tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86927522727828379002024-03-26T23:35:34.419-07:00Coming Together, Following ChristPastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.comBlogger304125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-8420979528697445642024-03-23T17:01:00.000-07:002024-03-23T17:11:44.186-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">Elm</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFLmdnteJMV5alkey-4Tr89u_Wcrc5QevzkfDwhSx5wy3erkqN4B33zQeg4S_7p7HqGnM0wqDEs_aGN9MZV_ueVmhaC9QvXRfMwflaMOYLqWrEUJxEcDTRQgYbNfubRCVHgmKqkQT_1_pJosNU-MbqBSWNWyr_HIx5MPUrpLrkTwcdCvlDxGK5Xe7RQQ/s474/elm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="474" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFLmdnteJMV5alkey-4Tr89u_Wcrc5QevzkfDwhSx5wy3erkqN4B33zQeg4S_7p7HqGnM0wqDEs_aGN9MZV_ueVmhaC9QvXRfMwflaMOYLqWrEUJxEcDTRQgYbNfubRCVHgmKqkQT_1_pJosNU-MbqBSWNWyr_HIx5MPUrpLrkTwcdCvlDxGK5Xe7RQQ/s320/elm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It is possible that safety is an overrated concern for some parents, and a
constant obstacle of interference for adolescent boys. It has produced a never ending battle between
mothers and sons. Mothers diligently
strive to keep their young boys safe from the foolish decisions that promise
unavoidable injury, further brain damage, or even death. Boys, on the other hand, cunningly scheme to
overcome the safety precautions that have been unfairly placed upon them. For example, a potentially hypothetical situation
may find a mother whose 8 year old son has been using a ladder to climb onto
the roof of their home. He does this to
gain the high ground in attempt to shoot unsuspecting squirrels, gophers, and
crows from the peak of the second story gable end. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ryan! What in the world are you doing up there!?!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I am shooting at squirrels and gophers and birds and stuff!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Where did you get the gun?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Dad gave it to me!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Get down from there now! It’s not safe!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bang.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bang.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Drat…I missed.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“NOW!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Fine…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now you would think that the problem would be solved when
the mother insisted to have the ladder put away and locked up to prevent the
possibility of a repeat offense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, it could happen, that as the mother was hanging the bed sheets
out on the clothes line she once again heard, “Bang. Bang.” followed by “Drat…I
missed.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ryan! What are you doing up there?!...Wait..no…HOW did you
get up there?!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I crawled through the window and shimmied up the eave.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As much as they try, mothers only have so much power to keep
their curious sons safe.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember one spring day when I was climbing a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My mother had reprimanded me on several occasions for climbing
trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time, I would be cautioned
about my lack of safety for either climbing too high or not holding onto
anything with my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed
obvious to me that tree climbing would be safer with a ladder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This truth must have been overlooked by my
mother or she may not have taken it away from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I took my mother’s concerns to heart and thus made several
adjustments to safeguard my own safety for this expedition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, I selected a tree that my mother did
not yet know about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did this to ensure
that she could not come back to me and say, “I thought I told you not to climb that
tree.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If she attempted to make such a statement, I could simply reply…“Not
this one…that was a different tree.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
you can see, I was a pretty thoughtful and obedient child.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Second, I built my “own” ladder with some old wood that I had
found in the barn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Third, I tied a big heavy rope around my chest and allowed
it to hang loosely behind me as I ascended.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Once my safety precautions were in place, I set to
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I climbed the old elm easily,
bouncing and swinging through its natural sturdy beams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The large, heavy limbs generated a vast array
of hand and footholds protruding in every direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I reached a deep Y, half way up the
towering deciduous, I lowered myself into a yawn between the limbs and tied off
the loose end of the rope…and then…I slipped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I tried to snatch a limb on my way down, but the abrasive bark only served
to bruise, cut and batter my entire body on the way down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three feet before my face met the base of the
elm, the rope tied around my chest slipped to my waist and snapped tight
holding me fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The good news was that my face was spared the maiming impact
of the earth below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bad news was
that the Old Timer jack knife that my grandfather had given me slipped from my
pocket and fell to the ground.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Looking back on my childhood, I have come to realize that
strength is only as good as the cord that is holding you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Self confidence and pride can easily build as
we gain abilities and talents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naturally,
this brings into our lives a sense of self assurance and boldness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is often at these times when the pride
comes before the fall…sometimes proverbially…sometimes literally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Matthew 5:5 states, “Blessed are the meek for they shall
inherit the earth.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meekness is not
something that is championed in our culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yet, that is what Jesus exemplified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of the most astounding moments of both His meekness and majesty are
reflected in his entry into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why can Jesus be so meek?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that, perhaps, it may be because He
knows how secure He is in the strong cord that holds Him tight to the Father.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to see that meekness is relying on the strength
of the Lord and not on ourselves.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-23597631366755762682024-03-16T14:56:00.000-07:002024-03-16T14:56:43.477-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Regret</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjD0nnRz_dy3VUkeFtv2602PArxggcByzroofswuzgQchiciHpJMUAUooN9rDhcb2FwiAru6oK7JTsURGHrfHFjIB9bt079-HVxCOd6Zs7dgWOdO-I3GMCEwXTTwRlgNRldlHYbxPr-lLYgS7bQ20v7_0SoOFGCh6rukf-9Pj67vWbpRebd_AJNiwB6nU/s736/ashes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="736" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjD0nnRz_dy3VUkeFtv2602PArxggcByzroofswuzgQchiciHpJMUAUooN9rDhcb2FwiAru6oK7JTsURGHrfHFjIB9bt079-HVxCOd6Zs7dgWOdO-I3GMCEwXTTwRlgNRldlHYbxPr-lLYgS7bQ20v7_0SoOFGCh6rukf-9Pj67vWbpRebd_AJNiwB6nU/s320/ashes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My life is filled with regret. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t help it. It seems, every day of my
life leads to more regretful moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Regret is like that unwelcomed and uninvited uncle who always shows up
to Easter dinner, even when great pains are taken to keep the hosting venue a
secret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Grandma, can you please pass the ham?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Egad! What do you think you’re doing!? Keep your voice
down! Uncle Anson will hear you!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“How in the world is that even possible? He doesn’t know
where we are and the last we heard from him he was in the Himalayan Mountains
of southern Chile.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The Himalayans are in Asia…not Chile.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That makes it all the more impossible for him to have heard.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ding Dong.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey all! Happy Easter!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well! Would you look who’s here!? It’s Uncle Anson!...How
did you find us…I mean…I hope you got the Easter invite this year…we left it
under that big rock behind the barn, under the old rusted tractor.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I must have missed it! But no worries, here I am! You all
have no idea how difficult it has been to find you…but I did!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who would have thought that a destination
Easter dinner in the bowels of Alcatraz was in the cards for this year! Could I
get me some of those mashed potatoes?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Regret…kind of makes you wish you hadn’t asked for the ham…despite
Grandma’s reputation for delectable hams.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like the inevitable arrival of the unwanted guest are the
perpetual visits of regret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regret
appears everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is there when we
miss our highway exit and find that we have just added 2 hours onto our already
12 hour road trip. It is opening the jar of peanuts believing that you can have
just one serving, only to find that the jar is empty in your hands just 33
minute later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is telling yourself
that you have enough gas to make it to the next gas station, knowing full well
that you are pushing it pretty thin, only to run out 5 miles before the fueling
station…without an empty gas can to even carry any fuel back to the stranded
vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Regret often runs deep…much deeper…as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regret follows the allowance of irresponsible
words which spill from between the lips and wilt the recipient with a crushing
blow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the unjustified burst of
anger that conflicts with a testimony of grace, of which a believer is called
to reflect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regret comes to visit when a
poor action results in loss…the loss of life, freedom, affection or more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My life is cluttered with regret, like a long forgotten
storage room in the unfinished basement of my soul. The space is filled with
old dusty mistakes that lie dormant in the corner waiting to be remembered and
suffered over from time to time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As life
goes on, the regretful basement of my soul continues to collect junk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sin is the greatest contributor to the
junk of regret filling the cellar.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unless something is done, the soul…my soul…will soon be
overrun with the burdensome regrets of grieving mistakes and unattended
sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus not ONLY offers forgiveness
of my sins…but he also offers a path of healing through the mourning of my
sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matthew 5:4 reveals that “Blessed
are those who mourn for they will be comforted.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus certainly offers comfort from our grief,
but I am learning that in the case of this passage, Jesus is drawing his
followers into a deeper mourning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is
drawing us into a grief…a mourning…over our sin. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only do followers of Christ need to be
aware of their spiritual bankruptcy (as found in Matthew 5:3), but we are also
told to mourn over the sin that has left us there. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is one thing to sin and hide it in the basement and it is
quite another to mourn over our sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we learn to grieve over our sin in such a way as to mourn over it, I
am convinced that we find Jesus not only forgiving us of our sin, but also de-cluttering
the overrun basement of our souls.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to grieve and to mourn our sin, so that we will
be comforted by Jesus Himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May the
comforts of Jesus lift up our weary souls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-83708534813134718212024-03-09T12:00:00.000-08:002024-03-09T12:00:47.027-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> The Majestic</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOrJNntVxWNz_065m_9H_ZqypUlEv4P4EbQRv-o8QUp_PnrL2a60jQaI16WeA-Cj6wwQ1m7_p1jaD4cdNKpF4lLyT6QWaU5xGnW0ckN10kuAyPq272tfroynLTPIcWhnZ19BGCKzw4LIm_IVVq5UoGg6bOtqMQnNn4ndBpO9iJgaCNFZcxic1JoyEAH04/s1000/majestic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOrJNntVxWNz_065m_9H_ZqypUlEv4P4EbQRv-o8QUp_PnrL2a60jQaI16WeA-Cj6wwQ1m7_p1jaD4cdNKpF4lLyT6QWaU5xGnW0ckN10kuAyPq272tfroynLTPIcWhnZ19BGCKzw4LIm_IVVq5UoGg6bOtqMQnNn4ndBpO9iJgaCNFZcxic1JoyEAH04/s320/majestic.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I recall one evening when Sarah and I were still without
children. We would have thought that we
were living a busy lifestyle at this time, but until we decided to parent 4
kids, we really had no idea what a busy lifestyle really looked like. Yet, somehow a telemarketer had tricked me
into using the ONE…“free”…evening that my wife and I been able to find for the
entire month. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What do you want to do tonight” I asked Sarah.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It doesn’t matter…I am just glad that we don’t have
anything to do…period!!” She sighed in response to my question.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">DING DONG</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Who is at the door?” she bequeathed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I have no idea.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I answered the door to find a young man and a young woman
standing at our door with a clipboard and a rather large chrome cylinder resembling
that of a silver R2D2.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hello Mr. Olson, we would like to thank you for having
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you will just step aside and
allow us to enter your home I think that you will find your time with us to be
very worthwhile.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I stepped aside and said nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was stunned and struck dumb.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, I stammered, “Excuse me…what? Who did you say you
were?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“My name is Heather and this is Michael, we represent the
Majestic Cleaning Company, we carry the world’s foremost cleaning and filtering
products.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sure appreciate you
agreeing to have us into your home and give you a demonstration of these
fabulous appliances that can revolutionize your home.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t remember to agreeing to anyth…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Sure you did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
remember the phone call you received on November 14,…we have it recorded so
there will be NO arguing…there was a brief moment when you said yes…and we took
full advantage of “that”…to take advantage of “you” and your free evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now if you would just kindly get out of our
way…go ahead and sit down and shut your trap while we give you this remarkable
demonstration.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I did as I was told, trying to avoid the shocked and glaring
looks of my beautiful young wife.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What did you agree to!?” Sarah tersely whispered to me as
we sat down next to each other on our used sofa.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Nothing…I mean…I don’t know!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“This was our ONE night!...ONE night!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I know…maybe we will still have time to enjoy something once
they leave?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After 3 hours of demonstrating how great their product was
and…how filthy our home was, the sales representative, Heather, asked how much I
would expect to pay for this fine tool of the future.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you asking how much I am willing to pay or how much I expect
it to cost? Because I MIGHT consider paying up to $60, but I am guessing that
it will cost more like $260.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So, you are willing to pay $60”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“NO! I am willing to ‘consider’ paying $60”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well…would you consider paying $60 per month for three and
a half years?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I did the quick math. “Wait…are you saying this costs
$2500!!!???’</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Technically, $2600.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No way!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But you saw all that it can do! Don’t you want a clean
home?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Not for $2600!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This was my turn to interrupt. “You don’t understand. We
really don’t buy anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, if
you look around this home most of all that you see has been given to us. We
didn’t purchase most of what you wee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
recliner that you are sitting in?…given to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This sofa? Given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The end tables,
coffee table and dining room table? All given to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The refrigerator, the microwave, the oven…given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our washer and dryer down stairs…given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The TV and VCR (yes…I did just date myself)…given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That china hutch…given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even built our bed with wood that was given
to us.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What about your car?” He asked is a mildly snarky tone.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“GIVEN TO US!!!” I proclaimed in triumph!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Heather, you must understand” I continued, “Pretty much all
that you see around you is nothing that I have gathered and accumulated for
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather it is all representative
of the provisions that the Lord has provided.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Heather and Michael left a short time later after packing up
all of their demonstrative items.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
they left through our front door…they GAVE us a fake Christmas tree for our
time.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember that story well, but I never made the connection
until now, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of how this symbolized the
Lord’s righteousness in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every good
thing in my life has come from the hand of God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The ONLY righteousness that can be found in my life is what falls under
the cloak of Christ’s righteousness, which covers me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The home of my heart is filled with righteous
furnishings that have ALL been given to me by Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it were up to me, my “home,” would be found
void and empty and broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He however,
covers me in His righteousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without
Jesus, I am spiritually bankrupt. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think this is at the heart of Jesus’ teachings
specifically the Sermon on the Mount and the Beatitudes found in Matthew 5:1-12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who want to inherit the Kingdom of God,
must first find themselves…spiritually bankrupt.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-45908194743188338532024-02-17T15:43:00.000-08:002024-02-17T15:43:25.695-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Walking Alone</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfJxNq3CvCRsRJAgAo3A5EhkEZQ5o4qiob4k2hEuuPE-SPHVqPMXKMdSbrNGa46_lDWaA7yIthLIAkhwes1ruR9MfRqsr0dDUT40tGqVxCFe6OmUZtm9GeeE6a0DOTsUL8m6pjZuzsqltq8z0LqAZwHGGB6uuo_Pv5lE5npMk7JhDvNqdNPXOrjPGkI4/s735/winter%20walk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="735" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfJxNq3CvCRsRJAgAo3A5EhkEZQ5o4qiob4k2hEuuPE-SPHVqPMXKMdSbrNGa46_lDWaA7yIthLIAkhwes1ruR9MfRqsr0dDUT40tGqVxCFe6OmUZtm9GeeE6a0DOTsUL8m6pjZuzsqltq8z0LqAZwHGGB6uuo_Pv5lE5npMk7JhDvNqdNPXOrjPGkI4/s320/winter%20walk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday, my son Isaac and I engaged in a brief excursion
to spend 24 hours with my dad ice fishing.
