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.

 Keep Walking

I spent the last few days attending the Minnesota State Track and Field Meet.  I always find myself in awe of the ability that these high school students can achieve on the track and in the field.  As I sat among a plethora of Little Falls Flyers fans taking in the races, we were collectively engaged in each and every event, particularly the ones where our athletes were competing.   

Every year, there are contrasting moments of highs and lows among these events.  This year experienced many new state records, a number of underdogs becoming state champions, some “would-be” favorites fell short of victory, and some of these races were just incredibly close and exciting.  There were several moments where athletes encountered the never desirable, “agony of defeat.”  I watched one young man who, sprinting down the final stretch, battling to win the preliminary heat of the 4x200m relay, suddenly came up short after severely injuring his hamstring.  He, along with his 3 relay teammates, watched their hopes of a medal fade away, as every other team passed him while he continued to hobble across the finish line. 

In the girls 300m hurdle prelim, the strong favorite to win the gold medal caught her trail foot on the final hurdle and fell face first into the track.  She got up and stumbled across the finish line but not before all of the other runners had finished and her hopes of a gold medal in the 300m hurdle dissipated with the remaining dew of the morning.  In a great affect of grief and sorrow, she slunk to the track and lay prostrate and wept, being wrought with emotion. Her opponents gathered around her, picked her up and helped her to her feet.  While she was given multiple hugs and words of encouragement I looked at the tournament program to see what grade she was in.  When I saw that she was in 11^th grade and had another year before her, I proclaimed to those around me, “She’ll be back.”  Though, I have no power to guarantee that will be the case, I remain convinced. 

As I look at my own life of mistakes and consider all of the times I have fallen flat on my face, I can also think of those who God has sent to surround me and pick me up off of the ground and encourage me by telling me that it is not over and insisting that we can start again.

One of the strong messages that we see in Scripture is…”don’t quit.”  We see phrases such as, “stand firm,” “persevere,” and “endure.” In Matthew 5, Jesus continues his Sermon on the Mount, in which he offers another example of how he has raised the bar, of expected righteousness.  Incredibly, he takes the capable act of NOT committing adultery and making it impossible by saying that even if we have impure thoughts we are guilty of committing the sin of adultery.  There I am…flat on my face once again. As I have noted before, Jesus is driving at our hearts ahead of our actions.  It hurts when we fall, but I am convinced that God wants us…every aspect of us…including, and especially, our hearts…to be able to get our eyes back on Him…and keep walking.  We can keep walking.  He helps us back up…and we start walking…with our eyes on Him and not on our failures.  His mercies are new every morning, and this ensures endless second chances until we are united with Him for all eternity.

May we learn to keep doing the hard work of getting up...and keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus as we walk.

Happy June Day

The famous phrase is, “It’s the thought that counts,”…but does it really? I fall short of believing this.  I have thought long and hard about not eating the last slab of rhubarb apple crisp with two scoops of ice cream…but I failed.  The apple crisp is gone, along with any additional thoughts of it. 

If you really want to know my thoughts…I can’t stand the obligations of such holidays as Valentine’s Day, May Day, and…hear me out before you execute me…Mother’s Day.  The problem I have with these days is that they “require” you to perform acts of care and service to someone whom you care about…or possibly have a crush on.  All in all…this is not bad.  However, when it becomes insisted, I think it loses its power.  One year, I decided to take matters into my own hands .  I created my own holiday.  I decided to intentionally forgo, Valentine’s Day, May Day and Mother’s Day.  It has been stated that some argue that I “accidentally” forgot to acknowledge these holidays and my efforts were actually an effort to save my bacon as opposed to warranting a valuable statement.  I assure you…both could be true.

I created…June Day.  June Day was to be scheduled on the 1^st day of June and would take place once a year on the same day of the year…until…I forgot about June Day and initiated…July Day. 

Despite my mediocre efforts of marital care there is something to be said about giving from the heart as opposed to obligation. Perhaps the better phase may be…“It’s the heart that matters.”

Jesus makes abundantly clear what REALLY counts as he speaks through His Sermon on the Mount.  In Matthew 5:17-26, Jesus begins to teach further what it really means to follow the Law and the impossibility to do so on our own.  In the examples that he lays out, he makes one thing abundantly clear.  Jesus cares deeply about our hearts.  Sure he wants our actions to testify to His Gospel, but I believe even more so he wants our hearts.  He wants to change our hearts. He wants us to love Him with our hearts.  After all, it is out of the heart that the mouth speaks.

May we come to see that Jesus loves us and he wants our hearts first and foremost.

 Meat

I like meat.  In fact, you could say that I love meat.  Not so much that I would marry meat, because that is just a pathetic effort at lame dad joke.  I love all kinds of meat whether it be pork, beef, poultry, mutton or venison. My palate is appeased to both wild and domesticated meat options, though I will draw the line on rodents and potential pets.  I was once offered grilled woodchuck…I adamantly refused…however, if you have a pet chicken, I am all in. 

