A friend of mine sent me a quote attributed to John Adams.  He is reported to have said, “One worthless man is a shame, two is a lawfirm and three or more is a congress.”  While i don’t know if he ever said it, I sure do like it.  The profession of law is one of those professions in which the 99% give the other 1% a bad name.  Yes, that is what i said.  Seems to me that a really good lawyer knows the law well.  However, a really great lawyer just knows the Judge really well.

In a court of law the goal is supposed to be truth.  Each lawyer engages in a battle, on a level playing field, to convince a jury of 12 that he has truth on his side and they need to vote in his favor.  At that is the generally held theory.  With the judge sitting and acting as an over paid, under worked, over powered, politician, he makes calls like a little league umpire.  He calls some comments fair and other foul.  But the lawyers keep pitching.

In the feavered pitch of a case it would seem logical that a passionate and highly competative lawyer might just hedge  a bit on the truth just to win the case.  At least that is probably what i would do.  I do like to win.  What is truth?

Philosophers have debated the definition for a thousand years with no real end or understanding in sight.  To compound the problem is that truth has different interpretations.  Let me explain.  You see there is Universal Truth.  In this truth something is false unless it is universally true.  So, if I said, “It rained today.”  Then that would not be true because there are many places where it did not rain.

The next truth is Specefic Truth.  This truth relates to truth as in a given and specific sutiation.  In the same case as above, were I to say, “It rained today.”  The statement wold be true since right now it is raining outside in Frankfurt, Germany.  So one could say almost anything and convice himself it is true if it is true only in one place at one instant in history.

The final truth is Semantical Truth.  We had a president a few years ago who mastered this truth.  “That depends upon your definition of ‘is.’”  Semantical Truth is based upon your understanding or defintion of a word or series of words.

Last week i posted about brokenness and how it is our common bond in humanity.  After about a week of consideration it occured to me that while i did address the reality of brokenness, i failed to offer a remedy.  Forgive me and read a bit more.

In the book of Psalms 34:15-18 we read, “The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their cry for help.  The face of the Lord is set against those who do what is evil, to erase all memory of them from the earth.  The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and delivers them from all their troubles.  The Lord is near the brokenhearted; He saves those crushed in spirit.”

The first thing that jumps from the Psalm is the ATTENTION God gives His children.  What a fascinating thought!  At this very second God has both His eyes and both His ears tuned into you.  I loved to attend soccer games when my daughter played soccer at Athens High School.  When i was first diagnosed with cancer and my future was pretty dark, the only time i cried was when i realized i would miss most of her senior year of soccer.  I wanted to get to the game a bit early to get a choice seat.  Most of the time i took my own lawn chair so i could sit near the side line.  Oh, i loved to watch her play.

In all those games i can’t tell you a single play other than the ones that centered on my little girl.  Denae, my daughter, played keeper and my eyes were focused on her, not the whole of the game.  When the team was batteling it out at the other end of the field i was content to just watch her and her passion as she screamed from her position.  The game was about her, not the other girls or even the other team.  She had her Father’s eyes firmly fixed on her.  And she knew it.  While she was far to busy to acknowledge it, she knew all the time that Daddy was watching her.

This passage teaches us that God is always watchful over His children.  Not only is He watchful,  He is also listening.  That is something i couldn’t do from the side lines.  I listened to the game and tried to hear what she was saying.  And most games i sent in my coaching signals from the side but mostly to no great good.

God is listening to the broken heart.  In some special way God is tuned into our brokenness and ready to receive our cries.  Your broken heart did not catch God unprepared.  God has never been rocked back on His throne and taken aback with any event on earth.  God is listening.

The next important point in the passage is: God is AGAINST our enemies.  I find huge comfort in this.  Paul asks in Romans 8, “If God is for us who can be against us?”  In Romans 12:19, we are challenged to “leave room for God’s wrath.”  This indicates that there may well be only so much room allocated for retribution.  Therefore it make sense to me that if i pour my wrath in the container, there will be less room for God’s wrath.  Since God is perfect and I am not, it makes sens that His wrath is equally perfect and mine is equally imperfect.  It makes good sense to me that my enemy deserves God’s perfect wrath rather than my imperfect wrath.  Far be it from us to stand in the way of God’s divine wrath on those who really need it.

Next we see our AGONY.  Verse 17 says simply, “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears and delivers them from all their troubles.”  We like the deliverance part but we are not to happy about the crying part.  His deliverance always comes after our broken cries.  In our state of brokenness we are introduced to our own ability to correct the problems at hand.  We are incapable of changing our hearts or the heart of an enemy.  We are broken because of our inability to change something.

In brokenness we are more open to the hand and will of God than any other time.  In our brokenness we are introduced to worship.  I will go so far as to say that true spirit worship is done only from a position of brokenness and abject humility.  Read the whole of Scripture and examine each time the word “worship” is used.  Almost all references to worship in Scripture is from three origianal words.  Each one means broken, to bend down and do homage, to fall before one who is worthy.  In Revelation, every time the word appears the elders fall on their faces.  That is worship!  We worship best when we are most aware of our inability and insufficiency.  Even the act of salvation is born in brokenness.  Therefore, in our broken state, we are capable of exceptional worship and prepared for deliverance.

The final truth is beautiful.  God ANSWERS our cries.  Here is a three fold promise in our brokenness.  God 1. Delivers from troubles; 2. God is near to the broken; 3. God saves those crushed in spirit.  What else can I say?  I can’t imagine anything more comforting in my hurt than to know that God is near.  He is never far away from His children, but when they cry out He is somehow more close.

Amy Grant has a recent song entitled “Better than a hallalujah.”  If you haven’t heard it, please take a moment and look it up on line.  My broken hearted cry is God’s invitation to draw near.  For those who are broken today, take heart, God is near.

Oh What a Savior!

the beggar

Yesterday i sent a message to a friend who is hurting.  As i typed to her, these words came to my heart. “A broken heart resides somewhere in the deepest recesses of the gut. At uninvited times it moves to the throat and chokes tears from unwilling eyes. Then it sinks to the lower part of the chest and screams for a comfort you can’t afford. Then at the darkest time, it rages like a savage beast from all three. In this state it robs the mind of reason, worth, and logic. aaron”  After sending the note i copied it to my facebook page.  I was not prepared for the response.

