Follow Me

I watched it happen while sitting inside the Little Falls Bakery and Deli.  I have witnessed scenes like this before.  They are not all that uncommon and perhaps you to have witness them play out from time to time in a somewhat similar fashion.  In this case, I watched a mother of 3 corralling her young children toward the corner of the sidewalk.  The mother pushed the stroller, which carried the baby, with one hand while holding the hand of a sweet pigtailed girl with the other.  The boy, guessed to be about 5 years old, was unattached and loving his freedom. Hyped from his recently consumed sugary confection, he danced and hopped around his struggling mother as they made their way down the sidewalk. As they reached the corner, the mother stopped the stroller and prepared to cross the semi busy main street of Little Falls.  The boy however, did not stop; he continued to hop off of the curb and began scuffling into the street. 

I am not sure where it came from, but fast as lightning the mother grew a third arm and snatched her 5 year old son back to the sidewalk.  His head jerked suddenly from the unsuspecting force and his eyes went wide with surprise. The mother’s third arm disappeared as quickly as it had immerged, as I could find no further evidence of the extra extremity.  I then watched but did not hear the obvious reprimand that followed.  I trust that this was a strong lesson for the boy. I even understood the lesson…”Follow Mom.”

Jesus has a similar lesson for Peter at one point in his ministry.  In Matthew 16:20-28, Jesus begins to tell his disciples of what the future holds for him…a future that includes suffering and death.  Peter believes this future to be optional and rebukes Jesus, insisting that he will not allow this to happen to Jesus.  I think this is the moment that Peter steps off of the proverbial curb.  It is Jesus’ job to lead and it is Peter’s job to follow.  However, Peter is taking the lead now…and Jesus says, “Get behind me.” In other words, Jesus is saying…”I don’t follow you…rather you follow me.”

Following Jesus is not all ice cream and steak dinners.  Following Jesus means suffering what Jesus suffered.  It means following him wherever he takes us. It means taking up our crosses daily…and following Him.

May we come to follow Jesus and not expect him to follow us.

Who's That Guy?

My youngest child recently began her first job.  She was hired at a local eatery establishment in Little Falls, MN. Sarah and I wanted to support our daughter in this new endeavor, so we made the decision to patron the establishment on one of her first shifts to embarrass…or rather, encourage her. 

Ironically, as Sarah and I entered and made our order, our daughter was nowhere to be seen.  In fact, we never did end up seeing her that night, though we did hear her voice back in the kitchen.

At the completion of her shift we picked her up (as she is only 15) and she filled us in on all of the behind the scenes talk of the night.  Apparently...I was the topic of discussion in the back kitchen while me and Sarah shared our chocolate shake. The following is a verbatim of the conversation…names have been changed…mostly because Erica doesn’t know the names of all of her coworkers.

“Do you know who that guy is?” asked the old gray haired guy.

“Who?” asked the old gray haired man’s wife who does not have gray hair.

“That guy out there?” said the old gray haired guy.

“I don’t know…he looks familiar I guess.” Said the old gray haired man’s wife who does not have gray hair.

“He was the track coach in Royalton.” Said the old gray haired guy.

“Oh, doesn’t he coach track in Little Falls now?” Said the old gray haired man’s wife who does not have gray hair.

“Yeah, I think so, wasn’t he also the wrestling coach in Little Falls to?” Said the young pink haired girl who may or may not be related to the gray haired guy and his not gray haired wife.

“I think you are right!” Said the old gray haired guy.

“I am pretty sure he is also the Pastor over at the Alliance Church next to Minnesota Power.” Said the old gray haired man’s wife who does not have gray hair.

“Erica, do you know who that guy out there is?” asked the pink haired girl who may or may not be related to the old gray haired guy and his wife who does not have gray hair.

“That’s my dad.” Said Erica, the daughter of the guy who is sharing a chocolate shake with his wife, while sitting in the booth at the local establishment.

I found Erica’s recollection of the story pretty entertaining…and a little confusing, since I had no idea who any of these people were.  Yet, they seemed to have a rather extensive awareness of me.  I was reminded of the encounter that Jesus has with his disciples in Matthew 16:13-20. Jesus asks them, “Who do people say that I am?” The disciples respond with a variety of options, such as, John the Baptist, a prophet, Elijah or Jeremiah. Jesus then asks them, “But what about you? Who do you say that I am?”  It is Peter who responds, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” 

This is an astounding revelation that has come out of the mouth of Peter.  So much so, that Jesus states that this revelation has come to Peter from God himself. Jesus follows up this affirmation with a proclamation of his own, that the church will be established on this “rock.”

