Spent five days over Christmas with the in-laws.
"That's all I have to say about the war in Vietnam."
Forrest Gump
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Grace happens
I was leading a Bible study, a few years ago, for people who were new to Christianity and church. There were about seven or eight people there. We were going through the book of John. On that particular night, John chapter eight was what we were to read. This is the chapter about the woman caught in adultery.
And according to my custom, I ask if someone would like to read. A woman named D. said that she would. She starts reading out loud and when she reads how the people brought this woman caught in adultery to Jesus, D. begins to cry. She is frantically trying to hold back the tears as she struggles to read.
Needless to say, it was getting quite awkward in the room, but I have learned that these moments, though rare, are the workings of God in the lives of people. She continues to read and completely breaks down at the part where they say that this woman should be killed. She is sobbing as she reads how Jesus writes on the ground.
At this point I stop her and ask her if she would like someone else to finish. She looks up at me, with a tear stained face, and says, “No, I want to read. I have got to know how this ends.” And D. reads Jesus’ statement, “Neither do I condemn you, go your way. From now on sin no more.” And there on her face was the look. The look of someone forgiven.
I can, to this day, only imagine what was going on in D.’s mind, heart, and soul. Whether sometime in her past she was that woman, or she just identified with the embarrassment or the humiliation, I do not know. I don’t care. What I do know is this. In a little Bible study, sitting in a chair across from me, a person experienced the great feeling of grace. No, on second thought, she experienced the “presence” of grace. On that day “Grace came down”.
And according to my custom, I ask if someone would like to read. A woman named D. said that she would. She starts reading out loud and when she reads how the people brought this woman caught in adultery to Jesus, D. begins to cry. She is frantically trying to hold back the tears as she struggles to read.
Needless to say, it was getting quite awkward in the room, but I have learned that these moments, though rare, are the workings of God in the lives of people. She continues to read and completely breaks down at the part where they say that this woman should be killed. She is sobbing as she reads how Jesus writes on the ground.
At this point I stop her and ask her if she would like someone else to finish. She looks up at me, with a tear stained face, and says, “No, I want to read. I have got to know how this ends.” And D. reads Jesus’ statement, “Neither do I condemn you, go your way. From now on sin no more.” And there on her face was the look. The look of someone forgiven.
I can, to this day, only imagine what was going on in D.’s mind, heart, and soul. Whether sometime in her past she was that woman, or she just identified with the embarrassment or the humiliation, I do not know. I don’t care. What I do know is this. In a little Bible study, sitting in a chair across from me, a person experienced the great feeling of grace. No, on second thought, she experienced the “presence” of grace. On that day “Grace came down”.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Big
It was one of those moments when you knew that something special had just happened. This Sunday, singing in the church service, it occurred. As those words, best described as powerful and desperate, were being sung, I looked over to see a friend whose eyes seemed a little red. At first I thought my friend was tearing up, but then assumed it was due to a cold or allergies.
As we moved to the following song, the same feeling was there, only the desperation in the words had now changed to promise and hope. As I happened to glance over again, I noticed my friend beginning to cry. Softly and slowly at first, but as the song continued, the crying was replaced by weeping. Sometimes in life, God comes incredibly closer than normal, and then an encounter happens.
As I am getting quite moved by this event, I wonder what it is that is causing this moment. I recognized that the songs were quite moving for me as well, but it didn’t affect me like it had my friend. Were those tears brought on by concerns and worries about family members? Were they for friends? Was it because of an ongoing struggle in my friend’s life and my friend was finally being set free? Perhaps it was the assurance that God is in control and He will keep His promise. Or was it as if God were saying, “Here, let me lift that burden, it is too heavy for you alone”. Maybe it was a simple reminder that He is with us always.
But you know, it really doesn’t matter the “what” or the “why”. What mattered is that at 11:15 AM Sunday morning, my friend got a visit. And it was a beautiful sight to behold. And I was honored and humbled that I got to be a witness to that event.
I wanted so badly to go to my friend, at that moment, to stand alongside and to provide my own comfort, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. There wasn’t enough room for me. Because God was there. With my friend. And He’s a pretty big God.
As we moved to the following song, the same feeling was there, only the desperation in the words had now changed to promise and hope. As I happened to glance over again, I noticed my friend beginning to cry. Softly and slowly at first, but as the song continued, the crying was replaced by weeping. Sometimes in life, God comes incredibly closer than normal, and then an encounter happens.
