Updating the Sparrow

I am in the process of updating my blogs, and it seems only fitting that I begin with this blog. From the very beginning, the Sparrow’s Perch was intended to be a deeply personal blog about my faith life. I wanted the opportunity to share those wonderful moments of divine peace that can only be found in the Presence of God. The Sparrow’s Perch is a wonderful outlet for me, but I find myself wishing for more time to complete other endeavors. For a long time, I've been promising to let you know how the idea for the Sparrow's Perch came about. So, here it is. The idea for the Sparrow’s Perch came to me as I began to think about the end of my days upon this mortal vale, and whether I’d done anything to advance the Kingdom of God. Writing the blog has allowed me to empty myself of regrets, share experiences that might help someone else, and to declare the awesomeness of God. Most of all I wanted to impart the knowledge that there is a place in Christ where we can live in peace with this life, and the life to come. The title is based upon Psalms 91. Our Pastor encouraged us to read the Psalm as part of our daily bible reading as an encouragement to live in the peace of God. I haven’t always lived in the peace of God, and I haven’t always liked Psalms 91. As time went by, I actually began to despise the Psalm because it didn’t ring true with me. The promises seemed empty, and hollow against the harsh realities of my life. I watched in horror as people who I knew loved the Lord, suffered, became deathly ill, were left destitute, and saw their mortal tent swept away by unending storms. I became completely disheartened, refusing to read it anymore when a dear brother in the Lord fell victim to a brain tumor. I wanted to believe the promises, but battled with the reality. Then…I went to Nicaragua, and everything changed. It would take a book to explain what happened to me in Nicaragua. Suffice it to say, I was overcome with love, passion, and a sense of helplessness in the face of so much need. The circumstances in my life hadn’t changed. A matter of fact, when I came back, I came back to a home that was falling down around me, with little chance of ever having the money to repair, or build another one, but I didn’t care, because I’d seen people living in conditions much worse than mine. I came home to my wife’s vehicle refusing to start no matter what we did, with no financial means to repair, or buy another one. I wanted to be upset, but there were pastors in Nicaragua who didn’t have a vehicle at all. I also came home to a mass of credit card debt so daunting, I didn’t know if I could ever pay it off. The stuff I owned felt like chains to me, especially in light of what I saw in Nicaragua. In Nicaragua, many pastors live day to day, without many of the things I’d sold my soul to buy. It was in this moment of profound internal conflict, that I saw my own life measured in the mirror of those whose lives seem less encumbered. I had a realization of what I’d been missing for so long. I went into my office at the church, opened the window, and heard the song of the sparrows as they danced in the water on the flat roof. The undeniable truth was, I’d chosen the comfort of this life over the presence of God. It was in this moment I cried out, “God either kill me, or let me feel you once more as a raging fire in my life.” Instead, He did something I was unprepared for. He filled me with the most amazing peace I’ve ever known. The struggle was over. The sparrow had meaning to me. I understood Psalm 91 better than I ever had. So, without going verse by verse and boring you to tears, let me say this. Just imagine Moses sitting outside the Tabernacle watching the procession of offerings, which are the business of forgiveness, and spying a tiny sparrow flying into the Holy of Holies. Within the courtyard of the tabernacle, it has no fear of the fowler, it has no fear of the arrow, it has no fear of disease, or pestilence. The presence of God is not a place, it is a mindset. We can go there no matter where we are. The world may be falling down around us, our bodies may be racked with pain, wars may rage, evil may abound, but there is a place of refuge, a tent for shelter, and a fortress from the storms of life. There is a place we can live in peace with everything around us, and that place is called the Presence of God. I don’t care how long you’ve lived for Christ, or how much you think you know, if you’ve not found the place in your heart where the Presence of God is, then you are missing out on the best promises of God. Since that first trip to Nicaragua, God has continued to provide in miraculous ways. I still have a home that is falling down around my ears, my wife has a vehicle that barely runs, but we did manage to pay off all of our debt. I’ve made four trips to Nicaragua, and my wife has made two. Last year, in a moment of weakness, I questioned the need to go again. The money it takes to go is substantial in ways that I don’t want to address in this blog. As I drove home one afternoon, shortly before our last trip, I was grousing about a sudden drop off in my business. “I’ll just stop going.” I muttered. “It’s just becoming too hard.” The reply leapt into my spirit, “NO, I’ve propelled you to love, don’t shrink back.” There are so many wonderful people there, who mean so much to me. There is still work to be done, and I believe that we are still going to be a part of the work there. So, I’ll continue to go, until God impresses on me that I no longer need to go. I will run this race until my legs can’t run any longer. Now it is important to me to finish stronger than I began. There are people who need the love God has given me. There are people who need to know the meaning of the Sparrow’s Perch. At the end of our days, all that we have earned, and everything we valued is left behind. It is only what we have inside of us that will go with us through the veil. You see, that is what Moses saw, the little Sparrow could go boldly before the throne of grace, flying easily into the presence of God. The Sparrow’s Prayer; May you know the presence of God, and the joy of grace as I know it. May you know the full salvation of Christ Jesus, and live in the light of His love, free from the cares of this world. May you live in the Presence of God, and know His tender heart as I do.

