The Promise

The pine tree was majestic, rising over 150 feet into the sky and soaking its roots in the waters of Sweetwater Creek. He was inaccessible to this young boy who could not yet swim, but I was sure that if we could have gotten to the other side, it would have taken at least four of us to reach around his massive trunk. When I first saw this gentle giant of the forest I was about 12 years old.

He became my friend watching over me as I grew older and visited the creek regularly to tempt its catfish and bream with my offerings of night crawlers and crickets. I think he must have smiled at me the day I caught six small channel cats under the shadow of his branches. Surely he wept with me as I sadly walked along the opposite bank late one fall afternoon after breaking up with my girlfriend. He stood sentinel over me one spring night as I camped under his watchful gaze.

There was a time when we didn’t see each other. I had gone off to college and had all but forgotten my youthful forays into the wilds along the creek. Study of physics, chemistry and comparative anatomy had stolen away the more carefree days of fishing, hunting and camping. But as I grew into manhood in the city, my friend continued to grow in the forest.

Finally, it came time for us to meet. I had recently bought the jeep I had always wanted. I knew there was a way to get down to the bank on the other side of the creek because I remember having seen another jeep on that side years ago when I was a teenager. I found the old timber road that led down through the forest where he had stood for decades. I am sure he held his breath as I fought my way down the eroded and treacherous track that led under his branches, a track that had not been used for many years except by other 4X4’s. At last, I stood in the shadow of this old friend and looked up into the canopy. I had not been mistaken, this truly was a giant. I touched the scarred trunk that had survived many spring floods. There had been times when these flood waters had reached up his trunk at least six feet and had rearranged the rocky bottom of the creek and sent lesser trees downstream to be lodged between huge boulders. He was a survivor. He was eternal.


Years later, as a husband and father who still loved the outdoors and would often take my little daughter with me into the woods, I decided to return to my childhood haunts. I could no longer take the jeep into the woods alongside the creek as the land had been made into a state park. Parking the jeep just outside the park boundary, I gathered my fishing pole and my can of worms and started up the path that I had taken years ago as a young boy. The trail was almost unrecognizable, but years of treading on this path as a young boy had indelibly inscribed on my mind every hidden root and bend in the trail. There was the island where I used to fish for bluegills. There was the eddy behind the rock where I caught that largemouth bass, and there were the rapids where I once caught a rock bass.

Walking in a fog of nostalgia, I suddenly found myself across the creek from my old friend. Peering through the autumn foliage, I looked across the shoals to where he had stood guard for so many years. I was not prepared for what I saw. My friend had died. What once had been the pride of the hillside had been reduced to a skeleton. No green boughs waving in the wind, no prickly pinecones, just a brown, decaying shell. I wept. It was as if a part of me died right there on that creek bank. What had happened? Had it been a fire? Perhaps it had been southern pine beetles. I couldn’t tell. Most probably, it was just old age. I would like to think that he had died from an angry bolt of lightning, furious that anything had dared to rise above the surrounding canopy to challenge his domain.

I don’t know why I expected my old friend to live forever. I guess I had never come to grips with the reality that all things eventually die. The reality did nothing to take away the tightness in my throat, nor the tears flowing freely down my cheeks. I just stood there, alone in my grief, thankful that this trail was so infrequently used.


I began to cry out to God, “Father, why do things have to change? Why can’t they stay the same forever?” I hated change. I hated it when they tore down my old elementary school. I hated it when they built the new houses on the country road where I grew up. I hated it when they drained the swamp and put in the reservoir. And I hated it when my old friends died.

Then, from out of my innermost being, I heard a whisper. It was Father. It was as if I was at a funeral where only whispers are appropriate. He was honoring the moment. He whispered, “Son, all things must change. It is necessary, but you can be secure in this, I will never change.” Immediately, peace and comfort came and replaced the grief and consternation I had felt.

