GPS (A Light has Dawned)

 

I have hunted deer in the North Woods of Minnesota for 37 years.  Astoundingly, I have never missed a hunting season in the vast northern wilderness.  There may come a day when I am no longer able to navigate the challenging hills and valleys of the tumultuous topography, hopefully not until the day that I am dead.    

My affection for this land runs deep.  It began many years before my 12 year old maiden voyage into a deer stand.  Even as a preschool boy, my dad used to take me and my brothers into the forest each October in preparation for the upcoming November hunt. 

For nearly 45 years I have been navigating these lands, committing all of the ridges and vales to memory.  I know this land exceptionally well and yet on several occasions I have found myself in a position where I no longer knew where I was. 

On one such morning, I led my son to his stand while it was still dark and began to walk the relatively short distance to my own stand.  Unfortunately, I could not seem to find my regular trail and wandered aimlessly for 45 minutes looking for any sign of my trail or my stand.  My son would later express his confusion as to why the light of my headlamp was wandering all over the woods while it was still dark that morning.  In order to save my dignity, I assured him that I was just trying to trample down all of the brush around his stand to give him a clearer shot, should the opportunity arise.   

After working up a fully drenching sweat and finding my glasses fogged thicker than grandma’s mashed potatoes, I flopped myself down on the side of a hill, exhausted and blind.  By this time it was fully light and still nothing looked familiar.  I had meandered for nearly an hour on familiar knolls and dales and yet had no idea of which direction to head.  I could head south and eventually find the road, but I knew that I could not be all that far from my stand and so I resisted the notion to completely start over. 

At this time I slid out of my backpack, pulled out my water bottle and took a big draft.  Next, I dug deep into the bottom of the pack and found my GPS.  I powered up the handheld device and waited several minutes for the unit to lock into the satellites and triangulate my position. 

Once my position was found, I commanded the device to take me to waypoint #1…”Ryan’s Stand”.  I selected “Go to,” and instantly, I knew where I was and where I needed to go.   I was a mere 75 yards south west of where I needed to be.  A few minutes later I was in sitting in my stand, with my sweat soaking the ground below me. 

I believe that every human being has suffered this same fate…though in a spiritual sense.  I fear that far too often however, we never realize that the answer is there right before us…and we never turn to the proverbial GPS. 

In roughly 740 BC, God gave a prophecy to a man named Isaiah.  To this man God said, “A world living in darkness has seen a great light, on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned…for unto us a child is born, a son is given and the government will be on his shoulders and he will be called wonderful counselor, mighty God everlasting father, prince of peace….He will reign on David’s throne…forever.”

Approximately 800 years later this prophecy is fulfilled in Jesus.  Jesus himself speaks of this light that is fulfilled in him, but says that “people loved the darkness instead of the light.”

We have the answer…it has been given to us…we simply have to put our trust in Him and not ourselves.  He is the light…He is the way…and I am not.

May we come to see Jesus as the light and follow his ways and not our own ways this Christmas.

Watermelon

I remember my Social Studies textbook sitting open atop my desk in Mrs. Wright’s 4th grade classroom.  It was not uncommon, that I would find myself in a panic as I awaited my turn to read the one of the upcoming paragraphs.  Mrs. Wright would regularly have each student take a turn reading one paragraph at a time from the assigned portion of the day’s unit.  I rarely listened to what the other students read, rather, I spent my time counting students and paragraphs in order to identify which paragraph would be my assigned portion.  Once I found the prospective section, I would attempt to read it over several times before the arrival of my turn, so that I could read it smoothly and avoid embarrassing myself any more than my poor reading skill usually warranted.  Despite my preparatory efforts, Anna Harrington usually derailed it by reading her paragraph flawlessly…and then the next one…and the next one…throwing the whole rhythm of the unified recitation. Anna would continue to expel the words fluently from her lips…the lips of the devil if you ask me. 

On one occasion, I recall Mrs. Wright blowing my dyslexic mind by saying, “Everyone…take a moment and look at the picture on the bottom of page 61.  What do you think of that image?”  It was a famous picture depicting the revolutionary war.  The image included a piccolo-ist with a bandaged head along with a couple of drummers and someone carrying a very tattered version of an early U.S. flag.  I don’t recall all of the details but I do remember Mrs. Wright stating with pleasure, “You know a picture is worth a thousand words!”

“Wow!” I thought.  “If Social text books could be written with strictly pictures it may solve all of my reading problems.”

The words are important.  Words express thoughts and ideas.  Words contain power, but not all words are true.  I remember my dad telling me one time that I had a watermelon growing in my belly after I had swallowed a watermelon seed.  Needless to say, I believed him.  In fact, not only did I believe him…I worried about the excessive fruit growing in my belly for the next couple of months.  Honestly I was scared to death! I had no idea what this would do to me…and how in the world would I ever get it out!  I had heard of mothers having babies and they always talked about the excessive pain in child birth…is that what this was going to be like?

Six to eight weeks after the initial lie from my father I asked him, “Dad, how long does it take for a watermelon to grow?”

“Most of the summer, why do you ask?”

“Because I swallowed that watermelon seed.”

“Oh yeah! I forgot about that.  Let me see your belly.”

I showed him.

“Yep, looks like it is growing to me!”

This did nothing to ease my panic.

Here I am 43 years later and no watermelon has passed…at least that I am aware of.

I have come to believe that the things that we say should reflect who we really are at all times.  Despite the fact that I believe this…I do not live this.  Perhaps this is one reason why John 1:1-14 is so impactful to me.  This powerful passage speaks of Jesus as being the very Word of God…and that Word is God.  Jesus is the expression of God himself…in the flesh. Everything that God says is trustworthy and true.  Jesus is full expression of God’s truth and love to mankind. 

May we come to see the truth of who was really placed in that manger more than 2000 years ago…it was God himself…in the flesh…named Jesus.

 The Sheep and the Wolf

I remember my first varsity wrestling match. I was in 8^th grade and worked off 7 lbs to drop to the next weight class and claim a spot on the Wadena Varsity Wrestling Team.  I still recall the excitement of running out with the team under the low lit gymnasium and the pep band playing an anthem by Queen.  As I ran around the circle, second from the front, I almost believed that I…even I…a lowly 8^th grader at 112 lbs…would in fact… “Rock You!” as the song suggested. 

Despite my brief wave of confidence, I was quickly brought down to reality as our 103 lbs wrestler, the first of the night, received a quick forfeit and propelled my time to shine to the forefront.

