God

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I Will Never Be Like Him

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He was born into a poor family in rural Mississippi. Upon his birth his mother went right back into the cotton fields where she worked and placed him on the ground in a blanket beneath the shade of a tree that offered little comfort from the 100 degree heat and southern sun and humidity. He was vitamin deficient and and could not fend off childhood illnesses easily. At the young age of just seven, he was made to work in the cotton fields along with adults. Because of his lack of experience and speed, he was beaten mercilessly with the handle of a hoe until sheer adrenaline sped him up. He and hunger were good friends. He was familiar with the pains of an empty stomach. Cornbread and molasses was a welcome treat.  Flour and feed sacks were his daily clothing. 

They would pick 1800 to 2000 lbs of cotton that might yield 400 lbs after being processed. At the age of eight he was put to the plow and would work sun up to sun down. The nearest town for supplies was eight miles away-he walked, and many trips home were in the dark of night before electricity. At age 12 he would work for other area farmers for $1.00 per day, only after his normal work was completed. His dad was not a kind man and would beat him with plow lines at the slightest infringement. This went on most of his adolescent life. He survived childhood Rickets, Rheumatic Fever, heart murmurs, beatings and hunger.  He knew no other life than this.

Perhaps by now you might assume I am portraying the story of a southern slave. I would never be so bold as to draw direct comparisons to their plight, even thought there are similarities in their stories. You may be surprised to find that this is the story of my Dad. It is a story of survival-it is a story of overcoming-it is a story of breaking a cycle through an amazing faith in a God many of us would have dismissed in similar circumstances. And its a story that none of us would have ever imagined as we grew up in our family as his children.

We didn’t learn of our dad’s history until just a few years ago. We were raised in a normal mid-western home and atmosphere. Dad worked for a truck manufacturer and we always had food on the table and clothes on our back. At 6’8″ he was a gentle giant who never unleashed his anger on us.  In fact I can remember explicitly that it really hurt him to spank our butts when needed. Now we understand why. We were never beaten physically or emotionally-quite the opposite!  We were blessed with loving parents who were engaged in our lives and who showed us their faith in God every day. We learned about Christ in church and saw him in action in our parents.  So you might imagine the shock as my brother, sister and I learned of our dad’s harsh upbringing. 

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My dad asked Christ into his life at the age of eight and held to that faith until such time as he was able to leave home and all his past behind him. 2 Corinthians 5:17 says this: Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new!  This surely must be true. We witnessed it without knowing at the time. We were raised and nurtured with all the love, the encouragement, the unity that any family could ask for. We didn’t realize it but we were the broken links of a chain from the past that had been ripped apart by the love and faith of an earthly father determined to be free from generational abuse, and a Heavenly Father who honored the faith of two parents living in His love and pouring it out on us.  

My dad set a standard of fathering that I never reached with my boys. With full disclosure now as an adult to the life my dad overcame and the great distance with which he removed himself from his past, I missed the mark dramatically as a dad. Yet I work everyday, just as I did as a kid, to make my dad proud and to pass along something of his character to our kids and grand kids, three generations removed. I only wish our grand kids could know what a great man he is.

I’ve heard of sons declaring to their dads-“I can’t wait to grow up. I’m never going to be like you!”. Well, I’m grown up and I can truly declare, I will never be like him!  Happy Father’s Day Dad!

 

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Is Your Life a Scary Movie?

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I have always been a fan of scary movies.  I don’t go for the blood and guts genres as much as the drama and suspense. I prefer the Classics like Frankenstein, Dracula, and particularly the not-so-funny spoofs like Young Frankenstein where the monster dons a top hat and sings Puttin’ on the Ritz, ala Broadway.  

I’m amazed with the more modern horror flicks at how many times a monster can be killed off only to be resurrected for a sequel or two or ten. How many ways can Michael Myers be terminated before he stays dead?  Just when you think the boogey man is gone, he re-emerges back into your life unexpectedly to haunt and terrorize you some more. Every time he comes back to life we entertain him some more, almost as if we have been waiting in anticipation for his return.