As I am getting quite moved by this event, I wonder what it is that is causing this moment. I recognized that the songs were quite moving for me as well, but it didn’t affect me like it had my friend. Were those tears brought on by concerns and worries about family members? Were they for friends? Was it because of an ongoing struggle in my friend’s life and my friend was finally being set free? Perhaps it was the assurance that God is in control and He will keep His promise. Or was it as if God were saying, “Here, let me lift that burden, it is too heavy for you alone”. Maybe it was a simple reminder that He is with us always.
But you know, it really doesn’t matter the “what” or the “why”. What mattered is that at 11:15 AM Sunday morning, my friend got a visit. And it was a beautiful sight to behold. And I was honored and humbled that I got to be a witness to that event.
I wanted so badly to go to my friend, at that moment, to stand alongside and to provide my own comfort, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. There wasn’t enough room for me. Because God was there. With my friend. And He’s a pretty big God.
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Wounded Soldier
Flipping through the hymnal I found several hymns that have a soldier reference. These are referring to us, the believers, being soldiers of the cross marching into battle and being victorious. Probably the most famous is “Onward Christian Soldiers”. In this we march “as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before’. Unlike regular wars that pit people against people, this war is spiritual and we fight the forces of darkness. But most of the songs paint a picture of a well-trained army marching toward and through enemy lines with ease, just like the biggest kid in the playground as he breaks the hand in hand chain of a Red Rover game.
What they don’t tell you is that there are far more wounded than there are the strong and powerful super-warrior who battles their way through the throng of enemies suffering only a drop of blood on the lip. Which by the way, is usually wiped off by the beautiful damsel right before the scene-ending kiss.
I am one of those wounded. And I would venture a guess that you are as well. Life has a way of doing that to you. Whether it is job issues, family issues, personal issue, or issues of the heart and soul, eventually they will wear you down. It wounds us just as a soldier who has been shot in the leg and arm in the midst of a furious battle.
And yet we fight on. Why? Because we must. There are other soldiers who need us. We must continue on and finish no matter how hurt or wounded we get. We are like “Rocky” who wanted to be standing at the end of the 15th round. We are like the marathon runner, exhausted from the grueling race, yet finishes only to collapse on the other side of the tape.
So we too, must finish. We must drag our broken bodies, and as we go we are helping and encouraging our fellow soldiers to finish, to endure to the end. And together, victorious we come. Limping into Heaven.
What they don’t tell you is that there are far more wounded than there are the strong and powerful super-warrior who battles their way through the throng of enemies suffering only a drop of blood on the lip. Which by the way, is usually wiped off by the beautiful damsel right before the scene-ending kiss.
I am one of those wounded. And I would venture a guess that you are as well. Life has a way of doing that to you. Whether it is job issues, family issues, personal issue, or issues of the heart and soul, eventually they will wear you down. It wounds us just as a soldier who has been shot in the leg and arm in the midst of a furious battle.
And yet we fight on. Why? Because we must. There are other soldiers who need us. We must continue on and finish no matter how hurt or wounded we get. We are like “Rocky” who wanted to be standing at the end of the 15th round. We are like the marathon runner, exhausted from the grueling race, yet finishes only to collapse on the other side of the tape.
So we too, must finish. We must drag our broken bodies, and as we go we are helping and encouraging our fellow soldiers to finish, to endure to the end. And together, victorious we come. Limping into Heaven.
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Dreamer
My son is a dreamer. It is very interesting and fun to watch my 2 ½ year old grow, not only physically, mentally, and socially, but also “imaginally”. Okay, I know that is not a word, but it does, however, best describe what I am to talk about.
Everyday at our house, we are treated to a theatrical show from I. as he, with perfect cadence, performs an excerpt from one of his many VeggieTales episodes. He will play all the parts of the scene. Though we can’t understand all of his words and sometimes struggle to recognize from what episode the particular scene is from, we enthusiastically enjoy the show. He performs it with passion and meaning up to and including hand gestures and eye rolls.
My son pretends and plays other things as well as performing. But as he does all of them, he does so with all of the feeling and emotion that it warrants. He observes, he recites, he plays, he imagines.
In fact, everything he does he does with all of his energy. Several people have used the word “spastic” when it comes to that energy. I prefer the term “excited” better. He gets excited and cannot contain himself. He hops and he runs and he likes to make loud noises. And all of this fits the personality of a dreamer. And I will let him dream.
I am a dreamer as well. All of my life I have, in some form or fashion, done the very same thing. The big difference, between my son and I, is his dreams can still come true. He has not yet known the reality of dreams being dampened or shot down or even crushed.
You see, in life, there are people who are very quick, and sometimes very willing, to explain with gusto why your dreams are foolish. And if people tell you that often enough, you begin to believe that your dreams are doomed even before they are attempted. And not soon after, you yourself will shoot your own dreams down before somebody else has the opportunity to do so.
