covered with green fuzz and found under Mr. Nelson’s blackboard. 

Life is a journey of discovery.  In some ways, the journey reveals who we really are…to ourselves…and hopefully to others.  In other ways it is a journey of discovering what and WHO is really important.  I am struck by a contrast that I find in the Bible.  In Matthew 14:1-12 we find an account of Herod Antipas commissioning the killing of John the Baptist.  Herod didn’t especially want to order this execution and yet he does so to keep people pleased with him.  He is worried about losing popularity and power if he does not perform in the ways that he is being expected to act.

Contrarily, we find the True King of Israel entering Jerusalem on a colt, Matthew 21:9-11, in an astounding image of Kingly authority.  Here indeed, is a man of noble stature…a man of importance.  Yet, when pressed to conform to the image that the people desire of him, he holds to his true nature, and instead of caring for what the people think…he cares only of what God thinks.  In fact, what Jesus does in the week that follows is to create a way…THE way…for all mankind to find peace with God…to be accepted by God, if they will put their trust in His Son Jesus. 

What concerns you? Are you concerned with how people see you or how God sees you?  When we put our trust in Jesus, we are covered in His righteousness and when God looks at us…all he sees is the perfection of His own Son.

May we come to care what God thinks and be transformed into the person that He desires for us to be.

 

 

 Unbelievable Belief

Truth be told, I am a bit of a closet Dude Perfect fan.  I find myself drawn into their lively carefree bantering and of course watching them accomplish remarkable feats of impossibility.  This group of 5 wild and crazy guys hold claim to more than 20 Guinness World Records including; longest bow shot, highest basketball shot from a sky scraper, furthest distance for blowing a ping pong ball, among many others. 

Recently I watched Tyler Toney, (one of the original members of the quintet), unofficially break his own longest bow shot record. His official record took place on September 2, 2022, when he nailed the target from an astounding 361 yards. Recently he sent an arrow from a hill in New Mexico and struck a large balloon at a staggering 880 yards…a full half mile! (Yes…I understand the irony of my last sentence…a half mile by definition cannot be a whole…but still…you know what I mean…work with me here).  This is all the more impressive when I consider that I have personally missed targets as near as 20 yards…targets often having four legs and a white tail.

There is astonishing to witness the accomplishment of a feat that would be considered impossible by most people.  When the Dude Perfect crew throws a basketball off of the roof of a skyscraper and drops it into the basket from an insane 533 feet, you can’t help but find yourself questioning the validity of the triumph.

This is where we find many people as they encounter Jesus in the Gospel accounts.  These people have heard him teach, watched his nature defying acts, experienced astounding healings of people, some of which have been ailing or sick from their birth, and even seeing his supernatural authority over demons.

When Jesus returns to his home town, Nazareth, in Matthew 13:21-58, we find Jesus being rejected by these people who knew him best.  Rather than putting their belief in this amazing man, they instead choose to believe that it is impossible for this man to do that which is seen and reported of him.

Contrarily, Jesus asks his disciples if they have understood his teachings, to which they reply yes.  I am struck by the contrast.  Some have seen the impossible and believe, while others have seen it and hold to their unbelief. 

What will you do with Jesus? Will you believe or will you hold to unbelief?  As for me…I choose to believe.  May you too come to put your belief in the only One who can offer a true hope for our lives and for eternity.

Deep Dish

I remember watching my mother make homemade pizza every Sunday night for supper.  She would go the full length of making her own dough from scratch.  I didn’t care about the process as nearly as much as I did the end product, yet I remembering being curious about the procedure.   Before she did anything else, I recall her activating the yeast.  It was a simple concoction including dry yeast and warm water which would stand for a few minutes before she mixed in the remaining ingredients. 

I inquired about this process, to which she explained the purpose of the time and the yeast and the flour.  But honestly…I stopped listening.  All that I really gained from the information was that they yeast was what was going to make the dough rise so that she would have enough to stretch out for the pizza crust.  I wondered why she had to let it rise and why she couldn’t just make enough from the start.  It didn’t seem all that efficient to me.

It was my dad that really helped to clarify the effects of yeast.  Inevitably the time came in my dad’s life when he was placed into a position to make the pizza for his family due to the absence of my mother on a given Sunday night.  Sure, he could have made burgers or something simpler, but it was Sunday night and Sunday night was pizza night, so as to not break tradition he put his own hands to the dough.  I don’t know what happened, but when the dough rose out of the bowl it was like a demon coming to an airy life of destruction.  Dough was spilling over the edges and when he punched it, the dough punched back. I felt like I was living the Muppets episode of the Swedish Chef and the living dough.

