If Tomorrow Never Comes

³ Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” ¹⁴ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. ¹⁵ Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”   James 4 NIV 

This journey that I have been on officially had its start a little over three years ago. If someone would have told me then, that today I would be living at the coast in a small cottage in a town of seven hundred and fifty people and that I was the pastor of a church with a community of fifty to sixty attendees,  I would not have necessarily  believed them.  This current situation of ours was certainly not one that I had envisioned.

 But, it hasn’t completely been a surprise. Because part of this “grand experiment” all along was to place my trust in God and let Him lead and provide.  And He definitely has done that.  My fourfold goal from the beginning was to get away from working off-price retail for awhile; to spend more time with my wife and little son; to maybe pursue some sort of business; and to trust God for needs and not ask of anyone but Him.

And I would have sot say that for the most part, these past three years those goals have been accomplished.  Sometimes quite different than I imagined, but that is kind of the point.  And so begins my three year update.

We have just signed a renewal lease for this cottage that we are renting.  So, it appears that for the next year, we will be staying here at the coast and pastoring this church.  We were hoping to find a place a little bit bigger and a little bit cheaper, since that did not occur, as opportunity after opportunity fell through, it became clear that the Lord desired us to stay put.

I have learned and am still learning that the plans that I make, the things that I desire, the dreams that I dream will either coincide with the will of the Lord or He overrides them to accomplish that which He wants.  And I am good with that.

That is the point of the verse in James printed above.  The point was that we should not make plans, but rather pencil them in until the Lord writes them in ink.  We must live moment by moment knowing that He might have something for us to do. 

And since the lease has been signed for another year, I can assume that here is where we are. At least for one more year.  So, here I am, send me.

The Past and the Present (Travel part one)

I am sitting in an airport waiting to board because I am heading to Kansas City.  My entire flight will cover about 1500 miles, with a six hour start to finish total travel time.

I know this is a common occurrence.  Every day people fly all over the world and arrive thousands of miles later and within a few hours are stepping off into a different city, a different state, and sometimes a different country.  Yes, it is common, but it still baffles me and boggles this mind of mine.

I woke up this morning, got out of my own bed, drank some coffee, spent some time with my family, drove to the airport and six hours later, I have arrived here to visit my children for a few days.  And with their children.
Having said all of that, I will tell you this. 

With the ability to be in a town of 750 persons, and then travel to the airport of a city of 156,000 residents, board a plane with 170 other travelers, and arrive in my destination city of 460,000 people, I am surprised and somewhat embarrassed (with a good dosage of guilt) that we, Christians, aren’t more influential and effective to a lost and dying world.  It seems that there should be more of us, doesn’t it?

Then I think of the apostle Paul, who is not only my hero, but is at times, a thorn in my side.   As to my hero, I am struck and motivated by his passion to preach Christ.  Jesus Christ crucified and alive again.

Someone once asked the Christian singer and composer Rich Mullins (my all time favorite), who his hero was.  They were taken aback when he didn’t say Jesus.  To which Mullins replied, “He’s not my hero.  He is my Savior.”  So no disrespect at all to my Savior Jesus, Paul is my hero.

As to Paul being a thorn in my side, same reason for him being my hero.  His passion was to preach Christ, whenever, wherever, however.  I, (he shamefully says) am not that bold.  I want to be.  But I’m not.  I desire to.  But I don’t.

And I have it easy.  I can be anywhere in the world in a day.  I can come in contact with myriads of people.  I have numerous Bibles, books, songs, and devotionals at my disposal.  I can even send out mass e-mails and post something on Facebook and Twitter.  And yet…. Lame.

Which brings me to Paul.  He traveled by foot, by animal, by ship, and went all over Asia taking days, weeks, and months to get there.  And all the while preaching, teaching, sharing the hope of forgiveness of sins and eternal life through the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So hated was he in one town for preaching Jesus, they stoned him with rocks and left him for dead.  What did Paul do?  Once he regained consciousness the next morning, he got up and headed back into the city to preach Jesus!

That is so not me.  I would have collected my purple heart and been on
the next donkey home.  But not Paul.  Because he was so grateful to Jesus for saving him, and so dedicated to Jesus for calling him, referring to himself as Christ’s bond-servant, and he knew his purpose in life.  To exalt Jesus.