Beings that this was my first varsity match ever…and that I was a mere 8^th grader…and the fact that I was going up against a state ranked senior…I was a strong underdog. 

After our sweat-less 103 pounder received his hand raising and walked off the mat; the coach gave me a swat on the back side and said, “Go get him!”

Even at this young age I was a believer in my Savior Jesus Christ, and so I took to the scriptures to find comfort.   However, the only passage that I could bring forth from the nether reaches of my mind was, “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves…you will be hated…don’t be afraid of those who can kill the body…we are considered sheep to be slaughtered…”

This was not comforting…it was terrifying.  Yet, there was no other choice before me.  It was my job to walk out onto the center of the mat and do battle with an elite wrestler 5 years my senior. 

The outcome however was better than I had expected…it only took 34 seconds.  My opponent graciously helped peel me off the mat after he had laid me out with a half-nelson that nearly broke my neck.  He smiled at me, we shook hands and he said to me as the referee raise his hand, “Good match.”

Obviously this guy didn’t have any qualms about lying.

This passage in Matthew 10 is a challenging scripture for sure.  In this text we find Jesus taking the time to describe what his disciples (and followers of Christ) should expect as they continue to follow him and do the things that he is asking them to do.

Yet, woven throughout these verses, we find a canvas of encouragement.  In no way do the commands of Jesus seem easy, however, the love of God is revealed and it is good! 

When we truly come to learn to put our trust in Jesus, we will live our lives as a testimony to him.  Jesus tells us that this testimony that we live will lead to heavy persecution, but the eternal promises of God…are worth every bit of it.

May we come to live our lives as a testimony of the saving grace of our great Savior…trusting that He will do all that he says that he will do!

 Rocket Fuel

A woman shared a story with me recently.  Apparently she was shopping at a local store making her purchase of pasta noodles and garlic mushroom sauce, when the young woman working the register engaged her in conversation.

“Looks like Spaghetti is on the menu for tonight!”

“It sure is.  Imagine my surprise when I went to get it started and didn’t have the noodles or the sauce!? I have a pan of browned burger but nothing to go with it.”

“I know that! I don’t have either in my pantry either. Looks like you will be feeding quite a crew, two boxes of noodles and two jars of pasta.”

“Not really, I just like to buy two of each so that I actually have it in my pantry for the next time I want to make spaghetti.  Not to mention, it is often a little cheaper to buy two of each than just one of each, I like to try and save whatever money I can in this economy.”

“Tell me about it, I can’t even afford one box of spaghetti and one jar of pasta.  As of now, I have nothing…nada…not a cent to buy groceries.”

The woman didn’t know what to say. She finalized her purchase and walked out the doors to her vehicle.  She climbed in, started the engine, dropped the transmission into reverse and pondered at the grocery bag next to her. 

She didn’t take her foot off the brake, she just sat there, looking at the bag…thinking…filled with compassion.

Making up her mind she set the vehicle back into park and killed the motor.  The woman reached into the bag and removed one box of noodles and one jar of sauce and walked back into the store.  She walked straight to the checkout area and placed the two items in front of the clerk and said, “I want you to have this.”

“No! you don’t need to do that!”

“I know, but I want to and even more so I want YOU to have them.”

I don’t know that either of these women said anything else to each other or not, but the impact is clear.

It was clear to me as to what led to this exchange…compassion.  One person had compassion for another.

Compassion is like a match that ignites transformation. Compassion leads to reconciliation. Compassion is the catalyst that takes the Good News…the Gospel into the entire world. It is the rocket fuel for evangelism. 

In Matthew 9:35-10:8, Jesus sees the crowds of people and he has compassion on them because they are like sheep without a shepherd.  They are lost and wandering.  His compassion is a catalyst for change.  It is what motivates him, motivates his disciples and transforms those who will put their trust in him. 

Are we ready, to allow the compassion that we have received overflow in our testimony as we live our lives for him. 

 Desperate

Many people are not aware that when I was younger, I was the survivor of an abduction attempt.  By younger I mean that I had just turned 40.  I was alone in the church one Sunday night…at least I thought I was alone.  I heard some scuffling of feet approaching my office from a nearby hallway. This seemed unusual as it was already past 8:30 p.m. and unless there was an appointment…which there wasn’t…there was no reason for anyone else to be in the building.  I rose from my desk and made my way to the office door to inspect the hallway.  When I looked to the right I saw five young men of various statures looking at me with curious smug smirks. 

“Hello boys, is there something I can do for yo…”

“GET HIM!” the largest of the 5 yelled, and I was suddenly bear hugged from behind.

I saw large heavy white zipties appear in the hands of a long haired mugger and heard him bark, “I got his feet!”

This was not good!  Instinctively, I allowed 20 plus years of wrestling experience to take over and I fought back.  With the use of my arms, hands and legs I was able to bring one of the five assailants to the floor and reverse the position of the bear hugger.  Fortunately for me, another of the five was either not expecting the retaliatory fight back or was too anxious to continue the attempted abduction, because he fled, leaving only four.

Two of the remaining four would be considered smaller in stature than average, but the other two were much more stalwart.  I was able to keep the four young men from securing me with their bonds for a fair amount of time before my ankles were finally encased in the zip-ties…though not yet securely. 

I succeeded in immobilizing one of the smaller assailants with his own zip-ties and held one of the larger attackers securely in my arms, preventing his efforts. Despite this, the remaining two continued to attempt to bind me and I knew I could not win this fight. I felt myself becoming desperate. 

I considered my options which were few.  Then I noticed the long locks of hair hanging from the tall skinny mugger and I did what I had to do.  I reached up with my only free appendage and I grabbed a handful of the 28” rockstar hair and I pulled.

“Oh man! Dude! Not the hair! Ahhh! The hair! He’s got my hair! Let go of my hair!”

I did not let go.  In fact nothing short of death was going to get me to let go of this fistful of hair.  In fact, I took the liberty of pulling the hair harder and in different directions with every shift of my fighting body.

“Whoa! Ryan! Take it easy!  Let go of Daniel’s hair!”  Said the largest of the remaining four, “We just wanted to take you out for your 40^th birthday!  We asked Sarah if we could kidnap you and she said , “yes.” So that’s what we are doing.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What?! We were going to throw you in the trunk and take you to Buffalo Wild Wings for your birthday.”

“I repeat…What’s wrong with you?...Next time…just ask.”

We went to BWW’s, and it was amazing.

There comes a time in our lives where we will in some way find ourselves desperate. These are the times when we may be willing to do things that we wouldn’t normally think ourselves capable of.  It is possible that may find ourselves desperate and looking for hope and will do just about anything to find help.

