Triumph and Tragedy

This week, I’ve gone from being on the top of the mountain, to being in a deep valley within the space of a few short hours, and then on the mountain again.  I’ve watched as one of my children embraced love, life, and every good thing and kissed her.  I then had to turn around within the span of a few short hours and wrestle with another child’s efforts to keep her sanity through personal problems I am not at liberty to discuss.  In both cases, the one thing I saw, was the power of the presence of God.  That is the one thing that makes being a child of God so amazing, in the midst of tragedy or triumph, you know God is there and that he will eventually make all things work for good. 

Last Saturday, as I watched my only son embrace his lovely new bride, I wistfully remembered that day I pulled my lovely wife to me. I’m sure there were those who swore we’d never make it beyond the first year, and I’m equally sure that there were those who hoped we wouldn’t.  August 13^th, we will celebrate our 36^th year of life together.  I can tell you, and I believe she would too, it was only by the grace of God, that we’ve survived.  YES, we’ve survived.  It wasn’t easy.  Sometimes, it wasn’t even fun.  One thing is for certain, we’d have never made it without the presence of God in our lives.  We’ve lived through things we’ve never discussed with anyone, nor would we ever want to.  We’ve fought over petty things as well as major issues.  I’ve insulted her, and she’s insulted me.  I’ve hid all the sharp objects in our house, knowing full well if she found them, I’d have been a dead man.  I love that same woman more than ever.  Her embrace and passionate kiss can still drive me crazy.  Without the grace of God, I wouldn’t be able to say that now.  In our 36 years of marriage, we’ve moved eight times, been from one coast to another, had organs removed, brought 3 children into the world, retired a ridiculous number of vehicles, discovered every imaginable eatery along the way, gained enough weight to make three of us, and worshipped in more than sixty church homes (yes, I counted them.)

 

All of this by the grace of God.

Then, comes my daughter’s personal tragedy, and every parent’s heartbreak; the inability to make it go away.  The other evening I sat in my truck in the sweltering heat and begged God to lift my daughter out of her situation. Like any good parent (of which I loosely lay claim,) I told God to put it on me.  At which point he reminded me he already has.

 I forgot, you have to be specific with the creator of the universe.

 

Okay God, just make it go away.  

Some of you who are parents, know what I’m talking about.  Those moments when you bargain with God as if you have something to bargain with.  I pulled out every promise in the bible, and thumped him in his heart.  I don’t know how many times I yelled out ; “but you said.”  I reminded him of the prophecies spoken over her, the dreams I’ve had, the visions she’s had.  Then came his presence, and this soft reminder; “I love her more than you do.” 

Does anyone have a cure for rasping sobs?

 

It was useless to argue with him.  I knew the proof was in his Son. 

It took me a few minutes to compose myself, and then I headed home to my wife.  Later, my daughter called, and informed us that some friends from her home church had ministered God’s love to her in a way I wanted to. That’s the cool thing about God, he has friends everywhere, and they can step in for him to reaffirm his love.  I didn’t need to bargain with God.  I didn’t need to remind him of his promises.  You see, I’ve been here before.  I remembered the day I saw my firstborn infant grandson laying in the ICU with a ventilator pumping air into paralyzed lungs.  I wondered then, why that tiny infant was fighting for his life while I’d made a mess of my own life, and God still allowed me to breathe.  I questioned God that day as I had the other night.  I remember sitting out in the car in the parking lot of the hospital and God telling me the same thing.  “I love him more than you do.”  Eventually, the doctors figured out what happened and began administering the cure, even as people all over the world were praying for him.  How do I know that?  The internet, of course.  You see, God has friends all over the earth who are just waiting to demonstrate his love for us.

    

What I’ve learned from the sparrow’s perch is, life goes on, day after day, a never-ending parade of moments of great joy, or moments of intense sorrow.  What I’ve noticed about the both of them, is that they both overwhelm you, and then subside eventually.  Grief and sorrow often take longer to subside than joy, but in each, God still loves us.  Each triumph is born of conflict, and each tragedy is born of joy.  We can move through each with the creator of the universe, or we can rant at the stars for their callous disregard for our fortunes.

As for myself, I will retreat to the sparrows perch in the tabernacle of God, and softly sing of his presence.  Because, I know if his eye is on the sparrow, I know he watches over me.