Many years have passed since that private memorial service on the banks of Sweetwater Creek. I haven’t been back in a long time and I am sure that there no longer remains even a trace of the existence of my old friend. My life has changed drastically since those days. I have become a father, a grandfather and live in another country as a missionary. Memories are all I have of those things that have changed over my lifetime. Memories, and a whispered promise , “I will never change.”

Unbelievable

Immediately after posting my last blog "Junk Mail," I received an email from Publisher's Clearing House with the following statement: "Contestant , you can be paid Ten Million Dollars in annual installments of $225,OOO.OO with a final payment of $3,475,OO.OO, should you win, or you can elect to receive a lump sum of $4,O14,545.4O Cash All At Once!" Unbelievable! Perhaps, Big Brother is listening.

Junk Mail

Everyone knows what it is. It is as American as baseball, mom and apple pie. It is also as aggravating as a telephone call from a telemarketer. Well, almost. Even when you check your email, you often have to wade through one, two and often three spam mails. If you ever see someone standing beside his mailbox cursing, it is probably either due to all the junk mail interweaved throughout his regular mail or there is a letter there from the IRS. I often thought of storing my garbage cans next to the mailbox because I felt like I was getting a hernia from carrying all that extra weight from the mailbox to the house.

Remember several years ago when junk mailers discovered that people were throwing their junk mail away without opening any of the envelopes? They decided to begin disguising their junk mail by using brown envelopes and writing something official looking on the outside. This would deceive the recipient into believing that it was from a governmental office and must be opened. Did you ever get fooled into opening one of these Trojan horses and thinking, “I am so glad that they did this or otherwise I might have missed out on this opportunity to buy into a time share!” No! And neither did I.

Finally, I had had enough. One day while stuffing one more 50 gal trash bag full of brown envelopes into my 30 gal garbage can, I made a life changing decision. I would never again be duped into opening another brown envelope! I had had it! I was nobody’s fool (at least not any more).

I didn’t have to wait long. The following day I pushed my wheelbarrow to the mailbox and there it was. Peeking out from between my personal letter from Ed McMahon and my monthly CD,s from Columbia House was the culprit. Brown, legal size, with the distinct return address from somewhere official sounding, it rested like a chameleon on the wall. I was ready!

I was so angry that I decided it didn’t deserve to go into the wheelbarrow with the rest of the day’s offenders. This one was going to be thrown to the wind. Let someone else discover it laying on the sidewalk somewhere covered with the shoeprints of others who disdained it for what it really was. I threw it on the ground with all the pent up frustration and anger that had accumulated with every deceptive brown envelope I had opened in the past. “Take that, Ed McMahon!” I shouted with the memories of all the disappointments and rejections I had suffered in the past. I didn’t even read Reader’s Digest!

As I walked away, pushing my wheelbarrow full of magazines I didn’t order and sales flyers from stores I never shopped at, a thought came to me with the intensity of The Passion. Two words came to me faster than a speeding bullet, REFUND CHECK! It might be for real! It really could be that refund check that I had been waiting for.

NO! NO! NO! I refuse to be abused again. I am nobody’s fool. I will no longer be deceived. I am free. I will never again bow down to the wiles of the telemarketer, the advertiser nor the spammer. Never again will I have to stand up and say, “I am Paul Whitley and I am telemarketer patsy!” I was so angry that I turned on my heel and returned to stomp on that brown envelope one more time to show my disgust, to reveal my resolve, to prove once and for all that I would not be taken advantage of ever again.

As I lifted my size 10 to forever settle the issue, I saw the victim staring lifelessly up at me. It looked like a refund check. It was the same color. That cardboard card peeking out of the address window looked official. What if I was being too hasty? What if it really was the refund check I had been waiting for? Could it be for real? How would I ever know for sure?

Looking around me to make sure that no one was looking, I hesitantly picked up the envelope as if it were a rattlesnake. It was the moment of truth. Was I really as strong as I thought I was? Was I a man or a mouse? If this was not the refund check that I had been waiting on, would this be so devastating that my wife would have to call the men in the white coats? It didn’t matter. I had to know!

