I am 5 years old!

 

I remember coming home after my first year of college only to have my dad “joke” about charging rent. 

“Welcome home son! I’ve been thinking about what a fair rent could be for this summer.”

“Hah Dad! That’s funny, I live here…this is my home, you should just be glad that you get to be with me all summer long! Why would you even consider rent?”

“I don’t remember seeing your name on the deed?”

“Hah! Whatever! Can I use the car this Friday?”

“I am thinking that maybe $150 a month would suffice.”

“Dad! Give it a rest! You’re NOT funny!  Do we have anything to eat?”

“What makes you think that I am joking?”

“I put my laundry down stairs.  Can you let Mom know? I’m going to need it by tomorrow night; I’m planning on getting together with some friends to hang out.”

“If you are not going to pay rent, you WILL be working for your lodging.”

“Ugh! Dad! I am 19 years old now and I should be able to make my own decisions and do what I want!”

“It’s either rent or work.  How about you decide that?”

“FINE! This is SO unfair!”

As a 19 year old, I may or may not have had a disconnect between my ears.  Now 30 years later, I KNOW that I had a disconnect between my ears…and in reality…I still do.  I am just one of the guilty parties that make up a society that is dependently independent. 

As humans we scream for independence until our independence leaves us wanting or in need and then we suddenly shift back towards dependency.  It is like the college student who wants to make their own decision…and still rely on the comforts and safety of home.

Many years ago my wife was substitute teaching for a kindergarten class in Little Falls.  Of course, the day included a trip to the zoo.  I think many kindergarten teachers find themselves conveniently “sick” on the days of the local zoo field trip.  My wife spent the day wrangling and herding the kindergarteners here and there, giving instructions and commands to keep them in line as well as out of the animal pens.  At one point one little girl was refusing to obey. 

“Alice, you need to get down from that fence. That is not a safe place for you to be.”

Alice did not move.

“Alice, you NEED to get down.”

Alice did not move.

“Alice, you NEED to get down NOW!”

Alice responded…”I AM 5 YEARS OLD! I DO NOT NEED ANYONE TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!”

We know that at 5 years old Alice DOES need to be told what to do.  She IS dependent upon the authorities in her life.  Yet, like Alice we too may struggle with submitting to authorities in our lives.  Matthew 28:18-20 reveals who the REAL authority is.  It is Jesus.  Jesus as the ultimate authority is giving us some instruction.  I have given a great deal of thought to what Jesus wants…us to do…I have concluded…I think he wants us to do what he says.

May we come to both hear and do, what Jesus says.

 Still Desperate

We all need help at some point.  I remember in 3^rd grade I needed help learning to properly articulate my “s’s.”

On several occasions, I have found myself needing help on along the highway.  I have been stranded a couple of times when I have tried to stretch my last gallon of gas a little too far. In such cases, help of some form is needed…either a ride, or gas, or even a horse and buggy. Twice I have found myself stuck with a flat tire(s), once my rim was rusted to the vehicle making the spare tire irrelevant, and the other time I found myself stuck with TWO flat tires as I struck some debris left in my lane.  In both cases I had to call my dad for help.  Why dad?...because it was before cell phones and that is the only phone number that I had committed to memory.  In such cases I would usually walk to the nearest gas station and call “collect” (another reason for dad), from a pay phone and then wait for him to once again come to my rescue. 

I am now a father and finding myself going to the rescue of my own son from time to time.  As far as I know he has not run out of gas or been stranded on the highway with a flat tire.  Although, there was one time when I had to go help him because he hadn’t tightened his lug nuts tight enough and his tire had fallen off.  He called and said, “Dad something is wrong with my car.”

“Oh yeah? What’s going on?”

“Henry said, it looks like my tire was falling off.”

“Henry said???  What did YOU notice?”

“The back of the car was shaking pretty bad.”

I am not sure how he did it, but he made it into the school parking lot. When I arrived,  I found his car with the tire wedged kitty whompus into the fender.  Apparently, it came loose just as he parked.

When Isaac, was a young boy, there was a moment when he somehow slammed his hand into the side door of the minivan.  I was in the house and I heard him desperately screaming for help from inside the van which was inside the garage.  When I arrived to the garage and found him completely stuck and helpless with his hand in the van door I ran to help. 

I unsuccessfully attempted to open the door from the outside of the vehicle.  It wouldn’t budge.  I ran to the other side of the van and tried to open the door from the inside…all the while his hand remained crushed in the door and he is screaming.  Despite my attempts, I could not get the van door to open!  The door was not locked but it would not move.  In a final desperate effort I placed my feet against the opposite side of the van and my hands on the door and pushed straight out.  I was able to flex the door just enough to give him enough space for the hand to slip out of the door jamb.