In Matthew 9:18-34, we find a series of events, filled with desperate people.  We find desperate parents, desperate men and desperate women, of which all have something in common…they are desperate for something that can only come from the hand of God.  Jesus meets them in their desperation.

May we too find Jesus in the moments of our desperation.

 Uncontainable

It is well known that I am an exceptionally frugal individual.  What perhaps is lesser known is that my wife also shares this deep value.  I am pleased to report that this super power has become evident in our offspring as well.  Most notably, the older that our children become, the more frugal they seem to become.  This would leave our youngest in the greatest need of growth in this area and our two college students are exemplifying their parents well. 

It was just this last summer that while my son was gathering with some of his friends in St. Cloud MN, to hang out and eat and do the stuff that recent high school graduates do…(trusting that it was not like my decision), that he found himself needing to buy himself a supper.  He insisted that the entire group take him to Sam’s Club where he could get his entire supper for $3 while the remainder of the group spent somewhere $10-$20 for their respective meals.  It is quite possible that he converted several of his friends to the power of frugility that day.  “Wow Isaac! You got all of that for $3!!!”

That’s my boy!!

I have noticed that over the last 6 months or so my children have been saving disposable coffee cups and glasses in order to make their own custom hand crafted coffee beverages at home as opposed to paying the exorbitant prices of other coffee shops. 

I am so proud. 

It is painful for me to take a moment to admit…that sometimes frugality can be a detriment. There is only so much life that a disposable coffee cup can endure.  Be sure to look for the warning signs.  If the rim begins to get wobbly, or you find yourself wondering, “Why is my leg feel like it is both wet and on fire,” at the same time, then it is possible that coffee is dripping from the bottom and all over you pants.  These could be signs that it “might” be time to get a new disposable cup.

There comes a time when an old cup just cannot contain the goodness of a strong dark roast coffee any longer. In fact, if you insist on using an old disposable coffee cup with fresh hot coffee, you may find yourself ready to sue a specific fast food chain to somehow ebb the pain that the scalding coffee has caused on your already sun burnt skin…and pride.

The problem is that an old worn out coffee cup was not meant to hold the treasure of a delicious dark brew.

In a much more magnificent illustration, Jesus talks about how the incredible Gospel of Grace cannot be contained in the confines of the old way of thinking and understanding.  Jesus has brought a new and living way and the mercies that are new every morning cannot be walled in with self-righteous thought.

Jesus is ready to blow our minds…and our containers, with his uncontainable mercy as found in Matthew 9:9-17.

May you find yourself ready to be overflowed with the uncontainable mercy of Jesus Christ.

 Prove It

The elementary school years are a melting pot of mixed emotions.  It is like a big bowl of passion porridge.  The stewed ingredients include; excitement of recess, drudgery of social studies, expectation of lunch, fear of the playground bully, confusion toward the female gender, and infatuation of Crystal the 3^rd grade class beauty.  When you mix these together you get the insecure, wishy washy presence of the average 3^rd grade boy trying to do all that he can do just to fit in.  Inevitably mistakes are made on this journey to popularity. 

I remember one crucial error of calculation, halfway through that unremarkable year of 1984.  We had been dismissed to our daily lunch period at 11:45 in which we ate our fish stick on a bun while avoiding the yellowed lukewarm green beans and washed it down with room temperature skim milk.  Following lunch we were allowed a brief trip to the restrooms before recess, which is where I made my critical mistake. While congregating near the urinals I made my attempt to be accepted into the upper athletic tier of the 3^rd grade class. I blurted to my buddies, “Hey fellas, did you know that you could punch me in the stomach as hard as you can and I could take it just by tightening my abs?”  In truth, this is my dad’s fault as he told me a cool story of someone who apparently could do that.

“Really?”

“Yep, the secret is just to tighten up your stomach muscles really tight beforehand.”

“Prove it.”

“Ummm, What’s that?”

“I said prove it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, let me punch you in the stomach.”

“Ummm, Ok, I guess…”

The next thing I knew I was standing before Jeremy as he let me have it in the gut.  To my great astonishment, it worked.  I had taken the hit and lived.  Boy was I glad that was over. 

“See, what I mean?” I said, “Now let’s go out to recess.”

“Not so fast.” Mikey barked. “It is my turn.”

Mikey proceeded to hit me…as did Jason…and then Eric...

Though I wasn’t enjoying it I was enduring it.  But then…a huge 4^th grader unaffectionately known as Shawn the Spawn walked into the restroom.  “Hey losers…what are you doing?”

“Shawn!  You have got to see this…Ryan can let anyone punch him in the gut and he can just take it and stand there.”

“Let’s see him prove it…it’s my turn.”

Shawn layed all of his 4^th grade body mass into my gut and I felt the fish stick launch from my gut and lodge into my sinuses.  My eyes waters, I leaned back against the wall and hurled the rest of my skim milk across the lavatory floor. 

“Huh huh…I guess not” Grunted Shawn and walked out.  All of the other boys followed.  I went out to recess. 

It is one thing to say something, but it is quite another to prove it.  In an incredible moment of Jesus’ ministry as recorded in Matthew 9:1-8, we find him in a massive crowd of people including disciples, observers and religious leaders.  Suddenly, people tear a hole in the roof and lower their paralyzed friend down to Jesus.  Jesus says “You Sins are forgiven.”  The Pharisees’ response echo’s the theme, “Impossible! Prove it!”

And then…Jesus proves it.  

Jesus is who he says he is…and he proves it.  He is the savior of the world because He has the authority to forgive us of our sins. 

May we come to accept the free gift of forgiveness offered by Christ alone.

 

 8 Miles...per Hour

I was fishing alone in the late afternoon of a hot August day.  My wife had taken the children to Michigan to visit her parents for a week and I decided to take advantage of this time of solace to pursue the allusive Walleye on the upper portions of the Mississippi River.  Despite the promise of strong evening storms fueled by the excessive summer humidity, I launched my 1957 aluminum fishing boat into the water and propelled southward on the great river.  After motoring over 20 minutes and nearly 3 ½ miles downstream I powered down the antique Evinrude and lowered the trolling motor. 

Despite being over a half a century old, the boat and motor are incredibly reliable.  The venerable 7.5 hp engine starts every time without fail and on a good day it can slide the boat through the water at a whopping 6 miles per hour with the throttle fully expressed. 