A number of people posted on the comment.  Some were fearful of my state of mind.  Others simply wrote comments of affirmation and empathy.  Each who responded identified with the subject.  Brokenness is as common as breathing. 

We all know people who seem to have it “all together.”  They have perfect jobs, with a perfect husband and wife, who parent perfect children, who never disrespect or disobey, they are perpetually honor students, they have a dog with no flees and he too obeys every command.  Of course they trained Phideaux (Fido for us commoners) themselves between kick boxing and volunteering at the homeless shelter, between snow skiing in Vail and a mission trip in India.  These people are always “ON.”  They have it together. 

No they don’t.  The thin vineer on the outside may well be hiding an inside you can’t comprehend.  Never trust the outside.

One Sunday afternoon my brother and I sat in the den of our perfect little home at 909 Stephens Street in Boaz, Alabama. We were just back from church and all was well with the world.  Now you have to understand that as far as i know and can remember, i lived a charmed childhood.  I did everything all the other kids did.  I lived in a solid middle class community with loving parents.  I even had a horse named Dolly.

In the middle of eutopia i heard my mother scream.  My brother and i looked at each other and had no idea what was going on or what to do.  In seconds she walked into our tranquil den and said the unthinkable.  “Your father wants a divorce!”  In less than 90 seconds my world changed forever.  That was in 1974.  I am still learning to grasp what that day did to me. 

You see, we looked good on the outside.  It even looked good to me and i was on the inside! 

Brokenness is no respecter of persons.  Brokenness comes to each of us.  Brokenness is our common bond in humanity.  Through brokenness we learn our smallness and the grace and greatness of a loving God.  Some lessons, in fact most lessons are best learned from a position of brokenness.  Ask any Marine and he will tell you that at boot camp he was broken before they made him into a Marine.  If the Marines can comprehend this, then how much more can an all knowing God?

All of us who are well acquainted with brokenness need to learn to milk the lessons that brokenness brings rather than to beg for deliverance.  Sometimes God would rather teach us to dance in the rain that still the storm.

“I consider this momentary light affliction unworthy to be compared to the glory that will be revealed in us one day.” 

Dancing in the rain!
the beggar

As I type this my home country is celebrating her 235th birthday.  That is a remarkable run for democracy’s great experiment.  For the most part it works.  The government is corrupt, too big, and spends too much money, but it is ours and we seem content to re-elect idiots to maintain the status quo.

The big question isn’t about the budget or the imbeciles who are in Washington but about all the foreigners rushing into our fair country.  They are taking jobs that belong to native countrymen.  They can’t speak our language.  They don’t know the laws of driving on our streets and highways.  They are simply “not from aroud here.”  Sometimes if a person is from somewhere other than “around here” we view them with more concern than our own homegrown types.  So, what are we going to do?

Last week to took a trip with Lorraine and my wife to downtown Frankfurt.  Lorraine is the glue that holds the entire International Baptist Convention together.  She is the only one in the office who has disciplined herself to master the German language.  Lorraine is kind and sweet and Irish.  What is not to love?  She took us to a nondescript building on some “strasse” in the inner city.  She dropped us off and headed to park the car.  We arrived a full thirty minutes before the office opened and found a line of about 150 people ahead of us.

Denise and I took our place in the nondescript que and waited for Lorraine and for the door to open.  It was the first of July and it was down right cold.  The temp must have been in the low 60′s and the towering buildings made a shaded valley in which we stood, waited, and shivered.  There were no benches, chairs, or instructions.  We just stood and waited.  We waited at the corner of the building where the front door was located.  It seemed like a logical place to me.

Looking up from my sidewalk vantage point i was impressed with the building’s design.  From where i stood the bulding gave the exact impression of standing on the bulb of a cruise ship looking upward to the precipice of the ship’s stem.  The building towered above, over, then beyond me.  It was a bit intimidating.   It was the “Foreigner’s Office.”

There in the line ahead and behind me were men and women of every creed and color.  A few of the men wore wraps on their heads.  The women of similar skin and attire spoke in languages that had no familiar sounds to me.  Assembled there were Indians, Asians, Africans, British, Irish, South American, and two Americans from Boaz, Alabama.  For the first time in my life I felt like a foreigner.  After all, I’m not from around here.

What was i doing here?  I don’t speak the language!  I don’t know the rules of their streets and highways!  I am going to take a job that a German could have!  I am a foreigner in a strange country trying to get a green card.  I am ‘one of them’.

The doors opened and the line became more of a mass.  People moved towards the open doors and again stood in line.  The government invested nothing for the comfort of the foreigners.  We just stood like so many cattle and waited for  a German Frau to call us to the front.  A complete lack of a sense of humor and an unpleasant disposition must be a requirement to work for the government here.  Did I say “here?”  Suddenly it reminds me of home.

After being called to the next available and charming Frau Heidi, we were told that they had already given out all the numbers allotted for foreigners like us that day.  How could that possible be?  The office had only been opened half an hour!  We were given forms to complete and when the spirit moved them they would send us a letter with an appointment date and time.  We completed the paperwork and Lorraine returned them to Heidi.  Heidi was delighted.

So here i sit, a Southerner in a foreign land.  Sounds like a book to me.  It is the 4th of July and nobody cares!  No fireworks, no cook outs, no water skiing.  Just another day in my third floor office.  I really don’t belong here.  This is not my home.

But then, neither in Atlanta, or Athens, or Guntersville, not Boaz, or the whole of the beautiful Heart of Dixie.  This world is not my home.  Each day i live i grow to yearn for home more.  Home, where my heart is.  My heart and my gaze is firmly fixed on Heaven.  No green card needed!  Just the saving blood of a resurrected Savior.  And in an instant, in the twinkeling of an eye, I shall one day be home.  No more tears, they have been dryied by my Master.  No more wounds, all healed by my Savior.  No more shame of guilt, all settled at Calvary.  Home at last home at last.  I just can’t wait to get to my homeland!  Until then, i walk this world as an alien.