We are all desperate, but we don’t always realize it until we find ourselves in a completely helpless situation.  When we are out of gas, stuck with a flat tire, hand stuck in a door or perhaps the wheels have come completely off, we desperately need help.

Matthew 20:28-34, shows us a couple of men who are completely desperate.  They are blind and they are begging.  They begin to cry out to Jesus in their desperation.  When the crowds rebuke them, the blind men begin to cry out all the more! Jesus knows our desperation and he wants to meet us in our desperation.  Jesus meets the blind men with his presence.  The greatest gift we can receive in our desperation is the very presence of God.

May we find the Lord meeting us in our own desperation.

 Authority

There were factors of childhood that I loved…and factors that I hated.  I hated, taking out the garbage, cutting the crass, feeding the pigs, cleaning my room and hauling wood.  I loved, eating, playing and telling my siblings what to do.  If I could find some way to convince, (or force)…my siblings to adhere to my biding, I would take full advantage of any such opportunity.  As a child I had little in the way of “constituted authority,” yet, whether it was my congenial personality or my domineering stature, I would regularly work to convince my brothers or sister to submit to my wishes.  If I needed my sister to do something for me, I would approach the opportunity with some form of sweet talk and weak promises of kindness.  “If you clean my room I won’t rip Barbie’s head off her body!”  If it was my younger brother who was the object of my authority, I would usually approach it with threats of wedgies and swirlies.  “I said get out of my room! Why are you smiling! Stop smiling! Wipe that smile off your face or I will use your face to wipe the toilet!” I would approach my older brother with requests of fake constituted authority.  “Ross, Mom says you need to take out the garbage.” Truth…Mom often hadn’t said such things.

When she did however, I would relish the opportunity to flex the authority that had been given to me.  If either of my parents commissioned me to proclaim such news as, “Jasmine, mom wants you to do the dishes! Or Rory, Dad says it’s your turn to feed the pigs, or Ross, Mom says I’m her favorite!,” I would egotistically delight in the task.  The power and authority had been granted to me to decree that my siblings needed to bow to my words…because my words were the words of our parents and they must be obeyed.

It is quite possible, that I not only allowed this power to go to my head, but also that I took my authority too far.  It is possible that my mother never did say that I’m her favorite…but we all know…I was. 

I am humbled to reflect on my past and realize that I may not have exercised authority appropriately.  When given the opportunity, I took to, “Lording it over” those who were under me…especially my siblings.

Jesus teaches things quite differently.  In Matthew 20:17-28, we find the well known passage revealing that if you want to be great in God’s Kingdom, then you must become a servant.  There is a fascinating double instruction in this passage.  First, we must learn to become servants.  Additionally, we also see that we are called to lead.  This passage is just as much about leading as it is following.  However, the way Jesus leads, and instructs us to lead, is vastly different than that of the world.  We are to lead as Jesus led…by sacrificing our own wants and desires for the sake of others.  Leadership is sacrificial.  Authority is given to people for the purpose of causing others to flourish.  We are all called to serve and we are all called to lead.  What would it be like if we could learn to lead in a way that would intentionally bless others?  What if our authority was used to cause others to flourish?

May we come to serve and to lead as Jesus called and taught us to serve and to lead…just as he did. 

Where are you headed?

We are all following someone.  Even the most independent people among us are following someone or at least the patterns of someone in our past or present.  For me, I follow Jesus…at least I genuinely desire to and try to, but I know that fall far short.  There are others that I follow.  In some ways I follow the paths of my predecessors, former bosses and supervisors.  In other ways I follow friends and colleagues.  Additionally, I still find myself following the ways of my parents. 

For example, I follow the ways of Pastor Phil, my predecessor, by keeping Dawn, (the Church Secretary and overall brains of the church), busy with solving all of my technical issues and computer problems.  I follow the ways of Dave, my previous cabinet shop supervisor, by continuing to implement the many lessons learned while working under him many years ago.  I follow the ways of my parents, by learning to do anything that is worth doing by constantly expanding my DIY abilities.  This creates some marital strife when I cannot keep up with the growing needs of tasks that must either be done or hired out.  Since I am unwilling to hire anything out…I will pause now and go and unclog the basement washtub sink….

…

…I’m back and pleased to report that the sink is now flowing.  Apparently, a number of mysterious rubber bands had found their way into the sink drain.  Why?  How? When?  These are questions that still remain and I may never obtain answer to. 

