Follow Me

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

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

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

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

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

Who's That Guy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Dandelions...Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Care

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crumbs

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

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

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

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

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

 The Bedroom

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

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

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

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

“What’s not working?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Quarter

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

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

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

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

“They are in Bemidji this weekend.”

Whew…disaster averted…barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Longer…

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

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

“Jasmine, go make my bed…Mom says.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Self Preservation

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 Unbelievable Belief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep Dish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Corn, Carrots, Onions and Weeds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 Cultivated

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

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

“I won!”

“No you didn’t!”

“Sure I did!”

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

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

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

“Mom! Tell Ross that I won the race!”

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

“Or both lost!” my dad interjected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Something Greater

The old adage is that “Records are made to be broken,” and for the most part, this seems to be true, particularly in the realm of athletics.  Perhaps one of the most well known record breaking performances was when Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt shattered both the 100m and 200m world records, which still stand more than 15 years later.  Bolt broke the record that many believed to be unbreakable, Michael Johnson’s 200m dash record.  When you watch something like that happen you know that you have just witnessed something special. 

Just this past month I have watched Gabel Steveson, heavyweight for the Minnesota Gopher’s wrestling team, compete against 3 different top 10 ranked wrestlers in the country.  It is really incredible seeing how this man makes these other great wrestlers look like they have rarely seen the mat.  He is really on a level of his own.  Even non-wrestling fans would be able to see how great of a wrestler this man really is. It is indeed something special to encounter.

It is often easy and exciting to see the greatness of athletes in the context of their sport.  Yet, what for some reason, we, as a society, don’t as readily notice the greatness of Jesus.  He is incredible!  Certainly, those who have experienced his immeasurable grace can speak to the sweet greatness of our Savior.  Yet, he is even greater than that!  In Matthew chapter 12, Jesus speaks of 3 incredible comparisons of his greatness.  Jesus reveals to those who are his followers, as well as his skeptics, that He is greater than the Temple, the Prophets and the Kings of old! 

Jesus is greater than the greatest kings of Israel including Solomon and all of his wisdom.  Jesus is greater than Jonah and the rest of the prophets who foretold of his coming.  Jesus is greater than the Temple…which housed the presence of God.  Jesus IS the presence of God! He IS God!

It is time to see Jesus for who he really is!  The greatest thing in the world…universe…and beyond!

Jesus is greater than everything!

 Foretaste

There are very few foods that I don’t like.  Two of my most prevalent dislikes are olives and sauerkraut.  There was a time however, that this list was significantly longer.  Prior to 2010, the list would have included squash and split pea soup.  Propelling even further back in time, to the years of my childhood, the queue would have contained; onions, tomatoes, oatmeal raisin cookies, guacamole, sour cream, yogurt, celery, salsa, green peppers, jalapeno peppers, boiled potatoes, Chinese food, egg rolls, mushrooms, chili and cornbread. 

I am pleased to share that each of these previous disliked items has now found a special place within my broadened palate. 

In order for each of these provisions to transfer from repulsion to revered, one shared act of commonality needed to take place. Each element required tasting.  Had I never tasted squash, or mushrooms, or guacamole, or cornbread I would never have discovered my affection for them.

In an interesting similarity, my grandfather spent the first 70+ years of his life avoiding pizza, simply because of his loathing of tomatoes.  It wasn’t until he found himself living in assisted living where he came to discover his love for pizza.

In Matthew 12:14-32, we find Jesus once again confronted by the religious leaders.  In this case he is being accused of being influences by Satan himself.  It is quite clear that the Pharisees and the scribes have already made up their mind about Jesus. They hated him and yet, supposedly loved God.  If only these people could taste and see that Jesus is who he says that he is.  He has come bringing healing and restoration.  He is offering a foretaste of the Kingdom of God that has both come and is to come and yet these leaders are refusing to take the taste.  They are refusing to experience the truth about Jesus.

May we come to experience the real Jesus, to taste and to see all of his goodness.

 Newton's Law

Legend has it that around 1665, a man named Isaac was hit in the head by an apple and everything changed. This proved to be the catalyst that he needed to formulate his infamous laws of gravity and motion.  Since hearing this story I have perpetually placed myself in positions to replicate his sudden onslaught of wisdom and smartness.  However, all I seem to get is more lumps and bruises on my head.  It is possible that I become even less intelligent with each encounter.  My thick head has been impacted by ice, rocks, tree branches, other heads, the ground, ladders, lumber and logs.