And yet, dreamers can do little else but dream. So I still dream and hopefully I will let one dream live.
My son is a dreamer. And I will do everything I can to let him dream for as long as he chooses. Who knows, dreams sometimes do come true. “Imaginally” speaking.
Everyday at our house, we are treated to a theatrical show from I. as he, with perfect cadence, performs an excerpt from one of his many VeggieTales episodes. He will play all the parts of the scene. Though we can’t understand all of his words and sometimes struggle to recognize from what episode the particular scene is from, we enthusiastically enjoy the show. He performs it with passion and meaning up to and including hand gestures and eye rolls.
My son pretends and plays other things as well as performing. But as he does all of them, he does so with all of the feeling and emotion that it warrants. He observes, he recites, he plays, he imagines.
In fact, everything he does he does with all of his energy. Several people have used the word “spastic” when it comes to that energy. I prefer the term “excited” better. He gets excited and cannot contain himself. He hops and he runs and he likes to make loud noises. And all of this fits the personality of a dreamer. And I will let him dream.
I am a dreamer as well. All of my life I have, in some form or fashion, done the very same thing. The big difference, between my son and I, is his dreams can still come true. He has not yet known the reality of dreams being dampened or shot down or even crushed.
You see, in life, there are people who are very quick, and sometimes very willing, to explain with gusto why your dreams are foolish. And if people tell you that often enough, you begin to believe that your dreams are doomed even before they are attempted. And not soon after, you yourself will shoot your own dreams down before somebody else has the opportunity to do so.
And yet, dreamers can do little else but dream. So I still dream and hopefully I will let one dream live.
My son is a dreamer. And I will do everything I can to let him dream for as long as he chooses. Who knows, dreams sometimes do come true. “Imaginally” speaking.
Monday, December 13, 2010
"There go I"
Do they imagine, ponder or wonder?
Do they have dreams, goals or aspirations?
Do they see themselves as they are, as they used to be, as they want to be?
I see him rummaging through the trash for a used half-eaten sandwich.
How unhuman I see them because I see them as a stripped down version of a mammal scrounging to meet their basest need.
Do they have dreams, goals or aspirations?
Do they see themselves as they are, as they used to be, as they want to be?
I see him rummaging through the trash for a used half-eaten sandwich.
How unhuman I see them because I see them as a stripped down version of a mammal scrounging to meet their basest need.
I thought I truly cared about it, I mean “him”.
Do I see him as a man who was made in the image of God as I believe I am.
Why do I see him any less than me?
Does he dream, imagine, wonder or ponder?
Or is he just trying to eat a half turkey on rye from the dumpster?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Service to remember
There was a funeral for a famous person the other day and hundreds of people were there to pay their last respects. It is quite a testimony to that life they lived. People attend who know them, admired them, and whose life has been touched by them. One can deduce that this person’s memory will last and last.
But what about those people who die “alone”? Those who don’t have many friends or family? When you outlive most of your friends, who will be there to pay their last respects? Is the value of a person determined by how many people attend your funeral or by the lasting memory cemented in the minds of your peers and family?
Hundred of years from now (sooner than that I am sure), I will not be remembered. Oh, there might be a headstone bearing my name. And you might find my name on a website when doing a history search regarding me, but there will probably be nothing else. What will anyone remember about me?
Thousands, no millions, of people have come and gone from this earth throughout time, and most of them have no one to be remembered by. No great accomplishment they did. No lasting legacy they left. No one. Nothing.
Perhaps, though, they have been remembered. Perhaps their anonymity was noticed. Perhaps, those that seem the least influential have somehow made the most difference in the lives of people and in the shaping of the world. I hope so. I want to be one of those people.
My vanity speaks to me saying, “You are a warm and caring person. Look at all the lives you have helped or influenced.” But I can’t think of any. Better get busy, then.
But what about those people who die “alone”? Those who don’t have many friends or family? When you outlive most of your friends, who will be there to pay their last respects? Is the value of a person determined by how many people attend your funeral or by the lasting memory cemented in the minds of your peers and family?
Hundred of years from now (sooner than that I am sure), I will not be remembered. Oh, there might be a headstone bearing my name. And you might find my name on a website when doing a history search regarding me, but there will probably be nothing else. What will anyone remember about me?
Thousands, no millions, of people have come and gone from this earth throughout time, and most of them have no one to be remembered by. No great accomplishment they did. No lasting legacy they left. No one. Nothing.
Perhaps, though, they have been remembered. Perhaps their anonymity was noticed. Perhaps, those that seem the least influential have somehow made the most difference in the lives of people and in the shaping of the world. I hope so. I want to be one of those people.