After wrestling the dough through kneading and stretching, he placed the soon to be pies into the oven.  The fully cooked pizzas emerged from the oven 20 minutes later to a family of astonished eyes.  Rather than the usual standard thickness of hand tossed crust, what emerged was a three inch platform crust of wonder.  It was like two cheese covered sheet cakes coming out of the oven. Upon the sight of it, every pizzeria in Chicago would suddenly refer to their own creations as thin crust.

I suppose the good news is that the two slabs of pizza fed the family for nearly two weeks.  In fact, in a pinch we could swipe off the toppings and use the crust as hamburger buns.

The chemistry of baking is really remarkable.  Jesus speaks of this phenomenon in Matthew 13.  Jesus tells of how just a little bit of yeast can cause the dough to expand exponentially.  Here Jesus is referring to the incredible reality of His Kingdom.  Jesus’ Kingdom has “already” come…and yet there is the fullness of His Kingdom that is “yet” to come.  It is the “already, but not yet,” splendor of His Kingdom. 

The Kingdom of God is exponentially better than anything that anyone can ever imagine.  It is the priceless pearl.  It is the great treasure that is worth giving up everything for. 

I am convinced that if we could truly come to see that Jesus’ promised Kingdom is better than anything else in this world, we would come to live differently.

May we come to see the great value of that Kingdom…and be transformed by it.

 Corn, Carrots, Onions and Weeds

It is no secret that I was overworked as a child.  I have spoke openly about how my parents made me do practically everything around the house while they and my siblings did nary anything.  It was my responsibility to split wood, and mow the lawn and weed the garden and haul wood into the house.  I would often complain about this while waiting for dad to come in from feeding the pigs and blowing snow off of the driveway to we could eat the hot meal that mom prepared every night. 

Over the years it is likely that I hauled in more than twice the amount of wood than any of my siblings did.  In fact, while my brother carried in wood one piece at a time, I worked harder and gathered many smaller pieces into my arms so that I could carry more wood in at once.  This made financial sense too as my dad paid us 1 penny per piece of wood.  So in the time it took my older brother to make 2 cents I could have already earned a quarter.  Somehow they turned this into an example of my own greed and laziness, but I just don’t see it. 

They say that the starting and stopping of an engine uses more fuel than one that is just running at idle.  This is why when mowing the lawn I would leave the engine run while making myself a little afternoon snack on those hot July days.  I am sure that my parents wouldn’t want me to risk passing out from fatigue due to the excessive heat.  Again this was turned against me as if I was being lazy.  This is absurd! It is obvious that I was being frugal with dad’s fuel not wanting to waste gas by the constant starting and stopping of the mower.  The rule was that each child had to mow one tank of gas as their “turn.” It’s not my fault that the mower ran out of gas while I was eating my ham and cheese refreshment.   

When it came to weeding the garden I would again find myself thrown under the proverbial bus. 

“Ryan! Get out there and weed the garden!”

Keep in mind, that our garden was an acre and a half of mostly corn and potatoes.  One corner however would be left to fill with carrots, onions, tomatoes and beats.

“I can’t go out and weed right now! It’s too early!”

“What do you mean it’s too early! It’s already 11:00 a.m.”

“No! I mean, the plants are not big enough to weed yet.  I can’t tell the difference between the corn and grass, the carrots and weeds and the onions and aloe vera.”

“There is no aloe vera planted in the garden now get out there!”

I can’t say that I “intentionally” attacked the corn, carrots and onions, but I can say that I took no extra care in weeding these crops…especially the onions…I hated onions.

The next day my dad was livid as to the fact that more than half of his onion plants had been uprooted and thrown out with the weeds.  Somehow he seemed to feel that this was my fault. I tried to warn him that the plants were too young to be able to tell the difference from that which was desirable and that which was a weed.  As an aside, he had planted something like 300 onion plants…who needs 300 onions? Certainly not an 8 year old boy who hates onions. 

I do remember mom making onion rings one time.  They were pretty good after I pulled the soggy onion out of the crust and ate the crust. “We should have onion rings more often!” I said.

“We would if you hadn’t killed half the crop.”

Every time I read the parable of the wheat and the weeds found in, Matt. 13:24-50, I am reminded of the poor weeding skills of my childhood.  In some self justifying way it makes me feel a little better about my adolescent inadequacies.  Here Jesus lays out an incredibly thought provoking story of wheat and weeds.  In the parable we find that the wheat is good and the weeds are bad. Jesus reveals that both will be coexisting in this world until the final judgment.  This is a reality that causes turmoil for many people.  It is tough.  It is tough to understand why God doesn’t just deal with the evil right now?  Uproot the weeds now and be done with it! Then I come to realize, that I too was once a weed.  In fact, there are still so many weedy qualities in me that I shudder to think how God can love a weed such as I?