The fishing proved to be exceptional on this sunny afternoon.  I am not a great Walleye fisherman, but I had already boated 3 of the favored species in my short 45 minutes of active fishing and was on my way to my first ever limit of Minnesota’s state fish.  However, as I turned to make another pass at the current honey hole, the wind also turned.  Seemingly out of nowhere a strong wind from the south erupted and a dark wall of cloud could be seen in the distance growing more ominous by the minute.

As much as I longed to continue my pursuits of a limit I decided that my 7.5 horses was no match for the storm that could be seen bearing down in my direction.  I pulled up the trolling motor, slid my arms into my life vest and pulled the cord on the twin cylinder Evinrude.  Faithfully, the engine roared to life on the first pull and I gunned the throttle.  I nearly lost the filling in my right side bicuspid as I went from 0-6mph in 96 seconds. 

I was racing the storm home and losing…badly.  The winds continued to increase and the rain began to fall...if horizontal is still considered falling.  The strong south winds kept the shoreline flags extended straight northward.  Suddenly, the winds that seemed as strong as they could possibly be, blew even harder.  I gripped the tiller handle tightly and motored forward.  I noticed that my gps had moved from 6mph to an incredible 8.5!  This boat had never gone so fast!

Due to the favorable tailwind, I made it back to the access in a record 19 minutes.  I was soaked from head to toe and loaded my boat onto the trailer as quickly as I could and just as I finished up…the storm passed…and the waters turned calm again.  So…I went back out fishing and caught…nothing more.

This frightening event was far from the experience that the Disciples would have had in Matthew 8 in the midst of the storm on the Sea of Galilee.  Yet, I can at least relate to the sense of fear and concern for my own safety in the sudden and powerful storms of summer. 

My story is also missing the most significant detail of what is found in Matthew 8.  In this Biblical account we find the incredible revelation of the REAL Jesus.  Could you imagine your own reaction if you had been in the boat and in the middle of the most dangerous and chaotic storm of your life, Jesus says, “Quiet! Be Still!”  And then suddenly…it is still.  Imagine 47 million tons of water suddenly becoming still as glass.  The winds and the waves obey Him.  Everything obeys him…because He IS GOD!

If only I could come to understand that I do not need to fear, because Jesus himself says that he is with me and that He will never leave me nor forsake me!

May we come to see who Jesus really is…and in doing so, grow in our trust of Him!

 Jason

Jason was cool.  In fact, everything about him was cool.  He was the embodiment of everything that I wanted to be as a 5^th grade male, but wasn’t.  He was funny, athletic, witty, intelligent, well liked by teachers and seemingly all of the 5^th grade girls in Mr. Nelson’s class swooned over him.  In efforts to be like him, I attempted to take on his characteristics.  I mimicked the way that Jason walked, talked and laughed.  I even tried to dress like Jason.  When Jason began wearing pink shirts and white Miami Vice inspired sports coats, I too began to wear “hipper clothing.” The problem lied in the fact that I didn’t have any pink shirts and would have had to resort to either wearing my mother’s pink shirts which were too big or my little sister’s which were way too small.  Additionally the only “sport coat” I could get my hands on was my grandpas old suit coat which was gray and smelled like cigarette smoke.  In the end I settled for a blue pair of suspenders and a white t-shirt.  It did not have quite the same effect.

Needless to say my imitation of Jason was a perpetual exercise of failure.  I could not compete with his naturally suave mannerisms nor draw the attention of the attractive girls with big 80’s hair of the upper echelon’s of Wadena Elementary School. 

One day as I was practicing the fine are of Jasonism, the object of my idolatry dared me to enter the girls bathroom.

“Come on Ryan! Do it! There isn’t anyone in there…just run in and run back out!”

“Oh man, Jason…I don’t know.  Why don’t you do it?”

“Because I have done it lots of times! You need to do it! It is such a rush!”

“Ok…I guess…but you have to stand look out, ok?”

“Sure thing! I got you!”

I worked myself up into a frenzy and with my heart racing and a cold sweat running down my neck I ran into the girls bathroom.  I remember thinking as I turned around to run back out, “huh, what’s the big deal?  It’s just like the boys’ but cleaner and less stinky.” My stomach was fluttering wildly as I emerged from the forbidden room and back into the halls of lower education.  At the moment of my exit, I exhaled the breath that I hadn’t realized that I was holding and took in a deep refreshing breath of the cool stale elementary hallway air.

I had done it.  What a relief!  I was so pleased that I hadn’t gotten caug…  “RYAN! What do you think you are doing?”

It was Mr. Nelson himself.  I hadn’t realized that Jason was MIA.  In fact, all of my buddies were gone.  All that stood before me was Mr. Nelson and a half a dozen confused 5^th grade girls standing behind him.  I can’t prove it but I am pretty sure I had been ratted out.

“I asked you a question….What are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“What were you doing coming out of the girl’s bathroom?”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I went with the only think I could do…I attempted to cast the blame elsewhere.  “Jason told me to do it!”

“Did he? Tell me, If Jason told you to jump off of a cliff…would you do it?”

I told Mr. Nelson “No,” but in reality…maybe.

I find myself astounded as to who I have been willing to follow and even to what lengths.  My past has been far too littered with the following of others and far too seldom following the path of Christ.  Matthew 8:18-22 and Luke 9:57-62, reveal a picture of what it really looks like to follow Jesus.  Jesus does not shy away from the reality that there is a real cost to following Him.  Jesus never promises the life of ease on this journey.  In fact, the promise is just the opposite.  It is a journey of struggle and suffering. The difference between Jason and Jesus is that Jesus won’t leave me, and Jesus won’t lead me astray and Jesus is worth following.

I received my reward in full in following Jason, but now, I long for the reward that can only come in the difficult journey of following Christ.

May we come to choose to follow Jesus.  I guarantee that it won’t be easy…but he guarantees that it will be worth it.

 Wet Paint

 

We have all seen the signs…we find them posted on doors, walls, banisters, floors and even road ways. These signs reflect a caution…a warning…an alarm of sorts, drawing people’s attention to the danger of economic loss, when a less than observant person may suddenly find a white streak of paint running across their brand new Nike sweatshirt.  It may alert towards the avoidance of embarrassment of NOT seeing the white streak that has suddenly appeared across the backside of the dark washed jeans that they currently don.  The sign reads: WET PAINT.

It is likely that each American at some point or another has had a less than desirable encounter with wet paint.  Whether the encounter stemmed from the ill placed finger paints of 5 year old Tommy in kindergarten or falling from your ladder into a poorly place bucket of latex, we have all been scarred by painted memories…or perhaps paint brush impalements.