Likewise, I believe that in the same way that we are all following someone…there is another someone or some ones, who are following us.  I gotta be honest.  This second belief stresses me out more than the prior.  In the prior, I get to choose who I follow and what I do.  In the later, I don’t necessarily get to choose as to who will be following me, which makes who I am following all the more vital. 

In Matthew 20:17-28, we find Jesus revealing once again where he is heading and in turn what it means to follow him.  As he lays this out before his followers, it becomes clear that to follow him means sacrifice.  In a culture and a society that doesn’t embrace well the depth of self sacrifice, may we see Jesus’ example…follow him…knowing that others will be following us.  I think that this is the reality that could turn this world upside down!

The Last

 

Very likely, we have all been exposed to it at one time or another. For some of us we relished the opportunity, while for others it was a benign requirement of preadolescence and yet for others it conjures up post traumatic stress reactions that force us into therapy in our later years.  It is...the “picking of teams.”

Whether you are playing a backyard game of basketball, cops and robbers, kickball or smear, (smear was the combined middle school equivalent of football, rugby, and cage free mixed martial arts)  you have found yourself in the mix of having to have teams chosen. 

It could have been in a more organized format, where your physical education teacher, Mr Barry, (or other such real or fictitious name),  assigns two “captains” who will each take turns selecting the remaining members of the class to formulate two competitive teams. 

Most anyone worth their salt would have a pretty good idea as to who would be chosen first…and likewise…who would be chosen last.  These positions could vary somewhat depending upon who was present at the time as well as who was representing as captain, but overall the teams would be painted rather evenly with Mike and Joe going early in the first round.  I often found myself to be somewhere middle half below…but Heather and Julia would nearly always be drafted in the final round.

I would have been selected to a team dozens upon dozens of times for dozens and dozens of all kinds of different games.  Yet, out of all of these games I remember one moment quite clearly. 

It was elementary school Gym class and Mr. Barry had chosen the two captains, Jeremy and Brian.  Jeremy got the first pick and to no surprise he took Joe.  Brian followed with the next pick and confidently called out, “I’ll take Heather.” There was a collective gasp followed by silence.  Everyone in the class was stunned. Quite literally everyone was at a loss for words and couldn’t believe what had just happened. No one in their right mind would have taken Heather…especially after Jeremy had just chosen Joe.   I remember watching the shock on Heather’s face.  She was completely caught off guard.  She looked up and silently walked slowly up to Brian and stood next to him. 

Jeremy kind of grinned and called for “Mike…I’ll take Mike.” Again, no surprise.   Then Brian made his second selection, “I’ll take Julia.”  Again I looked toward the recipient.  She too looked up at Brian with questioning eyes, smiled and walked to stand next to heather.  The rest of the players were selected.  I don’t remember where I was chosen…who knows…maybe last.  I don’t remember anything else about the game.  I don’t remember what the game was nor do I remember which team won.  It didn’t matter…as far as I was concerned the winners had already been chosen. 

I thought of this event this week as I read through Matthew 19:23-22:16.  This passage made me wonder if Brian had recently read this portion of Scripture before he selected both Julia and Heather.  I didn’t know Brian all that well.  I didn’t know what his beliefs are or why he did what he did.  But whatever the reason, the reality that I saw reflected that day in Gym class is evidence in this incredible section of Scripture.  Our world has a way of measuring value.  We often weigh value against money, success, beauty and achievements.  Jesus looks at things much differently.  It is no wonder then, that Jesus is serious when he says “The last will be first and the first will be last.”

May you come to understand that Jesus is choosing you.  He doesn’t choose you because of your accolades, athleticism, special talents or even lack their of.  He chooses you because you matter to him.  He just wants you to say yes…and to stand by him.  

 Rocks

When I was a child I collected many things.  I collected baseball cards, football cards, rocks, sea shells, coins, cuts, bruises, wood ticks, toads and stains on my clothing.  Some things I collected on purpose, while others were purely accidental.  I didn’t go out seeking wood ticks…but as a young boy living a life of adventure on a small imaginary farm, wood ticks came with the territory.  I am not sure that my mother appreciated most of my collections.  She could tolerate the baseball cards and football cards but only until I was married, at which time she came for a pleasant visit and dropped the large bin of cardboard photos at my feet saying, “Here you go! I’ve stored them long enough! It is your turn now!”

I had a small coin collection that I have to this day.  In fact, I have some rare pennies that might be worth up to one cent…maybe even twice that! 

When our family would go to the lake, I could often be found collecting sea shells.  Truth be told…there were just snail shells or clam shells, but I was convinced that they were valuable and worth keeping.  I often would load my hands with them to a point where I could no longer carry any more.