For many of us our lives resemble a scary movie, haunted by events and decisions in the past that just won’t die. We are constantly haunted by regrets, by failures, by skeletons in our closets that emerge just when we think the coast is clear. For believers in Christ who have been forgiven their sins, the enemy likes to bring them back from the dead into our memory bank like a shadow we can’t lose or the fog we can’t find our way out of. Could we have saved our marriage? Could I have done more to save a business?  Have I really been forgiven of stupid decisions in my past? How can God, who knows everything from the beginning to the end really forget my sins? Instead of living in peace with the assurance of eternal forgiveness we find ourselves like the victim of a scary movie, running for our lives from monsters who just don’t seem to ever die, and we entertain them as if we were expecting them to come back.

The best weapon we have against the haunts of our past is not a wood stake or crucifix or hi-tech ghost zapper. It’s the simple but powerful Word of God and the promises He has given for our assurance.  Consider just a few of these weapons of mass destruction against the enemies of the mind:

2 Corinthians 5:17-If any man be in Christ, he has become a new creature. All things in his past have gone away and everything has become new.

1 John 1:9-when we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all (past and present) unrighteousness. (parentheses mine)

Isaiah 43:25-I am he who blots out your sins for my sake and remembers them no more.

Romans 8:1-There is now no condemnation to those who are now in Christ. 

Psalm 103:12-As far as the East is from the West he has removed our sins from us.

Hebrews 8:12-I will purge them of all evil, and I will not remember their sins again. I will be merciful to their iniquities and their sins I will remember no more.

If we are truly in Christ and beneficiaries of his promises, then there is no reason to give in to the constant reminders by the enemy of where we were and what we did. “I Still Remember What You Did Last Summer” is the name of a fictional scary movie, not the theme of a believer whose sins are covered and buried under grace and forgiveness. It may be impossible for us to completely blot from memory our past, but it is possible through the daily renewing of our minds to change the scary movie channel and find a different station.  Leave the ghost stories for sleepovers and camp fires!

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I Love Being Papa Joe

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In the 70’s during my “cool” phase the thought of someday being a grandparent never invaded my world. I was never going to grow up and I would cling to my coolness for as long as it was cool to do so. By then both of my grandfathers were already gone and I had no real idea what being a grandfather should look like anyway, so why dwell on it.  Then came my three sons and eventually another and two daughters through marriage. Before I realized it I was a grandfather of six!  

Now I can completely appreciate the term because being a grandfather is indeed a grand blessing. Thankfully they don’t call me grandpa but rather Papa Joe, a title that is higher to me than General Manager, President, Owner or any other designation of elevation-being Papa Joe is the coolest thing I could be, and I embrace that title with both humility and pride that no one else could comprehend. 

We have three granddaughters in Texas, and one here in Las Vegas as well as two grandsons. Each of them has a special place in my heart, as I will briefly explain. The oldest of the Lone Star girls, a recent high school graduate, has done an amazing job in helping to care for her younger sisters, and has grown into a beautiful, intelligent and independent young lady. Her middle sister was a newborn when I married their Nana and I fell in love with her just by holding her all that weekend. She has a free spirit and is also an intelligent and beautiful young lady, who will be graduating high school next year.  I developed an immediate connection with the youngest of the three while in Disneyland. She was an infant not yet ready for rides so I carried her most of the day. She quickly grew into rides, mainly on my back whenever we visited. She grew up way too fast and will be an eighth grader next year. They are uncomfortable with being complimented about their God given beauty, but hey, proud Papas don’t have rules.

Every Sunday we picked up our oldest grandson here in Vegas and took him to church.  I played drums in the band and he would cry until I came down to hold him. As he got older he developed an interest in music so I taught him a few guitar chords and now he is one his way to becoming an accomplished guitarist. He is also quite the football player. I was present when our granddaughter was born here 11 years ago and fell in love with her as soon as she cried. She has become a ray of sunlight that can brighten the darkest of my days. Her brother, the youngest of the six, is my little buddy. He is still in the phase that when he sees me, he runs up to me with and animated “Papa” and jumps up into my arms.  He and his sister would visit me in my office frequently. Their presence would make the worst of days a vacation. 

The best of our weekends are those when we are keeping the local grand kids. As the sign above says, what happens att Nana and Papa’s stays at Nana and Papa’s. I can say with all honesty that I love each of our grandchildren as much as any human is capable of. There is nothing in the world I would not do for them-I would gladly lay down my life to save theirs at any time.  I pray for each of them daily, for protection from harm, from abduction, from illness, from anything that would cause them any distress. I also pray that they are open to the reality of God and His Son. And yet with all I feel for them, I’m struck at the thought that God loves each of us with a love that is inhuman, that is untainted and incomprehensible. I’m in awe that that the true depth of love and emotion that any man can have for any other being can not come close to measuring up to the depth of love God shows us daily. To paraphrase a verse in the New Testament, “Stop and observe if you can, the level of Love God the Father has bestowed upon us, that even we in our sins can be labeled Children of the Most High God”. Wow. Wow.