I can’t help but think that if Paul lived on our time, he would be going everywhere he could; he would be on every social and entertaining media outlet, utilizing every type of resource that would be of value to him.  Why?  Not because he was a techno-new gadget geek, but he was unequivocally a “Jesus freak”.  To him, it was all about Jesus.

His love, his passion, his purpose was Jesus and preaching Jesus and teaching Jesus.  I think he would be admonishing us for our lack of aggression and would be encouraging us to stay true to that which has brought us to this point.  That, being Jesus Christ and the magnificent grace of God.

No doubt, you can see why I bow my head in disappointment as I, time and time again get so caught up in my own life and fail to press on for the upward call.

And if that isn’t enough to have “loser” painted on my forehead, I recall those years when Paul was on house arrest.  You know, being shackled 24/7 to a Roman guard?  And what’s my hero doing? 

He’s writing letters to churches he started, to people he brought to Christ and those he had discipled.  He would receive visitors and good old Paul would be doing the same thing he had always done.  He preached Jesus Christ, crucified and alive again.

There is no doubt in my mind that Paul was also sharing his faith with those guards who were chained to him.  And when one guard was relieved from his assignment and the next one was clamped on, I can almost hear Paul, “Permit me to introduce you to Jesus.”

I’ll bet many a guard, when the orders for the day came down, were going, “please, not him.  Not Paul.  I’ll go fight in the frontlines, but not Paul.  Anything but that.”

Me?  I can’t even make small talk.  Sitting here on a plane for the first two hour leg of my flight, it takes everything in me to acknowledge the guy sitting next to me with small talk, in order to have opportunity to share.  But I am determined.

Me:   So, you live in Denver?

Him:  No, Corvallis
(Silence)

Me:  Are you visiting Denver?

Him: No, going to Dallas.
(Silence)

Me:  Oh, I am going to Kansas City.

He nods his head and looks down.
(Awkward silence)

 

He then grabs a book and begins reading.  The title of the book that he was reading is “The Quiet”.  I think that’s a hint.

So, I look out the window of the plane and see the wonders of God’s creation, listen to a little Rich Mullins and head to my destination hoping to have another go at sharing my Savior Jesus.  Just like my hero Paul.  Just like him.  Kind of.

Stretch (Travel part two)

So, I am going to blog out of order regarding my recent trip to the Midwest, or the Great Plains states as some of them like to be called, distinguishing themselves from the rest of the middle states.

I am here waiting for my return flight from Kansas City to Denver.  I picked up my ticket and got my seating assignment.  It is an aisle seat and a few rows back from the front.  I have arrived well before takeoff and for a while, I am one of the few for this early morning flight. However, at time nears, more and more people are arriving. 

So many, that waiting seats are few, and we begin to hear these announcements.  “Folks we have a full flight this morning and almost all seats will be occupied.  We need some room for carry-on baggage.  If some of you would like to check your bag to ease the space issue it will be appreciated and at no cost (checked bags are $20 for this airline).”

I must have heard this message four or five times.  I only had a backpack that would slip under the seat and not in the compartment above, so it really did not apply to me.  As it got nearer and nearer the time to board, the counter was also calling out passenger’s names to, I assumed, find out if they had arrived and had checked in.

Until I heard my name being called.  They were asking me to come to the counter.  So, up I got, losing my coveted waiting chair and headed to the counter.  After confirming that it was me, the airline person said, “As you know, we have a very full flight with 168 passengers (uh-oh, I can almost hear what’s coming), we were wondering if it would be okay to upgrade your seat to out Stretch seating.  I has a lot more legroom and is quite comfortable.  Would that be fine?”

In my whirling mind, I am replaying this conversation with my own twists. “I know you ordered the grilled cheese, but would you mind if we switched that to our full prime rib dinner with all of the trimmings?” Um, yeah.  Do you really have to ask?

I turn in my regular ticket and the give me the new one.  Stretch seating.  In addition, I get to be one of the first ones to board.  And, suddenly the title Mr. and Sir is being thrown my way.  I find my seat “3C” and I place my backpack under the one in front of me and stretch those legs out.  I can barely touch the seat in front of me.  Now this is living. Or flying.

As the other people board, my I notice a severely distraught woman, eyes puffy from crying, and little drops of water still oozing from both eyes. I am thinking, it must have been a bad breakup.

The man behind her, her husband, kisses her and sits next to me as his teary eyed wife moves past our seating towards the rear of the plane.  As we were getting ready to taxi onto the runway and the doors of the plane are closing, he asks me if I wouldn’t mind switching seats with her as she is terrified or flying.  “She a few rows back and will be the one clutching on tightly to her sweatshirt.”  I am glad it wasn’t a breakup. It was just agonizing fear.