Like a drunk returning to the bottle, with shaking hands I tore into the envelope! There in my hands lay a check from the IRS for over $1000! I began to shake uncontrollably like a man who has just escaped a head on collision with an eighteen wheeler. To think that I almost threw away a check for over $1000! My knees went weak. My strength left me. It was almost more than I could bear. I would never be able to look at a brown envelope the same again.

Now may I interject a thought here. The world hands us junk philosophies, theories, and deceptive ideologies every day much like the junk mail in our mailboxes. Most people have been deceived at least once in their life and now they have become hardened to any attempt anyone makes to tell them about the truth. Perhaps you are one of these people. You have decided not to listen to another person trying to tell you about a God who loves you and who wants to give you the love you have always desired. But like the story above, how can you be sure that you are not rejecting the one truth that you have been looking for?

I will conclude with a saying that my father-in-law was very fond of, “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.” There is a treasure waiting for you. Don’t throw it away.

Milestones and Memories

I understand that victims of Alzheimer’s disease lose their memories. How tragic, because without our memories, we don’t know who we are. Our identities are tied to our memories. Without memories we can only live in the present.

When we moved to the mission field, I felt that something was missing, but I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, and then one day it hit me like a ton of bricks! I had no memories here. Everything I did, everywhere I went, was for the first time. I had no previous experiences here. I had no past. I only had the present.

Slowly, we began to accumulate experiences which became the foundation for memories. Not all the experiences we had were good ones, but even they helped us. For instance, the obtaining of our first temporary residence visa was a very difficult and trying experience. Two years later when we had to reapply, remembering the experience gave us the knowledge and wisdom we needed to make this time easier. We learned from our mistakes. You see, we can’t take advantage of past mistakes unless we remember them. That experience becomes a memory.

I remember our first Christmas tree and the quest to find lights and ornaments in an impoverished, former Communist country. Now, when we get out the tree at Christmas, each ornament we hang has a special memory attached to it.

I remember moving into our first house and the excitement we shared as we set up housekeeping. It took months because we lived in a new town and we didn’t know where to shop.

I also remember my first car and my first speeding ticket. I remember how slow our internet service was before we got our first DSL line.

I remember the first friends we made, our daughter’s first visit, our first trip back to the states. I remember our first snowfall, our first visit to the lake, and the first time we went sailing.

I remember walking Agata, one of our daughters in the Lord, down the aisle because she had no one else. I remember rushing Asia, another daughter in the Lord, to the hospital to have her first child. I remember our own daughter, Heather, telling me by phone on Father’s Day that I would soon be a grandfather. This week I will marry a son and daughter in the Lord, my first marriage here.

I remember the first time we went to the movies. We had been here several months before we learned that the movies are in English and not in Polish.

We were here for Y2K. We watched the second plane fly into the World Trade Center on our TV. We remember walking down the street being careful to stop speaking English if we saw anyone who looked middle eastern. We nervously watched on Fox News the coverage of the sniper killings in Maryland, knowing that our daughter lived only 20 miles from where they were taking place. We endured the suspense of the last two presidential elections as they counted ballots in Florida and Ohio.

These are memories that we will keep for a lifetime. We will embellish them and tell and retell them to our grandchildren. Just as my dad used to captivate me with his stories of the road, I will use the memories that I have experienced here to paint a portrait in their minds of their grandfather who was a missionary to Poland. And they will remember.

I Believe What I Believe Because...

I have a neighbor who has a four year old – Janie. Try to carry on a conversation with Janie and her response comes like clockwork, “Why?” Topic? Doesn’t matter. Time of day? Doesn’t matter. Location? Doesn’t matter. The response is always the same, “Why?”

Aggravating? Sure. Frustrating? Right on. But maybe it is a gift that all children go through this stage, and it is definitely a teaching opportunity for the parent. The problem is that whatever you tell them in this stage, they will believe for a long, long time. However, many of us don’t know the answer to, “Why does grandpa smell?” Or, “Why did someone kill all those children on that school bus with a bomb?” So, you better make sure you tell them the truth.