On our trip northward, my truck began to act up. Truth be told…that is not a true
statement. The truth would be that the
truck had been acting up for about a two and a half years and I have continued
to ignore the problem. The acting up in
this particular moment, actually refers to a transition from “acting up” to… “Houston,
we have a problem.” It appears that the
growing moaning of the 4.3L V6 over the past 700+ days has developed into an
alternator which is now refusing to charge the battery. I watched as the voltmeter bounced erratically
from right to left. One moment the
system was charging and the next moment the blinking red light on the dash told
me that I should be ready to walk the rest of the way to the cabin. I spent the next 45 minutes watching and
hoping and praying that I would not have to walk in the bitter and blustery
cold February afternoon. Praise be to God…we made it!</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I cannot count the number of times that I have found myself
stranded on the side of the road and having to walk alone down the highway
looking for some way to find help. I have run out of gas. I have had flat tires…without
a spare…or a flat spare…or a tire that was rusted to the hub and could not be
removed to use the spare…or two flat tires simultaneously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have also found myself in snowy ditches,
and with stalled engines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each of these
moments has required me to extract myself from the comforts of the cockpit and
put my feet to the pavement and walk…alone.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am please to say…that I am still here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In every one of those occasions, in one way
or another, help arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did not
always appear in a way that I had expected, yet I found that even after a few
miles left behind, I found myself in the presence of a helper.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It seems that perhaps…I was never really walking alone after
all.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Matthew 4:23-25, reveals Jesus walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is walking all throughout Galilee and
beyond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is not alone, as to the fact
that many people…including his disciples…are following him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But more so, I think I see that Jesus is
walking with the purpose of being WITH the people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is walking WITH them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself asking the question, why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it just to reveal his power as he heals
and performs miracles?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly that is
entirely true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am convinced that there
is more still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am convinced that Jesus
CARES!! He walks with the people, because he cares for them. He cares about
their struggle, their diseases and their affliction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also cares about yours. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May you come to know that no matter where you are walking,
whether hardships or joys, you are not walking alone…because Jesus cares!!</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-60583287342103917322024-02-10T14:25:00.000-08:002024-02-10T14:25:30.460-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Tethered</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgx7r4UAiCzQLPedqFfitJE3jdXdfUyN4XEhEXFaDm54LetrZdo6QFpigXV5hJ_tPS6ugpktfk6uSA45qHrvH2WL0rf0leAwM9IoVCWVd70IMeSP-WGKiLylfjJbaMRonhMoD1yYiaNMr9sjAMUeLu5QEoOvXhqCxjd7Aq203PrT8CfWEpOxNWtrq3EQ/s900/tethered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="900" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgx7r4UAiCzQLPedqFfitJE3jdXdfUyN4XEhEXFaDm54LetrZdo6QFpigXV5hJ_tPS6ugpktfk6uSA45qHrvH2WL0rf0leAwM9IoVCWVd70IMeSP-WGKiLylfjJbaMRonhMoD1yYiaNMr9sjAMUeLu5QEoOvXhqCxjd7Aq203PrT8CfWEpOxNWtrq3EQ/s320/tethered.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I used to be an energetic, adventurous father, who would
regularly take my young children out of town
to shop, in order to give their dear mother a break from the unending
demands of mothering. These outings had a reputation of going about as smoothly
as expired cottage cheese forgotten in the back of an unplugged refrigerator,
only to be discovered accidentally after a stench, not dissimilar to that of a
rotting dairy cow, as it permeates its way through the entire shelter that is
your home.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is incredibly challenging to shepherd 3-4 children 6
years old and younger from one store to another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hazards of parking lots, moving cars,
busy streets and rabid squirrels can add chaos to any and all attempts to keep
the children safe and within arm’s reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had created circumstantial rules, which were to be implemented
upon the arrival, and were dependent upon specific situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, if I were to take the children
into a store that had many fragile items placed in the accessible regions of
curious fingers, the children were required to keep their hands placed within
the confines of their own pockets during the duration of the visit. If they did
not obey and removed their hands from their pockets, the privilege of ice cream
was removed from their immediate future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As another example, if we were crossing the street, the
children were required to hold my hands so that I could ensure their
safety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On more than one occasion, one
of my children would trip because their little legs could not keep up with my
giant frame, or so they now claim. When a stumble would occur, I would snatch
them up and swing them in the air and run, allowing their small bodies to flap
in the wind until we had finished crossing. “Daddy! Your tight grip hurt my
hand!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well…my tight grip also saved you from skinning your knee
on the road, slamming your face on the pavement and getting smashed by that
semi-truck!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On one such occasion, I took my 3 oldest children, who were
6, 5 and 3 at the time, shopping in the nearby town of Brainerd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had one primary stop to make…Menards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since our 4<sup>th</sup> child had recently
been born, we knew that the need to finish the basement and add another usable
bedroom was just on the horizon and thus it was time to pick up some of the
supplies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I along with 3 of my children,
pulled into the nearest parking space we could find, and I gave my offspring the
instructions.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok…Here’s the deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are going to stay together as we cross the busy parking lot…Isaac and
Carissa will each hold one of my hands and Hannah, since you are the oldest and
I only have two hands, I will need you to hold onto my pocket as we walk to the
store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now…all three of you…be sure that
you hold on and don’t let go.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok Daddy!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok Daddy!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What pocket should I hold Daddy? You have so many pockets on
your shorts…I don’t know which pocket I should hold.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I should have known that my over thinking oldest daughter
would find a way to complicate things.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Any pocket will be fine.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I think I will hold your back pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that ok Daddy?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That will be just fine Hannah.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We all crawled out of the mini-van and took our
positions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My left hand grasped Isaac’s
right hand and my right held Carissa’s left, while Hannah secured herself to my
back pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We began to shuffle to the
store front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we approached the curb,
I swung both of the younger children up to the sidewalk ahead of me and just as
I stepped up myself, it happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt
a sudden tug on my shorts and heard a “rip.” Hannah had tripped on the edge of
the curb and fallen to her knees and elbows, she was, however, still holding
onto the fabric of my pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was at
this time, that I began to feel the extended draft from the early morning, late
spring air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh, Sorry Daddy! I tripped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had my eyes closed because I was so scared and didn’t want to look at
the moving cars and then I tripped on the curb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s ok though…my knees and elbows are bleeding, but I didn’t let go of
your pocket daddy!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I reached back and realized that the entire backside of my
cargo shorts had torn away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok, kids…change of plans…we are going to Target.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you still want me to hold your pocket Daddy?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No…I want you to hold me at the waist from behind and stay VERY
close.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Imagine now, the repeat of instructions and walking into
Target, only to have Isaac see a penny on the sidewalk…suddenly let go of my
hand and run after the penny and smash his face into a nearby stone
pillar...now what…band-aids or new shorts first?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It struck me at this time why I have seen some parents walk
around with their children on what appear to be dog leashes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What previously had seemed odd and
unnecessary…now made perfect sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet, I don’t see Jesus acting in the same manner when he
calls his followers to “follow” him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jesus doesn’t throw a tether onto a proverbial collar of his disciples
and drag them along like a disobedient puppy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Rather, he beckons, “Follow me.” Here we find a key to the response of
following Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Matthew 4:18-22, we
find that upon Jesus’ request to “Follow Me,” the brothers fishing in the Sea
of Galilee leave their nets and their boats and follow Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They, in fact, remove the proverbial “tether”
that holds them to their past and they freely follow Jesus.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to release the tethers that hold us back and
respond to Jesus’ invitation to follow Him.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-90303994632105556992024-02-03T13:49:00.000-08:002024-02-03T13:49:37.221-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">Ole on the Outskirts</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqv0a8Xi14S69dyc22q_um_Ef9TtJBY5wGQWT4tFVGmMQyDtRBA7GyKHu1cX0bs3sDkZ3Ac3QKEgOPDguZ7YQZ2zOyb8F3dRUVH4WZVq06r07IuVrZaokZ4M4LTpAeGWSfJU2zIseXBBJ3Sd3o1yWhDPJSmLuM7v8OT4VShvbBDA-nFhvx_HXit4gIEy4/s895/children.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="860" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqv0a8Xi14S69dyc22q_um_Ef9TtJBY5wGQWT4tFVGmMQyDtRBA7GyKHu1cX0bs3sDkZ3Ac3QKEgOPDguZ7YQZ2zOyb8F3dRUVH4WZVq06r07IuVrZaokZ4M4LTpAeGWSfJU2zIseXBBJ3Sd3o1yWhDPJSmLuM7v8OT4VShvbBDA-nFhvx_HXit4gIEy4/s320/children.png" width="307" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">It was just this past week, when I said to my wife and
youngest daughter, “I wish that I could go back to Elementary School.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Egad! Why would you say that?” my wife asked.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Really?” my daughter questioned.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah! Life was so much simpler then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I didn’t have to consider what I was
supposed to do next, or where I was supposed to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had teachers to tell me what I was supposed
to be doing and where I was to be going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not to mention, Reagan was president so politically the whole world was
happy…except perhaps Gorbachev…and anyone else who didn’t care for the jelly
bean loving former actor…I was only 4-12 years old at the time so politics didn’t
tend to worry me anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My biggest
worry was wondering what my mother packed in my lunch.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Really!? That was your biggest worry?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, I think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
mean, I miss recess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to go out
and play tag, and we would run races, and we would play king of the hill on the
giant snow banks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes we would
play hide and seek…and there were even a couple of games that I was so known
for that they actually named the games after me.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Seriously Dad!?...what were they?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“There were two of them. The first one was called ‘Run away
from Ryan’ and the other was called, ‘Ole on the Outskirts.’ Run away from Ryan
was always a hoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids would usually
grab something of mine, like my lunch box or my hat or something…and then they
would run away from me and I would have to chase after them and try and get it
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I was about to catch them
they would usually throw it to someone else and it would start all over
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The game usually ended when
either the school bell would ring and one of the kids would throw my hat on the
roof, or I would pass out from exhaustion and wake up to Mrs. Tucker asking why
I had not returned to class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other
game, Ole on the Outskirts, would occur unexpectedly as group of 4 or more boys
would suddenly encircle me and push me from one side of the circle to the
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goal was to escape from the
surrounding circle of boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took
great skill to overcome their hulking mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I found that I could often win this game by playing the part of an opossum…or
grab my nose and say I’m bleeding…of which sometimes it was true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, it was such fun…good times…good times.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Umm…Dad?...those games are usually played by bullies who
pick on marginalized kids.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Huh!?...Whatever...I wonder what those games are called now?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s no secret that the world is filled with marginalized
people, and whether you like it or not, a vast array of classifications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, this has been the case for thousands
of years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, we see the classes
and the marginalized throughout the Scriptures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am incredibly astounded by not only Jesus’ teachings but also his
actions when it comes to speaking the truth and loving people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We often separate these two, but I am
convinced that they always belong together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Paul reveals this in Ephesians 4:15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Matthew 4:12-17, begins to reveal in a subtle way the heart
that Jesus has for the marginalized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jesus goes from Nazareth to Capernaum in Galilee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place that would make the “most” sense
for the Messiah to go and minister would be Jerusalem…in the heart of Judea…to
engage with the religious leaders at the Temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, that is not what Jesus does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He goes to a region that is viewed as lesser
class…a Gentile region…a depraved region filled with dock workers and
fisherman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus goes to what is
considered an area of sub-level humans.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Why does Jesus do this? Because God loves us and Jesus is
for ALL the WORLD!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to see that Jesus makes the Gospel available for
ALL the WORLD…including the marginalized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whether you are being shoved around in a circle or chasing after your
lunchbox…whether you have had a life of ease or a life filled with suffering…Jesus
is inviting you to put your trust in Him and Him alone.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Are you marginalized?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You need Jesus and Jesus wants you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Is someone marginalized in your life? They need Jesus and Jesus wants