Reminds me of a song: “I heard an old old story, how a Savior came from Glory.  How he gave His live on Calvary to save a wretch like me…..”

Oh, What a Savior!

the beggar

Way back in the dark ages when i was just a kid, you could roam the streets and ditches and collect soft drink bottles.  The quest was not for a collection but for redemtion.  Way back then you could get .03, that is 3 cents, for every bottle you returned to the grocery store.  One year they raised the redemption to .05, that is 5 cents per bottle!  Wow, I got a 40% raise and didn’t even ask for it.  Shortly thereafter competition heated up.  The high prize of a nickel per bottle was enough to shake even the lazy into action.  About the time everybody was getting into my business the bottleing companies decided to go to “non-refundable” bottles.  Just as quickly as i had received a raise i was now unemployed.

For years that has been my best understanding of what redemption was all about.  That changed a few weeks ago.  The story started over fifteen years ago.

When my daughter, Denae, was about 12 years old she began going through all those things that 12 year old girls go through.  I haven’t a clue as to what they are, what causes it, or how to get rid of it.  I just know that it happens to all of them and when it does it is a good idea for fathers to take up golf.

My wife, Denise, did all she could to maintain a relationship with Denae that was like it used to be.  The relationship was different and forevermore will be.  Nothing could turn back the hands of time.  One measure she did take was to give Denae her class ring to wear.

Denise’s class ring looks exactly like a college ring and is in fact one of a kind.  When she ordered it she was told it could not be made like she wanted.  She asked the salesman and he had her wait to the side while he helped all the other classmates.  Denise was late for work and wanted to order her ring and leave.  The salesman took his time with all the others.  When the rest of her class had been helped he personally completed all the needed paperwork and her ring was ordered.

The ring arrived several months later exactly like she wanted.  Several other girls saw her ring and insisted that they too had wanted that very ring but was told it could not be made.  For some reason Denise had the only ring of the kind.  Unique in the universe.

Did i tell you that Denise let our 12 year old daughter wear it?  She did.  For a little while.

One night at church, just before youth choir practice, all the kids were in the front lawn of First Baptist Church of Gadsden, Alabama.  At the time I was their pastor.  As kids always do, the began to play a bit rougher than they needed.  Here the story takes an unusual turn.  At some point that fateful night, my daughter was either whirled around or tossed into the air, the story changes.  Though she managed to return to earth unscathed, the ring was gone!

At once all the kids began to search for the ring.  She knew how much it meant to her Mom and was sure she would be hurt, or angry.  They confided in David Sumners, her youth minister.  They decided to keep the entire story a secret and every spare second the kids would look for the ring.  This went on for several weeks.  Finally David gave a  hint to Denise. 

Tears….

There it lay somewhere in the tiny front lawn at FBC Gadsden.  This really reminds me of Excaliber.  Over the years i asked several people with metal detectors to take a look but none did.

This April i was visiting with my farm neighbor and told him the story.  That was about it.  I finished my farm work and headed back to Atlanta as the sun set.

Two days later i was back at the farm with both my kids.  They were helping me move and were probably not happy with the work but both worked hard and without complaint.  As we rushed to empty the truck Tom walked up.  We exchanged greetings and he watched us unload.  Casually he told me he had been to Gadsden the day before and had gone to the church.  The staff thought he was looking for a hand out.  After explaining his mission they allowed him to look.  I apologized for them and thanked him anyway.

“Well, did you find anything?” I asked.

“Only this” he said with an upheld index finger.

There was the dirty but unmistakeable shape of a one-of-a-kind Boaz High School class ring!  As calm as that.  Fifteen years it has been waiting for someone to take the time and have the proper equipment to find it.  REDEEMED!!

No price could be placed on the look on my wife’s face when we presented it to her that night.  Shock, surprise, wonder, tears, screams.  They were all there in appropriate quantities.  It was worth the wait.  I know she was more plesed to have it returned to her than when she first purchased it.

Do you get where i am going?  You and I were fearfully and wonderfully made by the Creator of the universe.  We were created with a purpose.  We were created for fellowship with God our creator.  Somewhere along the way we fell into sin.  When sin came into humanity it severed the fellowship relationship with our Creator.  God so loved us that He provided a way for our redemption.  No sacrifice was sufficient, so He gave Himself.  He alone could satisfy His own high standard.  To as many as received Him, to them he gave the joy of being sons of God.  Daughters too I might add.

I wonder how his faced looked when you were redeemed.  In Christ, you are worthy!!  Forget the past.  It doesn’t matter any more.  All your yesterdays and all your tomorrows have already been redeemed.

 Denise wears her ring daily and it is more beautiful now then ever. 

 Our scars, are our testimony!

Oh, what a Savior,

The Beggar

The past couple of months have given me much time to reflect on life.  The time on the ship was a blessing.  The time on trains traveling from one city to the next is equally a blessing.  Through all this time with little else to do but think, God has just revealed something to me previously known but unappreciated.  At last, I see.

As a Theologian and a perpetual student of the Bible, i know that God has wonderful blessings for those who know him in a personal way.  Many people attend church, give a tithe, sing in the choir, even preach sermons yet have no real relationship with Christ.  This truth is tragic and more common than one might think.  A careful survey of the general state of the Church today will prove my point.  The visable church has grown increasingly weak and enemic in a world in desparate need of their influence.

Churches are born, they grow, they die.  Churches have a life cycle just like all other living things.  We tend to celebrate and honor the churches that are growing in number.  We have elevated the “mega-church” and her pastor to celebrity status.  The problem is that we have no accurate method for measuring spiritual growth.  How can we know if a church with large numbers is any more spitiually alive and viable than a church with only a handfull of believers?

Though the whole of the New Testament we read of God providential hand.  Over and over we read of how God is blessing us with everything we need for godliness and a successful life as a believer.  In the downpour of spiritual blessings He makes no demads upon us.  We bring absolutely NOTHING into the relationship.  WE are impoverished, helpless, hopeless, worthless, and the recurring theme here is “less.”  That is what we are; less.