I also collected rocks.  As an elementary school student I had found some whitish quartzite the size of baseballs…maybe golf balls…but they seemed so big to me at the time…that I was convinced were magic crystals…with no magical powers.  On a family trip to the North Shore of Lake Superior I scooped up rock after rock, agate after agate.  I filled my pockets, my hands and my shirt with as many rocks as I could hold.  As I continued to add to my supply I found that I dropped more and more stones at an accelerated rate.  In fact the more stones I tried to collect…the less it seemed that I could actually keep in my possession.  I remember seeing an exceptionally large and attractive agate next to the gooseberry river. I have since named the agate, The Big Beautiful Agate. I carefully knelt beside the tennis ball sized stone and tried to pinch it between my elbows.  Not only was I unsuccessful, I lost more stones in the process and ended up leaving the big beautiful agate behind.  Incidentally, my mother made me leave all of the other stones on the ground before I got back into the car…empty handed I came…empty handed I left.

I consider the story of a rich young man who meets Jesus in Matthew 19:16-30.  This story reveals how this young man is holding onto so many treasures that he cannot obtain the one treasure that clearly outweighs the others.  Jesus even invites him to let go of those treasures, (“…sell everything that you have, give it to the poor and come and follow me and you will have treasure in heaven…”).  In the story, the man goes away sad, because he is unwilling to give up that which he cannot keep to obtain that which he cannot lose.

May we come to respond to Jesus’ invitation.  It is an invitation to trust him and follow him, to the point that we understand that nothing in this world can compare.

 Helpless

I remember leaving the hospital, with the first of our four children.  I must admit, I was pretty clueless as to what it meant to be a father.  Contrarily, the nurses must have had some idea of my inadequacies as I was mandated to engage in countless classes and videos teaching me to change diapers, care for infants and properly buckle the required 5 point harness for the approved car seat.  Despite coming to a place of mastery with the 5 point harness, being able to secure the buckle with one hand while cradling the baby and a hot cup of coffee in the other without spilling a drop, I still felt relatively helpless as a father.

 I recall walking into the house with our new baby girl thinking, “Now what? I have no idea what I am doing. I feel utterly helpless!”

Irony struck me then, as I took her into her room for the first time.  As helpless as I felt, the child that I was now tucking into her crib…(tucking without blankets or anything soft, comfy or squishy, because I learned of their dangers on a lengthy VHS cassette), I realized that this young life was absolutely helpless.  She could not eat on her own, move on her own, change clothes on her own and disappointingly…not able to change her diapers on her own.

I would spend the next 21 years helping this girl to not be helpless…and yet, I see what Jesus says in Matthew 19:13-15, where he again references children.  Culturally speaking, the children at this time, as well as in many ways our cultures today, are helpless.  It is this very characteristic, that Jesus seems to be pointing toward!  Does Jesus really want us to be helpless?  I many ways, I think that the answer is yes.  I think that it is in our helplessness, that we find our deepest realizations for our need for help.  We are in fact desperate for a helper because we are truly helpless.  We are helpless in meeting our deepest spiritual needs.

May we come to see our own helplessness...and the helper is there for us…to take care of our spiritual needs. 

Barbie

I should have seen it coming…but I didn’t. Before I knew what was happening I came face to face with Barbie.  Yes…Barbie herself, with all of her hard molded plastic head, flowing blond locks and painted eye shadowed face.  The next day when my friends would ask me what caused the black and blue egg shaped welt on my forehead, I would have to confess that my sister hit me in the head with her Barbie Doll.  But it was ok, because if ripped the doll’s head off thereafter. 

I probably had it coming, as…(I know this is hard to believe)…I pestered my siblings to the point of violent retaliation.  I can’t remember the cause of the conflict.  It could have been me constantly interrupting her alone time, or verbally copying everything she would say including, “Stop copying me! (Stop copying me), Mom! Ryan’s copying me! (Mom! Ryan’s copying me!).  You get the picture.  I probably earned my bruise. 

Yet, I think that we can all agree…Ruth Handler did not create Barbie intending it to be used to whack older brothers in the face…unless of course she too had older brothers…then…maybe?    According to Wikipidia…which may or may not be true…Barbie was invented with the intention of enhancing how girls played with dolls. 

There is intention behind every great invention.  It is believed that the invention of the light bulb was to…make it light.  The invention of the swimming pool was to…swim.   The invention of the coffee pot was to…make me happy. 