That someone could love me a hundred times greater than I love my grandchildren is indeed incomprehensible. Yet He’s proven it time and again in my life. And I can rest assured that if I can never outrun the love of God, then my grandchildren will never exhaust His supply of love, grace and protection. Thank you God for allowing this cool guy to experience the real coolness of being a proud Papa. 

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When There Are No Words

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Have you ever been in a situation when you were at an absolute loss for words? Perhaps it was when you saw your child in their first school or church play, or maybe their first musical recital.  Maybe you were left speechless when friends threw a surprise party for you.  With most of us there have been occasions in our lives when words simply escaped us. For me it was the moment I realized how in love I was with the lady who would soon be my wife. I have always loved writing and thought I possessed a fair mastery of the English vernacular, that is until I tried to put into words the depth of emotions  I was feeling for her. Yes, I wrote her a poem or two-even had one of them published in a poetry anthology. But even with that, I still felt I could not come up with adequate words to express my love for her.   After seventeen years of marriage I am only more aware of this observation.

As much as I love my wife, imagine with me if you can how much more of a challenge I have in approaching God.  There are no words to describe the challenge of having no words!  After all, one can’t even describe God.  When He sent Moses to rescue the children of Israel, Moses asked Him “who should I tell them is sending me?”  God replied “tell them my name is I Am”.  I almost believe even God couldn’t describe Himself in a way that we would understand.  I Am pretty much covers it all with an infinite number of fill-in-the-blank descriptions.   There are no textbook definitions that are remotely adequate to express the person and deity of God.

So if we can’t even find words to describe God, then how can we possibly find words to express our loving response to an indescribable God? It can’t be done. There are no words. Oh many have tried-the writings of the early church fathers are masterful and the hymns written over the centuries have moved us to tears when reflecting on all we know and don’t know about God.  Yet all who have tried have come up short in their attempts.  The created can’t capture in human language the Creator.

When you are with someone you truly love there are those times when just being in their presence is enough. Love is shared and expressed at times when words would get in the way. How cool is it that we can approach God with the confidence of knowing the same holds true for us. In our intimate prayer or reflection time with God we can be assured that God sees our hearts and knows our deepest thoughts so that are linguistic inadequacies are not an issue. We are told in scripture that there are times when His spirit in us prays for us in groans that need no words. There is dialogue between our inner spirit and God’s heart that we wouldn’t understand even if it were somehow audible.  Thou shouldest not have need of  expressing thyself to the Almighty with Shakespearean prose thou canst comprehend or a language thou knoweth not of!

With people we may feel at a loss in trying to relay to them the depths of our emotions, but with God, there is no shortage of understanding even when there are no words.

Father, let my words be few.

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You, God and a Steel Cage Match

In order to write this I must with some apprehension admit to being a classic wrestling fan.  Ask most fans to name the stars of Wrestling Entertainment and you will hear the likes of Hulk Hogan, The Rock, John Cena, Stone Cold, etc. But I remember the good old days when wrestling wasn’t a major event or pay per view, but the local circuit that performed at State Fairs and small halls.  I grew up watching Dick the Bruiser, Bobo Brazil, Yukon Moose Chollak, The Big Cat Ernie Ladd and others. As a kid I didn’t notice the pulled punches, the next move play calling in the corner or other now obvious giveaways to the “entertainment” value of wrestling.  I saw two giants trying to beat down the other.

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There was nothing better than the Steel Cage Match, a cage that surrounded the ring with a lock or chain on the door that prevented the wrestlers from running or escaping the beat down they were about to receive. This was not a match for the weak, no sir-this was a blood bath of major proportions that was reserves as the main event of the evening due to the clean up necessary afterwards.  I’d imagine being in the ring against the “bad” guys and laying a few classic moves on them, the old abdominal stretch, a clothesline or two, and before it was outlawed, the pile driver.  I always won!