As we stand in the place of paupers in the presence of the King, we are asked for a single thing.  God merely desires our worship.  Not our money, time, talent, sacrifices, ect.; though each of these have a place in spiritual worship, they are not His goal.  God longs for our fellowship which is the brother to worship.  We cannot worship without fellowship and we can’t have fellowship without worship!

Reflecting back over my fifty years, my memory trips over all my mistakes, sins, all the decesions that were made that are now questioned.  The truth is that they don’t matter.  God knew the mistakes i would make and chose to love me anyway.  I love what Paul said, “Not that i have already arrived, but this one thing i do; forgetting the past i press on to the prize, the goal, promised by God…”  Phil. 3:12 ff (my own paraphrase)

If Paul could overcome his past of persucion for believers, how much more can we?  It isn’t about our past, and not all about our future.  The main thing is to know Him in the spirit of worhsip today!

My Savior made a way for a fallen soul like me, who continues to fall, to be in his presence!  He eradicated my past failures and invites me into his presence for fellowship with the King!  And there, I worship.  Nothing but nothing else matters!

Oh, what a Savior!!!

The Beggar

Today I celebrate the beginning of my second week on my new mission field.  Things are getting to feel more normal but mostly still foreign.  I don’t think i will ever get used to squirting mayonnaise from a toothpaste tube.  But the week has been filled with opportunity and blessings.

Yesterday i preached in the International Church in Nuremburg, Germany.  NO, the spelling is probalby not what you think it should be.  Since yesterday i have uncovered four different and acceptable ways of spelling the ancient city’s name.  When i was introduced, they introduced me as their pastor.  BAM!  There you have God’s will!  So, I am the new pastor of IBC in Nurenberg.  Note the spelling change there?

The music was led by a professiona opera singer from Australia.  When i was told about him, I thought, “Great.  The music will sound like a wounded calf making attempts to either die or live.”  I was wrong.  This young man hit a home run in humility and Theology.  I confessed my judgmental sin and was blessed by the music.

For the rest of the summer and probably through the rest of the year i will be serving the church each Sunday evening at 600.  If you think of us please lift a prayer.  They have only about 30 members but they seem to have a holy passion for Christ.  Better is 30 with passion for Christ than 3,000 club members.

While riding a train last week i observed a blind man making his way towards the train.  Making your way around a larger European train station is beyond most simple folks who come from the country as do i.  I couldn’t dream of being without sight and making a connection.

He walked up to the train, feeling his way with his white cain.  When he made it through the press of people and touched the train he began walking beside the train feeling his way to a door.  A man inside the train stood, opened the door and helped him onto the train.  The man took the first seat and folded his cain.

His stop was the same as ours.  I was clueless as to how to help.  He unfolded the cain and begain walking down the platform in front of the train.  With a good four foot drop to his left, he touched his way down the platform to find his way to the stairs.

What he couldn’t know was that construction on a stayway had been started.  His path was leading him into a dead end.  With a wall in front, a 10 foot high chain link fence on his right, a four foot drop on his left, and an ICE (Inter City Express high speed train) snorting behind him and ready to race down the track, he was feeling his way into a dead end.  Before he would realize what he was doing he would be standing between a high speed train, a wall, and the fence with less than two feet between the tain and fence.

I ran to him and touched his right arm just before he entered the strange and narrow corridor.  Every muscle tensed as i touched him.  In the best German i knew i asked him to please halt.  I tried to lead him around the construction and to the stairs.  He resisted with every muscle in his body.  I watched helplessly as he did exactly what his tradition of the station told him to do.  No doubt he had done it a thousand times.

He walked into the trap, the train still snorting and now closing the doors.  He found the wall and made his traditional turn to the right to find a barrier he had never encountered.  The brakes on the train shifted to neutral and the tain began to roll.  He turned and walked out just as the train sped past.  He made it and i was both relieved and amazed.

Wonder how may of us are at a dead end due to tradition?  I wonder how much like our faith that entire scenerio is.  the world is blind and wandering into certain destruction.  We alone know the way.  Oh, but how they resist our help.  Or worse yet, we fail to render the help.

Who would sit and let a blind person wander off to his own death; a death that could have been prevented at that?  We may be guilt of the same thing spiritually.  The difference is that failing to show the way to the lost is eternal.

For those who are wandering, Christ alone is the Way.  For those who are on the path, ours is the gift and special joy to show the way to those who may miss Heaven.

Be found faithful!

The Beggar

I am a sentimental fool.  As much as i wish it were not so, the truth is, well, it is.  I find a kind fondness in many things most folks never notice.  The past few weeks have been heavy with sentiment.  Tonight i sit in an empty structure that has been my home for almost six years.  The furniture is gone.  The clothes are equally absent.  All the little things that transform 4,500 square feet of bricks and sticks into a home are missing too.  Each of these have been meticulously placed in protective wrapping then tucked into an appropriate box then stacked with tons of others of their kind on the farm.  There they will wait in silence.  Reminds me a bit of Excaliber.  With tears each token of our collective past was stored.  With tears they will one day be unpacked.

Two things haunt me with each box stacked and each trip taken to empty a dwelling and fill a garage.  The first thing is the question of when.  When will we return home?  Will the U. S. ever be our home again?  When will I again have a normal address with a normal zip code?  When will my life be normal again?

The second question is more urgent and equally difficult to answer.  What will I do between now and the day I unpack the treasures of the past?  What contribution to the Kingdom will I make?  What life will I touch?  It is more easily asked, “What on earth are you doing?”  If anybody can answer that one for me please send me a note!

As best as I can tell I am just being obedient.  In the state of perfect obedience we are moldable in the Master’s hand.  Through my life i have experienced the seasons of molding.  Molding clay is much more desirable than molding iron.  While i want to be known for having an iron will, I’ll take the gentle molding of the potter any day over the molding of the blacksmith. 

When the Smith molds the iron he has to heat it to a near melting temperature.  Then he places his subject on a cold hard anvil and pounds the iron into subjection as the iron looses its will to the prevaling and relentless assault of the hammer.  Perhaps i am not the only one who can relate to the sledge hammer blows from the Smith.

The Potter needs only to add a few drops of water to the plyable clay.  With a slight touch he shapes and molds and creates something from nothing.  I’d rather be the clay.  I think the choice of molding is entirely up to us.