Then, school comes along, and we allow someone else to answer the hard questions. How about this question, “Where did man come from?” Will the person who answers this question be an evolutionist or a creationist? His answer will determine to some extent what the child will tend to believe in the future.

I read an email from someone yesterday, a stranger to me, which got me to thinking. This person definitely believes differently from me on some theological positions. Why does that person believe so differently than I do? How do I know whether he is right or I? Have you ever been approached by someone of a different faith who wants to convert you? What did you do? Probably, you are in the majority who politely said, “I am not interested,” and closed the door in his face. Why did you do that? Was it that his beliefs contradicted your own and it made you uncomfortable? Why were you uncomfortable? Was it because you really don’t know why you believe what you believe?

One of the reasons we believe what we do is because our parents believed that way. Surely, they wouldn’t be wrong would they? Or, you have been taught something in school and now the philosophy is different and they are admitting that they had made a mistake. Our daughter is now a mother. We are finding out that all the things that we did when we reared her have been discovered to be incorrect. Child psychologists have now changed their minds. Spanking is bad for a child! Oh, where were you guys when I was a child!

How do you think it made the Russians feel when they discovered that their history teachers had lied to them all those years? How did you feel when our own government admitted that they had gone to war with Iraq on bad intelligence? And how will the Catholics feel when they discover that all their money, effort and prayers had no effect on how long their loved ones spent in Purgatory?

There is a statement that has become popular in the past few years thanks to John Maxwell, a contemporary leadership guru. He said, “Wouldn’t it be sad to get to the top and find out that your ladder was leaning against the wrong building?” Just a thought! What will the terrorist suicide bombers think when they find out that they just took the fast lane to somewhere other than paradise and there won’t be 70 virgins waiting for them? If they are there, they won’t be waiting on them and it will be too hot for sex anyway!

So, take any belief you have and find a quiet place and contemplate this question, “Why do I believe what I believe? Be honest with yourself and then do the research. Life is too short to believe a lie.

Don’t take too long with this because the next question will be, “How?”

Climbers

As I sit in my living room, I am looking out my window at the grape vines that cover the arbor I built a few years ago. The vines are only a couple of years old, but they have completely covered the arbor giving us shade for the times we decide to eat our meals outside. We love the Mediterranean look and feel it gives us to look up and see the grapes over our heads as we eat.

However, these grape vines create a lot of work for me. You see, they are never content to grow just where I want them to grow. They are constantly reaching and climbing. I am amazed that they can grow horizontally up to four feet with no support. They also seem to know in which direction to grow where there will be something for them to use as support. How do they do that?

They are not the only plants in my yard that do this. On the front porch I have both Clematis and Morning Glory plants which are both climbers. In the garden, I have pole beans and cucumbers, all of which are climbers. Each of them are constantly growing and searching for something to use as their ladder toward the sky. Why do they do that?

Because I asked for wisdom, I know the answer (see yesterday’s blog). All of these plants are fruit bearers. In order to bear more fruit, they must grow constantly to provide more area to photosynthesize (the process by which plants utilize sunlight to produce food). You see, I do know more than John 3:16. Instinctively, they know that they must continue to grow to produce.

It is the same with us. As Christians, we are supposed to bear much fruit, but in order to do this we must constantly be growing. We need to be climbing and reaching for more and more knowledge and wisdom, for more revelation. If we fail to grow, we fail to produce fruit.

Concerning him we have much to say, and it is hard to explain, since you have become dull of hearing. For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you have need again for someone to teach you the elementary principles of the oracles of God, and you have come to need milk and not solid food. Heb 5:11-12

I have noticed something else about these climbing plants. It seems to me that if a new plant doesn’t have something close by to begin climbing, its growth is stunted. But as soon as I put something close to it on which to climb, it seems to grow twice as fast. As a mentor, I need to make sure that I give my protégés something to reach toward, something by which they can grow spiritually and bear fruit.