Matthew 19:1-12 also reveals a picture of what God intended with marriage. I think that sometimes we lose sight of what God’s intent for marriage really is.  I think 25 years ago, I believe that marriage was in some way or another intended to make me happy.  Now, 25 years later I don’t think that marriage is intended to make me happy.  (Though in case my wife is reading this…I am happy…I am very very happy.  Our marriage makes me happy). I think marriage is bigger than my happiness.  I believe that it is intended to be an avenue by which I…we…get to express the heart of God to one another.  Additionally, I think marriage is a reflection of the promises of faithfulness that God makes to us. 

As a follower of Christ, I think the imagery of marriage is more about reflecting Jesus and the heart of God than it is about me getting what I want.  I think marriage is more about giving than it is receiving.

May we come to see the sweetness of God in the Matthew 19 passage and His heart for love, protection and forgiveness for people.

Wretch

I am not a proud man…mostly because I have done little to be proud of.  In fact, the antithesis would prove true…I have done many things that many…as well as myself, would consider to be shameful.  I am guilty of chopping into my grandfather’s sugar maple with a hatchet to obtain a sweet morsel of maple sap, only to blame it on my innocent cousin when I was confronted.  I crushed my little brother on the head with the jawbone of a cat, simply because I hated that little nose of his that my mother so adored.  As a teenager, I secretly ate all of the Christmas cookies from the freezer and abandoned my father to receive the full wrath of my mother. In fact, as he was reprimanded in front of me…I remained silent, watching him unsuccessfully defend himself beneath the scrutinizing questions of a scorned baker.  I cut down all of my father’s onion plants simply because I believed that onions were of the devil…or because I hated onions…or perhaps both.  Ironically, I have grown to deeply appreciate onions…only to still believe that they are of the devil…mostly due to the counter productivity of my digestive track. 

I have done worse.  I have allowed my anger to hurt the hearts of people that I truly care about.  I have allowed my own selfishness to take precedent over another’s wants, needs or desires. I have used carelessly placed words, which have both intentionally and unintentionally damaged the hearts of others. If my shame could be expressed on an artist’s canvas, it would be the equivalent of the Mona Lisa being covered in excrement.  I am a masterpiece covered in rubbish.

In the same way that the Mona Lisa could never clean herself up, I cannot deal with my rubbish. 

When my oldest daughter was young, she developed a pattern of car sickness.  I cannot count the number of occurrences, when our oldest child shared a little something extra with the others in the vehicle.  On one such occasion, our little 11 month old daughter allowed her mother and I to also enjoy her recently consumed supper.  The aroma of regurgitated sweet potatoes and pureed chicken quickly wafted through our 1991 Chevy Lumina.  Our daughter was filthy and stinky and crying. I humbly admit that I do not have a high gag tolerance.  In fact, I have been known to be a sympathetic vomiter…if you vomit…I may vomit right along with you.

There is zero part of me that wanted to deal with the mess that had just been created in the backseat.  It was disgusting, gross and vile.  At the very same time, there was zero part of me that wanted my daughter to stay and sit in her own filth.  I hated the vomit and I loved the girl.  Therefore, since my love for the girl was so strong, I did what she could not do…I did that which I needed to do…I cleaned her up.  I cleaned up the car and I cleaned up her car seat.  I dealt with every bit of slime and every last projectile chunk. I did it…not because I loved vomit…but because I love her. 

I see the ways of Jesus in this picture.  I am covered in shame that I cannot shed on my own.  Shame covers me in the same way that my daughter was covered in her own retch.  I am just as helpless as she was.  Likewise, in the same way that I was compelled by love to deal with her yuck, Jesus is compelled by love to deal with my yuck.  In Matthew 18:21-35, Jesus shares a parable on forgiveness. This parable reveals how one man who is covered in his own yuck (debt), is unwilling to forgive the yuck (debt), of another. 

May we come to see how deeply we have been loved and forgiven, that we too can learn to love and forgive as Jesus did.

 Free Lunch

 

They say that there is no such thing as a free lunch.  This is absurd…of course there is such a thing as a free lunch, just ask any college boy who is home from university for the summer and whose family isn’t charging him rent! I know this because I too was a college boy who came home from college for the summers and ate all of my parent’s food without paying rent.

As a parent…these seem like free lunches…at least to my off spring, but as a student I didn’t consider these meals to be free lunches at all, due to the fact that I was required to mow the lawn, shingle the roof, build some decks and paint the house to “earn” my free lunch!

As an adult, I too insisted that our son mowed the lawn and took care of other tasks around the house to “earn his keep” during his summer of respite.

So what is a “free lunch?” Is there such a thing?  There has been a few times in which I have taken advantage of “free lunches” being served by various businesses around town, free hot dogs, free burgers, free appetizer with the purchase of two entrée’s…wait…what?