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">All of Jesus for All the World!</span></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-39879852640154493382024-01-27T14:34:00.000-08:002024-01-27T14:34:45.235-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">Gummy Bears</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2eKFAiv4fLwCxB83emO37sZxubQDGQPgC3kxkRXrF6yHD4cMqaLr6y9iGfjZ3JbGsWZj3rZ_0xv17uXSb-SvNYHRK-_GTdCqeUJuugAQHQ0uZbM8tZJBWUa-HtzQORMl-zcbaS6A63b51MgUZoPfdc_JFhuMk5VNOmMu5V3Z1dCYNoK1v9XjLq91yEg/s1500/gummy%20bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="1500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2eKFAiv4fLwCxB83emO37sZxubQDGQPgC3kxkRXrF6yHD4cMqaLr6y9iGfjZ3JbGsWZj3rZ_0xv17uXSb-SvNYHRK-_GTdCqeUJuugAQHQ0uZbM8tZJBWUa-HtzQORMl-zcbaS6A63b51MgUZoPfdc_JFhuMk5VNOmMu5V3Z1dCYNoK1v9XjLq91yEg/s320/gummy%20bear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Once upon a summer one of our neighbors asked if we…our
kids…would like some gummy bears. My
wife and I agreed to “allow” our children to have some gummy bears, knowing in
truth it was our own watering mouths that we were looking to satisfy. Little did we know at the time, that we were
about to receive somewhere in the vicinity of 10-20 lbs. of gummy candies. We received a large bag of gummy bears, sour
gummy bears, gummy worms, and those round life saver looking peach gummy
candies…(we had a friend come by who ate most of those). </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">As most sane people realize, gummy bears, and the like, are
nearly impossible to stop consuming, once the initial bear has been eaten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We as a family did manage to use these bears
as “leverage” of influence for our children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Ok kids…you can have gummy bears, once you have finished cleaning up
supper.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At this point my children would eagerly rush to clean up
supper and tidy the house while my wife and I would sit and eat gummy bears as
we watched the kids work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not what
you think…we wouldn’t just eat them in front of them, that would be mean…we
would sneak them into our pockets and when they would leave the room to take out
the recycling or had their head in the dishwasher we would quick eat them…ok
maybe it is what you were thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In any case, the gummy bears were used effectively for much
motivation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, there was one
specific day when three of our four children had friends over for a sleep over,
and when it came time for the friends to be taken home, it was only natural
that our children wanted to ride along with their friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The challenge came when each of our children
desperately wanted to sit next to his or her own friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our minivan (I know a minivan…it sounds like
I’m bragging right…just as much as if I had said Datsun), can hold 6 passengers
in the back, two rows of three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
inevitably, there was going to be one of my children NOT sitting by one of
their friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we were loading the
van I braced myself for the ensuing conflict of which my children did not
disappoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want to sit by my
friend!”, “Not fair!”, “I was there first.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I pulled out the trump card… “Whoever is willing to allow the other
persons to sit by their friend and not sit by your own friend will get gummy
bears.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was immediately ashamed of
what I encountered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched my three
children turn their backs on their all important friendships, leaving their
friends high and dry as they raced for a seat away from their friend…all for
the sake of gummy bears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gummy bears are
good…but are they really that good?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The temptation of sin is like the lure of sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It tastes sweet but it leaves us hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often we think that if we can just have more,
we will find satisfaction, and yet…still hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can tell you first hand; that 100 gummy
bears will not satisfy your hunger…it’ll give you a gut ache and leave you
regretting you had ever eaten that first one let alone 100.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the contrary, what is more satisfying than
sitting down to a nice meal of meat and potatoes…unless you are vegetarian,
then just potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Psalmist David
gives us perspective in Psalm 34:8, “Taste and see that the Lord is good;
blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This leads me to consider when Jesus was in the wilderness
being tempted by the Devil, (Matt. 4:1-11).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is an absolutely astounding event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jesus has been fasting for 40 days and he is hungry, tired, weak and
alone and in this difficult time when Satan attacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The enemy attacks Jesus with powerful temptations,
which are not unlike the lure of sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We all long to have things “our way, right away,” and I am convinced
that is where Satan hits us first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
attacks in the longing for immediate gratification of our desires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus is willing to set aside the temporary
gratification for the eternal satisfaction.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we are faced with the relentless temptations that our
lives throw before us, may we be reminded of where the true goodness and true
satisfaction come from, and may we take refuge in Him and be satisfied
completely in Him.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-59549099251930439052024-01-20T11:55:00.000-08:002024-01-20T11:55:16.310-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Behold!</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGHIiYkWySDoo3aIj9gEnRJyRTZ8vF1Pk3s9ZvcHnpUpVaOEFfsQEvkavOz53kcIYUepr7mC_O1di9gQ8aQ4w8F2ve99W86BsAwaJAa0GFmj5gqTsz2cmsHar2FRhEyEXUynaADMAFfrEmlTU3h1MK85j8PAMScLJzzDpie5hSxDrgL82J0PqUwMgO9w/s474/holding%20hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="474" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGHIiYkWySDoo3aIj9gEnRJyRTZ8vF1Pk3s9ZvcHnpUpVaOEFfsQEvkavOz53kcIYUepr7mC_O1di9gQ8aQ4w8F2ve99W86BsAwaJAa0GFmj5gqTsz2cmsHar2FRhEyEXUynaADMAFfrEmlTU3h1MK85j8PAMScLJzzDpie5hSxDrgL82J0PqUwMgO9w/s320/holding%20hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">It took me a long time to win the heart of the wife of my
youth. This is to no fault of hers…rather
it is mine. I remember the first time I laid
eyes on her. She had eyes of the May sky
and hair like autumn wheat. When she smiled, the darkness in the room would flee
and everything could be seen for what it was…including my gaping mouth and possible
drool puddling in my lap. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My first sight was while riding on a bus in college to
Valleyfair in Minnesota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was sitting
across the aisle from me and one row ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My friend Geoff and I were heading up the welcoming committee for all of
the new students coming into Crown College that year, and she was one of
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">From that point on, my life existed for the sole purpose of
impressing her, so I did the only thing I could do to impresser her at the
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to wrestle with my friend
Geoff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only reasonable that as a competitive
high school wrestler, that this act of machismo would be the most impressive
act I could perform to reveal my value and woo this young, freshman girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So…Geoff and I wrestled…attacking each other,
both over and under the seats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We jumped
across the aisle and back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were loud…obnoxious…and
sweaty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the midst of our wrestling, I
kept glancing her way out of the corner of my eye to judge her reaction and upon
seeing her smiling and laughing I knew that it must be working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, five months later when I finally worked up
enough courage to ask her out…she turned me down…hard. Apparently, she was not
a wrestling fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fast forward, 19 months and numerous rejections later, we
were walking through a local park hand in hand one evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this time I asked her, “What are you
thinking.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still remember her glorious
response…</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She said… “I like this.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">BEHOLD! She likes me!!!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tim Keller writes the following in his book, Jesus is King: “Think
of this, if you find somebody you adore, someone for whom you would do anything
and you discover that this person feels the same about you, does that feel
good? It’s sublime! That is what God has been enjoying for all eternity…the
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is the beautiful picture of relationship that we see
revealed in Matthew 3:13-17. I am convinced that, not only is God revealing to
us His perfect relationship with Himself…but also…is inviting us into that restored
relationship with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is no wonder then...why God sent his Son…because He so
loved the world. </p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-54392786114205100002024-01-13T15:13:00.000-08:002024-01-13T15:13:42.357-08:00<p style="text-align: center;"> Snow Way</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIYqWchFau7PSzeaYBWtmV91JbMY8knmZI3qP7JX8zaBJS53WB3IMU5D1QK-gT8ibh8F5meXgZffpeWCTxzJYSeMqudB2VbZVmTRnHastYqd-z258Z7lCYRtxAzMetnmPR-9ewERqTW_H2ZHhKyqn78Xy-KTmiMm_Y72oF3xwEe9my2XWGnevmQaC6Qs/s480/way.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIYqWchFau7PSzeaYBWtmV91JbMY8knmZI3qP7JX8zaBJS53WB3IMU5D1QK-gT8ibh8F5meXgZffpeWCTxzJYSeMqudB2VbZVmTRnHastYqd-z258Z7lCYRtxAzMetnmPR-9ewERqTW_H2ZHhKyqn78Xy-KTmiMm_Y72oF3xwEe9my2XWGnevmQaC6Qs/s320/way.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">My wife took my son to the Northern Peninsula Michigan this
weekend for a college visit. Despite the
long and mild fall that we have enjoyed in the midst of the upper mid-west, my
wife found herself racing to reach her destination before the first real snow
storm of the winter bore down on Marquette Michigan. She arrived just ahead of the gale force
winds that promised to bring up to 24 inches of snow to the region. We have yet to tell if the girls and I will
even see them again until spring or if they will be perpetually stuck in the
permafrost of shores of Lake Superior. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Having grown up in the northern half of Minnesota, I too
have spent my share of time driving on snowm covered back country roads as well
as attempting to race ahead of a coming tempests of winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been fortunate to be able to keep my
vehicles between the deep snow filled ditches…for the most part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Upon looking at some of my past decisions to drive, despite
travel warnings, I can only imagine God almighty shaking his head at my
undeveloped teenage brain and telling his guardian angels to get down there and
do their best to keep that rusty rear wheeled drive Plymouth from veering off the
icy road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is possible that I may have
single handedly kept those angels employed in the unending task of keeping me
alive and safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I recall one such evening, as I foolishly decided to go
Christmas shopping alone to Fargo North Dakota while schooling in Fergus Falls,
MN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I departed after dark, when the snow
had already begun to fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t
long before I was spinning my wheels and sliding my back end…both the car and
my own…as I struggled down I94 heading westward. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks in part to the posi-traction drive
train of the Grand Fury and the sweating angels around me, I arrived safely in
North Dakota’s largest city, where I spent a couple of hours purchasing gifts
for my mother, father and girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
got nothing for my brothers or sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I then began twirling my balding tires back toward my
college apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once back onto I94, I
was greeted with a sheer blanket of white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was nearly impossible to see out the windshield in the turbulent
blowing snow of the blizzard, which covered the surface of the road entirely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unable to determine where the right or
the left side of the highway began and ended, let alone how to stay in my own lane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to the voice coming over the radio
speaking of the travel warnings and the fact that “Interstate 94” is being shut
down due to hazardous conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh…this…was…not…good.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yellow lights began to flash in my rear view mirror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The enormous Minnesota plow caught me quickly
as I was only making a peak of about 15 miles per hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The massive truck blew past me in a cloud of
white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I braked to a near stop for fear
of driving into the ditch in the complete white out condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet…as soon as he passed, there lay before me
a path of glorious pavement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sped up
just enough to tuck myself in behind the plow which had suddenly revealed the
way.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think that in a way…this is what John the Baptist was
doing as he preached at the threshold of Jesus’ public ministry, (Matthew
3:1-12).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Israelites are stuck in a
proverbially snow covered road and they can’t see a way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John himself was NOT the way…yet, he revealed
- The Way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He prepared the people to be
able to see that the Way had come and things were about to change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The entire world was about to be turned
upside down.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May the Lord reveal Jesus as the way in our everyday lives
as we follow his straight and narrow path toward His Upside Down Kingdom.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-89999560073298503152024-01-06T14:58:00.000-08:002024-01-06T14:58:12.176-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Been There Done That</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsqZGxF2oFzu9MF_t6zfEnbpk4jeOZWQApvxDBj35CZ6QU8_vP5xiJ_OsJgB0y8Ht8BFAnUDUmMdMnRSGSlnjGvZMqJcSPCn3BPRelhyphenhyphenF7YeoxbQhZZ5i0OLjHK5WHxKOpsV2i4F7T0okTw9vcHMQhALSIAzXBPYaoz8iiFujyIELJ4GD7FF3-aTiJ9I/s900/been%20there.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsqZGxF2oFzu9MF_t6zfEnbpk4jeOZWQApvxDBj35CZ6QU8_vP5xiJ_OsJgB0y8Ht8BFAnUDUmMdMnRSGSlnjGvZMqJcSPCn3BPRelhyphenhyphenF7YeoxbQhZZ5i0OLjHK5WHxKOpsV2i4F7T0okTw9vcHMQhALSIAzXBPYaoz8iiFujyIELJ4GD7FF3-aTiJ9I/s320/been%20there.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Several years ago, my son and one of my daughters took to the
deer woods during the Minnesota firearms hunting season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The three of us spread out, each taking a
different stand in a different area of the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t in my stand for 30 minutes before I heard
my daughter discharge her Stevens 30-30 model 325 bolt-action rifle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rifle was my first deer rifle, which had
been given to me when I was 12 years old by my father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an old, plain Jane rifle with birch wood
stock and a mostly un-blued finish, which has been used to kill and not kill
many a white tail.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was thrilled at hearing the shot and anticipating the
recovery of the next white tail to be taken by the WWII vintage firearm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I approached my daughter, still in her stand,
she gave me an excited “thumbs up” to confirm that she had fired and harvested
her next table-worthy game animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before I began to track the wounded stag, I discussed the
progression with my young hunter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
took the time and expressed the event with her still shaking voice and hands.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It was a spike buck…he came from the north-east…and…he