My vanity speaks to me saying, “You are a warm and caring person. Look at all the lives you have helped or influenced.” But I can’t think of any. Better get busy, then.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Two people
I’ve been praying for two people specifically. I want them to find a relationship with God. One, I met as we were having our small group. He was he cable guy and we invited him in to have some snacks and sit in on our study. The other is someone that I used to work with. Both come from different backgrounds and from different experiences. So every night for the past couple of months I have mentioned them to God. I’ve been praying for a specific encounter to occur that would draw them toward seeking God.
I pray for other people as well. But for some reason, I have especially prayed for these two. And yet nothing, as far as I can tell, has happened to change their lives. I am reminded about a person who prayed for 30 years for their husband or friend to come to know the Lord. Then after all of that time, they finally did. I don’t want to wait that long.
Why is it that God chooses to answer some prayers right away, or so it seems, and for other it takes years and years? And why does He not answer some at all? Many people have prayed for other people regarding salvation or a healing and it appears to fall on deaf ears. I know that God is God, and He can choose to do whatever He wants to. When L. died, I never questioned His right to allow that. I didn’t like it, but I never questioned it. But as they say, hindsight is 20/20. I am grateful that He produced something wonderful out of that tragedy. And by that I mean T. coming into my life. But I also know many people that after a spouse dies, they never find love. And even after they pray for it. Why do the prayers of a single person who truly desires to be married wake up day after day without a potential mate?
I have no answer, but I still have faith in Him. And I hope in Him. And I know this; sometimes He answers prayers. And when that occurs, thing happen and lives are changed. And I also know this; an unprayed prayer is never answered. So it seems that we should continue to pray. Continue to believe. Continue to hope.
So, I pray for these two specifically.
I pray for other people as well. But for some reason, I have especially prayed for these two. And yet nothing, as far as I can tell, has happened to change their lives. I am reminded about a person who prayed for 30 years for their husband or friend to come to know the Lord. Then after all of that time, they finally did. I don’t want to wait that long.
Why is it that God chooses to answer some prayers right away, or so it seems, and for other it takes years and years? And why does He not answer some at all? Many people have prayed for other people regarding salvation or a healing and it appears to fall on deaf ears. I know that God is God, and He can choose to do whatever He wants to. When L. died, I never questioned His right to allow that. I didn’t like it, but I never questioned it. But as they say, hindsight is 20/20. I am grateful that He produced something wonderful out of that tragedy. And by that I mean T. coming into my life. But I also know many people that after a spouse dies, they never find love. And even after they pray for it. Why do the prayers of a single person who truly desires to be married wake up day after day without a potential mate?
I have no answer, but I still have faith in Him. And I hope in Him. And I know this; sometimes He answers prayers. And when that occurs, thing happen and lives are changed. And I also know this; an unprayed prayer is never answered. So it seems that we should continue to pray. Continue to believe. Continue to hope.
So, I pray for these two specifically.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Choir member
The other night we went to a Christmas concert put on by the university that T. works for. There was an orchestra, jazz band, choir and chamber choir. Listening to them and to the songs of the holiday was really meaningful. It appeared that that there were about 600 people in the audience. Maybe more. A good turn out indeed.
Toward the end of the concert we, the audience, were asked to pick up our song booklets that were located on each seat and join in with the university choir and sing some old favorites. The last one was the Halleluiah Chorus. It was really enjoyable. Especially for me. And here is why.
Standing side by side with all of those people, and with song sheet in hand, singing that particular song made me think that for the first time I was a part of a choir. And I got a sense of what it may be like in heaven as we sang for the praise of our God and King. I was almost anticipating a tangible visit from the Most High.
When I was a teenager, I went to a youth group at a church near my house. All of the youth, except me, were raised in Christianity. I, on the other hand, was trying to discover my faith. Anyway, a church member wanted to have a youth choir. So, like most youth do, we all joined.
So there we were at first practice, youth in a line singing. The “director” stopped us and said, “Somebody is way off”. She went one by one and had us sing a certain word to determine the awfulness of noise. Yes, I was the awfulness. She had me sing it again and again trying to get me to hit the right note. But, to no avail. She finally just moved on. And so did I. I was a member of the choir for one practice, for one partial song.
Since that time, I don’t sing very loud. At church, I will sing all of the congregational songs. But I will sing softly. I know I can’t sing. I know I can’t “carry a tune”. And with others around, I sing even softer. Yet, I love music. And I love to sing. Those of you who can sing don’t understand the frustration of those of us who can’t sing but want to. So, when I am singing at church in a barely audible voice, inside my head and heart it is “top of my lungs” singing.