Sunday I will preach at the Mount Calvary Baptist Church in Albertville, Alabama.  As soon as worship is over we will leave, headed for Rome, Italy.  By the 19th of May i should be in a new apartment in Frankfurt, Germay.  I am scheduled to preach almost every Sunday evening of the summer in Nurenberg.  I will also be speaking in Interlaken, Switzerland in July.  In addition I will be working as a slave to the general secretary in an effort to multiply his ministry.  I have no idea what i will be doing or where it is that i will be doing that which i don’t know what to do.

Please don’t forget us.  For some reason that is my only concern.  Please hold the ropes for us as we go.  Please pray as often as the Holy Spirit puts us in your mind.  And if you can; come see us in Germany.  As you lift us in your prayers we can be assured of being useful in the Master’s hand and a hope for the future. 

One day not many weeks from now we will be coming home.  We no longer know where home is.  Right now God is preparing a church for this pastor and is preparing this pastor for His church.  Please pray for Denise and me as we seek to remain moldable and useful for the Kingdom.

I will be writing more regularly now.  I have been scolded and encouraged to write.  More of my sentimental drivel is on it’s way!

Oh what a Savior!!!

The first good frost of Autumn hugged the ground this morning.  We have had a few frosty mornings this year, but today was the first that was truly a good frost.  I anticipate the first frost almost as much as i do Christmas.  The first frost signals the conclusion of a long hot Summer and the birth of perfect weather and the coming of the Holiday Season.

The sweetest memories of my life seem to hover near the first frost and the collected winter holidays.  Tears well as i think of walking across a frost covered field with my shotgun over my shoulder on my way to hunt nothing in particular.  Mostly i hunted the peace and solitude that only mother nature has to offer.  Most hunts ended with nothing but sweet memories made and nothing but time killed.  On many occasions i thought how rude it was to interrupt the silence of the morning with the roar of my gun.  Once disturbed, the silence rushed back immediately, the sounds of nature followed more slowly.

Frost signals that it is time for life to take a nap.  The business of the Summer planting has been punctuated with the harvest.  Nothing in the field remains but the stubble of corn stalks to remind one of what once was.  The earth has partnered with the farmer another year and given her yield with man’s sweat for one more harvest.  That has always been the exchange rate; sweat for harvest.  God pronounced it in Genesis shortly after man fell.  The empliments have been cleaned of the residue of topsoil and stored in the barn to wait the winter.  Now the farmer waits with barns full of God’s providence and enjoys the fruit of his labor beside a winter fire.  Peace, sweet, honest, peace.

What brings peace to your life?  If we burrow too deeply into our memories we are rendered useless for the future.  Memories can both heal and wound.  Memories are to be handled with caution.  Enjoy the good ones and flee the rest!  So back to peace; where do you find yours? 

Our world is in constant strife.  Nothing in the news offers us hope.  The modern media profits from our fears and unrest.  We have developed a huge appetite for the unsetteling and dreadful.  Politicians peddle hope as a punchline for election with no idea of how to provide the substance of true hope.  All the world is looking for some spark of peace and with it her cousin hope.

My Savior is called “The Prince of Peace.”  I was just wondering if you know Him?  In Christ we can know the peace and calm of Heaven in the worst of storms.  I am a man.  I’d go so far as to say a real man with no feminine side that i know of.  No matter how masculine, heroic, strong, or stoic i might become, there are days that reduce me to nothing more than a child.  I am weak against the storms that Satan conjures.  In these storms of life we have nothing of this world to calm us or reassure us. 

Let me introduce you to the anchor of my life.  His name is Jesus.  He never promised smooth sailing.  The truth is that he promised persucution if one follows Him.  The way I look at it; if i am going to go through the difficult storms of life, i should do it with a purpose!  In the midst of the heavy seas i always know, the first frost is coming.

“All you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.”  That nugget is probably not original with me but i lack the engergy to search for the originator.  You can search it for yourself.  Just know that it only “might” be mine.  Regardless of author, the truth is significant. 

When your life is suspended in a balance, and all your earthly worth is measured against the time you have been given, what will count the most?  What in this short life will out live us?  We need to invest wisely while we have the time to make a difference.

God has allowed me to live a simply fantastic life.  My life has been filled with all the joys any person could dream of as well as some of the most devistating injuries imaginable.  All in all most every day has been a joy.  One thing that makes life joyous is our ability to see and remember.  God has graced my eyes with the most beautiful sights the world has to offer.  In addition to the sights, He has also made me completely visual.  What you tell me, i will quickly forget.  However, what i see will last until the brain becomes my traitor.

I love Paris.  I also love London, Munich, Florence, Bassel, Geneva, Venice, Tash, Berlin, Endinburgh, Oxford, York, Anchorage, The Skalkaho Pass,  Seattle, South Lake Tahoe, Sacramento, Eagle’s Nest, Red River, Abilene, Goodland, Victor, and a thousand other places you couldn’t even find on a map.  Each of these places hold some valuable visual connection to my soul.  Merely typing these words brought back sweet memories of each time I have walked the cobble stones of Florence, stared intently into mystical green waters of Venice, watched the sun set over lake Geneva, stared with teary eyes at the Matterhorn, marveled at the Norther Lights,  pondered the milk white waters hemorraged by lofty glacers in the Swiss Alps, or the sight of majestic Denali from 150 miles away.  All these and more are uniquely mine.  For each one i owe a growing debt.  The memories only grow more dear with the passing years.  There is no trace of the Beggar in any of these places.  However, they left an indellible mark on the Beggar.

So much for what has touched me, now for that which i have touched.  The list is probalby longer and much less notable.  The list goes something like: Ray, Tony, Tim, Tommy, Terry, Kenny, Mama Nell, Darren, and again, a thousand other names you will never know before eternity.  The sights mentioned earlier are a vapor.  The names are souls.  The deepest marks are made during the deepest trials.  We will always remember with whom we weep.  Write that one down and never forget it.  You will never forget who shared your grief.