MISSING THE SPARROW'S PERCH

For those who've been wondering what the sparrow's perch is, it is the window sill in my office at the church. I come to the office early to pray(Like 5:30 in the morning early), read a few chapters in the Word, write lessons for our men's study group, and write these blogs. It is a quiet place except for the occasional sparrow that perches on the sill. Their playful antics, and complete dependence upon the provision of the Lord have enthralled me numerous times. I especially enjoy it when there is standing water on the flat roof just below my window. They cavort and carry on while splashing around in the puddles. Over the last five or six weeks, work has kept me at home in the morning, and I can feel the affect on my spirit. I miss the sparrow's perch.

I believe there are special places, and even special furniture where you can get comfortable with the Lord and enjoy His presence better than any other place. Such is the case for me at the church office.

I was trying to explain what the sparrow's perch is to a good friend the other day, and they couldn't wrap their head around it. “Anywhere we are, there the Lord is also.” He said. “The Presence of God is in you. You are the temple of the Holy Spirit.”

“Yes, but I feel him stronger, and more clearly in my church office.” I explained. “Especially when the window is open, and I can hear the sparrows chirping above the low thrum of city traffic.” I could tell that my explanation was going nowhere. Try as hard as I might, he wasn't going to understand how important the sparrow's perch is to me. There was no way he was going to understand how much I needed that time in the presence of God.

One of the things I've noticed in my walk with the Lord, is that my attitude is directly affected by how much time I spend in the presence of God. The Presence is more than a specific time of bible study, prayer, or meditation. A matter of fact, I experience different levels of the presence depending upon how I've approached the Lord during the morning. Sometimes, I forget who He is, and I get entirely too familiar. By familiar, I'm not talking about climbing up in His lap and letting him love on me. I'm talking about forgetting that He is the creator of heaven and earth, and becoming presumptuous. You, know, that place of familiarity where you forget your place, and do or say things that presume upon the love of the other person. I mean, even as much as I love my earthly father, there is a level of respect I afford him. It would be presumptuous of me to move into his home, eat his food, and drive his vehicles without his approval. Sadly, I do that with God. Sometimes I presume to know what to do throughout the day, just because I've done it before. I'll pray earnestly, but with no affect because he wanted me to sit still and be quiet. Other times, I get busy reading, and forget to pray. Other times I'll bull up and do what I want to do, because it makes me feel good to do it.

To give you an example, I want to brag on my grandson Elijah for a moment.

Elijah is a typical ten year old boy. He is headstrong, loves fun, and enjoys playing. When he comes to visit, we have a fantastic time playing video games. Of course he knows how to turn on the game console, the TV, and the sound system. We have hours of fun, and he enjoys beating me at every game we play. The other day, we finished playing all the Halo games in my collection (I have them all) and I suggested another game title. He shook his head and said his Dad told him he couldn't play that game. At that moment, Elijah was ten feet tall in my book. I've also told him he can't play any games on my console while I'm away at work. He has never broken that rule, and I admire him for it. I'm more willing to do things for him simply because he is respectful of my wishes. I don't love him any more or less than my other grandchildren for his obedience, but I like him a lot because he respects me.

I think God is the same way.

When we honor him, and don't presume upon his nature, I believe Jesus desires to be with us more. When we reverence the Presence of God, I believe he moves in a little closer and leans over toward us. I think he likes us more when we like to be with him, and he respects us more when we honor him.

Relationship is its own reward.

The sparrow's perch is a place of reverence for me, It is a reminder to be still and listen. It is a place of warmth and joy. Many of the sweetest things I've learned at the feet of Jesus, have been learned in that special place. In another week, I'll return to my old schedule and once more open the window to the sparrow's perch. Hopefully, the Presence of God will be there as He always has.  

THE CHAIR

DISCLAIMER

It’s a given that I’ll probably offend someone in this blog.  My greatest desire in writing THE SPARROWS PERCH  is to share those things that I’ve learned over time and through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.  The Sparrows perch affords a view of the world that is bereft of ulterior motives and personal gain.  I’m not selling you anything.  You don’t have to read this.  If you do, I’m thrilled you found me.  If you are offended, it breaks my heart.  My remaining time on this earth is too short to spend it on empty arguments and angry contests of spiritual words.  When your perch is within the presence of God, there is very little that matters other than remaining in His presence.  I don’t want to,  and won’t defend my feelings, they’re mine.  So many of our freedoms have been taken away from us in this country, the only one you can’t take away, is the freedom to believe.  Christians are now the new object of hate in America today.  We are viewed as spiteful, narrow minded, and ultimately evil people because we withhold approval for certain behaviors.  Forget the fact that these behaviors are definitively identified as sin, and it is our constitutional right to object to them.