I said sure and asked a flight attendant if it would be all right if I switched with her as she was very frightened.  She replied, “If you want to.”  And off I go to my new seat.  Good-bye stretch seating.  Hello, tighter space.  As his wife sobs uncontrollably and thanks me profusely, I squeeze my backpack and myself into my several rows from the front aisle accommodations.

During the flight, another flight attendant came to me and said, “I heard you gave up your stretch seating for that woman.  That was so kind of you.  We want to offer you free TV for your flight or a complementary drink on us.”

I politely say no to the TV and to the drink.  One, because neither of those options sounded good to me, and two, the woman sitting next to me called me nice and generous man.  How could I profit from my gesture?  While I am grateful for being called nice and for the flight attendant to think me chivalrous, I could not accept any praises whatsoever.  For the following reasons.

First, I had been upgraded to seat 3C with the stretch seating only minutes before I boarded the airline.  Second, I got to spend seven minutes with fully extended legs.  And third, the seat that I had switched with the woman was, in fact, the original seat that I had had in the first place.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Between Here and There

I am pondering the events of the night before.  Getting the news that our good friend died yesterday certainly caused great swings of emotions.  There was sadness, of course, and yet there was relief as he was finally made whole in Jesus.  Which leads to joy, knowing that he was a child of God. 

But if you have experienced the death of one whom you loved, it is never easy.  I know some of those moments of grief, remembering, laughter, tears, and even silence.  I am praying for the family and friends of this man who called Jesus His Lord.

As a beautiful spring morning here at the coast emerges, with little wind, no clouds and the sun shining warmly across the ocean coast, I am struck by the odd contrast.  Primarily, of how this day must look depending upon where you see it from. 

This first morning without her husband, their dad, their grandpa, with the sun breaking into their rooms, slowly waking them from an evening of restless and draining sleep.  Their morning will be different than mine. 

I am sitting in my study preparing for a Sunday worship service.  They are waking to the stark memory of the night before.  Alone.  They will worship, yes, but it will be dissimilar to what they are accustomed to.  Here on earth, we awake to face the day, to battle the tears, to grasp onto hope, and the reality and temporalness of life.

He, on the other hand, when he awoke (pardon the poor theology and the use of poetic freedom), awoke this morning to glory.  No sun, just the presence of the Son.  Waking refreshed, waking praising, waking complete.  Another gorgeous day in eternity!

Words fail, but God is.  And because we are His, we are.  Good morning all.  Between here and there.  Here between heaven and earth.

My Friend Died

A friend of mine died tonight.  Just about an hour ago.  I hadn’t seen him much as he lived in Arizona.  But he was a friend none the less.  In fact, he came to our wedding.  Even at that time he was suffering from a terminal brain disease.

We went to seminary together and stayed at the same house for the overnight times.  He was the youth pastor at the church my wife attended.  And that is kind of how we met.  If I hadn’t asked him to bring his group to be counselors for our church’s children’s camp, well. . .

Now I know death happens.   I have experienced it painful finality several times in my life, a wife, a dad, a mom, a member of our youth group, but still the news always hits you hard.  Not as hard at his immediate family, though.  I cannot begin to understand the sorrow that they are experiencing, a mere sixty minutes later.

He certainly wasn’t old; in fact he was the same age as me.  At a time when he should be still serving in a church, going on dates with his wife, spending time with his kids and grandkids, his life was slowing dripping from him like a paper cup with a hole in the bottom.  Seems so sad, so senseless.  Too soon.

Unless you knew him.  And unless you knew his God.  My friend loves Jesus.  Yes, loves.  In the present tense.  Just because he has “left” this earth, doesn’t mean he’s gone.  He is just continuing on with his relationship with the God of the Universe.  Just, as his son wrote, at a new address.  However, we look at it, he finished the race.  He did what he was called by God to do.  Be a witness for Him.

Though we will never, on this side of heaven, understand the Lord’s perfect will and timing, we rest, we trust in the fact that it is so.  God has the things of our temporal and natural world, in His complete and capable hands.

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, ^and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?”

 I believe.  My friend believes.

So, my friend, welcome home. 