Perhaps God isn’t dealing with the evil sooner than we would want because there are still so many weeds that he longs to become wheat?  2 Peter 3:9 says, “God is patient and not willing that anyone should perish, but desires all to come to repentance.”

May we turn our eyes to living our lives in such a way that the weeds would long to become wheat before the final judgment inevitably comes.  Make no mistake…the judgment will come.  But until then, may the Holy Spirit draw every man, woman and child to put their trust and faith in Him.

 

 

 

 Cultivated

My memories of growing up on our 3 ½ acre “fake” farm run deep.  Some of my earliest memories were when my older brother and I would spend our afternoons racing tractors.  My dad owned a couple of old crank start Farmall H tractors that he kept parked side by side near the pig pen.  The two beasts were nearly identical with the exception of the paint color.  One machine held fast to remnants of the original Farmall red, while the other had grayed and rusted from years of neglect.  I usually hurried to the red one as everyone knew that was the faster tractor.  My older brother reluctantly found himself mounting the Gray Ghost as we called her. 

We spent hours racing the tractors and arguing about who won, each of us insisting that we had bested the other.

“I won!”

“No you didn’t!”

“Sure I did!”

“You couldn’t have won, you were on the older clunker!”

This usually went on until mother called us in for supper.

“Boys! Stop playing on those tractors and come in for supper!

“Mom! Tell Ross that I won the race!”

“Well Ryan, considering the fact that those two tractors never moved even an inch during your “races”, I would say that you both won.”

“Or both lost!” my dad interjected.

Perhaps I neglected to emphasize…this was a fake farm…with fake running tractors.  Sure the tractors were real, but they had never run in my lifetime.  Additionally, being only 6 and 7 years old respectively, me and my brother would never have been able to crank start those machines.  Therefore  we relied on making our own engine noises.  My noises were always faster and better…that is why I won the races.

All of this changed however, on the day that dad brought home a real working tractor.   It was a tiny little orange Allis Chalmers B.  It was from that day on that our lives changed…for the worse.

Immediately Dad brought my brother and I outside to “work the land.”  This mostly meant that Dad insisted that we stand outside and watch him work and stay out of mom’s way.  He said something to the effect of, “Boys, come out with me…you mother is losing her mind and she needs to have you guys out of the house.”  I assumed that she must have found the pet toad I left in the dresser drawer.

So we stood and watched,  as Dad broke the ground with an old single bottom plow.  Then we watched some more as he disc harrowed the newly plowed earth.  We watched even more as he ran the drag across the newly harrowed ground.  Then came the work.  He made us walk all over the soft ground picking up all of the rocks that we could find and place them in a pile outside of the prepared area.  He then made us shovel manure by hand into wheelbarrows and dump the loads of excrement all over the newly dragged dirt.

Then we stood and watched some more as he harrowed the ground again…and dragged it again. 

It was at this point that my brother and I took turns riding on the antique farm machines being pulled behind the Iron Ox.  After my older brother had spent some time bouncing on the steel seat of the corn planter I took a turn being jostled on the vintage potato planter.  The following weeks and months included watering, weeding and finally harvesting.  When all was said and done we had corn ears coming out of our ears and enough bags of potatoes to shake a stick at. 

That about ended our farming career as the old Allis Chalmers went to the old tractor shed in the sky.  

The soft soil has once again become hard and pocked with gopher mounds.  Looking at it today, you would never have known that for a few short months it was a small fertile plot of land 200ft x 200ft.

Land is like a muscle, you have to work it to keep it growing.  When the land is neglected it reverts back to the hardened soil it was known as earlier.  Here we find an incredible parallel to the Parable Jesus shares in Matthew 13:1-23.  In these verses we find the condition of a variety of soils and how these soils are able to receive the sweet seed of the Gospel. 

Perhaps the soil of your heart is hard or perhaps it is soft, or perhaps it is even somewhere in between.  The condition of your heart today does not have to stay way it is.  If you have a heart that hard it can be softened.  If you have a hear that has become hard, it can be softened again.  Conversely, if you have a heart that is soft…sadly it can become hardened.  As a farmer never ends the annual working of the soil, so our God never ends his work of softening our hearts for His transformation.

May we come to invite him to have more of our heart…more acreage to break and work. May we allow him to do the deep work of preparing our hearts to receive the seed of the Gospel and then continue to work it so that through us he can bring forth the great harvest.