The closest I feel that I have come to a “free lunch” was when I stood in line for 5 hours on opening day at Pizza Ranch in Little Falls.  The new restaurant promised free pizza for a year to the first 50 people into the store that day.  I was #5.  I must admit that I was a little dismayed to learn that free pizza for a year meant 1 large pizza per month for the next 12 months…but, beggars can’t be choosers. 

You could say that I received 12 free lunches.  But here’s the thing…those 12 pizzas had to cost someone, something.  Someone had to pay for the products and the workers to prepare the products. Someone was paying for the electricity of the oven and the dish soap to wash the pans…I hope. The 12 pizzas even cost me 5 hours on a Saturday morning.

In the same way, grace is costly.  Forgiveness is costly.  In Matthew 18:20-35, Jesus lays out an incredible parable about forgiveness.  He turns the world of thought on forgiveness upside down.  He insists on a forgiveness that is unprecedented and radical.  At a glance, the picture of grace evidenced can seem cheap, but it is anything but cheap.  In fact, it is incredibly costly.  In Jesus’ parable it is the King who absorbs all of the cost.  The King pays an incredible price to offer forgiveness to the servant. 

Forgiveness is becoming harder to find in our society.  Yet, even in the diminishing evidence of forgiveness in our culture, the incredible payment of Jesus for the remission…the forgiveness of our sins resonates loudly, if we will only listen.

May we come to encounter the Grace of Jesus Christ…that we too may be empowered to pay the cost of forgiveness.

Correction

This is the last one.  After aiding in the vehicular operational skills of my first 3 children, I have come to the final chapter in the driver’s training responsibilities as a parent.  I have already decided that pending some unforeseen future events I will not be engaging in teaching other teenagers to drive…including my own not yet conceived grandchildren…if I can at all help it.  I don’t know how paid driving instructors do it? Likely they have more patience than do I and must be God gifted with nerves of steel.

Each of my children has posed their own challenges in their journeys to becoming roadworthy drivers, but this fourth chapter has been eye opening.  Literally…my eyes have nearly popped out of their sockets desperately slamming my own foot against the invisible imaginary brake on the passenger side floor. 

“Brake! Brake Brake!”… “Start slowing…slow…stop! Stop!”… “Right…Right!...not left! Turn the wheel to the right!...what do you mean which way is right!”…“That’s not the brake!...it’s the gas!”…“Why are you accelerating around this turn!?!”

These are just a few of the actual phrases that have slipped past my lips as my white knuckles desperately clap the armrests.  I have even left fingernail imprints in the molded plastic…and I don’t even have fingernails…as to the fact that I bite them…likely from teaching 3 prior children to drive.

On one of our recent sojourns through the streets of Little Falls, I was struck with the need for some important corrections.

“Erica, you need to keep the vehicle between the lines.  You are driving on top the white line.”

“Oh, I don’t really pay attention to the lines.”

“Erica, I try to watch the brake lights of not only the car in front of me, but also the car in front of him.”

“Oh, I don’t really watch brake lights.”

“Erica, You really need to begin slowing down for stop signs much earlier than you are. Do not rely on your brakes.”

“I am not usually very conscientious of stop signs.”

Surely you see my dilemma!?

To Erica’s immense credit, she hears everything I say and make the concerted effort to change.  Of my four children she has been the most ready to learn and receive correction than any of the other 3…even if she has had more to correct than the others. 

This resonates as I read Matthew 18:15-22.  In these verses we find Jesus giving a process by which we are to pursue and receive correction.  In the scriptures, this process is sandwiched in grace…both before and after.  We all need correction whether we know it or not, or whether we admit it or not.  Jesus wants us to continue to be transformed into his likeness and he has empowered the Church to help navigate this process. Where we get it wrong is when we fall into legalism.  When we get it right it is beautiful and it is immersed in grace.

May we come to find within each one of us, a softened heart ready to be molded by the Holy Spirit.

 My Dad can Beat up Your Dad!

“Yeah!? Well…My dad can beat up your dad!” I retorted after an extended verbal battle of who was faster, stronger, smarter, etc.  My friend Tyler and I had bickered back and forth laying out comparison after comparison.  It began with who was faster, he or I.  He insisted that he was the faster runner and contrarily I argued that I was in fact faster.  What was ironic is that neither of us was willing to put foot to track to prove it…likely each of us feared that we could not live up to our self proclamations. 

We argued about who was stronger and smarter, who could eat more tacos and who could hold their breath longer.  Finally when we had exhausted all other avenues we diverged to esteeming our fathers.  He insisted that his dad used to play for the San Francisco 49ers, which had to be a fallacy, while I insisted that my dad could beat up his dad, what was probably a reality. 