walked straight at me…I brought the gun up…and he turned and stopped…18 yards
away…and I shot…then he ran…only about 20 yards…straight that way…he looked
around and then ran away…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I spent the next 20 minutes looking for blood, hair and
tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, after practically
licking the ground looking for any signs of impact or a wounded animal I had to
ask…”Are you sure you hit it?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes! I must have…it was only 18 yards away!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I know…but I am not finding anything.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I spent 20 more minutes looking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came back the next day and looked some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, we never found a single sign of impact
let alone the deer.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My poor daughter was discouraged and distraught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know what happened? I don’t know how I could have
missed?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I understand.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The truth of it is…I understood more than she could know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, most hunters can probably
relate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All hunters have stories of how
we have missed and made mistakes in either shooting or tracking deer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave my daughter a hug and said… “I have
been there…done that.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I began telling her stories of deer that I had missed…with
the same rifle in fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Countless
stories of how I had messed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t
change her outcome…but I wanted her to know…that I can relate.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I have been studying the Gospel of Matthew, I continue to
see more and more how Jesus also can relate to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He suffered in every way and was tempted in
every way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can relate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a refugee (Matthew 2:13-23)…he was impoverished…he
suffered pain…he suffered grief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
believe that whatever we endure in this world…Jesus understands.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May you come to see that Jesus know you and he knows what
you are going through.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You know…now that I think about it…maybe the rifle is the
reason that we both missed the deer???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can live with that…and I guess…so can the deer.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-176274684987817442023-12-23T17:03:00.000-08:002023-12-23T17:03:21.448-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> A Star</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WdCr9U4DDHTOx5N69XMHY8-VUWFIOxeOwnYoMuEAq_Ym8naKii3cednBu_j-dHWumtlD-poAPC_YDkXFlRolLekebjgbxStTrELZpbXqFgYd5GO0PQRmoI-bXBzOeTM-Eaz6sVmsdJP7yE1akzwRwvhd9M-dOuC7ceCwqPUEfVwZtm2Cf_b29lc4tes/s474/christmas%20star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="474" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WdCr9U4DDHTOx5N69XMHY8-VUWFIOxeOwnYoMuEAq_Ym8naKii3cednBu_j-dHWumtlD-poAPC_YDkXFlRolLekebjgbxStTrELZpbXqFgYd5GO0PQRmoI-bXBzOeTM-Eaz6sVmsdJP7yE1akzwRwvhd9M-dOuC7ceCwqPUEfVwZtm2Cf_b29lc4tes/s320/christmas%20star.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A couple of years ago my wife and I were sitting around a
fire with some close friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was kind
enough to bring the fuel for the fire, which I had an abundance of, having just
remodeled our kitchen countertops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are those things safe to burn?” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What could be bad about it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fire is fire…burning is burning.” I replied.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The green flames suggest that maybe it’s toxic.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So are cigarettes, but people smoke those all the time.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t smoke.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Good…then if you hold your breath now…you should be just
fine.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I was throwing another laminated slab onto the toxic,
green fire I noticed a line of moving stars moving across the sky. My first
thought was that the green smoke might very well be hallucinogenic, until my
wife also notice and asked, “What in the world is that?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I have no idea…but I am glad that I am not the only one who
is seeing this…do you think we ought to call Area 51?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Not yet…let’s see if they take Andrew up into their ship
and do any tests on him first.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The long line of stars continued to pass overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One after the other they moved and for a
while I wondered if there was ever an end to the constant stream of new stars.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The four of us stared in astonishment, contemplating what
the meaning of the sequential line of stars could be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps Jesus was coming back…after all,
there was one star when he was born…maybe this was Jesus with a line of angel
soldiers coming back…or…it’s just super rich Elon Musk taking over the world
with Starlink satellites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It ended up
being the latter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learned this when
we all pulled out our smartphone and looked it up on the spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This makes me wonder…at the wonder…that the Magi would have experienced
in discovering a new star that had suddenly appeared in the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps even more so, the wonder of finding
the Christ child after the long pursuit of following that star.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What strikes me the most is their reaction upon finding
Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here we have wise astrologers
from the east…pagans…Gentiles…worshipers of idols and false gods, and when they
find Jesus, they do something that not even the religious leaders and the
teacher of the law would do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
worship the King.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They worship the King
of the Jews…they worship the Christ.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we come to look for Jesus this Christmas, may our
response be the same…to worship the King…to worship the Christ. </p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-65547392120943692672023-12-16T11:08:00.000-08:002023-12-16T11:08:38.872-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Preservation</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitAzl9Z11T8K8D6eZSgT54XALmpgkm5rCKWPF6lvLJf6H_effosaiaxGavSDcqZ5FFNOQVxJHT5tymOo7jKtFK-Q40IfQAQB0TLl2GEADsKG5VT3SSr0xbMqwx2ZxjDiP9cPdF5QwmrIDV97KKSOXeYhXBUWzng_AvhKWUABaZqZRQ8r18OmroVr78eNo/s2400/at%20the%20door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="2400" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitAzl9Z11T8K8D6eZSgT54XALmpgkm5rCKWPF6lvLJf6H_effosaiaxGavSDcqZ5FFNOQVxJHT5tymOo7jKtFK-Q40IfQAQB0TLl2GEADsKG5VT3SSr0xbMqwx2ZxjDiP9cPdF5QwmrIDV97KKSOXeYhXBUWzng_AvhKWUABaZqZRQ8r18OmroVr78eNo/s320/at%20the%20door.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have never been known for my ability to grow facial
hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is disappointing, especially
when considering how my dad and both brothers can grow fabulous beards and I am
left with the mediocre allotment of facial hair sequestered to the tip of my
chinny chin chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Despite these inadequacies, I remember my boss confronting
me each day as I walked into The Pizza Hut for my delivery shift while in
college.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ryan! You need to shave!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why? I just shaved last week!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You need to shave every day before work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is the rule. Now go into the back room
and shave with the used rusty razor in the back.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I did as he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact, I did as he said each day as I arrived for work unshaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After having shorn my three to five whiskers, I grabbed my
first delivery and darted to my 1991 Ford Escort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly worked the manual transmission of the
1.9 liter, four cylinder efficiently through the icy narrow streets of
Excelsior, Minnesota. I pulled up behind the targeted house on Maple Street and
left the engine running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The quicker I moved,
the more deliveries I could take and thus the more tips I could make on a given
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was important to me in lieu
of needing to save up enough money for an engagement ring for my girlfriend…or
a boat…I hadn’t decided yet. (Note to the reader…I chose the boat first…but
please don’t tell my wife).</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I ran to the door, heeding my boss’s mantra, “Fast on your
feet and not on the seat.” I swung the storm door open, held it in place with
my backside, feeling the hydraulic closer pressing up against my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knocked on the door and when the homeowner
revealed himself, I read back the order with the skill of an auctioneer,
received the payment and the tip and dashed back to my running Escort allowing
the storm door to crash closed behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I ran, I was briefly troubled by the abrupt tug and crash
that came from the no longer visible storm door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Additionally, I began to sense the winter
cold penetrating me in a way that had not been there moments ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I reached my Ford and crawled in, it
became apparent that some of my uniform was no longer with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the required black slacks of my
Pizza Hut attire had been replaced in the back with white BVD’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I knew that the boss would not approve of my uniform alterations,
so as when I returned to the store I found a roll of duct tape and went to work
securing my torn slacks with silver gray adhesive strips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was several deliveries later when my boss took issue with
my new look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ryan?! What is the deal with your pants? You cannot wear
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know our uniform policy, and
we expect you to adhere to it strictly.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well sir…here’s the thing…I ripped my pants and…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Never mind…I don’t want to know.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Needless to say, I was not allowed to work again until I had
replaced the black pants…and shaved.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It makes sense that my boss had to hold to a line that would
preserve the image and integrity of the Pizza Hut company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, in my reading of the scriptures this
week, (Matthew 1:18-25),I have found myself astounded by what would appear to
his friends, family and culture, that Joseph, the husband of Mary, forsook all
of his self preservation and laid himself vulnerable and bare to criticism,
ridicule and shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Joseph had a good and well known reputation and he was
willing to let all of that go when God asked him to take Mary to be his
wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joseph was willing to obey God and
let his preserved reputation go to the wayside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wonder how often I choose to preserve my own reputation
over trusting God. How often do I consider what people will think of me over
doing what is right and following Jesus?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am willing to bet that I am not alone in this realization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect that most of mankind may find
themselves in a constant struggle of worrying about how they will be viewed by
others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we are honest with ourselves,
I believe that we will see how we tirelessly work to preserve our own
reputations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to celebrate the righteousness of Christ…even at
the cost of our own reputations!</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-69338677526412880742023-12-09T11:40:00.000-08:002023-12-09T11:40:42.580-08:00<p></p><h2 style="text-align: center;">With Us</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFDLh01Q4iqPXV9KCDoxYqEtq5xZddQO2I9aWAHiGi4bOF7YzO5nnuXM6X0swgMUASwxe07OoBpSUgX_OuPMdNUOkQvzW-eCuEAnh3jpOk3OM7Iw4nInQd9XHvGJOslLO1WodJyH-A4vM4_WBEIkJS83k5W8uwt43HPInUZpvSkqcUD1_TmvuPd4OhoM/s1000/with%20us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFDLh01Q4iqPXV9KCDoxYqEtq5xZddQO2I9aWAHiGi4bOF7YzO5nnuXM6X0swgMUASwxe07OoBpSUgX_OuPMdNUOkQvzW-eCuEAnh3jpOk3OM7Iw4nInQd9XHvGJOslLO1WodJyH-A4vM4_WBEIkJS83k5W8uwt43HPInUZpvSkqcUD1_TmvuPd4OhoM/s320/with%20us.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">Since the world shutdown of 2020, my wife has made a point
of investing in relationships with friends and family, including regular calls
to her mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She values the relationship
and works to keep the two of them close, despite nearly 800 physical miles
separating the two cities of Little Falls, MN and Dearborn, MI.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When relationship
is important you will work to foster the relationship. Technology has helped
bring long distant relationships of the space age J<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">etson’s</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Star Trek</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Back to the Future</i> into a tangible
reality with apps like Zoom and Facetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Despite these advances, hearing someone’s voice and even
seeing someone’s face is just not the same as being in their presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the concept that I hold to and
answers the question of why I do not call my own mother every day…I would
rather see her face to face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why don’t you call me like Sarah calls her mom?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Because Mom…I would just rather talk to you face to face.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Your brother at least calls me once a week.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He is probably just bored or wants you to send him some
cookies.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I did send him some cookies.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What!? Why didn’t you send me cookies?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I would if you would call me!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I will be there for Thanksgiving…but he won’t…I will just
eat cookies then…and pie…and lefse…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s just not the same.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I know…it’s better!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know that my wife cherishes her conversations, but even
more so, cherishes her time together with her mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the recent past, my wife decided to surprise her mother
and flew to Michigan without telling her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As she arrived at her mother’s house, she called her mother at their
usual time to chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, while the two
of them were sharing their regular conversation, my wife walked into her mother’s
home and stared at her mother face to face while they both still held the phone
to their ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The phones were quickly
put away in exchange for hugs and kisses and a long weekend of fellowship.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I see an image of Christmas in this story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the beginning of mankind, God has had
and has sought relationship with his creation…whom he loves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, something incredible took place on that
first Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is the day that
God met us…mankind…face to face…through the face of a baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isaiah 7:14 says, the “Virgin will give birth
to a son and his name will be called Immanuel…God with us.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Christmas changed everything…we now have God with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was in the flesh when he first came and he
will come in the flesh again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
meantime, we still have God with us…His Spirit living in those who have put
their faith in Jesus.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May you come to know What Child this Is…He is the King of