I remember coming home from a funeral one afternoon in which I was officiating a number of years ago to find my garage floor covered in a mass of smeared white streaks.  Upon stepping into the work space I gasped believing that I had inadvertently come upon the murder scene of one Casper the Friendly Ghost.  However, upon further examination I realized that it was not the un-bodily fluid of a ghost but rather…paint…and lots of it.

Painting almost always appears on the long list of jobs to do around the house and with my busy schedule it is hard to find times to fit all of the tasks within the 24 hours a day framework.  During my obligatory absence, my amazing wife had rallied some of the children to help with the painting of the shed.  Unfortunately the painting of the shed accidentally led into the white massacre of the garage floor.  The paint was everywhere, and as I walked through the garage in my “only wear at weddings and funerals dress suit,” I took a rag and carefully began to scrub at the paint stain trying to clean up as much as I could.

My wife had more sense than I did in those days and quickly reprimanded me from cleaning the white paint in my formal attire.

“You do NOT want to get paint on your suit!!”

Fortunately for me I adhered to her sensible advice.  Unfortunately for her and my children, I had a less than stellar response to the situation.

There is ONE thing that you especially DO NOT want to do with wet paint…touch it.  Once you touch wet paint, it spreads and spreads and ends up places that you never could have fathomed that it would or could reach.

In Matthew 8:1-17, we find Jesus do the unthinkable in his culture and context.  He knowingly touches the proverbial “wet paint,” of the society. In this portion of scripture, Jesus encounters three noteworthy people and does that which their culture would not consider doing…he touches them.  He touches some of them physically, but more so he touches their hearts and brings healing into their lives.  He touches an untouchable leper, a loathsome Roman soldier and a desperately sick mother. 

In this incredible passage, Jesus brings more than just physical healing, he also begins his healing work to the souls of people and the breaking of the curse of sin and death…which he crushes when he goes to the cross.

May we find Jesus as our healer. He has the power to heal our physical, spiritual, emotional and eternal needs.

 Gas Jockey

My first “real job” was at a local full service fueling station in Wadena, Minnesota.  Prior to entering into the realms of W-4 employment, I had spent a few summers walking behind a lawn mower giving mediocre effort to cutting grass for a few local business. This however was different.  I was initially hired as a Gas Jockey, in which, I would diligently tend to the vehicles that would drive up to the pumps looking for gas and other automotive services.

(Be-ding, Be-ding)

“Good afternoon ma’am, what can I do for you?”

“Could I get 10 gallons of regular? Oh, and would you wash the windshield, check the oil…and the tire pressure…maybe wash the headlights too…it would probably be a good idea to check the transmission fluid, power steering fluid, washer fluid, brake fluid…and then my son told me I should have you check the muffler belt and the blinker fluid too…”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Could you do it quickly…I am kind of in a hurry.”

“Yes ma’am.”

After I finished the extensive service I told her ‘thank you’ and held out my left hand hoping for a tip, but she just slapped my hand in thanks and drove off.

I remember one lady would come in on a weekly basis only to have me wash her windshield.  She sat in the vehicle and pointed to each bug that needed to be scrubbed off of the outer service until the windshield shone like new.  She would usually toss me a quarter as she shared her verbal appreciation and drove off.

Nearing the end of my first year, I was trained on a variety of other responsibilities that promoted me from part time Gas Jockey to part time Grease Monkey.  It was here that I was educated on the how tos of wrenching on vehicles, including oil changes, spark plugs, as well as muffler and alternator replacements.  I was even trained in the art of tire replacement and repair.

Tire work quickly became one of my favorites.  I would even imagine myself working for a NASCAR pit crew replacing tires on rims and cars as efficiently as possible. 

“Ryan! What do you think you are doing!?” The boss exclaimed one Saturday afternoon.

“Replacing tires like I am working on Richard Petty’s Pontiac Grand Prix.”

“Mrs. Floyd’s Ford LTD does not get racing slicks! Now put the white walled touring tires back on!!”

One of the great lessons I learned (the hard way) with this job was the authority of the Boss.

What the Boss said…is what I was expected to do.

I was working the closing shift alone one Sunday evening and as soon as 9:00.01 rolled around I killed the lights and began closing out the till.  I wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could to go hang out with all of my friends…well…both of them anyway.  As I was closing out the till, a man in a pick-up truck pulled up to the pumps and looked in to me.  I looked out the window and shook my head.  He dropped his head, put the truck back into gear and drove away.

The next day the Boss invited me into her office and shared some ‘words’ with me. 

“When a customer pulls up and wants gas, we give them gas.  Even if you are closing out the till…you will give them gas and reclose the till afterwards.  Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Do you like your job?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Would you like to keep your job?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then you will do what I say.”

“Yes ma’am.”

And I did.

Our lives are filled with authorities.  The greatest authority of all is God himself.  Jesus (God in the flesh), concludes his Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 7, in which he powerfully states that we ought to hear his words…and do them.  If we are willing to hear and do what Jesus says, he insists that our obedience to him, will give us the foundation to endure anything that this life has to throw at us.  He is our Rock and our Hope.  Though this world may crumble, we still have Jesus for eternity. He gives us the foundation and strength to do what he asks us to do…follow Him.

May we come to see that His words offer our only Hope for eternal life with Him.

 The Fort

One of the advantages of growing up on a “pretend” farm is that it contained many of the enjoyable elements that a real farm would have, such as, an old barn, chicken coop, woods, climbable trees and other out buildings and garages.  Our barn was highly unsafe and we were not allowed to be in the loft of the barn…or more accurately…we were not allowed to let our mother to know that we were in the loft of the barn.  The floor was rotting through many places, which was covered with old hay and junk and it was difficult to know where to walk without falling through the floor and into the basement.  The roof of the chicken coop was falling in and many of the climbable trees would break you as they broke your fall when mis-stepping on a weak branch.

Fortunately, we had a father who not only cared for our safety, but also understood the adventurous spirit of boys and allowed us to build ourselves a fort in the attic of the garage. 

On the back side of the garage there was a small door that accessed the attic.  The door was about 2 feet wide, 3 feet high and around 20 feet off the ground.  He gave us a rickety old wooden ladder to access the porthole and supplied us with all of the old rusty nails we needed.  I have since then tried to keep safety as high of a priority as my dad did.  For example, just two week ago I fell from the rafters of my own garage while balancing with one foot on a boat, the other on a saw horse, and attempting to drive a screw into a 2x4 with a hammer.  My father has taught me so much!