Humble

I have a very specific routine for Sunday mornings.  Pastoring a small church in a little town on the coast, I have found it important for me to follow this routine as much as possible.  I am not sure how my wife feels about it, as she has to carry most, if not all, of the burden that Sundays bring.  I know that she understands and expects me to do what I deem necessary to prepare for the morning.

That leaves her to get not only her, but our five year old son, up, cleaned, dressed, fed, out the door and into the church building, to the right classroom.  It is not like she doesn’t have anything to do once she gets there.  She teaches a Sunday school class with one youth attending.  Sounds so easy, until one realizes how specialized and specifically directed the lesson has to be.  Did I mention that she I also the worship leader?

But enough about her, because the story is about me and my routine.  After waking up and getting ready, I kiss her goodbye and head to the building.  Whether walking or driving, I now follow the road at the edge of the Pacific Ocean.  It is only about five blocks to the church building.

Arriving at the building, I will turn on the lights and the heat, if needed, in the sanctuary and the other class rooms.  I will then go into my office keeping the lights off and turn up my music compilation as loud as I choose.  I will look over my notes for the day and just listen, praise, worship.

I like music loud.  I like music that either drives me to my knees, or brings me to my feet.  I like a more rock beat and words that challenge me and lines that pierce deep into my heart and soul.  (As I write this, Rich Mullins “I See You” is blaring.)  I have never been one for the fluffy, la-la-la everything is great kind of song.  I seem to have a bent for the desperate.

I have served in or been on the pastoral staff of every church I have been a part of since becoming a Christ follower.  They have been contemporary.  They have been traditional.  They have been cutting edge. (I personally like cutting edge, but timing is everything there). 

In all of those, I have seen eager and willing workers.  I have seen quality and professional workers. I have seen old hometown and “it’s good enough” workers.  I have prayed for God to bring the energetic and younger workers when needed.  I have prayed for the technical perfect musicians and artists when needed.  I have prayed for those with knowledge and capable and able teachers when needed.

And let me tell you, when you get those, and sometimes all of those in your church, well, look out world!  And what church wouldn’t want energy, youth, willingness, quality, technical, knowledge and capable?  Just imagine what we could do!

So, pondering my routine, that I have done for about a year,  reflecting on my message, listening to music that I have chosen, and praying for this little church, and imploring the Lord to bring the qualified to us, I realized that that there is an awful lot of us, we, and I going around.

In reflection, the better prayer is for humility.  For myself, first.  Then for the congregation.  And then, for God to bring humble workers, humble servants, humble leaders.  Now that’s an ability to desire in people.

Humility is not achieved by doing it, by learning how to do it, by reading books on it.  The only way to achieve humility is to not focus on it.  But rather, focus on Jesus and focus on others.  As long as us, we, and I are more important than Him and you, it matters not what other qualities and talents are brought to the table.

Think of those whom God used.  A shepherd, a maiden, a fisherman, a man hiding from the enemy army, a prisoner.  Humility is the strongest weakness that one can possess. It can’t be earned.  It can be learned, however.  It does grow in us, as the Lord transforms us. 

We too quickly forget that our salvation is a grace gift given by the Most Gracous One.  We also forget that our spiritual maturity is up to Him as well.  Our part in all of it is to humbly receive.  As we submit and subject ourselves to His Lordship and control, He makes us into a “little Christ”.  And that term is called Christian or Christ follower.

The first church I was a part of as a follower had for it slogan “Share His Adventure”.  That occurs by following.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

I was just realizing that I have been quite silent here for the past three months.  Been busy, but silent.  The work here for the Lord at the coast has been one of great praises and also of great anguish.  It has been very humbling to see God work in the lives of people, but it has been awfully disappointing when people seem to ignore the wonders of the Lord both those inside and outside of the church.

 I have been silent because I have been quite occupied with other things.  Like ministry, family, finances, and friends.  And typical household things that need to be attended to.  Oh, and major computer crashes.  The saying is true, “there are not enough hours in a day.” 

And then I began to read a little free book on the Kindle regarding such things as being busy, managing your time, and the like.  And here is what I have gleaned. 
 

1.   There has always been the same amount of hours in a day.  Twenty-four.  Since the beginning of creation.

2.   We are in control of our own time.  Though there is much we need to do; we can, at any moment, not do those things.  I do realize that there may be consequences in doing so, but we still have the power to do so.

3.   How well we accomplish things in the time we have is up to us.  We have choices that we must make.    There is much stress with a too full schedule, but it was us who made our schedule full. We need to be more disciplined.