Kings…He is Immanuel…He is God with us.</p><br /><p></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-4164702452296915002023-12-02T15:41:00.000-08:002023-12-02T15:41:12.260-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Hopeful</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrwljWxntEu9e-OeBOpl7qBgBSxqvMCsd58TCqmP9kPiPDjfAoplrE_pU9Nz6l6P-uA32Dx8yD10mjZgh46PPeISih5OKKQLrf4oMRydr8587TtF8W8K5DQrC-jeEDClSvwQILUcsKEj8RXT7EvekQFfWtUvFuIwILOlpbbaQkzx79xYTwk6oWhp1plkU/s960/empty-gas-tank-adobestock_12329766-(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrwljWxntEu9e-OeBOpl7qBgBSxqvMCsd58TCqmP9kPiPDjfAoplrE_pU9Nz6l6P-uA32Dx8yD10mjZgh46PPeISih5OKKQLrf4oMRydr8587TtF8W8K5DQrC-jeEDClSvwQILUcsKEj8RXT7EvekQFfWtUvFuIwILOlpbbaQkzx79xYTwk6oWhp1plkU/s320/empty-gas-tank-adobestock_12329766-(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As I watched another Thanksgiving Day pass, I reflected on
some Thanksgiving days of the past. Despite
popular belief, I did not attend the first feast with the pilgrims. However, each Thanksgiving dinner in our
family holds to some of the national recognized traditions including a roasted
turkey, cranberry sauce (though I refuse to slice mine from a can), mashed
potatoes, stuffing and, of course, pumpkin pie. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I recalled one year when I had invited myself…and my family
out to my brother’s house in South Dakota for Thanksgiving dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey Ross!?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How are
you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are you plans for this
weekend?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What time are you eating? Ok…we’ll
be there…see you then!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am pleased to report that he did not serve the Peanuts
special of popcorn, toast and jelly beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He did however make me provide the turkey and the pumpkin pie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We baked the pies ahead of time but not the
turkey…that we brought raw. Unfortunately, as we pulled into his driveway, one
of my daughters was so excited to see her cousins that as she rushed out of the
van, she put her little size 6 right into one of the pies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It still tasted like pumpkin, so we ate it…plus
the massive cavity provided additional vacant space to fill with whipped cream.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One year for Thanksgiving, my family went up to my parents’
place to enjoy the day with family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
unfortunate aspect of this particular year was the fact that my dad happened to
be violently ill with a kidney infection and he kept walking through the dining
room…while we were eating…to vomit in the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about offering him a 30 gallon
garbage can that he could use until we were done with the pie…but I refrained…I
guess I am just humble that way.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There was a year before Sarah and I had children that we
again decided to head up to my parents place for Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been contemplating the purchase of a
new vehicle and a friend offered to sell us her car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She even offered to allow us to take it for
the extended weekend and test drive it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What she neglected to tell us, however, was that the gas gauge did not
work…and that ¼ tank realistically translated into empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did not learn this nuance until we were
between Little Falls, MN and Randall, MN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This got me to thinking about hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that unfortunately eventful Thanksgiving
morning, I “hoped” that there would be enough fuel in the tank to get us to
Randall where we could fill up before finishing the trek. The interesting thing
was that as soon as the fuel was gone…so was the hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no longer any hope of making it to
the meal on time, getting the first slice of pumpkin pie, or staying warm
inside a running automobile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the
red Lumina stranded on the side of Highway 10, we walked several miles home to
get a gas can and the other car.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we lose hope, we risk falling into despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are so many things in this chaotic world
that we can try and place our hope in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yet, I am convinced that each worldly hope will all leave us hopeless
and falling into eventual despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
some point we will “run out of gas.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There IS however ONE hope that will NEVER run out or will NEVER run dry…and
that is the HOPE found only in Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At Christmas, we remember when that Hope first came into the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We remember the birth of the
Christ child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Israelites had waited
in hope for hundreds, even thousands of years for the promised Messiah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even during all of that time, the True Hope
continued, because the True Hope is based on the promises of God.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Likewise we wait in hopeful anticipation for that same Jesus
to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though we may wonder when
this return will happen, we need not lose hope because His returns is based on
the same promises made by the same God.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even though I may run out of gas…yet will I hope…in Him.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-72866596669991696572023-11-18T11:16:00.000-08:002023-11-18T11:19:36.317-08:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Auditions</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPXOdOJe2QjcnEz32lrQlMJAvUhyphenhyphengGpDZtY6Sn6x7maRvRxyg6lJkfqBOk_7gUm1z-sldkcdT6XNZ8TIIQ323DyX2F16jCW2bNPY27s-M6wPAa_opxi3gl5btpAwyN-cw2CkJyG8bOQaHfoIGBnZ3phlx9c8vR0vdyYlPzpi9qIoHQ3xe5Sc55E_P71M/s474/audition.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="474" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPXOdOJe2QjcnEz32lrQlMJAvUhyphenhyphengGpDZtY6Sn6x7maRvRxyg6lJkfqBOk_7gUm1z-sldkcdT6XNZ8TIIQ323DyX2F16jCW2bNPY27s-M6wPAa_opxi3gl5btpAwyN-cw2CkJyG8bOQaHfoIGBnZ3phlx9c8vR0vdyYlPzpi9qIoHQ3xe5Sc55E_P71M/s320/audition.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Recently, I was speaking with a friend who had graciously
given me and my family free reign to enjoy his beautiful land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My daughter was so pleased and appreciative
that she excitedly exclaimed, “Wow! Thanks so much for letting us use your
land!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was at this time that my friend broke into song…attempting
to sing… “This land is your land…” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As his voice struck the notes, I was suddenly awakened with a
deep core memory from my Jr. High years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remembered sitting in the Jr. High choir room while Mrs. Bjorkland
went from student to student demanding that each one sing the opening chorus of
“This Land is Your Land.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Apparently, her purpose was to identify which students were
sopranos, which ones were altos, which ones were tenors, which ones were basses
and which ones had no business being involved in the middle school choir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Row by row she went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She got closer and closer to me as each occupied seat near me was
required to sing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just 5 people away…then 4…then 3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could feel the cold sweat running from the
back of my neck, go down my spine and collect on the waistband of my BVD’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When my turn arrived, I did the best that I could…which was
not good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I am fairly certain
that when the Biology teacher Mr. Jeffers busted through the door, just as I was
proclaiming, “the Redwood Forest,” he was looking for a live honking goose to dissect…or
cook…or both.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When the painful experience was over, Mrs. Bjorkland
separated the class into groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She put
about half the girls in one corner and half the girls in another corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then put about 75% of the boys with the
second girl group and called them “Alto’s.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She then sent about 10 boys to a third corner as Tenors and finally she
placed one bearded 4 year middle school boy alone to the fourth corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the Bass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There were three of us left in the center of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Bjorkland looked at us quizzikly,
muttering, “What to do with you three.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you sure you want to be in choir?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We have to be!” we said in unison.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mr. Amundson said that we have to be in band or choir,
because he wasn’t going to pay a teacher for just the three of us to be in “General
Music.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh...” Mrs. Bjorkland voiced tersely. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thus began my brief middle school choral career and for the
next two years our class exasperated 4 different choir directors, each lasting
approximately 4 months.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Everyone in that room knew that I had no business being in
choir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My forced “audition” revealed as
much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been other auditions
and tryouts in my life from time to time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would “tryout” for a spot on the varsity wrestling team, I would
audition for the fall play at my high school, I even auditioned for the all
school talent show in 3<sup>rd</sup> grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Despite earning a spot on the wrestling team and even being casted as
Little John in Wadena-Deer Creek’s version of Robin Hood, (No singing required),
I was not placed on the docket for the talent show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here is an incredible realization that struck me this
week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In spite of my lack to 3<sup>rd</sup>
grade talent and inability to sing, and regardless of my wrestling and acting
abilities, I am still wanted by God.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In fact, God does not even require an audition!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loves you and invites you to be a part of
His family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He does not put conditions
onto your acceptance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It does not matter
what I can or cannot do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My “audition”
not only has no effect on His love…it is fully unnecessary.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here is a question that I asked myself this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is the greatest gift that God has ever
given.” I believe that answer is love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>God’s greatest gift that he has given to mankind, (you and me) is His
love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is out of His loves that he sent
Jesus(Himself) for our salvation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
out of His love that He sent the Spirit to indwell those who have put their
trust in him, and it is out of His love that he promises an eternity for those
who will ACCEPT his unconditional invitation.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No auditions required…just one invitation.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we accept the invitation we become members of the team…His
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we learn to live as He
would have us live empowered by His Spirit.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-73431076807718609012023-11-11T17:50:00.000-08:002023-11-11T17:50:18.752-08:00<p></p><h2 style="text-align: center;">Less-cation</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyfb-oz9pvMzfZ2RQoNgpcDsbFrim9CiKbivduoqpSgQ_JtHFoFkjkl5YHQSF2J3iuyDJYhfyneKM3sCPuluQSCGrUvqA5pwXTNpIbZyGhEJKFR71rEWp5WVN9qG6cLYyz1MeatzbkeRdIwBHnKntyz41J2wG6utRAUUL_VjNV4xwJrcmzVJYJKOj8Ng/s400/lesscation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="400" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyfb-oz9pvMzfZ2RQoNgpcDsbFrim9CiKbivduoqpSgQ_JtHFoFkjkl5YHQSF2J3iuyDJYhfyneKM3sCPuluQSCGrUvqA5pwXTNpIbZyGhEJKFR71rEWp5WVN9qG6cLYyz1MeatzbkeRdIwBHnKntyz41J2wG6utRAUUL_VjNV4xwJrcmzVJYJKOj8Ng/s320/lesscation.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">I just spent the last week on vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems that the Lord teaches me lessons
during all of my vacations. For example,
several years ago while on a vacation, I learned that one should never use a
child’s Superman fishing rod to cast a Johnson silver minnow. It is quite likely that said silver minnow
may find itself embedded into the head of the caster.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have also learned that when your nine-year-old daughter
says that she has a stomachache during vacation…it is quite possible that it is
appendicitis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have learned that if you jump into the lake from the dock,
you may end up with water up your nose which can likely lead to a major sinus
infection and nullify any further enjoyment of the vacation…especially when you
add into the fact that you become feverish with the sinus infection and it
happens to be in the midst of a global pandemic shutdown for Covid-19, which
you now become convinced that you have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
you test negative for Covid, you may find it possible that a family member suggests
that you have a brain eating amoeba and you only have hours to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Considering that this took place over 3 years
ago…I think I am in the clear.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">Over this past week, I again have learned a few things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have learned that despite the fact that I am
47 years old, I am still physically able to give my son with a broken foot a
piggy back ride up a ladder to get him safely into a deer stand without putting
any weight on the broken foot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
perfectly safe the entire time…but I would ask that you not bring this up to
his mother.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have also learned this year that just because there were
more deer than you could count running around the woods in September and
October…doesn’t mean that they haven’t become incredibly skilled at playing
hide and seek in the same woods…or perhaps they went south for the winter.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, I have learned something more about the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I sit and look at the same trees all day
long, and listen to the squirrels and the blue jays and the occasional ruffed
grouse…but no deer…I find myself compelled toward the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned how the Lord and his goodness and
grace draws me, (us) into deeper communion with him.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This astounds me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know my life…including my own thoughts and actions and the unrighteous life
that I have lived and still wrestle with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This week I found myself drawn…compelled to a closer relationship with
the Lord, not because of guilt…but rather because of grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly, guilt and shame can be great
motivations for behavioral changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet,
how much MORE am I compelled to obey the Lord of grace who has bestowed upon
me, grace upon grace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">1 Corinthians 12, emphasizes the “gifts of grace.” May we
find ourselves compelled by his grace…to offer grace…as he empowers us in
grace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to be compelled by His grace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-61557841477424274452023-10-21T11:14:00.003-07:002023-10-21T11:19:00.238-07:00<p style="text-align: center;"> The Body</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoLl5ZqElZjImcwFZqD-Ck6Sh_qGVls1oYcq3bU00ZvCkLbuaFKR_x-dPNyUWckU6NvRihIuqnYLENFlsUA8xm3plga9PPkycTTmVNJplhA9RWrSSDlV_Fb7ZWscOCn6A7zlgE93zLdyk5KnKEU8HL1E3OxwUqn4DYKCrc-F6UZrQL4tc5YTDmtbgF1xM/s1617/foot-xray.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1617" data-original-width="1186" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoLl5ZqElZjImcwFZqD-Ck6Sh_qGVls1oYcq3bU00ZvCkLbuaFKR_x-dPNyUWckU6NvRihIuqnYLENFlsUA8xm3plga9PPkycTTmVNJplhA9RWrSSDlV_Fb7ZWscOCn6A7zlgE93zLdyk5KnKEU8HL1E3OxwUqn4DYKCrc-F6UZrQL4tc5YTDmtbgF1xM/s320/foot-xray.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">My son loves hunting.