 My older brother and I set to work converting the small elevated space into a fort of epic proportions.  We built a desk, a bench, a stool and some shelves.  I even found some old tiles and tiled the desktop surface.  To top off our elaborate investment, I channeled my inner “Stalag 13” and drafted a map of our entire property and secured it to an old roller shade.  I know that Colonel Hogan would have been proud and perhaps even a little envious.

The final touches to the fort included the rules.

1.      No sisters.

2.      No little brothers. (Though technically I was a younger brother to my older brother I was by size larger…not to mention I don’t think he caught on to the irony of the rule).

3.      There was only one way into the fort.

a.      Through the small door

b.      By invitation.

We had put a lock on the inside of the door to prevent any unwanted guests…however, without any lights and without any air circulation closing the door was only done in the most dire of circumstances. 

We cherished that space, relishing that fact that there was only one way into the sanctuary and we controlled it.

I am reminded of the similarity…and the stark difference that Jesus offers in the narrow path to eternal life.  Matthew 7:13-23 reveals Jesus’ words of this truth.  He says that there is a narrow gate that few find.  He says it is a difficult path, but the path will lead to eternal life.  In contrast, he speaks of a wide path that leads to destruction.  The difference between Jesus and myself is that he WANTS people to find and take the narrow gate, whereas, I as a child, wanted to keep it for myself. 

I think what concerns me the most in this passage are two of Jesus’ words…many and few.  Though Jesus has offered the narrow gate to all, we find that very few will take it.  In fact, many of us…most of us even…will avoid the narrow gate believing that we can make it to eternity with Jesus some other way...our own way…the wide way…a way of ourselves, that we control.

May we take an honest look on the path that we are on.  Are we on the narrow path and difficult path of following Jesus?  Or perhaps we are finding ourselves moving on the wide path of our own righteousness and pursuits of the world.

 Good Gifts

My son wanted a new car, but then again…don’t we all? I grew up watching the Price is Right and the “New Car” was the pinnacle of prizes to be awarded throughout the episodes and were a staple of showcase showdowns.  As Isaac’s High School graduation approached he continued to drop hints that he was hoping for a new car as a gift for his graduation, hints that included; “What are you guys going to get me for graduation?  A new car?”, or “Will you be buying me a new car for graduation?”

Some of the hints were even less subtle, “If you are looking for a vehicle for me for my graduation, I would prefer a truck…red or black…or blue is ok too.”

I clearly rebutted each hint with such demonstrative statements as: “No,” or “Dream on,” or “Buy yourself a car.”

Two realities remained. 

1.      We still needed to find him a graduation gift.

2.      His car is on the brink of catastrophic fail.

Therefore killing two birds with one stone we went ahead and gifted our son what he needed for graduation…a mechanics tool set to keep the limping vehicle moving forward…and occasionally other directions as needed. 

As I set the wrapped gift upon his lap after his graduation party he stated, “This doesn’t feel like a set of car keys…maybe it is a clever disguise?”

However, upon opening the package and realizing that his gift was not in fact a new car but rather a high quality tool set to keep his vehicle running, he shared a genuine thank you and continued opening gifts and cards from other generous gifters.

Rather than receiving a new car for my own high school graduation I too received high quality automotive tools when I turned 18.  I still use those tools today and they have served me well to keep all of my vehicles of questionable reliability rolling. 

Over the past 4 weeks, our son, who is off at college now, has had to implement the use of this tool set on a regular basis initiating multiple repairs on the wearing automobile. 

We can all relate to this.  We find ourselves with our eye on what we desire and sometimes not realizing what it is that we really need.  We convince ourselves that if we could just have this, that or the other thing, that our lives would be fulfilled and we could live contentedly.  Sometimes it is true…until the next object of our desire comes along and we once again default to yearning.  I for one am a repeat offender.  Yet as I have looked at the Sermon on the Mount I have found Jesus offering us all that we need…all we have to do is ask.  I believe this to be true, but often times what I see as good gifts are not what God sees as good gifts.  I must be honest; the goodness of God has always overshadowed the menial things that I thought were good.  God is a good father…who knows how to give good gifts.  We can trust him to give us what we need.  What more evidence do we need than that of the Good Giver giving to us His Holy Spirit.  He may not always give me what I want…but I can be confident that he will always give me that which I need.

May we find the Good Father who is giving good gifts.

Logs, Hogs and Dogs

Earlier this summer our family went up to my parent’s cabin in the Park Rapids area.  The cabin sits on a lovely, level lot on a pristine lake that is rich with fish, towering pines, loons, eagles and mosquitoes.  In addition to the fearsome mosquitoes…and deer flies…and horse flies…there is a nemesis that lurks on the surface of the waters looking for a newly manicured lawn to invade.  All around the lake, land owners have implemented an infinite number of varied tactics to rid themselves of the fowl devils.  Yet, somehow these long throated Canadian demons of defecation, leave their disgusting green, black and white scat all over the lakeside lawns.

My parents do an exceptional job of keeping the lawn and beach clear of the excrement expelling enemies.  They have applied various efforts that have been moderately effective in keeping the unwanted animals from their shores, and when a few shrewd bird have somehow found their way through the gauntlet and left gifts of goose guano, my name sakes are quick to remove it from that land.

On this particular visit, our 10 year old Pomeranian was too quick for everyone and before the doo-doo could be dealt with, he decided to find it and roll in it…and roll in it…and roll in it some more.

“Ugh! You foolish pooch! What are…what…egads! Why!?”

Needless to say, this was an unfortunate moment of the weekend…and our lives.  Yet, we were committed to resiliently press on to a good time, which was only possible since my wife was willing to wash the dog in the lake.  All was grand…until, our less than learned puppy become a repeat offender.

What can you do but shake your head, drop your jaw and wish that you did not have a dog.  This reminded me of when I was a child.  We always had dogs out on our small pretend hobby farm and these dogs were just as foolish.  The indescribable nasty things that they would get into was incredible! It was not uncommon to find cow bones with rotting flesh or dead wood chucks drug home from nearby farms.  The dogs would often return, soggy and stinky after a day of wallowing in the swamp or even on several cases with snouts filled with porcupine quills after getting too close to resentful rodents.

The pigs that we raised were no better.  I remember taking a hose to the pigs to wash them off.  They seemed to like the spray of water but as soon as you turned the hose off they would drop back to the ground and roll in the mud.  The pigs were always covered in thick layers of wet and dry mud.

These animals loved the filth.  I think that if we are willing to take a broader look at what Jesus says in Matthew 7:1-6.  Jesus is wanting to pull us out of.  He does not want us to wallow in a life of filth and mud and fecal matter.  He is asking us to self reflect…to see our sin...and allow him to remove the plank in our eye that is blinding us from the life that He wants us to live in Him.