 

SOOOOOOO,,,,, if you don’t believe in the nuclear family, the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman, YOU DON’T HAVE TO, AND YOU SHOULDN’T GO ANY FURTHER.   That’s my disclaimer.  YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ THIS.  YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND WITH HATE FILLED VITRIOL.

 

Every family has one.   

THE CHAIR!

 You know, DAD’S CHAIR!  It was the sacred seat in front of the television, and the only place in the living room with an unobstructed view of the TV.   Every home has a  well worn, stained, broken down throne that belongs to DAD.  When I was a child, my two brothers and I would fight over the chair until Dad came home.  It was a game between us.  Serious fistfights, tickle fights, and epic wrestling matches were fought over the privilege to sit in the chair.  What’s funny about this, is that Mom’s chair was actually directly in front of the TV.  Her chair was rarely occupied , and was much cleaner.  Dad’s chair was always at an angle  from the TV and much further away than Mom’s.  The back of the chair was stained from Dad’s  Brylcreem  (look it up.)   Still, it was Dad’s chair that we fought over.  It smelled of sweat, Old Spice, popcorn, ice cream, and peanut butter.  You couldn’t put anything on the end table next to it, because of all the remotes.  His change, wallet, and truck keys covered the top of the end table.  THESE THINGS WERE SACRED.  They were Dad’s.   To sit in Dad’s chair when he was home, was to have him crush you as he tried to grind you into the cushion while he complained to Mom about how lumpy the chair had become.  Forget the fact that my brothers and I were screaming and gasping for breath through our giggles.  Mother would agree, and offer to buy him a new chair, then he would stand up and discover us pressed into the sides of the cushions. 

You know, THE CHAIR.

We can learn the lesson of sanctity from the chair.  There are things that are sacred.  They don’t belong to us, they are the Father’s.  In his presence he’ll remind us gently, with love and affection of those things he holds sacred and to be uniquely his.  The first time we try and sit in his chair, we quickly discover that it doesn’t fit us.  When we fight over his chair, it doesn’t change the fact, that it is his chair.  When he sits in his chair with us in it, we quickly discover our frailty.

Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of Christian books by authors of different or no denominations.  They’re all fighting over ‘The Chair.’   They all seem to spend a  lot of time berating one another, getting into tickle fights, or all out fisticuffs.  At the end of the day, one thing remains unchanged, ‘The Chair’ belongs to Daddy.  The religious diatribe, and fruitless bashing all speak of one thing, the chair doesn’t belong to any of us.  We’re still kids fighting for what isn’t ours. 

I’m 57 years old, live less than 120 feet away from my Dad.  I don’t sit in my father’s chair.  Even when he is gone somewhere, I don’t sit in his chair.  It feels awkward.  I think we need to feel that way about sitting in God’s chair.  What am I talking about?

 

Judging the world.  It isn’t our chair to sit in.  It’s not my chair.  We can judge one another, but not the world. . . .that’s another story altogether.  We can’t expect those who’ve never had a relationship with Christ, to understand or adhere to the law of love.  We pray for them, we minister for them, and we give ourselves for them as Christ did.  Because they aren’t part of the nuclear family of God, they don’t have a sacred chair.  It isn’t our business.  Our business is to show them the family they can become a part of.  We call it the Kingdom, the Church, the Body, a fellowship,. . .whatever, but it is all really about being a family.  Who knows, maybe they’ll discover the joy of ‘The Chair.’

No More CheeZeee Gifts, Just Your Heart

Good morning from the sparrow's perch.  I came in a little extra early so I could sit in my church office and enjoy the song of the sparrows and the cool morning breeze. 

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

I've been blessed to be a father.  Although I can truly understand why fathers would hate going to church on Father's day.  First of all, if you received the typical gifts of a BRIGHT, COLORFUL, and GARISHLY INDECENT tie, or whatever typical father's day piece of clothing innocent children are coerced by wickedly insensitive wives to buy for you,  you will be forced to wear it to church. Have you ever noticed how the women gather together on Father's day in little clumps of eight and snicker.  YES, they are admiring one another's ability to humiliate the man of their home through the loving hands of their children.  If you somehow escape the humiliation of having to wear a tie with cute little animals or cartoon characters, you will be forced to endure the Father's day sermon.  

NO WONDER MEN HATE TO GO TO CHURCH! 