Whose grief have you helped bear of late?  Whose life has a perminent etching of your love?  It isn’t too late to make an impact on someone.  You can make a memory before the sun sets.  You simply have to make up your mind to do so.

I have a special insight into memories, sights, and touches.  They all last.  Regardless of present circumstances you can calm yourself and quietly remember.  Your touch today will be a blessing for life.

On the western coast of England there is an enchanting place known as “The Lake District.”  There writers and poets have huddled and produced significant works.  There Potter gave birth to stories about a Bunny Rabbit.  In one tiny two story cottage, known as Dove Cottage, DeQuincy, Collerage, and Wordsworth all lived and wrote.  There too is a special place to me.  In 1802, while living in Dove Cottage, Wordsworth wrote a simple verse known as “I wandered lonely as a cloud” or as “Daffodils.”  Please take a moment and look it up and savor the simplicity and beauty.

When broken by life i find my greatest souce of encouragement comes from the testimonies from the past, the times that God came through.  Once in a while, an event crosses the horizon of your life and does so with an inperceptible air.  Yet our Heavenly Father allows us the opportunity to be faithful with these events and years later smile with joy over what He did all those years before. 

What is your life?

Today we celebrated the 4th of July.  It is actually the 5th, but the 4th was on Sunday.  Sunday seems to be a pretty intense work day for me for some reason.  Maybe it is the three sermons.  After a late night of fireworks and getting in bed a full hour later than usual, we started the day later than usual.  But it soon resembled most other off days.

I am a simple man.  I don’t need a great deal of “fluff” to make my life the way I like.  Give me simple food, simple clothes, simple transportation, and i am a happy dude.  Off days usually reflect a simple plan.  Rise when you like, leave the house as soon as you can, get back in time to unwind and get in bed by ten.  Most off days include a road trip.  Sometimes we go to the farm and drive through the field to have a picnic under a couple of pines on the back side.  Other days are like today.  We leave the house with no destination in mind and mostly we tour the north Georgia mountains. 

Today we went to a hidden treasure called Boggs Creek.  Though it is the weekend of the 4th, we had the place to ourselves.  The mountain air was wonderful.  The creek was as clear as crystal and as cool as meleted snow.  We picked out a spot and spead a picnic lunch fit for a king.  You know the menu, ham sandwich, chips, good ole pork n’ beans, and a diet Dew.  Now who can even think to want more than that? 

Those of you who know me know that i have a sickness for old trucks.  I never met a truck that i didn’t love.  Most people invest in things like gold, the stock market, real estate, and marketable securities.  These are all good.  But you just can’t DRIVE any of them.  From childhood, i have loved trucks, especially those that are four wheel drive.

A few months ago i made a man an offer on a 1985 jeep cj7.  He was not interested in my offer then and i just couldn’t pay any more.  After weeks of visits, he finally accepted my offer.  I became the proud owner of another vehicle older  than most people are willing to drive.  She is a beauty.  She is a black Laredo.  I call her Larry.  I know, but it is my jeep and i will name her as i please.  Maybe i should spell it Lare.

We took her for the off day ride today.  Jeep drivers waved proudly to me and i returned the wave.  I am a son of the south.  I wave to most drivers i meet and now no longer expect a response, but i wave whether i know you or not.  That will probably get me in trouble one day.  The purpose of the purchase was to sell her, but after today, i just don’t know.  How do you sell a family member? 

She takes her place alongside my 1972 one owner Bronco, my 1961 Chevy short-bed in which i dated and drove to both my prom and graduation, and my 1996 Bronco that is my daily driver.  Most of you see this as silly.  I see it as an investment in art, American steel and technology, as well as the antique market.  The best part is that i can actually drive her!  We went through a creek today and she didn’t even complain.  Try that with your 401k.

Two hundren miles or so later, we returned home.  Right now she sits in the drive waiting on my next nod.  One day she will let me down.  One day she won’t start, or she will need a major repair.  Even a truck won’t last forever.  When she does let me down, i will be expecting it.  When she doesn’t start, i understand that it is just a part of owning a vehicle.  When the tires wear out, i know it is the price of having her.  So, without complaint i will understand her failure and do my best to geter’ up and runnin’ again.

I am a lot like my old trucks.  I am prone to breakdowns, and failure.  I am learning to expect the same from other people as well.  What is bothering me right now is my level of expectation.  The truth is that we might be more understaing of our vehicles than we are other people.  When my truck fails, i just get it fixed and pat her on the hood.  When people fail, we aren’t as understanding.  You just can’t find a good ”people mechanic” these days. 

It is all simple.  Simple is good for a simple man like me.  The Bible teaches that we are all sinners, every last one of us.  As sinners we are in need of a Savior.  My King’s mission was to seek and save that which was lost.  That was me.  That was you.  I am humbled to serve a King who loves me though He knows i am going to let Him down.   We all need to learn that discipline.  Let people be people.  Let God be God.  When i get it out of order things won’t work out.   

The best part is that we have a simple Savior too.  For some reason the song Victory in Jesus comes to mind.

The Beggar

A few days ago Denise and I had lunch at O’Charlies.  Back in the good old days when i could eat all the salad i wanted, we ate there frequently.  These days we almost never go there.  However, we were on the road and needed to stop for some nourishment.  O’Charlies was close and we turned in out of convience.

I do as i always do, strike up a conversation with the waiter, hostess, manager, and anybody else who isn’t moving too fast for a quick visit.  We ordered and waited on the arrival of our meal.  As we waited a family of three entered and took their place just across and down from our booth.  They were positioned behind Denise and in front of me. 

My eyes were transfixed upon the family.  A husband in his late twenties, a wife of about the same age, and a son who looked to be about nine.  Both parents were busy making attempts to make the child comfortable and make sure he had whatever he wanted.  My tears forced Denise to turn and look before I ever spoke a word.  After her turn and gaze, she turned back to me with eyes as mosit as mine.

Our divine appointment was in a randomly selected restaurant on the south side of I-40 in Memphis.  It sits directly across the interstate from St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.  Danny Thomas founded the research hospital for children suffering from life threatening illnesses.  They make a policy to never reject someone on their inability to pay.  Through the workers at St. Jude’s God does great things for those who deserve it the most.  St. Jude is the Catholic Saint for lost causes.