Do You Not Care That We Perish?

As I'm writing this, storm clouds are brewing, the wind is whipping, and my weather radar is showing a broad band of thunderstorms racing across the state. It reminded me of one of my favorite stories in the bible. In Matthew chapter eight, and verse 25, Jesus had finished teaching, and needed to get away.  What better place than to hop in a boat, and cast off.  The rocking of the waves, the warm sun, and suddenly your asleep.  While the Son of God slept within the fragile bowels of a tiny boat, a fierce storm comes up, and before you know it, the boat is about to sink.  I love the reaction of the disciples, "Master, Master, we perish."   Jesus slams them for their lack of faith, and calms the storm.  End of story, Jesus is God, rules the sea, and commands the winds.  What I love about the story is the unsaid dialogue.

Jesus never invited, nor demanded the disciples to get in the boat with Him, they followed Him.  We who follow Christ, seek always to be in His presence, that is why we FOLLOW Him.  I love the Presence of God.  He is everything I long for.  What we often don't take into consideration is the price of following Him.

I've heard many sermons on this passage, most dealing with the issue of faith. That would be my logical choice for teaching about faith.  I've heard it taught, He was rebuking them for not rebuking the storm themselves.  I've heard it taught, He was rebuking them for waking Him.  I've heard it taught, He was rebuking them for not having faith in Him.

It's hard for us from our vantage point to see the unsaid language that was happening.

Jesus got in the boat to be alone, to get away.
The storm arose while He was sleeping.
HE WAS IN THE SAME BOAT, THEY WERE IN!!!!!!!!
He was sleeping through the storm, but it was such a fierce storm, seasoned fishermen feared for their lives.
They had to wake HIM in order to save themselves.

In the midst of our storms, there is a tendency to forget that Jesus is in our tiny ship.  He is inside of us.  The storms that buffet us, buffet Him.  Still, the overriding point is; Jesus is in the midst of the storm with us.  We are going to be in storms in our lives.  These mortal frames, temporary tents, tiny ships, are subject to the storms around us.  Still, in the midst of them, we can have the peace of God.  Why?   Because, we have the Presence of God, His precious Spirit abiding in us.  It is our natural tendency to find a reason for the things that happen in our lives.  As Christians we especially want to make our trials, and tribulations have some kind of purpose.  We'll evaluate the storm, look at what came out of it, and then proclaim the lesson we learned.

LIFE ISN'T ALWAYS ABOUT LESSONS!  Sometimes it's jumping in a boat, and following this guy named Jesus even when it takes us to the point of physical death.  We miss the entire point of the voyage, we wanted to be with Jesus, so we followed Him.  Death is death, financial ruin is financial ruin, illness is illness, life is life.  The only difference between how a Christian goes through it, is that Christians have Jesus in the boat. What you do with that knowledge is what determines what your life will feel like.

The Presence of God is all that I long for, so I would jump in the boat with him, I'd probably be just like the disciples when the storm came, except hind sight being 20/20, I'd have at least stood upon the prow of the ship, raised one arm toward the storm, pointed toward the bowels of the ship with the other, and yelled out: "Hey, shut up you silly storm, don't you know the Master is trying to sleep."

TOO MUCH DRAMA

This rant came about from a statement made by a good friend of mine.  I love this man with all of my heart.  He is good, a giver, and has helped me in many circumstances that he has no idea of.  However, yesterday after someone broke into one of his businesses, he declared how hard Satan was working against him.  It made me cringe, because I knew the person who was feeding him the lie.  This person loves drama. Actually, they seem to thrive on drama, which isn’t unusual in this day, and age. Drama, disaster, doom, and despair seem to be all the rage in today’s world.  If something terrible isn’t happening directly to us, we’ll search for it in the newsfeeds, the television, or the newspaper.  As an American, my generation, hasn’t known a day without some cataclysmic event that didn’t threaten to destroy life as we know it.  I went to elementary school during the Cold War, and sat huddled, frightened, and unsure of what was happening to me during the Cuban Missile Crisis.  I can still remember the unending images of the carnage of the Vietnam War being the staple of the evening news shows.  The days of my adolescence were marked with unspeakable acts of violence committed by men to enslave, destroy, or subjugate one another. I could make an unending list of conflicts, disasters, and continuing sagas that fill my days.