Until the other night.
On that night, along with 600 people, songbook in hand, I sang. I sang loud. I sang badly. But I sang nonetheless. Because for one night, I was a part of a choir.
Toward the end of the concert we, the audience, were asked to pick up our song booklets that were located on each seat and join in with the university choir and sing some old favorites. The last one was the Halleluiah Chorus. It was really enjoyable. Especially for me. And here is why.
Standing side by side with all of those people, and with song sheet in hand, singing that particular song made me think that for the first time I was a part of a choir. And I got a sense of what it may be like in heaven as we sang for the praise of our God and King. I was almost anticipating a tangible visit from the Most High.
When I was a teenager, I went to a youth group at a church near my house. All of the youth, except me, were raised in Christianity. I, on the other hand, was trying to discover my faith. Anyway, a church member wanted to have a youth choir. So, like most youth do, we all joined.
So there we were at first practice, youth in a line singing. The “director” stopped us and said, “Somebody is way off”. She went one by one and had us sing a certain word to determine the awfulness of noise. Yes, I was the awfulness. She had me sing it again and again trying to get me to hit the right note. But, to no avail. She finally just moved on. And so did I. I was a member of the choir for one practice, for one partial song.
Since that time, I don’t sing very loud. At church, I will sing all of the congregational songs. But I will sing softly. I know I can’t sing. I know I can’t “carry a tune”. And with others around, I sing even softer. Yet, I love music. And I love to sing. Those of you who can sing don’t understand the frustration of those of us who can’t sing but want to. So, when I am singing at church in a barely audible voice, inside my head and heart it is “top of my lungs” singing.
Until the other night.
On that night, along with 600 people, songbook in hand, I sang. I sang loud. I sang badly. But I sang nonetheless. Because for one night, I was a part of a choir.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Memory of the Old
Not to wax nostalgic, but there are some TV shows that I miss. They were the truly entertaining and had variety in them. At the risk of dating myself, here are a couple of shows that I miss.
The first one is “The Wonderful World of Disney”. When it came on, I would wonder what they would be showing for the evening. Would it be a documentary about some kind of animal? Would it be a mini-show about Daniel Boone? What cartoon would they show? Every week I waited to see what it would be. There was an excitement similar to opening a present and discovering the incredible contents inside.
The second is similar in the sense of expectations. And that was “The Wide World of Sports”. It spanned the globe and there was the “agony of defeat”. Poor guy. I would be glued to the TV in wonder to find out what sport they would be presenting. Could it be downhill skiing? Or possibly would it be gymnastics? No matter what, it was the excitement and anticipation.
Both of those were true entertainment. What happened to those types of shows that were produced purely for the sake of entertaining the audience? Nothing. Shows like that don’t exist. They never did. In my naivety, I only assumed that they did. No, the bottom line is, in fact, the bottom line. They exist to make money. And that is the only reason. If entertainment is a by-product of that, the so be it. But make no mistake about it, if no money is being made, then that show will cease to exist except in the simple mind of a man remembering his childhood. And maybe in reruns.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against making money. It is just an awareness of why there seems to be very low class shows and so many channels. It is to make money. If you are opposed to a certain show because of content, then don’t watch it. If enough people don’t watch it, then it will go away. Why? Because of the moral outrage? No. Because it does not make them money.
That’s all.
The first one is “The Wonderful World of Disney”. When it came on, I would wonder what they would be showing for the evening. Would it be a documentary about some kind of animal? Would it be a mini-show about Daniel Boone? What cartoon would they show? Every week I waited to see what it would be. There was an excitement similar to opening a present and discovering the incredible contents inside.
The second is similar in the sense of expectations. And that was “The Wide World of Sports”. It spanned the globe and there was the “agony of defeat”. Poor guy. I would be glued to the TV in wonder to find out what sport they would be presenting. Could it be downhill skiing? Or possibly would it be gymnastics? No matter what, it was the excitement and anticipation.
Both of those were true entertainment. What happened to those types of shows that were produced purely for the sake of entertaining the audience? Nothing. Shows like that don’t exist. They never did. In my naivety, I only assumed that they did. No, the bottom line is, in fact, the bottom line. They exist to make money. And that is the only reason. If entertainment is a by-product of that, the so be it. But make no mistake about it, if no money is being made, then that show will cease to exist except in the simple mind of a man remembering his childhood. And maybe in reruns.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against making money. It is just an awareness of why there seems to be very low class shows and so many channels. It is to make money. If you are opposed to a certain show because of content, then don’t watch it. If enough people don’t watch it, then it will go away. Why? Because of the moral outrage? No. Because it does not make them money.
That’s all.
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