May we come to allow the transformational work to be done in us that Jesus wants done in us.  May our lack of capacity for change be filled with His capacity that is given freely to us. 

 

 The Steering Wheel

For years now I have made it a priority to get on my bicycle and ride.  I do this for my cardio health, mental health and physical health.  My wife is incredibly supportive to this initiative, though there were a few years that for the sake of our marriage adjustments had to be made.  After several less than stellar moments on my part I learned that a mother of 4 young children does not enjoy being left to herself and these loving but exasperating children for an hour or more while her ignorant husband grinds gravel on a vintage 1994 mountain bike. 

To bless my wife, stay active, save our marriage and earn my supper, I procured a pull behind trailer in which I could haul half of our children behind me on the country tours of Morrison County.  The child hauler was a God send.  Over the years I used this bicycle trailer to sooth crying children to sleep, provide my wife a respite from fighting children and loaded the laps of my passengers with unexpected groceries from our quick stop at Coborns for just one quick item. 

One of the favorite features of the bicycle trailer was the cross bar steering wheel.  Once the children were buckled safely into their seat, I would secure the cross bar, with dual steering wheels, in front of their eager faces and hands.  As I cruised the streets and side roads of Little Falls, my children would pretend to drive and steer and direct our path.  Obviously they had absolutely no control as to where we were going and yet either in their imagination or convoluted understanding, they steered away as if everything they did was paramount. 

I am given pause with this scenario, in the context of worry and the sovereignty of God. (Note: this is not an illustration on the lack of freewill…so don’t take it there…that is not what I mean). I think that I have traversed much of my life independently, though I have invited God to join me at times.  In the midst of the journey, I have offered Jesus to “take the wheel” when I have found the drive of life to be too difficult, stressful, overwhelming or hectic.  What I have only come to realize, is that I have never really had a steering wheel to offer, and if I did, it was only an imaginary wheel in the trailer of God’s story.  He is the one who has always been in control and navigating, while all of my steering has been mere narcissistic imagination.

It is by His invitation that I am even on this journey.  It is not my invitation to him, but rather his invitation to me.  It is by his power and his direction.  When I drive, I am anxious.  When I realize that my steering is imaginary, I find that I am more at peace.  I can’t control where we are going anyway…so I might as well enjoy the ride.

I think this is what Jesus is driving at in Matthew 6:25-34.  Jesus wants us to know that we don’t need to worry.  He is in control.  He has always been in control. 

May we come to enjoy the ride with Him.

 The Treasure

On a bright and sunny September morning, I took my three and a half –year-old son out for his first ever fishing trip.  I had intentionally prioritized this moment with his older sister the year before and now that his sister was sequestered into the halls of the higher educational realms of kindergarten, it was his turn.  We loaded the boat with snacks, bottles of root beer, life jackets and a Superman fishing pole. 

Along the way, we stopped at Kamps Korner in Swanville, MN to buy some bait and fuel for the excursion.  Once I had paid for our gas and minnows, I drug him away from the minnow tanks, insisting the he let go of the minnows in his hands.  He hesitated to leave the ichthyologic region of the bait shop until I promised him that he could play with the minnows that we had just purchased.  He eagerly agreed, and we pulled into the lake access a few minutes later.

After securing his life vest and launching the boat, I fired up the 1956 7.5 hp Evinrude motor and we put forth toward the not so secret black crappy location on the small lake.  Upon arriving at the small sunken island in the middle of the lake, I dropped the anchor and we set up to fish.  I took the cheap spincast Superman rod and set it up with a small slip-bobber, a hook and a minnow.  I made the mistake of showing Isaac how to cast, because despite my instruction of letting the bobber sit in the water until it is pulled under, he continued to cast and reel, cast and reel, cast and reel…never allowing the bobber to even sit remotely still. 

In a moment of surprise, I found that beyond my apathetic expectations, a short while later, the boy pulled in a respectable largemouth bass.  His excitement was frenzied and untamable! From this moment my son was hooked, (pun intended).  At the end of our time on the water, I loaded the boat while he stood on the dock and continued to cast the Superman.

Yesterday, 15 years later, Isaac and I loaded the boat and set out for the same small lake.  He no longer uses the Superman rod, rather, he uses a fancy baitcasting rod and reel combo.  It is indeed one of his treasured possessions, as he saved a long time for the Fenwick HMG and the Shimano SLX.  Perhaps it would be better said, “was,” one of his treasured possessions, since the rod suddenly blew out of the boat on our way to the lake and was immediately run over by the car directly behind us. 

To say the least, it was devastating.  We were both equally distraught as to what had just happened.  After picking up the broken rod from the roadway, we continued to the lake, both feeling soured from our earlier eagerness.  Our time on the water was subdued.  We caught a fair number of bass and enjoyed our time together, but it was difficult to not remember the loss of what we had just experienced.  At one point Isaac spoke up, “Well…It’s not like I would be taking it to heaven with me anyway.”

When we wrapped up our time on the water, and I was finalizing the securing of the equipment, I looked to the dock where my son stood.  I saw his silhouette against the setting sun as he continued to cast for bass just as he had done 15 years ago from the very same spot. 

He has grown…nearly 4 feet in stature and perhaps 50 feet in spirituality.  His struggle with the loss of the rod was real, but so was the evidence of his faith.  In that moment, he reminded me of what Jesus teaches us in Matthew 6:19-24.  It is easy to store up for ourselves treasures on this earth.  However, just as Jesus says, these treasures will rot, rust, be eaten by moths…or run over by a tailgating vehicle.  Yesterday, I experienced the REAL treasure…time with my son.  He is the one who reminded me of the EVEN GREATER treasure…the GREATEST treasure, the eternal time with Jesus.

May we come to know the GREATEST Treasure.

 Attention Please

It is every child’s desire to be noticed…unless of course, said child is attempting to sneak Christmas cookies out of the freezer two weeks before the big day.  Aside from acts of conniving disobedience, children desire to be praise by their parents, teachers, siblings and friends. 

I remember drawing one particularly ugly portrait of my mother using nothing but the basic 8 pack of Crayola crayons, only to have my mother praise my terrifying work with affectionate words, “Oh Ryan! That is so lovely! Thank you so much! I just love pictures of frogs! This is really good work for a 4-year- old!”

Needless to say, I was incredibly offended.  Not so much because it was a picture of her and not a frog, but more-so because I was 16.