We get lambasted at Christmas for not being able to secure a room for the night.  At Easter, we're chastised for crucifying Christ, on mother's day we're the heels in a loaf of bread, and on Father's Day we're sorely lacking as role models, and spiritual leaders. It'd be easier and less humiliating to stand out in the hot June sunshine and do primal cooking upon the outdoor cooking device.  This, a man knows how to do!  

With all that said, I am grateful that I attend a church fellowship where the men are appreciated, the sermons are never holiday oriented, and the men are good fathers. I'm also grateful that my children have finally learned the one basic truth I've been trying to teach them all their lives; Don't buy me cheezy gifts, just give me your heart. You see, as a father, I love my children whether they buy me gifts or not.  My daughters and my son, will never figure out to ask me what book I'd like to read, or what movie I'd like to own.  This is because somehow we've tied in the giving of gifts to the notion that we're all mind readers and know what each other really want.  It's kind of like when I bought my wife a vacuum cleaner for our seventh Christmas.  I won't repeat what was said.  After numerous ties, T-shirts declaring me to be the world's best dad, I took a cue from my wife and told my children just to give me a call.  Let me know you are thinking of me.  

Our heavenly Father knows that feeling.  He reminded me of it this morning as I prepared to leave for the church.  I was ruminating over the events of the past week and thanking him for bringing me through it all intact. I looked down at the seat of my truck and remembered that I'd forgotten to pull out my dad's card.  'Darn!  I forgot to give it to him!'  Suddenly, the Holy Spirit reminded me of the offerings that were supposed to be brought before Lord, by the Jewish people.  The scripture where He declares his distaste for the fat of bulls and rams sprang to my mind.  

WHY DID HE DESPISE THEM WHEN HE ORDAINED THEM?  

They weren't the gifts of appreciation!  They were the offerings for sin.  The Lord's favorite holidays were celebrations of relationship.  Passover celebrates the birth of a people out of a life of slavery, Pentecost celebrates the expectation of life, and faith.  The feast of Tabernacles is the celebration of provision in the desert and relationship through that provision.  For God, the garish, indecent, and continual sacrifice of animals for the wickedness of man was the farthest thing from what he truly wanted.  What he wanted, was what He had in the beginning; relationship.  

Thankfully, through the gift of Christ Jesus, we have the most awesome Father's Day gift of all, and it is the Father who provided it. After he paid the price, he told us; No more Cheezy gifts, just your heart.  That is all any father really wants.  That is ALL He wants.      

HERE COMES DAVE AGAIN

I'm not sitting in the sparrow's perch today, in more ways than one. I've taken on a job for a brother in the church, and the job location is in the opposite direction of the church. I'm sure very few people would understand, but I miss my time of prayer, bible study, and writing from the sanctified confines of my church office. I especially miss the sparrows tittering outside my window.

Spiritually, I found myself about a hundred miles away from the presence of God today, with no one to blame but myself. I let something someone told me this morning get in my craw, and couldn't let it go. I was like the old turtle who'd fallen off the stump only to land on his back. He saw a little boy walking toward the pond and started kicking and flailing in hopes the boy would pick him up and put him upright. Instead the boy grabbed the startled turtle by one leg, took it home, killed it and threw it in a pot. Moral: If you kick up a fuss, you'll end up in a stew.

It's not the first time I've felt like that old turtle, and you'd think I'd know better than to kick up a fuss. To make matters worse, a rainstorm blew in about noon time, putting an end to my very productive day. Now, everything I'd planned on doing is delayed a day. On the other hand, we need the rain, so I felt guilty for grousing about the rain. As you can imagine, by the time I got home I was about a million miles away from the presence of God. So, I did what every man does in moments like this, I tore something apart. I've been working very slowly on our front bathroom in order to have it ready for my oldest daughter to come visit in July.

Today I ripped it up!

PROBLEM: I don't have the funds to put it back together as quickly as I tore it apart. So,not only was I in a stew about something someone said, but I now have a bathroom with a great big hole in the floor and no money to fix it. Worst of all, I have no one to blame but myself. Even more disgusting than that, I feel terrible inside, and simply want to sit quietly before the Lord and cry. Yes, I said cry. I know, 57 year old men shouldn't cry, but that's what I feel like.

If I lived in the days of the Old Testament, I would have to throw a lamb over my shoulder and head toward the tabernacle.

I can here it now,

“There goes Dave again.”

“Poor Guy, he's so messed up, he keeps the priests well fed single handedly.”

“That's about the fourth trip to the tabernacle this week.”

“At this rate, he ain't gonna have a flock left.”

“You'd think he'd just stop sinning.”