Still, as Solomon would say, there is nothing new under the sun.

When we grow weary of glorifying our ability to be cruel beyond any monster ever imagined in Hollywood, we turn to the news media so we can become enraptured with our ability to destroy our environment, waste our earth, and ignore the delicate balance of our eco-system.  The media loves to propagate fear, but rarely offers solutions to the source of those fears. Our fascination with gloom, doom, disaster, and mayhem is as old as we are. Some of the oldest surviving communications from our history, consist mostly of calamity.

We love our fears, because they make us feel alive. 

Over the last few months, I’ve been thrust into a ‘drama’ infused environment that caused me to dread doing my job.  I didn’t realize how bad it was, until I had a chance to step out of it for a couple of weeks.  It took me about 2 or 3 days to ‘detox’ from the opiate of the drama, but once I was clean, and sober, I could see I’d allowed myself to become addicted to it. The primary source of the drama has an uncanny ability to make their cataclysm yours.

Once I began to de-tox, I realized how difficult it was to enjoy the presence of God during this time of drama.  I WON’T HAVE THAT!!!!!!   Jesus suffered, and gave up so much to restore my relationship with the Father, I won’t dishonor Him by allowing fear, drama, and despair to rule my life.  Those are the very things Jesus overcame.  He never promised us we wouldn’t go through things that tested our faith, or challenged our commitment.  He did promise He would be with us in them. In that promise, is another unspoken promise; our drama doesn’t have to be someone else’s drama. Unless, of course, you’re one of those people who just have to share your drama.

Hello, Facebook.

 

Through this time, I’ve learned one valuable thing; we are the source of all drama on this earth.  It doesn’t matter whether the conflict is with nature, or with other men, you will always find a human being somewhere in the drama.  Without humans, the cycle of life goes as it always has.  Our obsession with ourselves becomes comical when we place it in the context of eternity. Only humans can put themselves into a state of terror over the stupidity of how we look, talk, or behave.  Without us, those things that seem so disastrous, and devastating on TV would simply be the machinations of a planet in its course through the universe. All great drama has a conflict, and we are that conflict.  With all of our knowledge, we still haven’t observed the course of life around us.  Life comes, life goes, the sun rises, the sun sets, we are born, we die, we either add to the good of others around us, or we take everything we can take.  It is my desire to have left this earth, or just my small part of it, a better place for having consumed so much good.   

To the sparrow, the sparrow’s perch is a place of safety, regardless of the storms of life.  Within the shelter of the Creator, the sparrow knows that it has all it needs because of the creator.  If all that it needs should be taken away, the Creator remains.  This is insulting to most people, who want to believe everything is about them.  They are like little toddlers who believe all things happen for, and to them.  Actually, I’ve come to realize that all our drama is the glorification of ourselves over the love of Jesus our savior. As a Christian, I’m blown away when a Child of God will advertise how the ‘Devil’ (I hate even typing it) is working against them. We give the enemy of our souls the credit for things he had no power to do, and fail to see the evil we inflict upon one another in our search for drama.  

We wallow in self-importance by assuming that ‘Satan’ personally orchestrates every evil or tragedy inflicted upon us. 

If you want to feel self-important, remove your corn-fed butt (Yes, I said butt) from its throne of self-indulgence, and make a difference in the plight of those less fortunate around you.  I personally know of five or six places on this earth (yes, there a thousands more) where $1 a day can feed a family that is really suffering.  I can show you abject poverty on a scale even the homeless in America can’t begin to attain to.  If you want drama, real drama, drama that challenges you, something that will make you feel powerful instead of powerless, find a church that is really feeding the poor, sending doctors to the backwaters of the globe, rescuing orphans in the midst of man’s inhumanity to man, and begin giving to them.   Even better yet, join them on their next ‘love mission,’ and go see what real drama looks like.  You don’t even have to leave the United States.  Donate to “Operation Christmas Child” and send a shoebox to a child who has never seen a toy in their life.  Give $20 dollars, and buy a goat for a family in Africa.  A goat can be an endless supply of milk.  Donate to the numerous Presbyterian charities that are putting in water wells in the most remote places on earth.  Our nation’s economic downturn is a warning of what happens when we forsake the calling to greatness our Creator has called us to.  Our vast wealth, resources, and uncanny ingenuity were meant to bless mankind.  If we waste it on us four and no more, we’ve done nothing. 