Here is the obvious concept when it come to managing time.

 “If you want to manage your time, the sum total hours of your daily activities should be less than twenty-four hours.”       Amy Lynn Andrews

At first that seems to be a no-duh statement.  But it applies pretty much for anything.  If you desire to stay out of debt, spend less than you earn.  If you want to lose weight eat less calories than you burn.

For me to say that I have not enough time to not write my blog really meant I failed to manage the time given me. 

 

And, we all know how precious and valuable and short time is.  Let us use it wisely.  See you soon.

 

       

Cordial

Chocolate covered cherries.  But not just any, Queen Anne artificially flavored Cordial cherries.  For as long as I could remember, my mom would buy and wrap for Christmas our own individual box of Chocolate covered cherries.  This tradition lasted deep into our adulthood. 

On Christmas Eve, as children, we would get the opportunity to select one present under the tree and open it, thus heightening the already anticipated next morning of present mania.  As I recall, we could choose whatever gift we wanted to, but in reality, it seemed the only ones ever selected were the ever famous rectangle box.  I believe now that our choice was between that gift or no gift.

Unwrapping the gift disclosed the all too familiar contents.  Yep, Queen Anne Chocolate Cherries.  Who knew?  Oh yeah, we all did.  But that in no way would dampen the Eve of Christmas.  There they were in all of their glory.  That red box with some candy images on the outside, and we must not forget the one that looked like a bite was taken out of it revealing the cherry with it sumptuous juices running from it.

And even though it was time for bed, and we were all nestled in our footie pajamas, we would request ever so humbly, “Please sir, might I have but a nibble?”  To which, the sir would gruffly respond, “It’s late, but if you think you have to, you can have one piece.” 

Well, of course we think we have to.  I mean, who puts a whole box of chocolates in front of a kid and expect them not to want any?  That would be my parents.  So, after the all clear signal, I would ever so gently open the box top, which usually would involve tearing it, because that glue they would use was pretty sticky.

And there they were, six morsels of yummy all snuggled and compartmented in that top tray of plastic.  Now the trick was trying to decide which piece would be my first.  That was the easy part.  I know that you are thinking.  Easy because they all look alike, factory made and all. 

Not correct, my friend. I failed to tell you the sad twist this plot of candy woe.  Our Queen Anne cherries weren’t just any Queen Anne cherries.  Ours were Queen Anne cherries at a discounted price because they were purchased the season before, and sat for months safely tucked away like the hidden treasure that they were.

And when that lid was opened, those individual cherries looked like they had been in a war zone.  The top of the chocolate were crushed as if a thumb had pressed down upon it, giving it that recognizable dented look.  Usually, there would be a couple that seemed to have a bit of a white waxy tint to them.  And the juices, oh those precious juices.  They appeared to have leaked out into a congealed glob of hardened goo fusing the chocolate to the plastic. And you knew that those would be extra chewy in a, “it’s still technically candy” sort of a way.

I mentioned that it was easy to decide which piece would be my first.  Because out of the two stacked trays, there was always at least one, one who made it our unscathed. And there is was, the perfect specimen of Queen Ann Chocolate covered cherries.  I pause to remember this moment, and then popped it in my mouth chewing three or four times before the anticlimactic swallow.

This tradition was played out year after year after year.  After my father passed, and we kids had grown, my mother would send us a box for Christmas.  And I am fairly certain; we got one even the last Christmas before she died. 
 
I never did have the heart to tell her that I don’t care for chocolate covered cherries too much.  But it was her tradition and she liked giving them, so I liked receiving them.  This is a great Christmas memory of mine. 

Merry Christmas Mom and Dad.  We are doing fine.  And to all, a good night.

Where Has All the Ocean Gone?

I got a reasonably early start to my day today.  After a few minutes doing some cleaning up at the church building, I drove to my “second office”.  This is the spot with a little gravel pullout and it overlooks the Pacific Ocean.  It has become my second office for a couple of reasons.  One, it is a beautiful view with the vastness of the ocean and the waves crashing onto the rocky shore.  And two, it is one of the only places that my cell phone has service. 

And as I park head in to my spot positioning my car between the two big boulders protecting people like me from Thelma and Louise-ing it over the cliff, I look up to  see a familiar site, but it looks starkly different this morning.