Yep, I feel pretty rotten. I know the grace of God will heal me through the night, and tomorrow will be another wonderful day. Still, I can't help but feel bad about this wasted day. Just when I think I'm over something in my life, it will sneak up and slap me in the face.

I'm just glad I don't have to carry a stinking lamb over my shoulders to the tabernacle.

Forgive me Lord Jesus, give me the grace to overcome, your love to love, and your joy to walk in.       

A CHURCH WITH IRON

It is raining! What a joy to hear the distant crack of thunder to the south and the occasional burst of light from lightning high in the cloud tops. It's been a terrible drought this past month and a half, and even as meager and light as this rain is, it is welcome. As I sit at my desk in the sparrow's perch, I am enjoying the gentle breeze and uneven rhythm of the rain drops as they land on the aluminum splash-guard below my window sill.

I'm feeling satisfied this morning after a time of prayer and communion with the Lord. He's already shown me some things this morning that I need to work on and has set within my heart some of what I'm going to write in the blog. I have to admit, this is my favorite blog to write. I have two others, but they don't reflect who I am as much as what I do. This blog is more intimate and personal. I draw from my life experiences, my children, my grandchildren, and my wife for the practical application and inspiration. Such was the case yesterday as I sat down to dinner with my youngest daughter to an after church dinner.

Normally, this would be a trying affair, but yesterday my wife and I went to separate locations. She took the oldest two grandchildren to McDonalds to enjoy the playground, while I took my daughter and her five month old to a local Mexican food restaurant. For the first time in a very long time, we had an adult conversation without it being punctuated by demands for her attention. Through the mercies of God, little Avery was content to play with her feet and bat at the toys hanging from the handle of her carrier.

You see, I actually do enjoy talking with my daughters, while I am sure they grimace and endure me. Both of my daughters are going through that time in their lives when the demands of children, husbands, and the uncertainty of the future weigh heavily upon them. My oldest daughter puts on a brave face, and her infectious smile, and you'd never know she was going through anything. My youngest has always been open and up-front about how she feels. She's always been this way from the day she came out of the chute. I'm sure the last thing she wanted on a Sunday afternoon, was for her father to sit across the table from her, and inject his ancient opinion into her modern life. So you can imagine my surprise when she blurted out, that she and her husband needed to find a 'good' church.

I wasn't surprised by the need for a good church. Parents know these things before their children do. It isn't that we're smarter, because the Lord knows I'm no where near as smart as my children. As parents, knowing these things is a matter of perspective. My vantage point is nearly twenty five years beyond hers. Time writes wisdom on any heart willing to receive the words.

Within the same sentence, she qualified her statement with something so powerful, I had to write about it this morning. She simply said that they needed to find a church with some iron in it.

I knew exactly what she meant, and in an instant, I was confronted with the consequences of past decisions. So, I hope everyone will forgive this moment of personalization as I explain to my daughter why she struggles so much to find a church home.

It's not your fault that it has taken you this long to realize the value of iron. Between the demands of the Air Force, the refining of my spiritual and doctrinal stances, and the pressures of satisfying a wife and children, you rarely stayed in a church home for more than three years. The nomadic lifestyle of the Air Force, coupled with my own insecurity in spiritual matters, didn't allow you to forge long term spiritual relationships. I was easily offended, overly demanding, and completely self-absorbed. I allowed things into my home that diminished our purity and holiness, and as you are well aware, I knew I was right, but rarely acted right. I pushed you to believe your gifting was special, and placed you on a pedestal. I've left more than one church, because they failed to recognize your talent. If things got too hard, or the Pastor demanded more than I was willing to give, I'd pack us up and move to another church.

Then you grew up. You were no longer in my life at the moment I needed you to be. I needed you to see the power of joining with a body of believers who hold you to a higher standard. I needed you to enjoy the joy of learning with others equally as hungry as yourself. You see, the interesting thing about iron sharpening iron, is that one submits and yields to the other, alternately gaining strength. It is the forge of the master blacksmith that heats us up and folds us into one another. The hammer of the Holy Spirit drives us together while at the same time leaving our individual contributions evident for others to see. Like the fold lines in a good piece of steel, you can see the forging process, but the work is one solid piece of steel. We have to be forged together to become strong. It takes a long time to forge the finest Damascus or Japanese blades. The firing and forging aren't easy. Submission to one another is essential, purity is crucial, and temper is everything. You didn't see these things when you were growing up. I know you look at me through the rainbow glasses of being my daughter, but I should have prepared you better, been more secure, and trusted God more.