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the Sparrow’s Perch, the comfort of my office, the familiar blue glow of my monitor, heat in the winter, air in the summer. At the same time, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I enjoy the pleasure of ministering the love of Jesus to those who face true drama.  I go to work with the joy of knowing that some of what I’m earning is going to lift someone out of hunger, or even better yet, give them the love of Christ.  Find a way to love beyond yourself, your family, and those who can repay you.  Don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing.  A joyous life will replace your dramatic one.   

Regaining My Childhood Love Of Christmas

This Christmas season, I've suffered from a severe case of nostalgia. Most of it has to do with the fact that I will be spending Christmas morning alone. My wife has to work Christmas morning, and my children are all spending Christmas somewhere else. It's been a long time since I've left Harrison, Arkansas to go share Christmas with any of my family, so I don't have any room to complain. My children have all moved on to bigger, and busier cities where they could find employment or to live near their spouse's family. Being a self-employed handyman, it is extremely difficult to break away at this time of year because business is extremely slow, money is tight, and it is all we can do to buy gifts. Needless to say, I'd been in a little bit of a funk.

Actually, I have everything to be thankful for. At 58 years-old, I'm in good health, my strength is good, and my mind is reasonably sharp. I have a home, good vehicles, and all the toys I can play with. My wife is a joy, and her love for me is more precious than anything on earth. I attend a wonderful faith fellowship, have a fantastic pastor, and have fellowship with some of the most amazing men I've ever known. I am blessed to be gainfully employed by a prince of a man who treats me with the respect, and honor I've always longed for. My days are spent working with a young man who loves Christ with all his heart, and who helps to keep me young. I am grateful to God for all I have, and the people who surround my life. Still, knowing that Christmas morning I would be alone had kind of tinted my enthusiasm.

It was in this mood, that I had a profound moment of being tenderly touched by the Holy Spirit. It was in the middle of the last snow storm we had, and I'd headed into town early so I could use my computer at the church. It was about 5 in the morning, the roads were slick with ice, and the 10 inches of snow hadn't even begun to melt. I'd already passed a few homes decked out in lights, and had thought to myself how much I used to enjoy taking our children to see the lights when they were young. As I stopped at the four-way in our town square, I began to weep uncontrollably. I was so overcome, I had to pull over. Somehow, the Christmas decorations in our courthouse square took me back to my childhood. I suddenly felt the awe, and wonder of Christmas once again. All around me the lights glistened off the icy road, off of store fronts, and lit up the massive snow drifts with a wash of color. Suddenly I was a kid again enraptured with the Christmas lights.

I found myself remembering going through Enid, Oklahoma as a young boy of seven or eight. My Mom, and Dad were on their way home to Ponca City for Christmas, long before I-35 had ever been built. I was laying in the back seat of the car looking out the rear window at the lights strung from light post to light post. At one point I remember it being like a tunnel of lights as we drove through downtown. They formed swirls of light on the frosty rear window and through the side windows. Then the most gi-normous Christmas tree I'd ever seen made me sit up. It was so tall, I couldn't see the top of it. The ornaments were like three times the size of any I'd ever seen. I remember feeling that Enid had to be the best place to live. To make the moment even better, it began to snow. Not little bitty flakes, but giant enormous flakes that seemed to be amplified in the cars headlights. We drove from Enid to Ponca City through this amazing snow storm that wouldn't stop. I was too young to know that my Mom, and Dad were scared witless. All I remember is driving up to my grandma's house, and her leaning out the front door with a brightly lit aluminum Christmas tree behind her. I'd never seen one before, and I dashed into the house completely ignoring my grandma's advance for a hug. That image of her leaning out her front door framed by the glow of the porch light, and Christmas tree lights is one of my favorite memories. I'm sure she'd been worried sick about us, but when you're seven years old, you don't know these things.

Christmas time for me is always about lights. I remember the childhood trips to downtown El Paso, Texas where the huge Christmas tree stood in the fountain in San Jacinto plaza. Lights were draped in elegant strands from buildings down to the plaza and from street light to street light, making the square appear to be a canopy of lights. The backdrop to this amazing display of lights was the Mariachi Bands doing Christmas music beside the tree. Let me tell you, there are many times I miss hearing Feliz Navidad, and the traditional exchanging of tamales.