When my dad briefly tried his hand at pretend farming, he added livestock to his 3.5 acre farm.  After planting an acre and a half of corn and potatoes he turned 1 of the 2 remaining acres of land into a pig pen and began filling it with young swine.  His idea was to buy small piglets and grow them into large hogs to sell, butcher and breed.  Once the pigs were purchased, my father, affectionately referred to as Fake Farmer Father, set his 3 sons to work feeding and watering the pigs. 

We were required to provide food and water for the pigs both before and after school.  During the Minnesota winters, watering the pigs consisted of filling a 5 gallon pail with hot tap water and carrying it to the barn and then pouring the hot water over the concrete water trough that was frozen solid from yesterday’s water.  The hot water would spill over the top of the trough as it unsuccessfully attempted to melt the frozen lump of water.  The pigs would usually get a few licks in before the January morning laid claim to the hot water, adding to the forming mass of ice. 

The payment in our farming efforts came in the form of pork chops, bacon, side pork, ham, pork steaks, breakfast sausage and pork burgers.  It was through these early childhood farming experiences that I learned that meat was expensive.  It has always been a family value to save money and one of the best ways to save money is to raise and or harvest the meat yourself.

That is why I am so passionate about hunting.  Why go to the store and buy burger for $3 a pound or more, when you can go into the woods and shoot your own deer and turn it into burger. The venison burgers are better anyway, and when you take into account the cost of additional incidentals like Little Debbie Snack Cakes, the price of venison may be in excess of $168 a pound.  I figure that the experience of hunting to be a value of $170 per pound, thus making the venison only $2 per pound.  The average deer could give you up to 60 pounds of burger and that would be a savings of $60!  I can’t see why more people don’t hunt.

The lessons that I have learned as a child has helped develop me into the kind of man that I am today…a man who hates wasting anything and will go to great lengths to eat old leftovers including nearly expired meat. It is remarkable how long meat will last if you add enough salt.  In fact I figure that fresh cuts of pork, beef and venison can last in the refrigerator 2 months or more if salted enough.  

I remember learning in Elementary School how Christopher Columbus and his crew preserved their meat for their 2 month voyage by salting excessively. When considering old meat I have come to live my the motto, “When it looks distrusting, start the salting.” I have yet to eat a piece of meat that has killed me.  Although, I have apparently eaten some bad salt from time to time as food born illnesses have permeated my past. 

Salt has saved my life.  My doctor says it is killing me…but what does he know about meat?...He’s a vegetarian.

It is possible that I have exaggerated my willingness to eat potentially spoiled meat…but then again…maybe not by much.  The truth is that salt is an incredible preservative and a delightful flavor provider.  I feel that Jesus must have had these factors in mind when he references the value and purpose of salt in Matthew 5:13-16.  We may sometimes get lost in the text for fear that we may “lose” our saltiness.  I don’t think Jesus is necessarily calling us to avoid losing our saltiness, but rather to use our saltiness to preserve and enhance the decaying world around us.  I think Jesus is the one who makes us salty in the first place and thusly may we use the transformation that he has caused in our lives to bless the lives of other and our world that the world too may taste and see that the Lord is good.

 The Great Reward

I grew up as a farm kid.  Actually, that is not entirely true.  I grew up as a pretend farm kid.  It was not that I pretended to be a farm kid, but rather that my dad pretended to be a farmer.  After buying a 1930’s Allis Chalmers B series and some antique farm equipment, my dad began his journey into his own personal land of make believe farming.

He used the antique orange crank-starting horse to plow up half of the 3 acres of land that we owned.  My brothers and I were sent out to “help” him. 

“Dad!? Mom sent us out to help! What do you need us to do?”

“Mostly just stand there and watch.”

So, we stood there and watched our father begin to turn over the hard soil with the single blade plow.  We watched as he went around and around, lap after lap.

“Dad! are you done yet?”

“No…a few more laps and then I need to disc it.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not long.”

Dad put in enough laps with the disc to contend for a spot in the Daytona 500.

“Are you done now? We want to go inside.”

“No…I still need to drag it.  You guys can help.”

“What do you need us to do?”

“Mostly stand there and watch…I don’t want to run you over with the equipment…it would turn you into bloody raw hamburger and your mother might regret sending you out here to ‘help.’”

This helped assure that I stood at a distance, watching.  As the sun was setting, Dad finally turned off the tractor…or ran out of gas, but either way our “work” was done.

“That should do it for today…tomorrow we plant.”

The next day we did indeed plant.  We planted…(watched planting)…corn, potatoes, onions (I really didn’t care for onions at the time), carrots, radishes and some lettuce.

At the end of day two, Dad announced, “Boy it’s nice to have that done.”

What he really meant was…”boy that was fun and now I can’t wait to engage my three sons in slave labor by making them weed the 1 ½ acre farm over their beloved summer break.”

It was a pain staking effort.  It was painful to watch the planting and even more painful to weed the oversized garden. The harvesting was a little more pleasant.

As mid to late summer arrived, we would occasionally revel in the great reward of the fruit of the labor.  I remember the sequence.  Dad would light the charcoal grill while my mother called us boys to gather 6 big ears of sweet corn and 6-8 of the largest potatoes we could dig up.  We would husk the corn while our mother pulled out the vintage french fry cutting press and slice the potatoes while the oil heated over the stove. She sent us out with the ground venison patties to give to dad while the corn boiled in water and the potatoes were lowered into the deep fryer.