You see, one thing I've learned over the years is that God loves you more than I do. He is infinitely concerned with your salvation. I can grow weary, become angry, live in frustration, but He doesn't. I can be mad at you, punish you, and push you away, but he doesn't. He is always right where we left him. You see, the things you are going through, can be blamed on me. I should have been more stable, more submissive, more pure in my devotion to others. So, when I hear you say; I need a church with more iron in it, I am grateful that you've found this out almost fifteen years before I realized it. It won't be easy, submitting never is. Finding a church home with iron in it won't be easy either. I was blessed to become part of this body we are in now. You will need to find a church that teaches straight up word and not watered down feel good stuff. If you're not challenged to grow, pray, be a participant, or know the Word, then it doesn't matter how much your children like it, how much they let you sing, how much they picnic together, it doesn't have iron in it. Duct tape churches are fine until the heat rises or the cold sets in. Churches built upon the personality of the pastor, the quality of the praise team, or even the amount of 'play' time they offer, isn't what church is for.

I have asked God to make you a Spiritual metal detector. Listen for the evidence.

My Wistful Dreams

The quiet hours of the morning are my favorite time to read the Bible and pray. I especially enjoy opening the window to my office in the church and allowing the cool morning air in while I read our daily reading. Outside my window this morning, there are a host of sparrows who dance and twitter across the metal splash guard below the window sill. I wish I knew what they were saying as they take wing and head out after another insect meal.

There was a time when I didn't concern myself with such things, that was until the day I came face to face with my mortality. (A story for another blog.) Now, I don't pack my days from one to the other with meaningless things that don't satisfy. I will be happier, when I can slow down and devote two or three days to mentoring younger men, chatting with brothers in the Lord over a cup of coffee every morning, and spending lazy afternoons with my wife talking about our kids and grandkids.

Don't get me wrong, I like to work. A matter of fact, the day I can't work will be a terrible day for me. I enjoy the gift of work. I love the feel of power tools, hand tools, and the thrill of a project as it takes shape by the work of my hands. I'd enjoy it more, if it weren't so compulsory. My father put me to work at his place of business when I was thirteen. From the time I was twelve, I took care of sixteen horses. My father is the kind of man who works from the moment he gets up till he goes to bed. He doesn't know anything else. Thankfully his need to keep moving and doing things was not genetic. I look for the day when I can awaken anytime I want and spend more time before the Lord. I'm not asking to retire, just slow down.

My wistful dreams go to things that have been in my heart as long as I can remember. I long to spend unconcerned hours discussing the Kingdom with my Pastor. I long to share the things of God to those who are hungry to know him and want to explore the mysteries of God together. I wish to expose the love of Christ to those who don't know him. My spirit has desired to walk foreign shores and bring the Kingdom of God on earth. I long to see the lame walk again, the blind see again, and the deaf hear once more. These things thrill me more than anything I've done in my life, and I've done a lot of things.

In my lifetime, I've stood on the shores of both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, looked out into the Great Lakes, stood on the banks of the Mississippi river, stood on ancient dried up lake beds, walked prehistoric Native American pueblos and sat on the meeting stones in their Kivas. I've seen things and worked on things I can't talk about. I've talked for hours with Saudi men and women, while dangling my bare feet in the Persian Gulf. I've walked through Frankfurt, Germany, and stood in places I wasn't permitted to put a name to. None of this, absolutely none of it compares to the joy of watching a child hear for the first time as Jesus opened their ears. Nothing I've ever done has ever brought me more joy than watching a little boy or girl give their heart and life to the Lord for the very first time. I've seen so many addicted and bound young people get saved, that they had to have two forty gallon trash cans to haul away the drugs and alcohol given up by them. I've seen cancer fall off someone more than once. I've thrilled to the enthusiasm as a blind girl saw her own face for the first time. These are the things I want to see more and more as my days on this vale grow shorter and shorter. You see, I'm not one of those people who have a death wish or are miserably unhappy in this life. Actually, I would like to live another 40 years to see the goodness of the Kingdom of God explode on this earth. I would like to be there when my great grandchildren see the power of God split the sky and reveal the Christ.

As I write this, I watch with amusement while a sparrow pecks at an unfortunate bug just below the window sill. I want to be like the little sparrow that King David wrote about. I want to flit in and out of the tabernacle of God without fear, safe in secure in the knowledge that God has my every need taken care of. I live for this day, and like Job, I know I shall see it in the land of the living.