I remember the Christmas we went to Aztec, New Mexico. The small towns in the four corners area were alive with Christmas decorations. As we drove nearer to Aztec, the snow began to fall, and there was a light dusting of snow over the red sandstone boulders that lined the road.

Now that I'm older, I understand the meaning of Christmas lights. Still for me, the lights are the myriad of angels in joyous song exclaiming God's love for man through the birth of Jesus. Christmas will always be a time of light, joyous music, and delightful food, but it is so much more. It is a magical (yes, magical) time when we light up our daily routine with the gift of light, love and laughter.

As I wiped the last of my tears from my eyes, I wondered what had brought me to tears. Our town's seasonal decorations aren't Christian oriented, and there wasn't mariachi music in the square. Strands of lights didn't form a tunnel of light to drive through, and my mind wasn't focused on any of it. The tears had come from something I'd lost, and was given back to me. . . . A childlike love of the season.

So, I'll leave you with this thought; There is nothing offensive in the lights of Christmas, there is nothing wrong with celebrating the birth of a man who came to rescue us. Whether you are Jew, Gentile, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist or just don't care, what harm is there in remembering a little baby who brought so much hope to the world. Have we become so cynical we can't even enjoy that much? Are we so politically correct we can't recognize that a little child needs to believe in something more than themselves. A jolly old elf can't harm anyone. What's the big deal if some fighter pilot gets the joy of strapping on his fighter jet and escorts Santa across the nation? I guarantee you, that pilot wants to fly that jet and is willing to let Santa go to the White House. 

I'm thankful I got my childhood back, I'll wake up Wednesday morning, eagerly await the phone calls from my dispersed children, I'll call my lovely wife, my brothers, as well as my Mom and Dad.  Once I've talked my head off, I'll put Miracle on 34^th street in the DVD player. I may even do the Grinch, simply because I love the music, and wait for Glenda to come home.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Of Skunks, Shields, and Beatrice Bandersnatch

Have I mentioned yet, I hate skunks.  I know, I’ll probably get nasty terse comments from those of you who have had your pet skunk neutralized, sanitized, and , made house compatible, but it won’t change my opinion one bit.  I live out in rural northwest Arkansas, amidst cow pastures, deer runs, squirrels, armadillos, roadrunners, ground hogs, and other wildlife.  I enjoy them all, except for the skunks. 

When we first moved here in 1995, I didn’t know how prolific, nor did I have a clue as to how determined the little creatures are to take up residence underneath your home.  After about the twelfth ‘skunking’ in less than a year, I finally succeeded in securing my home from their attacks.  These attacks usually came on Saturday nights just before church, so I began calling them the skunks from hell.  Every once in a while, I’ll let down my defenses, and one of the little buggers will slip in through some impossible hole.  This has gone on for nearly eighteen years now, until Beatrice Bandersnatch came along.

Beatrice Bandersnatch is a jet black miniature . . . .something.  We were told she is a ‘pidoodle’ but I don’t know what that is.  All I do know is that when she first came to our home as a small puppy, she left her pidoodle puddles everywhere.  This tendency forced me to put her out on our enclosed patio on the back of our home.  We put her out at night, and leave her there during the day while we are at work.  One of the unintended benefits of her being on the patio is a rapid decline in skunk attacks.  “Bea”, as we call her, is a yapper.  Her sense of smell is terrible, but she can hear birds in the back yard, squirrels in the pecan tree, and . . . other dogs barking everywhere.  SHE IS TERRITORIAL!  She loves people, but can’t stand critters, especially birds.  (This is one of the reasons I go to the Church office to enjoy the sparrows.)  Did I mention that Bea is not my dog?  She belongs to my wife, but that is another story. 

Anyway, for the last four years, we’ve enjoyed relative freedom from skunks, until two nights ago. After four years of potty training, and battling with her to keep her off of our bed, I finally relented to allowing Bea into the house on cold nights.  The first two nights went remarkably good, she slept in her bed, didn’t yap, and she didn’t leave any surprises.  Sunday night, the temperature was surprisingly warm for December, so Bea wanted to stay out on the patio.  Out she went.

Then it happened. 

I have a few questions for the Lord when we get to heaven, and one of them will be about skunks.  The unmistakable aroma of skunk began to waft through our bedroom, and Glenda moaned “There’s skunks under the house.”  