This is the foundation of the church…but it is not on a person or a building, but rather on the very Word of God…Jesus!

May we come to see and testify that Jesus has established His Church and the gates of Hell will not prevail against it!

 Dandelions...Part II

The other day my mother shared a picture of the current condition of her childhood home.  This was the same home that I knew as Grandma’s house.  Ironically, Grandpa’s house was the house next door.  Before you draw any conclusions about my grandparents being some separated Hatfield-McCoy marriage debacle, let me reassure you that my parents grew up as next door neighbors.  This made it exceptionally convenient as a young grandson.  For example, if I found, while visiting my grandfather, that he didn’t have any sweet treats to my liking, I could run across the driveway to Grandma’s house and scope out the confections.

Grandma’s house was a magical place, filled with candies, treats, mysterious rooms and a smokey blue haze from my other grandpa.  It was hard to tell if his marshmallow cookies had actually been “smoked” to perfection or if you just tasted the flavor of the air. 

Grandma’s house was the kind of place where sugar plums truly danced in your head.  Though honestly, even on Christmas Eve, I never had sugar plums dancing in my head.  My head was usually filled with bows and arrows and guns and gophers two stepping between my ears. 

As I grew older, I found myself helping Grandma with a number of things around her candy filled home.  I would cut the grass, paint the walls, haul in wood and swing from her weeping willow in attempt to relive the adventures of Indiana Jones.  The weeping willow really wasn’t strong enough to make swinging viable, so when the long branches snapped off, we continued the adventures using the long soft branches as whips.  This game was frowned upon by the lesser dominant siblings and cousins. 

I also remember the dandelions.  Grandma’s lawn was a perpetual battle of green and yellow and cotton white puffs.  We would often pick the yellow flowers and rub them against our skin giving each other “butter burns.”  The yellow mark left on our skin would linger for days.  Grandma always encouraged us to pick the dandelions.

“Keep going boys! Get rid of all of those stubborn weeds!”

I never fully understood how a bright yellow flower could be considered a “weed,” but, despite that, I picked them.  Additionally, I would pick the white puffs and blow them, unwittingly, spreading the seed for the noxious weed to expand even further and broader across her lawn and to the neighbors.

“Oh! Don’t blow those! That spreads even more dandelions!”

Nearly every homeowner struggles to control the aggressive spread of the yellow bane.  In fact, in 1935 Minot ND threatened all homeowner with arrest if they failed to immediately cut or remove dandelions before they became the fun white puffs.  I must admit, that Minot took their dandelion issue very seriously.

In a similar fashion, Jesus takes the spreading of false teachings seriously.  In Matthew 16:1-12, two groups of proverbial “weeds,” the Pharisees and the Sadducees, join forces to confront Jesus and disprove his truth claims.  Jesus uses this moment to speak of the severity of the “yeast” that they are spreading that will affect all it comes in contact with.  This passage confronts us with the choice, will we accept the truth of Jesus? Or our own truth systems?  Jesus wants to crush our own truth systems, in order to draw us to him…the real and perfect truth.

May we come to see and cling to the truth of Jesus alone.

 Care

 

Our oldest daughter moved to Georgia this past week.  Not the country…the state. Yet, to my heart it feels as if she has moved to the moon. I know that I am not the first person who has had to navigate this chasm between the “new home” and the “no longer home” transition of a child.  I have to admit, it is even harder than I expected. 

I try and take some encouragement from some of my friends who have children living in California, Montana, Kentucky, Georgia, Florida, Texas, Maryland and Germany.  Somehow it seemed easier for them…though I doubt that it was. 

There are aspects that help reduce the sting.  Such as, face time, Spirit Airlines, unlimited talk and text and the fact that Christmas is only 31 weeks away…yes, I’m counting. 

As I ponder, I can only consider one thing that would fully remove the sting…and that is, if I didn’t care.  If I could somehow stop caring about her, about seeing her, about being with her or about helping her…then, I think it wouldn’t hurt. But, I think I’d rather have the hurt.

I don’t want to live my life without care.  In fact so many things in life hurt. If I could stop caring, then maybe the hurt would go away.  But…again…I think I’d rather have the hurt.

My parents stopped by this last week to say goodbye to Hannah as well.  It was easy to see that they too were experiencing the pain.  It was obvious…they cared.  In fact, I watched my dad slip some cash quietly into Hannah’s hand and with tears in his eyes he choked out, “This is a little something for your new place.”  I couldn’t help but think during this sweet exchange…”Who are you? You are not the dad I knew growing up! You are not the same person that gave me one penny per piece of wood that I hauled into the house in a form of an IOU.”