The desire to be noticed grows with us.  Middle school is perhaps the most treacherous, terrifying and yet the most vital time to be noticed by your classmates.  Being noticed is critical as a middle school boy, unless one is being noticed because they spilled their milk in an unfortunate area of their body and have to spend the rest of the day saying, “I didn’t! It’s milk! I spilled my milk! No! It’s not!”

The real goal of any middle school boy is to be noticed by the cute and popular girls.  Unfortunately, most middle school boys have no idea how to go about this without revealing what absolute fools they really are.   I was one of these middle school boys.

I would resort to all kinds of attention seeking foolish acts.  “Hey Amy! How much you want to bet I can jump off Mrs. Marten’s desk?” Before waiting for an answer, I ran, I jumped, I hit my shin on the front of the desk and face planted on the back of Mrs. Marten’s chair, displacing all of the English essays from her desk to the floor.  I scrambled to put all the papers back upon the desktop when Mrs. Marten walked in and immediately assumed that I was doing something foolish…which of course I had been…and asked me to stay after class. 

I wasn’t the only one.  My friends would stuff spaghetti noodles up their noses and thread them out their mouths and begin to floss their sinuses.  Additionally, these same friends would also turn their eyelids inside out, which always created the squealing, “Eew” from the girls.  How jealous I was of these gifted adolescent peers.  The girls always seemed enamored with their really great skills. 

My impressive efforts would at times put me into precarious situations.  On one occasion, 3 volunteers were requested at a youth event at summer camp.  My “friends” volunteered me, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting at a table with my hands tied behind my back and a week’s worth of leftover slop all mixed together on a plate in front of me.  “Ready? Set? Go!”

We then had to eat the slop without using our hands.  The two other “volunteers,” one on my left and one on my right, went to work consuming the insanely disgusting meal of yesterweek.  I tried…I really did.  I actually thought I was doing ok until I crunched an unidentifiable, something, and I lost it all, back onto the plate.  The mass of my peers watching, simultaneously moaned in disgust.  I looked up and saw their frightened faced and heard them say. “Come on Ryan…go! You are losing!”  So I did what any insane middle schooler might do.  I quit. 

I have come to learn that seeking people’s attention and approval is NOT just a kid thing, or a middle school thing.  I still do it today.  My efforts look a lot different today than they did in middle school, but sadly they are still there.  It is a constant struggle to see myself through the eyes of The One.  I want to live my life pleasing The One.  Yet, too often I seek the accolades of others. 

This is what Jesus is talking about in Matthew 6:1-18. Jesus gives several examples of doing good things; praying, fasting and giving.  Yet, he offers the caution of being careful to do these things for God and not for the praises of people.  Through most of my life,  I have received the rewards from people.  Now I am learning to trust in the reward promised by Jesus.

May we come to seek the eternal rewards of Jesus together as we learn to seek after Him alone.

 At First Breath   

 

As we gathered around the table to celebrate my daughter’s 17^th birthday this past week, our discussion turned to the topic of ‘pestering.’  I am not sure how, but the conversation pivoted suddenly into such a path, that I became the immediate defender of past actions.  Perhaps it was due to the fact that my parents had joined us for the celebratory birthday meal.  After consuming an excess amount of chicken wings, mozzarella stick and French fries, my parents revealed their strange vendetta against me for causing such hardships in their lives from my childhood years. I struggle to see how this can be the case, as I only remember the loving acts of kindness demonstrated from my hands and heart, which regularly poured positive reinforcement into the lives of my family.

One such false accusation became evident when my effort to help my siblings learn to swim was tragically spun into accusations of misdeeds and attacks.  Sadly, my parents and siblings seem to believe that it was out of some cruel and proletarian effort that I held the heads of my brothers and sister under the lake water during our summer trips to the lake.  I insist that these are groundless accusations.  It was purely for their benefit, as I was offering several life lessons that have doubtless helped to make them into the men and woman that they are today.  Perhaps they did not realize that I was benevolently gifting them the ability to hold their breath for extended periods of time.  The skill of holding ones breath has many valuable benefits.  Some such benefits include; improved underwater swimming, preparation for a prolonged visit to Mars, setting one up for the unfortunate event of being inconveniently buried underground and even improved parenting. Parents can find a great benefit in learning to hold their breath hoping that their teenage son or daughter will begin to make better and safer decisions.

Additionally, my brothers and sister obviously missed the fact that I was offering a great revelation as to the value of life.  My kinsmen should have been able to make note of the sweet breath of air that God has given them as their faces burst forth from beneath the surface of the lake.  I can’t figure as to why they did not come to appreciate this gift of spiritual awareness.

 Am I thanked? No! Rather, I am criticized.

I don’t know that we really appreciate breath and breathing. 

I remember one such breath of life that shook my world.  It was on a cold day in late January, near the end of my 27^th year of life.  My wife lay in a hospital bed struggling to breath. 

“You have to help her!” One of the nurses barked at me. “She needs to calm down!”

“Sarah, you have to take it easy.  Calm down! Slow down! The nurses are here to help,” I insisted.

“I can’t!  I can’t! I can’t breathe!”

It was at this point that one of the nurses shoved me out of the way and grabbed my wife’s face and placed her own nose about 2 inches away from my wife.  “Listen to me Sarah…breathe with me…breathe with me.”

Sarah began to replicate the breathing and she was soon able to calm down.  Then after two more pushes a new scream pierced the air and filled the room as my newborn daughter took her first breath.  When the nurse had swaddled this new child and placed her into my arms, I found that everything I thought I knew about love changed.  It wasn’t as though I hadn’t loved before; rather, I had suddenly come to realize love in a way that was both unconditional and irrational. 

As I held this child for the first time, I watched her open her eyes and look up at me, and though I did not yet “know” her…I loved her and I would rather die than let anything hurt or harm her.  I also felt convinced that God felt the same way about her too.  I am willing to bet that many of us have had similar thoughts or experiences.  Yet, let’s be honest, it is much easier for us to see God’s love for our children, than for ourselves…or even more so…our enemies. 

If we are willing to read the scriptures for their genuine message, we will find that God loves the whole world and does not want anyone to perish, (John 3:16).  Additionally, he is crazy with love for people…our children, you, me…members of the Minnesota Vikings and the Green Bay Packers…Joe Biden and Donald Trump. 

This doesn’t mean that he approves of everything that we do.  He does not approve of our sin…but make no mistake God loves us…and he wants us to love one another…including our “enemies,” (Matt. 5:33-48).

May we come to see how much God loves us and our enemies.