When all was said and done, we sat down to burgers, fries, and sweet corn…and on rare occasions chocolate shakes…great was our reward.  It would have been even greater if mother hadn’t secretly contaminated the burgers with onions.

Jesus speaks at length about the struggles that we will find throughout our lives.  I desperately wish that this were not the case.  I don’t like anxiety, back pain, stress, injury, heart ache, and persecution.  I can’t envision anyone relishing in any such toils…except for maybe the apostle Paul…but he has always seemed a little quirky to me.  I think Paul was able to come to the understanding of what Jesus spent so much time teaching.  I think Paul understood what Jesus meant when he says, “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.”

As this daily struggle continues, and I continue to feel the heaviness of life, the burdens of existence, and evidences of evil in the world appearing victorious, I all the more long for this promise of Jesus, “Great is the reward.”

May the Lord give you the strength to endure and remain standing as you await the great reward promised to those who have put their trust in Him.

The Locked Door

I officiated the funeral of Pamela Kollman today. I have many years of memories of Pam and her involvement at the Alliance Church in Little Falls.  Pam volunteered many years with our MOPS program and was a gifted artist and craftsperson.  Pam liked to talk, and thus, she would make her weekly rounds of phone calls calling her friends and family and the church to chit chat and share the latest developments of her previous and current prayer needs. 

Pam operated under a rather consistent, high stress level, though she never struck me as frazzled.  In fact, she may have been the calmest stressed person I had ever met. 

Ring. Ring.

 “Good morning, Alliance Church, this is Ryan.”

“Oh Pastor Ryan…I just don’t know what to do…” she would state in a definitive manner absent of emotion.

“Hi Pam! How are you?”

“Not good.”

“What’s going on Pam?”

“Oh…I need to get to St. Cloud for a doctor’s appointment…and Dennis is working…and I have no one to take me…I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well Pam…here is what we are going to do.  I am going to give you a phone number and you are going to call this number.  It is the number of a lady from the church who has offered to give anyone rides who needs a ride.  You will ask her if she can take you…ok Pam?”

“Ok.”

(5 minutes later) Ring. Ring.

“Good morning, Alliance Church, this is Ryan.”

“Oh, Pastor Ryan, you were right. She can take me.”

“Wonderful! Have a nice day Pam!”

I have a favorite story of my experience with Pam.  It is a story I have shared on a number of occasions including her memorial service earlier today.  It is a story that reflects the work of Jesus in our lives.”

Ring. Ring.

“Good afternoon, Alliance Church, this is Ryan.”

“Oh Pastor Ryan…I just don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, hello Pam. How are you today?”

“Not good.”

“What’s going on Pam?”

“Oh, it’s my dog, he is in the bedroom.”

“Your dog is in the bedroom?”

“Yes, He is in the bedroom…and he can’t get out. The door is locked.”

“Do you have the key for the bedroom?”

“There isn’t a key for that door, it just has a lock on the inside.”

“Is there a hole or a slot that you can trip the lock from the outside?”

“No, it is an old door.  He is locked in and he can’t get out.  Dennis is at work and the dog is going to go crazy in there if he doesn’t get out.”

“Ok Pam, here is what we are going to do.  I need to go pick up my son from school.  I am going to go pick him up, and then I am going to get some tools from my home and then both my son and I will come and we will get that door open. Ok Pam?”

“Ok. Thank you, Pastor Ryan.”

“You are welcome Pam.  See you soon.”

I did as I said.  I walked to the front door with my tool bag in hand and my son walking behind me. We entered the house to hear a dog barking from somewhere inside. 

“Oh Pastor Ryan, he is going crazy in there.”

“Which room is he in Pam?”

“This one here.”

The muffled barking and whining continued on the opposite side of the old solid, paneled door.  I looked at the door knob and sure enough there was no hole or a slot to attempt to trip the lock.  The door swung in, and so I could not access the hinges as they were not visible from this side of the door. I reached my hand to the door knob…I turned the knob…and swung the door inward.  The dog ran out as soon as the door opened.

“How did you do that?” Pam asked with some of the greatest expression I had ever noted in her voice.

“It wasn’t locked Pam.  It was a little tight…but it wasn’t locked.”

It struck me that many of us (perhaps myself more than anyone) have lived a good portion of our lives believing that somehow the key to finding Jesus is locked away behind a solid, paneled door.  We look for some hidden key to understanding God. We search for ways to work at opening the secret door.  Perhaps, if I could just do this or that, I could somehow find a way into the acceptance of God…and maybe earn my way to heaven, but this is not the way it is.  It has taken me many years to realize that the door that I thought was locked...wasn’t.  The way to God has been made.  When Jesus went to the cross to die for my sins he made a way.  The curtain in the Temple was torn, and thus a way to God was made. Through Jesus we can have peace with God. Jesus is the ultimate peacemaker (Matt. 5:9). Jesus unlocked the door.  May we open the door.