The child was in a wheel chair.  He had two hospital bands on his left wrist and a single “silly band” on his left.  His hair was as short as mine, far too short to hide the obvious scars that crossed his young scalp.  Manners would not let me look long enough to count the scars.  My scarce glances let me count three different scars from what i supposed to be three unique surgeries.  He sat in complete discomfort, the kind that can be known only by those who have been so sick that death seems to be a friend and not an enemy. 

I asked him about his silly band.  He said it was a dog.  Then I referenced the other bands, the ones the hospital straps on to make sure they know who you are.  I said, “Now those are the real silly bands.”  With eyes half closed with exhaustion, he smiled and nodded his head.  All i could pray was, “Oh, Lord, please don’t let me break down right now.”

I reflected about my own children.  They have frustrated me to no end, but i know they love me.  I have been angry and hurt at both of them.  But I love them in turn.  My two children are healthy and we visit daily.  I am so blessed.

I reflected about my own sickness.  Chemo reduced me from a German Shepherd, to a Chiwawa.  Six months into the chemo I was trembling just like the little rat some call a dog.  Emotions caught up with me one day.  I was home alone sitting in my recliner in my bedroom watching some mindless show on TV.  My daughter was playing soccer and it was her senior year.  Denise didn’t want to leave me but i demanded aso she went to represent me while my athletic daughter did her part to win one for Athens High. 

Alone, in a continual nervous shake, pouting for being laid asside by such an illness, deeply saddened because I was too weak to watch my baby play, i did what i had not previously done.  In prayer I complained.  I told God that i just couldn’t keep this up.  I was too sick for anything but death.  “Just take my worthless life and give me peace!” i exclaimed. 

When the reverberations of my voice died away, the voice on the televison came into audible focus.  The program was interrupted by an advertisement for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.  The first image my eyes focused upon was the sight of a child with no hair, the next was a beautiful little girl who was on her way to surgery.  At that second the conviction of the ages fell on me.  With every ounce of strength I had, I pulled myself out of the recliner and collapsed onto the floor.  There, with face down i asked my Heavenly Father to forgive me when I whine!  Oh, how many times will i have to learn the same lesson?  Father forgive me when I whine!

So i did the only thing i knew to do.  I had my server ring up a sizeable gift card and put it on my bill.  Then asked him to give it to the family after we were out of the store.  We ate quickly.  Tears were held in check by sheer power of will.   Soon the father took the son to the men’s room.  With only the young mother sitting at the table, we made our exit.  As we passed her table i stopped, smiled, and said, “you ARE blessed.”  She returned the smile and said, “Yes, we certainly are.”

St. Jude is the patron Saint of lost causes.  Without Christ we are all lost causes.  In Christ we are all Saints.

The Lord bless and keep you…………..and forgive you when you whine.

The Beggar

Well, it finally happened.  It took 21 years, but it finally happened.  I didn’t see it coming, but it was a certainty that it would happen.  I wasn’t prepared for it when it took place.  There is almost no way to prepare for something like this.  You wake up one day and it takes place before you know it.  Let me explain.

Recently i had a contractor in my home to evaluate our remodel project.  We are not remodeling because we are tired of the old decor.  Last fall we were flooded to 34″ in our first floor.  We lost a couple of bedrooms, a den, a bathroom, and a whole host of “stuff.”  We are still working on the restoration.

As we surveyed the damage and the progress we walked into my son’s lair.  He has a perfectly delightful bedroom on the top floor complete with a private bathroom.  He chooses to sleep in the basement on a matress supported by nothing but the concrete floor.  I don’t blame him.  I would do the same thing.

Sifting through the debris, also known as my son’s “stuff” we unearthed my curl bar.  A curl bar is a bar with several bends in it.  When hands are placed properly and weight is attached, the user can get a significant work out on selected muscle groups.  The bar was loaded with weights.  I carefully added the plates and totaled the weight.  Then i did it again.  And once more to be sure.  The total was the same no matter which way i added it.

Then i did the most unthinkable.  I placed my hands perfectly and slowly lifted the bar.  Assuming a perfect position, with perfect posture, perfect hand placement, back straight, elbows tucked, legs slightly bent, i did five perfect curls.  Gently i returned the weights to the concrete floor and smiled at my accomplishment.

The next day Jordan, my 21 year old son, came into the den to watch television with Denise and me.  For several minutes i pondered my next move.  “I saw the curl bar yesterday” i said, hoping he would tell me he was using it to store unused weights.  No luck.  He didn’t say a word.  So, softly, almost to low to be heard, i asked, “so are you using it?”  He kept is gaze on the TV and said, “curls.”  Jordan is not a man to overcommunicate.  My tactics had failed.  There was nothing left but for me to ask.  “Well, are you doing them correctly?”  “Yes sir” he assured me.  “So, how many times do you curl?”  Never moving his eyes from some mindless televison show he said, “three sets of ten.” 

Three sets of ten!  My station in life changed with the speach of those few words. “Three sets of ten.”  Just like that my world and my place in it changed and would never be the same again.  My son is stronger than me.  For the first time my son can curl more weight than me.  I haven’t lifted a weight in ages and he lifts almost daily.  But it still hurts!  “Three sets of ten.”  The words just hang in the room.  The words mean, “I am stronger than you dad.”  And he never looked away from the TV.

Now before you judge me you need to know that the bar had 110 pounds on it.  Before you make fun of this old man, rack up a curl bar with 110 pounds, place your hands in the proper place, tuck your elbows, straighten your back, and do five the right way.  Or knock yourself out and to ”three sets of ten.”  Jordan stand a full three inches taller than me and our weight is about the same.  His is a perfect physique, while mine has more than the 50 years worth of miles showing. 

This son of mine who towers over me and now out curls me, will one day help me to the bathroom when my legs are too week to support my weight.  The first time he does I will remember “three sets of ten.”  One day he will help me rise from a bed because my strength has been taken by the years.  One day, he will follow this body on the last ride.

Our children are our greatest legacy.  Our children carry our DNA for genetics as well as coping skills, problem solving, and resiliance in adversity.  How we react to life teaches our children far more than all our words. 