Jesus told us in John 15:8, “"My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples.” Therefore, let us continually be climbing and bearing fruit for Him.

A Free Gift

Have you ever received revelation as you are speaking? It may be referred to as intuition, a thought, a stroke of genius, or, just revelation. It often happens to me as I am preaching. Here I stand in the pulpit before 5000 people (alright, 50 people. I was just checking to see if you were paying attention) and I am speaking from my meticulous notes that has taken me hours to write and rewrite. I have spent another hour or two sifting my thoughts and practicing my eloquent delivery (just checking again!). Now, I stand before my awe stricken audience waxing eloquent and BAM!!! – it happens. God speaks!

Hurriedly, I do a mental inventory of my notes and what is supposed to come next, and this thing that God is speaking to my mind isn’t there! Thankfully, God speaks so quickly that He bypasses my mind and goes directly to my mouth and the words have already escaped my lips before I can finish my inventory. Revelation!

The people love it. I can see it on their faces as I speak. Suddenly, there is life in what I am saying, and drooping eyelids spring open. I can see mental light bulbs coming on above their heads just like the tongues of fire on the day of Pentecost. I, or should I say, the Holy Spirit has connected. From somewhere toward the back I hear a hearty AMEN! It spurs me on. The floodgates open and God speaks again, and again, and again. The people are renewed. I am renewed. The message is a keeper. I, and God’s people, have been rescued from another well thought out, slightly less than remarkable treatise on some doctrinal thought.

It happened just yesterday. My four pages of well written notes took on life as God brought revelation. The topic started out as Freedom. Five minutes into the sermon it took on a semblance of Making Decisions, but then God rewrote the script and it finished as Wisdom. It wasn’t until the prayer at the end that I received a personal revelation that wisdom is completely free!

All the things that we desire and work so hard to achieve are ours through wisdom. You can find it right there in the Book.

How blessed is the man who finds wisdom And the man who gains understanding.
For her profit is better than the profit of silver And her gain better than fine gold.
She is more precious than jewels; And nothing you desire compares with her.
Long life is in her right hand; In her left hand are riches and honor.
Her ways are pleasant ways And all her paths are peace. (Proverbs 3:13-17)

Long life, riches, honor, and that thing which almost every contestant for Miss America desires – peace! It is all to be had through wisdom, which is free for the asking (James 1:5).

Wisdom. I want it, I need it, I have it.

Rejecting Counsel

In a recent blog I spoke about my first attempt at making bread. There was one step in the process where I had to transfer some rolled-out dough from one location to another. Now I know that most of you have seen the pizza commercials where the chef is throwing the dough into the air and twirling it, then catching it and repeating the process (do you know how hard it is to get a big circle of dough out of your hair!). It isn’t as easy as it looks, especially the first time. Anyhow, the first time I tried to transfer the dough from one location to another, I didn’t know what to do. My wife, who is an expert at almost anything she does in the kitchen, showed me (from her experience) how to roll the dough up on a rolling pin and use it to carry it to the other location and then simply roll it out. Simple, but outside the box for this novice. However, the next time I had to do this procedure I looked like a pro as I got out my rolling pin and completed the task.

Experience is a wonderful thing. It takes time to gain it, but it pays off in the long run. Experience is best gained under the instruction of one who knows more than you do. This brings me to the point of my blog today. In Proverbs, a book of the Bible, we are told in chapter 1, verses 5 and 6 that a wise man will hear and increase in learning. And a man of understanding will acquire wise counsel. Conversely, it tells us in verse 7 that fools despise wisdom and instruction.

Have you ever met anyone who thinks that he knows everything? This is usually a person who makes a lot of mistakes, but will not admit that he needs help. He is a person who doesn’t listen when one tries to help him, in fact, he resents it. How do I know this? Because I have been that person in the past.