There is a low fog that has moved in blocking my view of the miles wide span of the ocean.  Visibility was at about twenty feet or so.  I cannot see the horizon, the sky or any of the blue that is our majestic Pacific.  I can barely make out some of the rocky parts of the shore and the white of the waves splashing over them.

It was a very bizarre sight and almost looked very foreign to me as if I was parked somewhere else.  But I was sure I was at the right spot.  There are the boulders fencing off the edge of the cliff.  There is the park bench that I sit at from time to time as weather allows.  There is the all too familiar No Camping sign.  Yep, this is the spot all right.  I just can’t see the ocean due to the fog. 

I can’t see the waves coming in.  I can’t see the calmness of the waters connecting horizontally with the blueness of the day sky.  No boats visible, no caps of white, no glimmer from the sun reflecting off of the waters.  But, all of that being said, the ocean was still out there.  It was just for the moment obstructed.

There are times in our faith when it seems that God is eerily quiet, as if He had stepped out for a bit to fetch His newspaper from the porch.  Or maybe it seems longer than that, perhaps He is taking a long overdue vacation.  Or worst case scenario, maybe He left and doesn’t want to be friends anymore, because of something offensive that we had done.  Maybe He just got bored with us.  After all I am not very interesting.

But be of good cheer.  He has not left, He has not abandoned, He still wants us, and He still likes us.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, He seems quiet.  And sometimes, His quietness seems to coincide with our needing Him the most.  What’s that all about?

But quietness doesn’t mean that He is gone.  Just because you can’t see Him, Just because you can’t feel Him, just because you don’t sense His presence or His direction for your life, does not mean that He has vanished or He is apathetic to your situation.

He is there, just as I knew the ocean was there.  Even if I couldn’t see it.  I knew the ocean was there because the place I was at was where I have seen it many times over.  I knew because all of the indicators were there. The pull out, the boulders, the sign, the rocky cliff and the beached waves.

My advice for you is this.  Whenever you can’t seem to see God and His working in your life, check your surroundings.  Make sure you are in the place where you know you have experienced Him before.  Are the things around you those indicators that this is where you have met Him before?  If not, then go to that spot. He will be there.  Is so, and visibility seems limited, you may have to wait until the fog has lifted.

Up All Night

So, I am here in my office praying without ceasing and writing this blog post.  Yes I can do both, as we are called to be in an always state of worship and communication with God. It is more of a constant attitude of living than an actual all the time on your knees.  Although, I will admit, that wouldn’t be half bad, but I don’t think I am that spiritual.

But tonight, I am praying and reading, praying and listening to music, praying and writing.  Our church is having a 24 Hours of Prayer for our nation, our leaders, and for the upcoming election.

We designated half hour increments where people could sign up and either come to the building to pray or to pray at home.  The idea was to have a continual prayer being lifted up to God for His will for our country.

I am pleased that we had twenty people sign up for this event.  And as you could guess, the majority of the time slots left empty were in the wee hours of the night and morning.  We do have, however someone in the 10:30pm-11:00pm and the 1:30am-2:00am slot taken.  And we start off bright and early beginning at 4:00am.

Left empty were about eight and a half hours in between those times.  Which is why you have me, here at the church, camped out to fill those times.  And that is why I am praying and writing.   I have my cot to rest, my music to contemplate, my reading to inspire, and my writing to inform.

This is an important time.  While I will concede that all elections are important, this one seems more so.  It is true that this one is about ideologies, it is about direction, it is about differences. 

This country is seemingly split right down the middle, with half of the people on one side and half on the other. And it is apparent that each side doesn’t like the other side at all.  And to me, it sort of looks like hate.

So what is a person to do?  What is the Christian to do? And specifically what am I, a Christian, to do?  Most candidates on each side talk about out good of a practicing “insert your faith here” they are, but seem to also discount certain views their faith may have for the sake of the party line.  And I am talking both sides.

But as Christians, we are told to be involved. We are to be an example of subjecting to government authorities (Romans 13:1).  We are to pay our taxes (Romans 13:6).  We are to render to all what is due them (Romans 13:7).  Okay, just read Romans 13 yourselves.  And so we are to participate and vote.  But for who?

All I can say is that you should, as a Christian, vote for those whose values and morals line up with the Bible.  And for those whose values line up with your own.  I know what mine are.  And that is how I vote.

But we are never called to hate, cast disparaging remarks, toss insults and disrespect.  Instead, we are to pray for our leaders.  And that is what our church is doing. And that is what I am doing. I am praying. And writing.