There was a grappler in the Old Testament named Jacob. We find in Genesis that he was locked in a not-for-entertainment real battle with the Lord.  Jacob didn’t start this fight, but he was certainly eager to participate and he wrestled and clawed and held on for what may have been hours with the Lord or His agent in order to receive a blessing from God.  Jacob was allowed to be engaged in this fight until his will and his energy were spent and he was at the mercy of God, having nothing left with which to resist. Even after the Lord touched Jacob’s hip and put it out of socket Jacob wouldn’t let up. Jacob was eventually rewarded for his fierce tenacity and received his blessing along with a name change. Jacob named the place of the event of that night with a name not indicative of his battle and victory, but of his humility of being allowed to wrestle with God and survive.

Wow, have there been some times in my life that I envied Jacob! How I longed for an opportunity to wrestle with God in a steel cage to show my sincerity and desire to receive God’s blessing and favor in my life or over a certain situation. Foolishly, to have God in a cage where He couldn’t escape my clutches until He gave me what I was asking for. Why, I’m sure God would be impressed with my wrestling knowledge and quiver of moves. He’d really have to be on His game to beat me!

Aren’t we funny. We have God all figured out and applied to man made formulas of interaction, as if certain key words or actions will trigger His response or gain an out-flowing of His favor.  If we say this prayer this many times and quote this verse backwards while performing a step over toe hold, God will cry uncle and give in to our relentlessness.  How I wish it were that easy. The fact is God doesn’t need to be in a cage as He has no desire to escape or hide from us. Jesus said “I am with you always”, even when we (I) can’t see Him or sense Him or hear Him.  Most times we are wrestling against ourselves with what we know to be truth and the enemy who wants to power bomb us with lies. We “wrestle not against flesh and blood” but it sure seems it would be easier at times if we could.  At least the sensation of pain would be a confirmation of divine engagement.  It is believed that Jacob walked with a limp from his encounter with God until the day he died. How cool to carry in your body the evidence of a face to face with the Almighty! Better yet to be in an old fashioned slobber-knocker with God in a steel cage!

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The Day After Christmas

Since my earliest recollections as a young child I have sensed December 26th as the day Christmas ends until the following year.  Until recently I didn’t even like hearing Christmas songs on the radio after Christmas day! I have heard from others that I’m not alone in this sensation of the holiday hangover. It’s really a bit odd if you think about it, especially from the Christian perspective. The day we have traditionally set aside as Christmas is to recall with great reverence the incarnation of Jesus, The Christ, a blessed and most holy event that transcends every other holiday commemoration, an event that is the cornerstone of our faith.  Why would it be that we choose to be unnaturally charitable and celebratory over it for a mere couple weeks in December?  What exactly is it about Christmas that builds us up to a particular day on the calendar with a finality when the clock strikes midnight?  Why do we experience “peace on earth, good will to men” only one or two weeks out of the year?  

I stand guilty as charged as each year I vow to keep the Christian mandate of our Savior, to take care of the widows and orphans throughout the year, not just during the “feel good” holiday, yet find as I look back a year later that I failed just like the many years before. It’s almost as if charity and benevolent considerations are an annual obligation, like taxes, that once paid are not due for another year.  And yet I pass the same homeless people every day, I read the same stories about runaway teens, I pass the same local missions on the way to work surprisingly at the same location as the day before without that Christmas tug at the heart.  Even the local Christian radio station sponsors random acts of kindness, going out of your way to pay for the lunch of a perfect stranger or the coffee order for the one behind you in line-great ideas that should be 12 month practices among us of the faith, and those of philanthropic awareness.  

I guess to me the feelings that are ushered in with Christmas are natural and built in through years of tradition, not unlike doing something nice for your wife on Valentine’s Day.  But to continue those practices when “not in season” takes a conscious effort to see, to recognize and respond as if there are only 5 shopping days left until Christmas and with the sounds of carols playing in your mind. There should never be a bad, inconvenient or out of season time to do something charitable for someone in need or to be a blessing when God is urging you to respond.  When the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, He didn’t show up and perform a miracle or two once every twelve months.  In fact the Bible is clear that it’s not possible to record all the good things Jesus did in His short time on our planet.  

In 2014 I earnestly pray that I have ears that hear cries, that I have eyes that see hurt and that I have a heart that compels me to move and respond as the reaching hands and feet of our Savior in the colors of Spring, in the burning heat of a Las Vegas Summer day, in the warm winds of Autumn and on the 12 days of Christmas.