One of Mr. Newton’s infamous laws is that when an object is moving, it will keep moving in the direction that it is moving unless something stops or changes that objects movement.  I remember experiencing the reality of this law a number of years ago as I was pedaling my bicycle on an unfamiliar single track.  I am not a great rider, I don’t take unnecessary risks but I do enjoy pedaling hard and going fast.  In this particular case, I was traveling too quickly to read and comprehend the sign ahead.  I learned after the fact that the sign read, “Jump Ahead,” Which when translated meant, “You are going to regret this if you don’t stop now. You will bleed and hurt, for the love of all that is Holy, please stop your bike now and find another way.” I really wish I had learned to be a better reader in school.

But…I didn’t read the sign…and…I didn’t stop…and I did hurt and I did bleed and I did hit my head…but…I also had an epiphany.  If I had stopped, I could have taken the time necessary to assess the situation and make a wise decision accordingly.  I was reminded of this epiphany this week, as I read Matthew 11:28-12:14.  Here we find that immediately after Jesus offers rest to those who come to him, He is confronted by religious leaders because of his disregard for the “Sabbath.”

The paradox strikes me.  Here Jesus is inviting people to rest and the religious leaders are criticizing him for not resting.  Perhaps, what the religious leaders don’t realize is that they are too busy pedaling their bikes toward the detriment of an injury promising jump to realize that they are not resting at all.  They are in fact heading in the wrong direction to their own demise.  It seems clear to me that Jesus is restoring rest.

I wonder, perhaps it is from a place of rest where we can truly know the next direction that God has for our lives.

May we come to find rest in the Rest Giver.

 What does it take?

 

As a child I was overworked.  My parents made me do practically everything around the house.  It was my job to clean my room, haul firewood into the house, feed and water the pigs, weed the garden, dry and put away the supper dishes, take out the garbage, feed the dog and anything else my parents assigned, which included just about everything.  Sure, my older brother helped…if you actually call shaking your face, day dreaming and laughing, help. 

I remember sitting at home in front of the television enjoying a well deserved break from all of my back breaking labor, while my mother was cooking up supper and my dad was shoveling 28 inches of snow off of the roof.  Just as I was finding a moment to breathe, my mother began barking orders for me to set the table while at the same time my dad burst into the house and insisted that I add more wood to the furnace.  Do you see what I mean? OVERWORKED!!

I grudgingly left my beloved Hogan’s Heroes and told my older brother that Mom wanted him to set the table and my little brother that Dad wanted him to  add wood to the furnace.  I then sat back down to watch more of Sergeant Schultz…feeling completely exhausted. 

I remember bringing this to the attention of my parents during one particularly laborious Saturday afternoon.  “Ugh…I can’t wait until I have my own kids so I can make THEM do all the work!”

These filled both of my parents with a great deal of mirth.  So much so in fact that supper was late because my mother could not stop laughing enough to get the ground burger into the pan let alone on my bun. 

I have taken the liberty of instilling this same work ethic into my own children.  They too have had to learn to do their own chores.  My children, however, have it so much easier.  For example, as opposed to having to wash and dry the dishes by hand, all they are required to do is empty “their” portion of the dishwasher.  Yet, this simple task has, at times, proven to be too laborious for my offspring.  One of my sweet laborers, who had been merely assigned to put the flatware away at the completion of each wash cycle, deemed it too extreme and defaulted to dumping the flatware into the drawer entirely unsorted, rather than neatly away as required.

After emphasizing my desired outcome, I expected the silverware drawer to look different.  Yet, day after day it looked as if an earthquake has struck the utensil drawer.  Even after expressing my exasperation and frustration…still no change. Finally, with veins protruding from my forehead I asked, “Seriously! What does it take? What does it take to get you to put knives where the knives belong…and the spoons where the spoons belong…etc!!.”

“I don’t know” She said.

“How about this!  For every fork that is out of place, you pay me $1.  For every knife…$1, and for every spoon $1!

“What!? One dollar for each! I can’t afford that!”

“Exactly! So please, take the extra time and put it away right! It will be like you are making money!”

I am please to say that to this day, our flatware drawer has never looked better!