At the time, my dad could bench press a Volkswagen beetle…probably without the engine…and maybe filled with helium balloons…but still…I’ll bet he could have. 

That is how most elementary school boys will banter…at least at some point and to some degree in their preadolescent years, and I was no exception.  I am coming to see that it doesn’t stop with adolescence.  In fact, I think that this is a pattern we see in much of society.  We, as humans, work so hard and spend so much energy trying to proclaim our value. 

What we don’t understand is that we can do nothing to make ourselves more valuable than we already are in the eyes of God!  It is incredible! In Matthew 18:1-14, we find Jesus’ disciples approach him with the question, “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of God.”  Let’s be honest…that is an absurdly silly question…they are talking to the greatest!...Jesus himself!  Yet, they ask, likely trying to find where they themselves sit in the pecking order of eternal hierarchy.

It is at this time that Jesus does something truly extraordinary…he pulls a young child aside and says…”here you go.” (paraphrased).

In this moment, Jesus reveals that to be great in the Kingdom of God, you must come to him with nothing to offer…only trust in HIS greatness.

May you come to see you are of great value to God…not because of what you do, but rather because of “whose” you are.

 Back to the Valley

I was mentioning to a young mother of 4 the other day, of how I would love to go back to when my own kids were young.  I long to relive those wonderful moments of sweet babies and toddlers snuggling in on your lap for stories and hugs the size of Mack Trucks.  Then I remembered the sibling fights, the throwing of food, the night time vomiting and the dirty diapers.  Maybe just an hour…or even just 15 minutes would be enough.

I think we can all think of moments in life, where we wish that we could either go back and relive, or have found ourselves in a moment that we wished would never end.  It is kind of like that last night of vacation before you have to head back to the workplace.  You relish the moment of tranquility and want to stay in that moment…you don’t want to leave and you certainly don’t want to go back to work.  Perhaps you have even cried out…”Calgon Take me Away!”  I tried that once only to be interrupted by my wife say, “Finish up in there! I need your help with the kids!”

Recently, we were visiting our daughter in Georgia, the weather was hot and sticky and overall quite unpleasant for this northern boy.  The morning came for our departure and I remember getting up and watching the sunrise and despite the weather…I found myself not wanting that final morning to end.  Hannah and I drank our coffee and ate our breakfast in cherished fondness and I knew that the goodbyes were to coming far too quickly.  The funny thing with time is that there is nothing you can do to change its speed.  You can’t slow it down and you can’t speed it up.  7:30 came and so did her departure.  I went from a moment that I didn’t want to end to a moment I didn’t want to experience.  

I am reminded of the mountain top moment that Jesus shares with Peter, James and John, (Matthew 17:1-27).  Jesus is transfigured before their eyes and even Moses and Elijah join the party.  Peter in all of his excitement reflects his desire to stay right where they are.  He doesn’t want to leave.  He even offers to put up some tents for Jesus and his two prophet friends and make the moment last…perhaps even permanent.  But…Jesus has no intention of keeping them on the mountain…instead; he takes them back to the valley.

As great as many of these moments are, I am learning that God does not call us to stay on the mountain. I have had many wonderful mountain top moments in my life. I have had countless moments of sweet contentment, including my wedding, the birth of my children, encounters with God, spiritual retreats and conferences.  Yet, in the midst of these moments, Jesus seems to always take me back to the valley.  I am learning that this isn’t some form of sadistic punishment…but rather, it is in the valleys where the real ministry happens.  It is in the valley where my life is truly transformed. It is in the valleys where I meet with other’s whose lives need to be touched by God.

May we come to see the Glory of God on the mountain…and then know that he will take us to the valleys.  Jesus doesn’t call us to stay with him on the mountain, rather he promises to stay with us in the valley. 

Catch Me!

I spent the day with my dad today, helping him run tubing for in floor heating on the foundation of a new out building.  By the time we were finished running the tubing, both he and I could hardly walk due to the age of our legs, knees and backs.  This has not always been the case.  In fact, as a child I remember standing on the end of a dock while my dad urged me to jump into the water.  The water was over my head, but it was not over his.  Yet, he beckoned me to trust him and take the leap of faith.  I continued to hesitate.  I even hesitated after I watched my older brother jump from the dock and into my dad’s arms.  Sure enough, my dad caught my brother just as dad had promised.  Yet I waited. 