In fact, I have come to believe that he loves hunting more than I love
hunting, and that is saying quite a great deal.
Even as a young boy, he would insist on wearing his camo pants and his
camo shirt and even his snot covered camo fleece hood whenever at all
possible. He would prefer that such
items would not get washed, so that they could always be ready for whenever the
need arose to disappear into the wilderness. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His young obsession with hunting would last deep into the
late fall of every hunting season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even
after the Christmas tree had been set up, and most of my hunting equipment had
been put away for the season, you could still find the boy dressed in his camo,
hiding within the pine boughs of the Christmas tree armed with his suction cup
bow and arrow waiting for his little sister to come by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she did, he would launch his arrow at
her and if he hit her, she would graciously play dead while he dragged her out of
the living room by her arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His excessive
imaginative play would abruptly end when he began to speak of field dressing
and his younger sister would hop up and bark, “Oh no! You are not field
dressing me!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Inevitably challenges arrive that limit hunting
opportunities, such as…school, work, girlfriend, chores, football and of course…broken
bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 2021, my hunting loving son
broke his clavicle during a football game of his sophomore year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the night before the bow hunting
opener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He resiliently endured the pain
in his shoulder as I waited alongside him in the ER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed to be handling it well…until…the doctor
said, “No hunting for you this year.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tears
welled up in his eyes as his pain went from his shoulder to his heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sure enough, his bow hunting season was done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, he was determined to spend some time
rifle hunting,and so spent time practicing shooting from the hip…shooting left
handed…putting the butt of the rifle against his bicep instead of his
shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was practically hauling
him into a stand to hunt one evening he said, “Oh man! I wish I had broken my
foot instead of my shoulder! Then I could still hunt.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well…in 2023 his wish came true and he has found that it is
just as difficult to hunt with a broken foot as with a broken shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to practically carry him to his stand…and
haul him up into that stand, and then do the same upon exit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said to me just yesterday, “You know…I thought
the shoulder was bad…but I didn’t realize that how much of life is affected by
a broken shoulder or a broken foot…everything is affected.”<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He is right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The principle in
his observation also carries on in the spiritual realm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul speaks of charismata, (Gifts of Grace),
in 1 Corinthians 12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul emphasizes how
each part of the body, has received this gifts of grace and is to use these
gifts of grace to build up the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
verse 26, Paul says this, “<span style="background: white; color: black;">If one
part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part
rejoices with it.</span>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son has
encountered this reality first hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
wife and I have felt the effects as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His football team will feel the effects during the rest of the
season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His sisters have felt the
effects as they already have had to do more chores around the house than
before. (On an interesting note…they usually complain that he doesn’t do
anything around the house. Now??? Huh…interesting). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The bottom line I guess is this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the body of Christ, we are called to build
up and support and encourage the body as a unified body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When one suffers, all suffer…and when one
rejoices, we ought all to rejoice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are a body with many parts and sometimes these parts can be broken and hurting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This will affect the whole body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let us follow the leading of the Spirit, as we
use our gifts of grace to build up this body for God’s glory!</span></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-56670520464751515302023-10-14T17:21:00.002-07:002023-10-14T17:21:26.614-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> “Ta Ta Ti Ti Ta”</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8u0TGezDlFQIesPX1bJwEBx0DHel5s_R8Y2bTDPv8q6FGBWhVvPa1aZrAkUGuC6oI22-AXH_PzcmtYYWW_CWVDujeFd7zI_QeRrp5D4zsoTk5AksGG0d7fOovt0IVITS1LcxjhJ46oTrXEZ7xIqYz6h17ngRwqG921ggfYpJuPOcCSZ4DaszObN8YpmU/s1600/sticks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8u0TGezDlFQIesPX1bJwEBx0DHel5s_R8Y2bTDPv8q6FGBWhVvPa1aZrAkUGuC6oI22-AXH_PzcmtYYWW_CWVDujeFd7zI_QeRrp5D4zsoTk5AksGG0d7fOovt0IVITS1LcxjhJ46oTrXEZ7xIqYz6h17ngRwqG921ggfYpJuPOcCSZ4DaszObN8YpmU/s320/sticks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ms. Shoemate entered my 1<sup>st</sup> grade classroom wearing
one blue shoe and one red shoe…the irony was lost on me at the time. She wheeled a shelving cart stacked with bins
containing a vast array of rudimentary musical instruments. I could see blue sticks and green sticks,
black wooden boxes, mallets with long skinny handles, a few different styles of
drums, a variety of bells, and even a triangle. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I instantly began salivating upon spying the triangle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had watched enough episodes of Gunsmoke to
know that the triangle was primarily used to call for victuals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did my tummy rumble with hunger, but
my gut longed for the opportunity to play such a splendid and unique
instrument.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before we could get to the distribution of the instruments,
Ms. Shoemate began working through the regular music instruction, cuing the
class on proper rhythms and tempos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“All right class…listen carefully and repeat after me and
follow my lead.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ms. Shoemate then clapped her hands together once and
sharply inserted the word, “ta,” at the same time.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ta.” We clapped and repeated.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ta, Ta.” Ms. Shoemate called out…clapping her hands to the
rhythm.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The class copied her perfectly.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ta, Ta, Ti, Ti, Ta.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Ti, Ti’s were quicker, but we managed the challenge fluidly.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After spending an exorbitant amount of much time mimicking this
musical binary code, the time came for the instruments to be distributed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hand instantly shot into the air and waved
around as if trying to hail a cab in down town Chicago. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ooooh, uuuh, eeeeh,” I cried trying to get my hand to touch
the louvered fluorescent lights secured to the white, concrete ceiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, Ryan…do you have a question?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yea, ummm, can I have a triangle?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit,” Ms. Shoemate
curtly replied.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I slumped back into my seat and anxiously awaited my
assigned instrument.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if to add insult
to injury, I watched Ms. Shoemate give the triangle to Julie…the obvious
teacher’s pet…as the first instrument to be handed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As each student received their offering, I continued
to hope beyond hope that I wouldn’t get the sticks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anything was better than the sticks. Though
the triangle was gone, a drum would be nice…even the wood block or the bells…but
not the sticks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are so boring.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As Ms. Shoemate approached my desk, I saw her pull out a
pair of blue sticks and extend them to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Reluctantly, I received them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once all of the students had their instruments, the music teacher then
orchestrated a first class rendition of “Ta Ta Ti Ti Ta” that is yet to be
matched to this day. Each student played their given instrument as instructed,
and as a whole, the production was a passable success.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I did not receive my instrument of choice, yet, I was just
as much a part of the symphony as everyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t help but reflect on Paul’s teachings
about the gifts of the Spirit as found in 1 Corinthians 12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this passage, Paul addresses one of the
problems that the Corinthian church was facing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It appears <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that people were
fighting over who had the better gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was as if the people in this church were all asking for the triangle
and no one wants to play the sticks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, what Paul clearly lays out for them…and for us…is that EVERY
person in the body of Christ matters and is given a gift to be used to
encourage the church. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the same way that I did not get to choose my instrument, I
do not get to choose my spiritual gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is the work of the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
responsibility is to use whichever gift is given to me, for His glory and
purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to, willingly, receive what God offers us and
then use every gift faithfully…no matter how great or insignificant the gift
may seem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-89374081405863610692023-10-07T16:43:00.002-07:002023-10-07T16:43:13.793-07:00<p></p><h2 style="text-align: center;">Gifts of Grace</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqIOcG3yIodo_kInGhvB3wVtOVZTeG9QnORrKrpYOwcegyioWj2r4codsXOEc8DxqZ3bHKIlohB5ydt1jaTYVf5JyvlNDVbWR24JPbuqoK4ajMbClrYqqb6Gma38o5vsPFbbaSSiucAillx6mm-A_KQTQu2YmDdzMvEVKRz8_vfWmDyMZtZykBCJxS6c/s1755/8-oz-filled-heart_MARY-2020.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1671" data-original-width="1755" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqIOcG3yIodo_kInGhvB3wVtOVZTeG9QnORrKrpYOwcegyioWj2r4codsXOEc8DxqZ3bHKIlohB5ydt1jaTYVf5JyvlNDVbWR24JPbuqoK4ajMbClrYqqb6Gma38o5vsPFbbaSSiucAillx6mm-A_KQTQu2YmDdzMvEVKRz8_vfWmDyMZtZykBCJxS6c/s320/8-oz-filled-heart_MARY-2020.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There are certain days of the year that ring of the utmost
importance. Christmas and Easter ought
certainly to top the list. Thanksgiving would
closely follow, just below the ultimate duo.