Our children also know us better than anybody else too.  They see us at our best and unfortunately at our worst.  And for some reason they love us anyway.  I am certainly not the world’s best father.  The truth is i am just under average.  I have decided that whatever our children become is a combinaton of our parenting and God’s grace.  I am grateful for His grace more every day.

As the years pass i grow more dependent upon His grace.  Maybe i just recognize it more clearly.  Reminds me of a song; Amazing grace, how sweet the sound….   Oh, what a Savior.

Walking in grace,

The beggar

My Grandfather was a big man.  He stood a bit over 6’4″ and at his death was an emaciated 240 pounds.  When the all new spidel watch band was introduced he was first to get one from Stenson’s jewelers.  I didn’t understand his excitement over a watch band.  He had always carried a pocket watch which was just part of his attire.  When we arrived at Stinson’s he asked for the largest band they had.  They installed it and handed it to Grandaddy.  It would not stretch enough to go over his hand.  They added a dozen more links and it finally fit.  He never wore a wrist watch because he had never found one large enough for his wrist.  My father’s size 14 ring fit my grandfather’s little finger to the second knuckle.  He was my picture of a man.

Grandaddy never finished high school.  However, his intellect was not bound to books.  The older i get and reflect on some of Grandaddy’s saying, the more profound they become.  He was wise beyond is education.  As my station in life changes, so does my appreciation for what Grandaddy said.

He once told me, “Son, you don’t have to be afraid of a man who is not afraid of you.  But the man that is afraid of you is the man to fear.”  That made absolutely no sense to me.  i questioned him.  “You see,” he said, “if a man is not afraid of you, he will just whip you and go about his business.  But if a man is afraid of you and he can’t whip you, he will just kill you.”  Humm.  School yard wisdom from the 19 teens.

The quote that i remember most clearly is, “A coward dies a thousand deaths but a brave man only one.”  That burned into my pre-teen mind.  Of all the poems and quotes that have drifted through my swiss cheese brain, that one sticks.  Early on in my life i made a conscious decesion to fear not.

Years later i read “Julius Ceaser” by William Shakespeare.  There i found the accurate rendering of the original quote.  “Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.”  My Grandfather had merely improved upon it.  That is rich wisdom worthy of application.

This philosophy was part of my fabric before i ever read the book of Romans.  In Romans 8 it teaches us that if God is for us nothing can stand against us.  It goes on to say that nothing can separate us from the love of God.  There in Romans you have it.  A brave man dies but once.

Paul corrected my understanding of death when he asked death a question.  “Death where is your sting?”  For the believer death is but the final enemy to be overcome.   One day all our victories and losses will be swallowed in the mighty gulp of death.  Victory at last! 

If i miss a few words here please forgive me.  I am typing from memory with no reference material at hand.  “So live that when thy summons come to join that innumerable caravan which moves to that mysterious place where each must take his place in the silent halls of death, you may approach your grave, not as a quary slave, beaten and scourged, but as one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to peaceful dreams.”  Thanatopsis.

So dear reader, live as a free man.  We have been freed to walk in simple victory until the day that death finally falls victim to victory.  Until then, fear not!

the beggar

I have a few scars.  Four knee surgeries on the same knee, two rounds with cancer, football, a tumble off the hood of a car at 40 miles per hour, a sickness for agressive biking,  and a stubborn horse have all left marks in my flesh.  Each scar is personal to me.  After all, i was there when i earned each one.  My son has a tee shirt which boldly proclaims, “Scars are tatoos with better stories.”  I like that.

It is a good thing that scars heal from side to side and not end to end.  For some reason we worry about the scar left from a surgery.  Each of mine remind me of what caused the trauma to start with.  Football caused the first two knee surgeries.  Today when my knee aches i can still smell the grass on a football field on Brindley mountain where i first destroyed it.  Each time I look at my abdomen i am reminded of what cancer can do.    Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t love the things, i am just grateful for the reminders.

Scars in the flesh heal but leave a definate mark for others to see.  From time to time someone will see my stomach and ask what happened.  Sometimes i tell them cancer.  Almost always that makes them uneasy, so sometimes i just tell them it was a shark attack.  They are usually impressed with the perfection of the vertical line.

I have a few scars that are not as visible too.  You don’t live half a century and over half of that in ministry without collecting some scars on the inside.  Though they are not visible or obvious, they still hurt.  Inside scars hurt more deeply and time won’t make it well.  Inside scars neither heal end to end, nor side to side.  I think maybe they heal from the outside in.

When deeply wounded on the inside we are forced to make conscious decesions as to our actions on the outside.  The natural instinct when hurt is to inflict hurt on someone else.  That never works out well.  After wounding the other person you still have your own inside scar that is no closer to healing and the other person is scared as well.

Funny thing is that words can’t harm the outside, yet they can destroy the inside.  I often wonder how many people I meet each day who show no signs of a battle on the outside, yet on the inside they are devistated.  If we could somehow view other people through the filters of their inside scars, we might just be more compassionate and loving. 

The next time someone hurts you or offends you, remember, they have some scars that you can’t see.

Only one thing will heal an inside scar.  Forgiveness heals all wounds.  Forgiveness is one of the most precious comodoties on the relationship market.  It is in scarce supply these days.  Some people associate forgivenss with weakness.  Nothing could be more incorrect.  The truth is that forgiveness requires guts.  To stand silently and let someone else field dress you while taking no actions of retaliation takes GUTS.  The flesh, the spirit, the world, all scream to be vindicated!  I don’t want to get even, or to get ahead.  I want to react with all the energy of an atomic bomb.   Now don’t think ill of me.  You are just like me.

Here the discipline of the grace of forgiveness comes into play.  When we learn to be hurt, yet not deal hurt for hurt, we have made significant progress in becoming like Christ.  Isn’t that our goal anyway?

The next time we are insulted, hurt, or scared on the inside, make it a point to see how Christ can use this to make us more like Him.  Romans 8:28 (loosely yet effectively paraphrased) says, “All things that come into the life of a believer gives us an opportunity to become more or less like Christ.”

By His stripes we are all healed.