“There can’t be.”  I replied while desperately hoping it was all a bad dream.  Then I heard Bea barking her head off.  I got up, turned on the porch light, and looked out the back door.   The door to the patio was closed, I opened the door just a crack , and was assaulted by the most violent odor on earth.  In all my time on this earth, I’ve never smelled such a high concentration of skunk smell.  I quickly closed the door, and retreated into our ‘stinky’ house.  Bea continued to do her territorial bark for nearly two hours, while I tossed and turned in the pit of skunk hell. 

Discovering what happened would have to wait till that afternoon, as my wife, and I both leave before daybreak for work. 

When I got home yesterday evening, I began my walk around the usual places where the skunks have gone in before.  Everything was good.  Then I came around the backyard.  Needless to say, it was not good.  The smell was deadly to say the least.  There, at the bottom of the glass door leading to our patio was this dinner plate sized greasy splotch of skunk spray.  The picture of what happened, became  clear to me in an instant.  Bea, who’d been in the house for the last few days, had ‘surprised’ a skunk as it made its way around our home.  In terror at the sight of this ferocious black creature barking at it, the skunk let go.  SPLAT all over the glass.  

I began to laugh as I realized how remarkably funny this must have been.  If it hadn’t been for the glass door, Bea would be a stinky ball of fur in a kitchen sink being washed with tomato juice.  She had a shield, but she didn’t know it.  For her, the glass is a boundary to her freedom.  It keeps her from running the yard as she likes to do.  (She has never run away in the four years we’ve owned her.)  We actually keep her in the patio to protect her from the many coyotes that infest the area.  She isn’t afraid of anything except for my brother’s white Labrador that passed away just recently.  Without fear, we knew she was no match for the pack of coyotes that roam the area.  Therefore, she is in her glass cage, free to bark, free to live, but not free to run at night.  It was at this moment that I had a Spiritual insight.

Christ is our shield.  He is there, transparent, but strong.  From the outside, to those looking in, it may appear as if Christians are imprisoned within a glass cage of silly rules that have no apparent purpose.  Beyond our transparent shield, there are so many harmless pleasures that can be enjoyed.  Outside of the confines of the ‘patio’ is a world just waiting to be discovered.  To outsiders, the patio of our faith must appear to be a cruel, rigid prison.  The glass ‘rules’ of kindness, compassion, love, and forgiveness, are not conducive to success in this modern world.  The posts of prayer and bible study are a waste of time to those who’ve never experienced the strength they provide in times of trial.  The shield of faith goes unseen, until the enemy comes at us.  Then we realize how valuable it is.  Those things that would destroy us, splatter harmlessly against it, while we continue to yap at the enemy from the other side.  We find shelter in the Lord of Hosts.  We still see the evil around us, but it doesn’t come nigh our tent.  Does the stench of sin still waft all around us?  Yes, but we are untouched by it.  Does the enemy still prowl around at night seeking to devour?  Yes, but he is repelled by the power of Christ’s love for us. 

As my days on this earth become fewer, I’ve learned to trust the shield of faith.  Psalm 91 has become a mantra for me.  I’m like the little sparrow that nests within the framework of the tabernacle, my shield, my fortress, my residence is within the presence of God.  I only keep my eyes open to see the surprise on the face of the wicked when their best efforts splatter against the shield of faith.  I meditate upon the transparent glass of faith, able to see out, but not desiring to ‘be’ out.  That is the new creation I’ve become in Christ Jesus. 

It cost me a night of sleep, but it was a good lesson.  

The Warrior in Me

Veteran’s Day is always a mixed bag for me.  Having served fifteen years in the United States Air Force, from 1980 to 1995, I am always honored when people recognize my service to the country.  Having served through the Cold War, Panama, and Desert Storm, I’ve seen the value of having a strong defense firsthand.  At the same time, as a Christian I’ve often wrestled with the warrior in me.  Don’t get me wrong, I would love to believe in a utopian ideal of mutual tolerance, respect, honor, and love for one another.  These things are a part of my Christian ethos.  Sadly, at this late stage of my life, I am not naïve enough to believe we will ever see it this side of the Lord’s return. 

I’m weary of our ability as a species to find horrendous ways to kill one another.  With one accidental slip of a test tube, we could unleash monstrous viral diseases that know no boundaries.  Radical, and fearful peoples are now able to construct nuclear weapons without concern for what they are unleashing upon themselves.  We’ve created chemical weapons so toxic, one drop could poison thousands. The reasons for creating these weapons are lost on me.  There is no justification.  With each new weapon, there is a new defense, with each new defense, there is a greater weapon, the cycle goes on and on.  Within our military, there are brave men and women who’ve decided to be at the front lines of defending us from these horrific weapons.  I love these people, but at the same time, my heart goes out to them. 