Despite my own feelings of injustice, I didn’t miss the beauty of the care that was expressed. 

On the day that Hannah drove off, I may or may not have sobbed off and on from 4:30-6:30 am....and battled tears throughout the day…and the next…and the next…and even now.

The lack of action doesn’t necessarily mean that we don’t care, nor does our action guarantee care.  However, I am convinced that if we hold to genuine care, action would have no choice but to follow.  You could see it in my dad’s actions and you could see it in my tears. 

All the more, you can see it in the life of Jesus.  Matthew 15:29-39 reveals yet another distribution of the deep care of Jesus to people.  In fact, every time we encounter Jesus having compassion on people in the Gospels, he follows it with action.  In this case, Jesus once again has compassion on a crowd of people…primarily Greek people, and once again he feeds them, he cares for them. Once again Jesus takes action fueled by his compassion. 

May we come to see, that Jesus cares much more than we could ever think or imagine.  We don’t always understand the ways of God, but he understands us and he cares for us deeply, longing to spend eternity with each of us.

Crumbs

I often write about the unfortunate being that is known as our dog…Coda.  I have told of his aversion toward me, his breath of death, and his ability to overtake other being’s spaces.  For example, every time we would take him to my parent’s home, he would, despite his slight nature, overtake the sleeping space of their dog…which was twice the size of Coda. 

One thing that Coda hasn’t done much is beg for food from the dinner table.  We have worked to train him in this way and for the most part he complies.  However, I have noticed that after our son moved home for the summer Coda has been much more active during meal times.  The dog seems to continually pace in circles beneath our son’s chair.  One might consider this strange until you watch the boy eat. 

Isaac’s dining habits have been compared to a blue hairy Sesame Street monster chomping cookies and letters while crumbs fly everywhere.  Our dog loves it when Isaac is home to eat.  Coda finds more than his fill of table scraps as they fall to the floor in an explosion of consumption. 

Jesus uses a parable like this in Matthew 15:21-29.  Here he is encountered by a Greek woman whose daughter is possessed by a demon.  Jesus uses this picture to reveal the beauty and power of the Gospel that is for all people and available by faith. 

May we come to see that even the crumbs of the Gospel are more than enough! Jesus has enough grace and mercy and love and care and power for everyone and everything.  He is more than able and he is more than enough. 

 The Bedroom

For as far back as I can remember, my older brother and I shared a room. We even shared a room briefly in college. Not now though...we are both married...that would be weird.  We have always gotten along well together…as long as he did what I said…which he usually did.  My little brother on the other hand would often not do as I demanded, which as anyone could see, would cause conflict between the two of us. If only he would have humbled himself a little bit as a child, obeyed and submitted himself to his older and dominating brother, we may have had better childhood relations. 

Imagine my dismay when one day my dad approached my older brother and I told us that he had decided to move our little brother into our room.  He “said” it was for “safety reasons.”  I tried to argue, “What is so unsafe about a basement bedroom tucked in the corner of dry rough cut lumber next to a wood burning furnace and absolutely no windows?” It seemed fine to me.  But dad insisted that we “try it” for a few months. 

I regret to tell you that it was the worst “few months” of my life.  I don’t remember why…but I do remember hating it, so it must have been terrible. After a few months I decided it was time to confront my father on the issue.  I took plenty of time to gather my thoughts and reasoning.  I rehearsed my speech and was ready to answer all of the hypothetical questions that I could imagine. 

When I was confident that I was ready, I marched upstairs with a purpose and approached my dad in the kitchen.  “Well Dad…It has been a few months…and well…it’s just not working.”

“What’s not working?”

“Rory in our room. It is time for him to go back to his own room in the basement corner.”

I knew that my dad would argue, but what I didn’t know, was that I was about to receive a tongue lashing unlike anything imaginable.  My dad verbally lit into me before I could even argue any of my preconceived points.

The worst of it was, that he was saying that “I” was the problem and that my little brother wasn’t the problem! I wondered if he had even ever met his third born son.

When the dust cleared, I went back to my…the room…that three boys still shared.

In that moment, I fully believed that I was in the right. Even after the lashing, I couldn’t see my own depravity. 

I am reminded of what we find in Matthew 15:1-20.  In this passage we find Pharisees and Scribes coming from Jerusalem to confront Jesus.  In a similar fashion as I received, they receive a tongue lashing from Jesus that reveals their depravity.  Sadly, they…like me…refused to see it.

May we come to see the sweet beauty of God’s ways…and follow them…as opposed to our own.

Incidentally, I am pleased to say that my little brother is not nearly as annoying as he used to be...he must have matured a great deal!

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.