Finally, after what must have seemed an eternity, I mustered my courage and jumped.  To my surprise I did not plummet below the surface.  To my surprise I found myself safely in the grasp of a 25 year old father whose knees, legs and back did not yet hurt. I doubt that he would invite me to jump into his arms like that today.

I must admit, the jump was wonderful! It was thrilling.  In fact, it was so thrilling that I continued to make trips out of the water…onto the dock…into the air…and back into the waiting arms of dad who was standing in water up to his chest.  Each time I approached, he called, “Jump,” and each time he caught me. 

However…there is always a however in life…however…after a while of idle beach time, I ran to the dock…I came to the edge…and I jumped and said…”Catch me daddy!”  The problem was, that dad was not there calling to me, “Jump.”  Once I was airborne I realized my error.  I hit the water…then I went under the water…and then my feet were standing underwater on the wet lake bottom sand.

Fortunately for me, dad was near enough to grab be and pull me back to the surface…unfortunately…I didn’t have gills.  I came up coughing and hacking with water shooting from my nose. 

Faith is an interesting thing.  So often we struggle to have faith in the one who is calling to us…Jesus.  Then, at times when we see that he is indeed trustworthy…we jump…and he proves himself faithful.  Yet, there are other times, when we do not take the time to listen for his leading…and instead of waiting on him, we attempt to control his actions by acting on our own. 

We see something like this in Matthew 17:14-20.  Here Jesus is met with a man whose son is demon possessed and is in desperate need of healing.  The disciples have “tried” to cast the demon out but they have been unsuccessful.  I think what we find here is people who have tried to do spiritual actions on their own apart from a dependence on the real Master.  Perhaps they have sought to act on their “own” authority as opposed to the REAL authority…Jesus.

May we come to see that Jesus IS trustworthy and growing in our faith must be rooted in listening to him and submitting to His authority.

 Bigger

 

A few weeks ago I noted the seemingly large hullabaloo about the 50^th anniversary of the release of the 1975 hit movie, JAWS.  It has long been known as a BIG hit movie. I remember my first time watching the classic film.  It would have been around 1985 and I would have been 9 years old.  My parents treated our family to an at home movie night with popcorn and a VHS rental.  We all gathered in our small living room, that was filled with one recliner, one sofa and a hospital bed that carried my mother who was recovering from a recent back fusion surgery. 

After my little sister was put to bed, because a 4 year old should not be allowed to witness the gruesome fake blood filled scenes cause by the giant mechanical shark. However, my little brother of 6, was deemed old enough for the suspense thriller.  He sat in a folding chair next to my mother’s bed while my sad sat behind him in the recliner and my older brother and I shared the sofa. 

I acutely recall the intense imagery of the giant shark tearing apart the boats, catamarans and unawares inhabitants of the salty seas.  One of the more tense moments of the movie, came when divers went to explore the waters within the safety of a “shark cage.”  As you watched the divers slide into the dark waters and the classic “da dum,” theme music of Jaw build, you could feel your internal organs escalate in tension along with the deep throaty notes. 

I vividly remember that just before the giant shark was about to attack the caged men, my dad grabbed my six year old brother from behind and bellowed, “YAH!”  I am no expert, but I feel quite certain that my little brother nearly died of fright that day.  His eyes protruded an inch and a half out of his skull, I am certain his heart literally stopped as did his breathing.  I watched for what seemed to be 3 minutes while he tried to find the ability to breath.  Looking back it seems a bit sadistic…but also super funny.

I must admit that from that day on, I have never viewed swimming in the same light.  I have never been attacked by a shark.  I did however, have a small bass bite off a scab off from my knee when I was in Jr. High.  I remember several times while fishing, when in the process of reeling in a bass, a northern pike attacks the bass and I have actually caught two fish at the same time.

It kind of reminds me that there are always bigger fish in the lake…or the sea if you are a mechanical great white.  There are bigger bass, bigger pike and bigger sharks.  Yet, what continues to blow my mind is how big God really is.  In Matthew 17:1-13, three of Jesus’ disciples get a mere glimpse of how big Jesus really is has he is transfigured before them.  The intense glory of God is revealed for just a moment. There is NOTHING bigger.  I know that and I believe it.  Yet, what I am learning is that God is bigger than I thought.  As I continue to grow in my journey and in Him, I come to see how much bigger he really is.  I am learning, that when I struggle with the “why” questions of God, perhaps it is because my view of the bigness of God is still too small.

May we come to grow in our understanding of how big God really is…and then…may we realize that he is actually bigger yet.

Follow Me

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

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

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

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

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

Who's That Guy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Dandelions...Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Care

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crumbs

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

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

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

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

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

 The Bedroom

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

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

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

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

“What’s not working?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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