When I was stationed at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho, I met a wonderful man of God who helped me deal with my inner conflict.  One night as my family and I were having dinner with him, he said; “God creates people to do all kinds of different things.  He creates healers, thinkers, tinkerers, policeman, firefighters, and warriors.  The man who God said was after His own heart, was a warrior king, named David. David was not a bully, he was not a tyrant, but he knew these people existed.  God makes warriors to defend those who can’t or won’t defend themselves from the cruel, and wicked.”

The king David I love, was a shepherd, and a musician before he was a warrior.  David didn’t like being a warrior, and that is why 30 men of valor protected him. They knew he was an honorable man, anointed by God to defend Israel.  Later in his life, David was weary of fighting, and let his son take the kingdom from him.  It was the worst thing a warrior could do.  An angry son trampled upon the peace purchased with the blood of his mighty men, and David was powerless to stop him.  When David desired to build a house of worship for the God he loved, God couldn’t let it happen. There is always the issue of blood spilled in battle, and in the course of our lives.

We ask our young men, and women to do terrible things, and we expect them to come back home to us unchanged.  While the weapons of warfare have changed, the same thing is true from generation to generation, killing another human being is a frightful thing.  I’ve seen the faraway look in a warrior’s eyes as the memory of his actions replay over, and over again. These are things I wish upon no one. My own son-in-law, David, is in the Army Reserves, and he is in an extremely dangerous job.  About a year ago, he was supposed to go to Afghanistan, and I had to pray that God’s will for his life would be done.  I didn’t fear for his life, I feared for his soul.  I didn’t want him going there, and coming back with the ghosts of war.   A warrior loves peace, but rarely finds it.  There are too many cruel, and wicked people out there. The things we have to do to stand up against them leaves men broken, and empty. I can’t say I wasn’t relieved when they cancelled his deployment.  I know he wanted to go, but obviously God knew better. 

So, for David, and those like him who have a warrior’s heart, I pray for you that you will live long enough to be weary with war.  I pray that our men and women who have placed their first  class citizenship on hold, and become 2^nd class citizens, will find a moment to be proud of being human, more than being warriors. The warrior in me knows the exhilaration of being part of a vast army, while the Christ/man in me knows the joy of being meek.  Still, I know that outside of this bright beacon of hope, and liberty, are despots, evil minded, and yes, even the mentally ill in positions of power, which do not hold to my ideal of a Utopian world where killing, and malice are banished.  God has made you warriors to stand against them for us. I salute you, as once others saluted me.  I wore my uniform with pride, and can point to the successes of my time in service, but I would rather point to the successes of the savior’s love at work within me.  I would rather go to Nicaragua, and hand a child a soccer ball than to lob a grenade at a young boy who only a few years ago would have gladly taken the ball from my hand.  I would rather fill a shoebox with trinkets, little toys, and necessary items and send them off through Operation Christmas Child, than to see one more bomb dropped from an aircraft. 

Therefore, I’ll pray for all of you who serve, that you come home safe, unchanged, and whole. 

God bless all of you who are now, who have been, and those who will someday be warriors. 

Happy Veteran’s Day.   

Awe and Wonder

I can still remember that magical (yes, it was magical) moment when I experienced awe, and wonder for the first time.  It was a mild fall evening in El Paso, Texas, in 1966.  I was lying on the grass looking at the moon through a 20x telescope I’d received as a gift that year.  For an eleven-year-old boy, that telescope was the invitation to worlds unknown.  Never mind that it wasn’t any better than a good pair of binoculars, or that it was almost impossible to hold it still without a tripod.  It was my ticket to the stars.  On that fateful October evening, my arms grew tired, forcing me to lay the telescope down to let the blood return to my arms once more.  The moon was just a sliver in the crisp desert night sky, and there were more stars that night than I’d ever seen before.  As I stared into the depths of space, I wondered where it all ended?  Where was the end to the vast field of stars that beckoned me?  What was beyond the end of the universe?. 

I couldn’t imagine an end.