I would like to blame it on my youth, but I must admit that it was more pride than anything. I could not admit that someone might know more than I. I wanted to be the one to whom everyone else looked. I was afraid that if I admitted that someone else knew more than I, then I would not be the leader, the one in control. For years I had a problem with submission and even today my first reaction is to reject authority. What a fool I was! I say fool because that is what God says: “Fools despise wisdom and instruction.”

Since I work with young people, I have to deal with this kind of attitude everyday. I tell someone to do something and later discover that they didn’t follow my instruction. They thought there was a better way. First of all, it was direct disobedience. Secondly, they acted out of ignorance. They did not have all the facts. I had information they did not have, and their willful disobedience led to more problems. The result of this simple act of disobedience was that they broke a trust. I trusted them to do what I asked (they had led me to believe I could trust them), but they chose differently. Now I don’t know if I can trust them with even minor decisions. Was it pride? Was it ignorance? Was it rebellion? I don’t know. All I know is that the first problem was not solved and now there is a second problem.

I am a person who doesn’t handle poor performance very well. I get offended when someone willfully misleads me, when they consider their decisions to be better than mine. When this happens, I tend to not be very merciful. God has given me a wife who helps guide me into being more understanding and merciful. My way is easy. It is clear cut, black and white. Her way gets complicated. There seems to be no closure. I love closure. Cut to the chase. Cut your losses. Move on. However, I have found that the next person doesn’t live up to my expectations either. What to do? I am finding her way better. Slower, but better.

I wondered, “What would God do?” Immediately I remembered the 7 X 70 rule. I asked him could perhaps the 7 X 70 relate to me and could I apply the 1 X 1 rule for everyone else. He reminded me of another story about the servant who received forgiveness for a huge debt, but was then not willing to grant forgiveness for a small debt. It ended with words like anger and torturers. (Mat 18:34) 7 X 70 is good!
I also remembered that Jesus told us that we shall reap what we sow. Returning to Proverbs chapter 1, it concludes with an admonition to those who choose their own way and will not listen to counsel.

"Because I called and you refused, I stretched out my hand and no one paid attention;
And you neglected all my counsel And did not want my reproof;
I will also laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your dread comes,
When your dread comes like a storm And your calamity comes like a whirlwind, When distress and anguish come upon you.
"Then they will call on me, but I will not answer; They will seek me diligently but they will not find me,
Because they hated knowledge And did not choose the fear of the LORD.
"They would not accept my counsel, They spurned all my reproof.
"So they shall eat of the fruit of their own way And be satiated with their own devices.
"For the waywardness of the naive will kill them, And the complacency of fools will destroy them.
Pro 1:24-32

There will be many in our lives who reject our advice. Perhaps it is because we give it when it isn’t asked for. We see our giving advice as love, they see it as meddling. Perhaps our advice isn’t filled with as much wisdom as we think. Maybe, it is because we have not earned the right to give advice. So, therefore, I am striving to see the beam in my own eye before I try to remove the speck out of someone else’s eye. I also am trying to listen more myself to those to whom God has gifted with wise counsel. And I try to understand more before seeking to be understood.

I would like to think that I am worth being sought out and listened to, but I also realize that I have a long way to go myself. So, if you are reading this and have rejected counsel and instruction that was rightly given, go back again and read the above passage. If you are reading this and I have offended you in any way with my “free, unsolicited, unwanted counsel,” please use the 7 X 70 rule.

What For This Power?

"You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you." (Acts 1:8)

As I was reading this morning I saw this and the question came to me, "And what is this power supposed to be for?" Whatever it was, the followers of Jesus were willing to remain 10 more days to receive it. And what a tremendous display of power accompanied the fulfillment of this promise. A violent, rushing wind! Many in the southern part of the United States can relate to this right now because it is hurricane season and there have been quite a few lately. This week I was standing inside my kitchen and watching the wind whip the trees around outside. I have been in situations where I thought that if I didn't hold on to something nearby, I would be blown away. Take all of that power and capture it inside a room and you have an attention getter!