Then…we come to a series of holidays that we just don’t know what to do
with…namely, Halloween, Presidents Day, St. Patrick’s day, Columbus Day…or
should we say Indigenous People’s Day, and of course…Valentine’s Day. Of these holiday’s, Valentine’s Day is NOT one
of my favorites. I struggle with having
Hallmark tell me to spend my money to purchase flowers and candy for my wife on
this specific day…or else. What gives
Hallmark this kind of power? It can’t be
their movie making skills…cuz seriously, if you have seen one Hallmark
Christmas movie…then you have seen ONE too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Yet, I know that if I don’t obey the Hallmark
rules…then I may NEVER see another Hallmark Christmas movie…but, let’s be
honest…is that really a bad thing?</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">In protest to Hallmark, I briefly created my own annual
holiday. I called it June Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>June Day would
take place on the 1<sup>st</sup> of June every year, and it was celebrated by
me…giving my wife a surprise gift of some form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It began with flowers and maybe some chocolates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then as the years progressed the holiday
developed into the giving of shoes and taking her out to eat and sometimes
having to do different jobs around the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">June Day has now officially and permanently been cancelled
due to a variety of reasons including, finances, busyness, forgetfulness,
children and likely politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I look at my history as a husband, I must confess that I have
often given gifts to my wife out of “obligation.” I have given the flowers, and
candies, and jewelry etc…because I “had to.” I hate to admit it, but it is
true.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There have been other times however, that have been
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, after seeing my
wife endure a particularly hard day of stressors including, children, work and
the like, I surprised her by taking care of supper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No…I didn’t cook…I ordered pizza, but to her,
you would have thought that I had baked a beef wellington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is something different about a gift that is given out of
grace as opposed to a gift given out of obligation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Apostle Paul speaks extensively about gifts in the New
Testament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Specifically, he speaks about
“Charismata.” Charismata is literally translated to “gift of grace.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul uses this phrase to speak about the gifts
of the Spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We find this phrase in
many of Paul’s writings including 1 Corinthians 12, Romans 12 and Ephesians
4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe that if we look closely to
Paul’s writings we will see how he draws our focus to what is behind the gift
rather than just the gift itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
example, Paul reveals the need for love to be behind our every action (1 Cor.
13). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heart behind the gifts…is
grace!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Believers are given these gifts of grace, so that we may use
them…as gift of grace to others, that they too may experience God’s grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May the gifts of grace that have been bestowed upon us, be
expressed in grace to those around us, not out of obligation, but rather for
what it literally is…a gift of grace.</p><br /><p></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-25819177325046589192023-09-30T18:48:00.002-07:002023-09-30T18:48:58.497-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Correction</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqw5yuzBWfEeQYwz2WAMWL-mNNvHYWMBgrSZKYtIsUUMu0w1JQH8Ls9TkRueg-SknO6sokJikzEhhMJ0dXcZAu3nH1z3F-QotJfGrgXWjvV4UwGymU-cpj1zXaoNuqRIVXaRMLtk7te7R-y5pQfJHmHgiSAc7DWgznlmp0YX1qdAqekY9mTWkB1Exxv0/s828/football.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="828" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqw5yuzBWfEeQYwz2WAMWL-mNNvHYWMBgrSZKYtIsUUMu0w1JQH8Ls9TkRueg-SknO6sokJikzEhhMJ0dXcZAu3nH1z3F-QotJfGrgXWjvV4UwGymU-cpj1zXaoNuqRIVXaRMLtk7te7R-y5pQfJHmHgiSAc7DWgznlmp0YX1qdAqekY9mTWkB1Exxv0/s320/football.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Over the past five weeks I have placed my backside on the
cold hard bleachers of local high school stadiums every Friday night to watch
football. I have a vested interest. My son is in the midst of his senior season
and I don’t want to miss a game. Additionally,
I feel that it is my fatherly duty to keep a close eye on my two younger
daughters who also attend these games.
Unbeknownst to them evil boys are on the prowl and I must ensure that
these boys DO NOT make any “non-football” moves. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Over these past five games I have enjoyed both wins and
losses along with the varsity squad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have jumped to my feet in response to incredible big plays and I am sure that I
have incidentally kicked the lady sitting in front of me as I have contorted my
body in agony as the opposing teams scored yet another touchdown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sorry about that Cindy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although every game is different, they share common
threads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every game includes amazing
catches, wonderful runs, powerful tackles and touchdowns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Additionally, every game includes missed
tackles, dropped balls and incomplete passes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Each game consists of its own combination of victories and
mistakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems impossible to not
allow my emotions to build.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mistakes are
made and emotions build.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I took special care during the game last Friday to pay
special attention to the larger picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of the interesting things that I noticed was that there
appeared to be mistakes made on every play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As I reflected back on past games, I concluded that there must be
mistakes on every play of EVERY game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not only is no one perfect, but no team is perfect and no game is
perfect and no play is perfectly executed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For just a few minutes on Friday I watched the game looking
for both mistakes and adjustments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here
is what I observed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched teammates
in a constant flow of encouraging one another during their victories as well as
their struggles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched young men
miss tackles, only to have other teammates step up and finish the tackles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched these boys encouraging one another
after a bad pass, a dropped ball or a missed block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched coaches pulling athletes aside to
correct their mistakes and teach them a better way to play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was at this moment that I had an epiphany…“What
would it be like if none of those things took place.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I imagined that the opposing team would run for a score
after each missed tackle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I envisioned
players criticizing each other after every mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I concluded that players would continue to make
the same mistakes over and over again because no coach would step in to advise
them to make adjustments. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I watched a team in unity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The team lost on Friday, but they lost together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The root of unity…is unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The football team is a unit…and so is the
church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 2 Thessalonians 3:14-18, Paul
teaches on the value of “good” confrontation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let’s be honest, no one likes to be confronted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet it is vital to the health of the
individual and the unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The ONLY good way to approach confrontation is out of love
for the individual and the love of the unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Good confrontation brings about peace and grace. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to love Christ, the church and our brothers and
sisters in Christ. </p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-60643909311733561582023-09-23T14:18:00.002-07:002023-09-23T14:18:53.833-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Copycat</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnDzM343QezVVrzH2K9mPqcCVSirXUQ69fThwD0DN1mWEPzs51ym7JROD_y-gOAacWyKtbccJ1YYyrWGTNG8YFlxS6PtjcbgyedyheaLtB8JCM2kUsGgPghu3nqTd6FAv2D1hB5BcbyNnFtBrfpkEAiyGjp5e7TIRyumv691EiNnVDptlKeK7Y9SNr_RQ/s496/copycat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnDzM343QezVVrzH2K9mPqcCVSirXUQ69fThwD0DN1mWEPzs51ym7JROD_y-gOAacWyKtbccJ1YYyrWGTNG8YFlxS6PtjcbgyedyheaLtB8JCM2kUsGgPghu3nqTd6FAv2D1hB5BcbyNnFtBrfpkEAiyGjp5e7TIRyumv691EiNnVDptlKeK7Y9SNr_RQ/s320/copycat.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have heard it said that imitation is the best form of
flattery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This can often be the case
when you begin dressing exactly like the coolest kid in school…unless of course
the coolest kid in school graduated 16 years ago and is now living in the
basement of his parent’s home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember my parents using this phrase when I was a child. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mom!!! Ryan’s copying me!!!” cried my frustrated little
brother.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Imitation is the best form of flattery.” My mother
encouraged, trying to quiet her obsessively quarreling offspring in the back
seat of the Pontiac. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mom! He keeps twitching his nose at me!” he insisted.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Silence from the front seat while I continued to mimic my
nose twitching younger parasite of a brother. He would cover his eyes so he
could not see what I was doing. I did the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He grunted and groaned in frustration. I did likewise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mom!” He won’t stop!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mom! He won’t stop!” I repeated.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just ignore him.” My mother retorted.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My little brother turned his shoulder to me, placed his head
against the window and went silent looking out the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did the exact thing mirrored to the
opposite side of the car.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mom! Now Ryan is ignoring me!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Good dear, that’s nice!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, many of my actions in life have not been
worth imitating, including the mocking imitations of my little brother and others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it is always easier to proclaim, “Do
as I say not as I do.” Yet, what we once again see in Paul’s second letter to
the Church in Thessalonica, is an invitation to imitate. Paul claims that he,
along with Silas and Timothy, has given the church an example to live by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul is encouraging the believers to do what
he says AND does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is a bold
declaration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can Paul be so bold?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I have wrestled with this text, I believe that what I see
is Paul’s invitation to imitate is deeper than just action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe Paul’s call is to love and follow
Jesus as he loves and follows Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we put our full selves behind seeking the Lord, I am convinced that
obeying Him becomes a passionate joy and not an effort of obligation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul invites us to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are called to serve and to work to minister and further the
Gospel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is indeed a command, but it
is a command that follows the greatest command…to love the Lord you God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we love the Lord and passionately follow him that we too
can say…”Follow me as I follow Christ.” </p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-60982274845475167362023-09-16T12:39:00.000-07:002023-09-16T12:39:02.308-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">Strange</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNu_PwGX2ASN-rRznykqVfBmXBjfS6WzfLCYwODEKTxsS-S-jRcSyNya9n16QsT5xcBfFxY4rBeFYUt29z_PGvPsSQavjzj904oInZQ_9NOX7fbL0QjHBjLQmDTlcn_JbO-KwA6BRCp-E_tsm5HqbtmV9bDjTZ6OStwVK6mwi4klWXdJf4PFb4hGD63eI/s1024/strange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="683" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNu_PwGX2ASN-rRznykqVfBmXBjfS6WzfLCYwODEKTxsS-S-jRcSyNya9n16QsT5xcBfFxY4rBeFYUt29z_PGvPsSQavjzj904oInZQ_9NOX7fbL0QjHBjLQmDTlcn_JbO-KwA6BRCp-E_tsm5HqbtmV9bDjTZ6OStwVK6mwi4klWXdJf4PFb4hGD63eI/s320/strange.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My wife is strange…not the sitting in a dark closet by
herself secretly eating trail mix kind of strange…that’s more my cup of tea…though
I did catch her once. But rather,
strange in the way where she has repeatedly stated, “I love birthing
babies.” That phrase in of itself is
ludicrous. Though I have never
experienced the act of birthing firsthand, I have been present for this
crowning event four times. I have
watched the pain. I have heard the
screaming. I have endured the chaos. I have massaged my wife’s back and neck
tirelessly trying to help her relax in this birthing process. I have suffered clawing fingernails embedded
into my biceps, of which scars may still be visible. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember the first time I heard my wife say those
words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh Ryan, I just love birthing babies…I want to have another
baby.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What did you say?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I want to have another baby.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No…before that.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh Ryan?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No after that.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I love birthing babies?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes…that!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What about it?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Were you THERE? Do you remember the event? Do you remember
the stress and the noise and the pain?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Nope.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s weird.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This conversation has been repeated two additional times
resulting in a total of 4 children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
seem to recall her beginning the phrase since then, but I usually run screaming
from the house before she can finish her sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps what is most strange…is that despite the challenges
that my wife faced during all four of these child birth events…she meant what
she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This leaves me to conclude
that not only is she strange…she is also resilient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember when our first child was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sarah had been laboring for over 30 hours and
she was exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was at a loss as to
how to encourage her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Push!” I said.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Stop saying that!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh…um…ok…um…you are doing good…and stuff.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ugh…just be quiet!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The nurse was also lecturing me… “Step it up man! You are
her coach! Help her through this.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Umm…ok…ummm…looks like there is another contraction
coming…hold on!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Zip your lip!!! Why would I want to know when another contraction
is coming!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ok.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why are you not telling me when the contractions are
coming!?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“…ummm…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After Sarah had been pushing for 3 hours…I fell asleep in a
chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I slept, she began to slip
into a hyperventilating panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
hindsight, I really feel that she could have learned something if she had just
looked at her calm husband sleeping in the chair next to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The nurse woke me up and barked, “SHE NEEDS TO BREATHE!!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh…ok…breathe Sarah…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I..i…i…I’m…t...tr…try…trying…h…h…h…i…i…i…c…ca…can’t…t…t”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The nurse shoved me out of the way…grabbed my wife’s face
with her right hand…squeezed her cheeks and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Breathe with me Sarah,” she asserted, while taking deep measured breaths.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our daughter was born a few minutes later…blue and
screaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came to realize that there
is nothing easy about birthing babies, yet the reward of the hard work and
perseverance is immeasurable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Likewise, the Christian walk is also difficult, and yet
promises even greater rewards than childbirth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Additionally, the Christian walk is also not meant to be walked
alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 2 Thessalonians 2:15-3:5, we
find Paul praying and asking for prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His prayers are prayers of encouragement and endurance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t help but be reminded of Moses standing on the hill
while the Israelites fought against the Amalekites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moses’ arms grew tired Aaron and Hur were
there to encourage him and even help keep his arms raised as the Lord brought
victory to the Israelites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Christian walk is difficult, but take heart and be
encouraged, the victory in the Lord is sweet!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May you come to faithfully follow the faithful God. </p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-45919601960090651092023-09-09T16:42:00.001-07:002023-09-09T16:42:16.198-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Old Faithful</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhFgyNhGejS5f8rtRN8o2U5R-9-O6PetOyM8MGgS7KFXKqNGUTb-1Z439tvbd7xXRDlhmd-2Zit7qEzHN3IfRxrdnrTvtY6VE8aTWv4d4079VzV51_hO6in5MzzUbi_Oss_3P60S1OzBtPR4CIoLY1gvYp6k8e_w0qR6duxCeeLQJIfoZtUh45c7EFxT0/s4000/faithful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhFgyNhGejS5f8rtRN8o2U5R-9-O6PetOyM8MGgS7KFXKqNGUTb-1Z439tvbd7xXRDlhmd-2Zit7qEzHN3IfRxrdnrTvtY6VE8aTWv4d4079VzV51_hO6in5MzzUbi_Oss_3P60S1OzBtPR4CIoLY1gvYp6k8e_w0qR6duxCeeLQJIfoZtUh45c7EFxT0/s320/faithful.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Old Faithful was once known as “Eternity’s Timepiece,” but I
think that was before the Apple Watch was introduced. Since its conception in
2015, the Apple Watch has perhaps overtaken Old Faithful with the title.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey Siri, how tall is Mount Everest?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mount Everest stands 8848.86 meters tall and is the highest
point anywhere on the planet earth.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey Siri, What time is it?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could you repeat that?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What time is it?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“A 12 pound turkey should take 3 ½ hours in the oven at 325
degrees”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“WHAT…TIME…IS…IT?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The average size of a Pomeranian is between 3-7 pounds and is
7-12 inches long.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ugh!...fine…what is the temperature?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It is 5:38 pm, Central Daylight Time.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">…ok…maybe the Apple Watch has not claimed the title of “Eternity’s
Timepiece” just yet.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was once said that this famous geyser was so faithful
that you could set your clocks to the trustworthy waterspout as it burst forth
every hour like clockwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">However, things are beginning to change with the old water
cannon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was once a 60 minute
interval between eruptions has now come to be around 90 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This isn’t a real big deal for most people,
unless you have hungry children that are whining about being needing food…now!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In which case, you may find yourself waiting longer
than expected for the “Little Less Faithful” geyser to fire its load 100 feet
into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have visited this
natural wonder twice and in both cases…it was late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it would have been up to me…I would have
given the geyser a pink slip.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I have aged, I cannot tell if I have become less
trusting, more skeptical or perhaps I just hold a higher expectation of what
being faithful really means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was
in 10<sup>th</sup> grade I trusted most of my 10<sup>th</sup> grade
buddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now however, every 10<sup>th</sup>
grade boy that takes a second look at my 10<sup>th</sup> grade daughter is up
to no good…I just know it.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey!? What are you looking at?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Nothing Sir! I mean…I was just going to ask your daughter
how she did on her English quiz.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why!? Do you think you can swoop in and smooth talk her
with your slick greasy words of English elegance?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Nnnn…nn…no Sir!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Then scram!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yyyy…yy…yes Sir!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You see sweetheart…that is what I have been telling
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boys are bad and they cannot be
trusted.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But Dad…English isn’t even his native language…he is a
foreign exchange student from Casablanca.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He is NO Bogart! I can tell you that!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No Dad! He is a foreign exchange student from Morocco!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I rest my case.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s be honest, it is becoming extremely difficult to find
things that are truly faithful and trustworthy in this world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We struggle to trust politicians, religious
leaders, teachers and even…can you believe it, used car salesmen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, as humans, we continue to resist putting
our trust in the ONE person…who is fully faithful and fully trustworthy…Jesus.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we read 2 Thessalonians 2:13-17, we find Paul is
continuing to emphasize the work of God in the lives of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This passage reveals the faithfulness of
God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Scriptures testify that God has
done everything that he said he would do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We see this evidence over and over and over again throughout the Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God has NEVER failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That…is FAITHFULNESS!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we come to put our trust in the ONE who is truly
faithful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-81422388220617704492023-09-02T15:44:00.001-07:002023-09-02T15:44:36.902-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;">Grip</h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeH04A0tcvW48VKMrnsktJuInFTXSMb5KLHjVa6QuTdooZQB8FY9SDIPHleGOlhMFHgjJvHcDthzdFWc7R6LmIk3qIU0VPCUvVWlb40uTaZsF26M-_WFCTaKHLclwiyZv59e04smJcqrRxxY2kVVk9MTAu8wXu5dqWHbT_uiD3sQgiEpdyY2XgIqZfXmw/s4128/grip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2322" data-original-width="4128" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeH04A0tcvW48VKMrnsktJuInFTXSMb5KLHjVa6QuTdooZQB8FY9SDIPHleGOlhMFHgjJvHcDthzdFWc7R6LmIk3qIU0VPCUvVWlb40uTaZsF26M-_WFCTaKHLclwiyZv59e04smJcqrRxxY2kVVk9MTAu8wXu5dqWHbT_uiD3sQgiEpdyY2XgIqZfXmw/s320/grip.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is no secret that I have an aversion to amusement
parks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the crowds, I don’t
like the heat, and overall I don’t care for the rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not ashamed to speak of my cowardice,
though that has not always been the case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I remember that on my first ever excursion to Valleyfair, (Minnesota’s
only viable option for outdoor rollercoaster thrill rides), I pretended to be
fearless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Additionally, I mimicked enjoyment
secretly loathing the next thrilling “I might die” moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just last week I was listening to my youngest daughter
describe her own recent rides on some of Minnesota’s less than legendary
coasters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She spoke of how on one of the
rides, she was harnessed into the attraction with her feet hanging below her
and was then hauled “straight up,” and then accelerated “straight down…face
first.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Wow! How did you like that?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ehhh, I didn’t really want to go on it, but I didn’t want
to be the only one who didn’t ride it…so I went on it.” (The apple doesn’t seem
to fall too terribly far from the tree.)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Was that the scariest ride?” I asked.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It would have been if it hadn’t been for this other one.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Which one?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The one where my seatbelt came unbuckled and I thought for
sure I was going to fall out! In fact, I think that I probably would have if I hadn’t
been holding on so tight to the crossbar! I totally thought I was going to die!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This reminded me of a similar experience that I had had on
that pioneering trip to Valleyfair 35 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Matt had insisted that we ride the “Viking
Ship.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It looked safe enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The swinging ship mostly went back and forth…except for the three times
it goes upside down and hangs you there in mid air long enough to allow all of
your gumball machine money to fall out of your pockets and into the hands of
the pimple faced teenager controlling the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we buckled into the ride my “friend” Matt intentionally
loosened the lap belt…AND…did not pull the locking shoulder harness tight
against us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather he left the harness
loose and insisted, “It’s more fun this way!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In hindsight I can tell you…it was not more fun and just
like my daughter, I thought that I was going to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had NEVER held onto anything so tightly in
my life…except for maybe the hands of my children while exiting the movie
theater after watching The Sound of Freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">An image has come into my mind that ties these moments of
fear in our lives with the security that only God offers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is no secret that we as Americans are
obsessed with security.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have locks,
dead bolts, car alarms, security cameras, door bell cameras, dogs, baseball
bats, broom sticks, tennis rackets, golf clubs and in some cases a rubber
spatula, to help protect our things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
tend to hold onto our stuff too tightly, trying to do all that we can to keep our
possessions from being taken from us.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes I wonder if we do the same thing with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We try and hold on to God so tightly trying
to never let him go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps we fret and
work at doing the right things so that we will be accepted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might even be afraid that if I slip up and
sin that I will somehow lose my grip on God and lose my salvation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think Paul is revealing something very
noteworthy in 2 Thessalonians 2:13-15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Here the Thessalonian believers are so afraid of missing out on the Day
of the Lord…and the salvation that God has promised, yet, Paul is insisting that
they have not missed anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul
reveals that they are secure…they are in the grip of God’s grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it is not about how tightly we are
holding on to God…but how tightly HE is holding onto us. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May we remember the words of Jesus in John 10:28-29 where he
assures us that no one can snatch us from His hand…nor the Father’s hand.</p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692752272782837900.post-74629273855873561932023-08-26T17:47:00.001-07:002023-08-26T17:47:39.445-07:00<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Fixer Upper</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSauz5DqqJqezJj_w9VimlFCoeRYmR0scg--PsKFMGZU_dSR9tyjkKKpUTqC9gAawx6w7tgTFWCASrgOpxtqnkCMatAWpUW6a5rDeKmzuL2UbrwqLmJGfVVTp8a0xHnOixZT41H_Aeiea7-8cJjrX514Cbt0xjLm3kgEhkJeMsI7Vqvs7k-JWbrcrKsQA/s640/fixer%20upper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSauz5DqqJqezJj_w9VimlFCoeRYmR0scg--PsKFMGZU_dSR9tyjkKKpUTqC9gAawx6w7tgTFWCASrgOpxtqnkCMatAWpUW6a5rDeKmzuL2UbrwqLmJGfVVTp8a0xHnOixZT41H_Aeiea7-8cJjrX514Cbt0xjLm3kgEhkJeMsI7Vqvs7k-JWbrcrKsQA/s320/fixer%20upper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">In 2013 Chip and Joanna Gaines aired their first ever
episode of “Fixer Upper” on HGTV. The episode
lasted for 43 minutes and in that astoundingly brief period of time, Chip and
Joanna were able to fully renovate a young couple’s home. In less than three quarters of an hour the
home went from drab…to fab. In an
interesting contrast my parents purchased their own fixer upper in 1980. In a mere 43 YEARS later…they have been able
to…keep working on it. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">During this past winter, my retired parents sent me a series
of photos of their extensive kitchen remodel. In their 43 year old “episode,”
this has become their second or third kitchen remodel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure that many of you can relate to
their story, especially if you are a home owner that has lived in the same
space for 20 or more years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is all
the more to be expected when you consider that the home that my parents are “still”
fixing up<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>happens to be more than 100
years old to begin with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Many of my childhood hours were spent working on this “fixer
upper.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before the enforcement of child
labor laws, I was sent onto the roof to shingle the roof…by hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
likely that I, as a 6<sup>th</sup> grader, secured between 0 and 100 shingles…single
handedly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As with any remodel, or “fixer upper” project there comes a
time when a job arises that takes particularly specific skills that only a few
craftsman have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as a 5<sup>th</sup>
grader, I had obtained some of these skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ryan…I have a job for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is a job that only you can handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Are you up for the job?” my dad asked.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I guess…can it wait until after Bugs Bunny?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No! Come here!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What do you need?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I need you to crawl into this 3 foot dark and dirty crawl
space and glue this piece of insulation board to the inside of that concrete
wall on the opposite side.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why can’t you do it?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Because I no longer weigh…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because I am too bi….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I am
not smal…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because my waist is too…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because it is a hard job, in a hard place and
only you can do it.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well…ok…since you put it that way.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That day…I did a hard job…in a hard place…and I would like
to think that was the day that I became a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, 7 years later when my dad wanted me to enter into that same
crawl space to run some wires, I realized that I too had grown too large to
fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It became clear that it was now my
little brother’s turn to become a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My dad has a way of bringing young boys to manhood by
sending them into the nether regions of small hard to reach places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several years ago, my own son, (12 years old
at the time), was sent into an attic crawl space by his grandfather…to do that
which my dad or I could no longer do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life is filled with hard tasks in hard places. Yet, just
because something is hard to do…or perhaps involves going into a hard place, doesn’t
mean that it is not worth doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find
that God has designed each one of us to do hard things in hard places throughout
our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some of us the hard
places could be a middle school classroom, for others it could be bat-infested
attics, while yet others it could be being sent to the jungles of Gabon…if in
fact there even are jungles in Gabon…which I really don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May you see the hand of God leading you to do hard things in
hard places, while remembering that it is HE who has given you the power of His
Spirit to accomplish what he has for you to do. Phil. 4:13</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Pastor Ryan Olsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11747217485744079199noreply@blogger.com0