As I peered upward, and outward, I experienced awe for the first time in my life. My heart rate went up, and seemed to suddenly stop.  The air left my lungs in a long slow breath as my infantile, finite mind tried to cope with the infinite.  The harder I tried to comprehend the vastness of the universe, the more awestruck I became.  In that instant, I became fascinated with all things ‘space’.  It was a good time for it.  The ‘space race’ was at its peak, and it seemed every day was a new leap forward to the cosmos.  I had tons of questions, and an insatiable curiosity.  Even as I became enthralled with science, astronomy, and rockets, I was also coming to know the creator of the universe in a much smaller space, my heart.  At first, the two seemed to be worlds apart.  It seemed as if science was trying to dispel the notion of God, while at the same time, religion as I experienced it, was at odds with science.  I wrestled many long nights with doubt, and disbelief. I knew within my heart, and spirit, that I was experiencing the presence of God through faith in Christ, but at the same time I knew what I was learning in the classroom didn’t allow for the idea of God.  The awe, and wonder of that magical fall evening slipped into a dull ache for the truth.  For a few years, I enjoyed the rapture of science as I became increasingly interested in visiting worlds beyond this rock we call home.  Science Fiction novels were a daily diet. Scientific American magazines littered my room.  My favorite atomic particle was the neutrino, and a paper I wrote in the 9^th grade on it, won me a trip to a science symposium at the University of New Mexico.  This was heady stuff for a wide-eyed teenager.  The tug of war between science, and faith went back and forth  throughout my school years.

I couldn’t imagine an end to the conflict. 

 A great sadness followed me for many years as I wrestled with my faith in God, and my love of science.  After High School, I became less concerned with science, and followed my faith.  When I was amongst Christians, I would never discuss science for fear of being revealed as a closet scientist.  I wouldn’t talk with anyone about the way I’d come to peace with both aspects of my being.  I didn’t want to be labeled a heretic, or unbeliever, when actually the opposite was the truth.  I’d raged war with myself, the tough stuff was over, and I was  believer in more than a savior.  I’d fallen in love with more than a cold, judgmental God.  I’d pushed past the dogma of both science, and faith,  into an intensely personal relationship with the One I know created the infinite.  It didn’t matter what others thought about my beliefs, I knew I loved the savior of my soul, His creation, and even the people on both sides who demanded absolute obeisance to their dogma.  I could talk with, walk with, touch, and feel the creator of this physical vale. 

I couldn’t imagine an end to this relationship with the Creator. 

Fast forward forty-seven years to a cold October morning where I came face to face with that same feeling of awe and wonder, and it came from the strangest of places.  I was reading an article on the internet concerning the Higgs-Boson, and its implications for the universe.  The article was this vast exploration of the different theories surrounding this elusive particle.  Almost every model created for studying the existence of the Higgs, ended in a catastrophic end to the universe.  The vast reaches of the universe had an end to it.  The Big Bang would end in a big entropic collapse.  Bummer!  Most particle physicists, and those who report on them embrace the end of the universe with the same religious fervor of fundamentalist Christians.  It becomes all they can talk about.  Particle physics becomes like the book of Revelation, a foretelling of impending doom.  Unified theories are just as elusive as proof of God’s existence.  String theory, superstrings, dark matter, gravity lensing,  everything we can think of comes to an eventual end.  Suddenly as I thought of all the struggle these scientists were facing in dealing with ‘how’ this universe works, I came face to face with my own struggle once more.  The men and women who obsess over what makes this universe work, and those who obsess over the One who makes it work, all have bills to pay, families to support, spouses to love, and children to nurture.  This universe goes on as it has for eons, and will go on for more time than we will live.  The profound things of the spiritual, or scientific are only profound to those who share in its intricacies.  At either end of the spectrum of faith, the zealots will beat their drums, and call for the death of the non-believers.  Somewhere in the middle of this silly debate, people like me, see the beauty of the Creator written in a little child’s giggle, or in the dance of sunbeams over orange, and fire laced clouds.  Life is more than what you can see in an equation, or in a spiritual icon.  This moment, this instant is infinitely more precious than infinity.   Whether you believe in God, or not, the question isn’t ‘what’ you loved, but ‘who’ you loved.  Throughout the world, cemeteries are filled with heretics, agnostics, fanatics, and scientists.  Parked next door to them are evangelists, pastors, prophets, and lay people of all creeds.  These things seem to get lost when the fires of passion rage among the faithful in either camp.  As I sat there considering the forecasted lifespan of our universe, it happened again, nearly forty-seven years after that fateful October night, I had another moment where my heart took off like a rocket, and my lungs emptied themselves in a slow exhale.  I know the answer to the problem, but it isn’t something I can put to numbers.  In the word of God, it says that in the end, God will roll up the universe like a scroll.  The prophets are right, and the scientists are right.  Both sides say it will all end, someday.  

Problem is, I still can’t imagine an end.   Therefore, I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, put my hands behind my head, and smile smugly. I experience the awe, and wonder once more, feeling the familiar presence of God more than ever before.