The Bible tells us that it was immediately followed by another event that captured their attention to the extent that the wind was all but forgotten. They all began to speak in the languages of the nations that were visiting Jerusalem at that time. Now, people outside the room where they were gathered are paying attention. Even today, 2000 years later, when the Holy Spirit makes His appearance, people pay attention.

Amazed and perplexed, the people wondered aloud, "What does this mean?" Now, with an audience, the Holy Spirit performs his first evangelistic act. He moves upon the one person in the group that has the reputation of putting his foot in his mouth. Peter proceeds to answer this question, but with a boldness and straightforwardness that probably shocked the others. You see, they were in the upper room for more than a prayer meeting-they were hiding from these men outside. To all of a sudden make themselves and their hiding place known was a bold step of faith. This takes a life changing power.

Next, we find Peter and John going to the temple. In itself, this was a tremendously courageous act. The temple would bring them into direct contact with the very men who had killed their leader. They did not go along skulking in the shadows. No! Just outside the temple they worked a miracle and they did it in the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene! Indeed, they are flirting with danger. This takes boldness derived from power-power to be a witness!

Of course, this draws a crowd, just the thing that people on the run would want to avoid. But does Peter and John care? Not a bit. Again Peter, who a few days earlier had denied even knowing Christ, speaks boldly to the assembled crowd and tells them without any minced words, "Repent!" May I repeat myself here? This takes boldness!

You know what is coming next. Yep, the bad guys arrive with their black hats, riding on black horses with double six-guns! Acts tells us that they were "greatly disturbed." This would be like being found manhandling one of Condolezza Rice's aides! Did you see that picture of her. Now that was one angry lady-and with the clout to do some serious hurt on someone. Presidential material for sure. Back to my point.

Here Peter and John find themselves out of hiding, drawing attention to themselves, name dropping that Name again, and now doing it on the back doorstep of the enemy. This is not politically correct for sure. What does all of this get them? Jail time! Not exactly what you want on your resume, and in light of what happened to the last Guy that found himself on the bad side of these guys, it didn't look like a good career move.

But we have to look at the big picture. They had the Holy Ghost on their side. Oh, and Jesus was standing beside Him and behind them both was the Big Guy - GOD! And they all had that Condolezza Rice look. What a family portrait that would have made.

What am I trying to say? The power that comes when the Holy Spirit comes upon us (for the promise is to all of us) will give us boldness, will make us do things that we have never done before, will keep us going when everyone around us is quitting, and will make us fruitful, efficient, effective and life changers. Oh, and by the way, we get to speak in another language (at least most of us). God told me, "No, yours can't be Polish." Bummer!

Soar Like Eagles

Some people like to give their homes names like The Pines, Jack’s Creek Ranch, The Villa, etc. We are old enough to be eccentric so we named our home The Eagle’s Rest. There are no eagles here (except pictures and statuettes), but we had a good reason for choosing this name. As Christians, we appreciate a verse in the Bible in the Book of Isaiah which says “He gives strength to the weary, and to him who lacks might He increases power. Though youths grow weary and tired, and vigorous young men stumble badly, yet those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.”

I have always thought of missionaries, pastors and other full time ministers as eagles. So we named our home The Eagle’s Rest because we invite ministers here for a rest, for a time of refreshing, for a time to wait upon the Lord so that they can then mount up with wings like eagles.

I received something about eagles from an English missionary who serves in Berlin and it really spoke to me. Here are some of the thoughts that came to me as I read it. The eagle is known for his strength, power, speed, passion and boldness. It is the only bird that trusts himself to fly in a storm. Most birds hide when a storm is approaching, but the eagle actually flies above the storm. This brings to mind that we should be carried up by the wind of the Holy Spirit and soar above all obstacles. The eagle doesn’t flap his wings, but allows himself to be carried along by the wind. He goes where the wind carries him.