When we encounter the portion of scripture found in Matthew 11:16-28, we find a similar question evidenced.  Jesus speaks of his works and miracles in the cities where he has been ministering and in a sense is asking the question, “What does it take? What does it take for you to believe and repent?”

What about us?  What would it take for us to believe in Jesus?  What would it take to trust him with everything?

It is a good question to ask…and an even better question to find the answer to. 

May we come to believe and trust in all that Jesus has to offer.

 Excpectations Gap

I expected to post this sooner. But then again I expected the weatherman to be wrong…or right…which he was I guess neither and both.  Before my son is slated to head off to his second semester of college tomorrow and we decided to have one last hurrah ice fishing up north.  Additionally, I expected the fishing to be decent, with crappies practically jumping out of my hole and into my bucket.

Truth be told my expectations were left unachieved.  The bite was slow and the snow forecast was not as proclaimed.  After not catching a limit of crappies, we loaded up our equipment and pointed the truck toward home. 

We encountered more snow than expected…earlier than expected…and more traffic than expected.  It was an absolute mess! What could potentially take an hour and 15 minutes, our manic drive home took nearly 3 hours. 

To top it off, I expected my truck heater to keep the windshield clear of ice and water.  No such luck. 

Life is full of expectations that are not fulfilled in the way that we anticipated.  Whether it be marriage, parenting, Vikings games or weather forecasts…our expectations are rarely fulfilled as we…well…expect.

We find that expectations of Jesus are often different from the reality that we experience.  As we know, God’s ways are not our ways.  In Matthew 11:1-19, we find that Jesus confronts this “expectations gap.”  People had expectations of who Jesus was and what he came to do, including John the Baptist. 

May we come to see the reality of who Jesus really is…not who we “want” him to be…but who he really is!

 Unfriended

I recently came to a realization and honestly, I am not sure how I feel about it.  I just became aware that I have absolutely ZERO Facebook friends. This revelation made me sad.  I believe that most people have at least one Facebook friend, but here I am…with none.  I brought this problem to the attention of my wife.

“Sarah, I don’t have any Facebook friends.”

“I know that.” She said.

“I feel sad about this.”

“Look at the bright side…since you do not have any Facebook friends, you don’t have to worry about ever being ‘unfriended.” 

“Well, don’t you feel bad for me and stuff?”

“I feel bad for you that you are concerned that you don’t have any Facebook friends.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t HAVE a Facebook account.”

It is possible that part of that conversation is imaginary, yet something within me is indeed wrestling with this reality of friendship.  I remember my first experience of being “unfriended.” 

The event took place in my 1^st grade classroom and it preceded both Facebook and Mark Zuckerberg. One morning Johnny approached me and asked if I would be his friend.  I saw no problem with this so I readily agreed. 

“Sure Johnny.”

“Great! Now that we are friends, you can’t be friends with Eric anymore.”

“Huh?! Why not?”

“Because…that’s the way it is. If you want to be friends, then you can’t be friends with Eric.”

I must admit, that even in 1^st grade this seemed very Jr. High, though it would be several years before I would come to realize the irony. 

After being given no other rationale to the preposterous protocol, I went about my day, only to find Johnny had passed me a note via the hands of Lucinda.  I read the note which pronounced that I had just been unfriended by Johnny for violating rule 103b sub paragraph 3.4 stating that “Frienship with Johnny shall terminate where-in a friendly conversation is ensued toward or in relationship with Eric.”

“Huh,” I thought, and came to realize that my half day friendship with Johnny had ended before it ever really got started.

As I reflect on this past event, it is obvious that the invitation was anything but genuine.  To this day I still have no concept as to what motivated the brief, but fake friendship. But I do know this; Johnny was never interested in really being friends. It is clear that there were ulterior motives lurking among the invitation for friendship.

Likewise, our thoughts, words and actions as a follower of Christ can appear genuine on the outside, but may be far too often laced with selfish motivations.  Perhaps where these expressions generate from is the real indicator to our beliefs…after all, Jesus himself said, out of the heart the mouth speaks. 

Matthew 10:1-42, is an extensive passage, where Jesus gives instruction and reveals expectations to the 12 disciples as he sends them out.  I am struck by the concluding moment, where Jesus invites them to offer up a “cup  of cold water” to the least of ones they may meet. 

Is it really about the water?  I don’t think so.  I think it is about the heart behind the water. 

May the testimony of a cup of cold water reveal the Christ who has changed our hearts that offer it.