When an eagle is taken captive, it stops cleaning itself and begins to get dirty. It loses its recklessness. When an eagle gets sick or begins to grow old (this part I really like), limescale begins to accumulate on its beak making it almost impossible to tear meat and eat. He has to rely on carrion which is against his nature. Eventually, he would die if he didn’t do something. (As a Christian, we cannot afford to exist on yesterday’s manna, or we will become ineffective.)

However, a eagle realizes this and finds a rock on a high place with water and an abundance of sun. He begins to beat his beak against the rock making the limescale loosen and fall off. Then he begins to rip out all of his feathers and sits in the water to wash all the dirt away. Eventually, he grows new plumage and is “renewed.” This keeps him from growing old prematurely.

The rock and water can symbolize the Word. We must use the Word to break off any lies or accusations, unbelief, anxiety or fears that have come against us. These things tend to take away our faith and reliance on God. We must continually be renewed by the washing of the Word. After a while, ministers can begin to rely on their own knowledge and experiences. Like Lot, we can become vexed by being exposed daily to the ungodliness around us. We need to just have a safe place to molt and shed the filth that has gradually accumulated on our minds.

When this process is completed, we can again rise up with wings like an eagle, new wings, new vision, new hope, new joy, new purpose, and soar above those things which so easily entangle us.

I think I need to go find a rock.

Is It Too Late?

I love to cook. Yesterday, I made bread for the first time in my life. It turned out pretty good, and so I decided to make my wife some homemade cinnamon rolls today. What was supposed to last for two days isn't going to make it until midnight! I think maybe I have discovered a new calling. If you are family and reading this, don't buy those new pants for me for Christmas quite yet. You may need to buy a bigger size!

As I was putting the ingredients together, waiting for the yeast, warm water and sugar to do its thing, then kneading the dough (I don't knead this), the smell took me back to when I was in school. Our favorite meals were the ones whose smells permeated the entire building about an hour before lunch-the smell of yeast rolls. I then began to consider how long it was taking me to make my two loaves of bread and did some quick calculations to derive how long it must have taken the lunchroom ladies to prepare 600 rolls. I figured they must have come in about 3AM in the morning to have all of them ready by 11:30, the first lunch shift.

Do you remember your school days and all the terrible things you said about the mystery meat, slop, etc., not to mention the ways we referred to those little old ladies that suffered through the abuse we handed to them? Have you ever tried to cook meals for a camp, or a retreat, or anything over six people? Are you now ashamed? I am.

On reflecting on my bad, unacceptable behavior I thought the next time I am back in Georgia I should go to my old high school and apologize to all of them. Then reality set in, and I realized that since I am almost 60 years old, most, if not all, of those cooks are gone forever. It was too late. It would be impossible to right the wrongs of the past.

I remember another person who treated me kindly when I was a teenager. His name was Howard Almon, and he used to pay me $.50/hr to help clear land, put up barbed wire fences and anything else that he needed. I should have paid him since I had this habit of breaking handles out of sledgehammers, hoes, axes and shovels, but he never said a thing to me. Just bought more handles and kept them on standby.

When I was in my mid 20's, I realized what a blessing he had been to me and how much he had taught me about responsibility, good work ethics and life. He had moved to Alabama by this time, and I went to a mutual friend to get an address. I wanted to go and personally thank him for all that he had done for me during those early years of life. Alas, he had died of cancer a few years earlier. I was too late.

So, why am I telling you all this? I think that we should take the time to consider those who have spoken into our lives and make a special effort to tell them how much we appreciate all they have done for us. Perhaps, like myself, you find that they have passed on, but there is still something you can do. Go to those who are making a difference in other's lives right now, like the cooks in your kid's school, or the teachers that teach our children, or the firemen and policemen that protect us, or ministers, and are not receiving the gratitude and praise they deserve from the ones they serve. After all, when the ones they are serving now finally wake up years from now and realize what wonderful people they were, it might be too late. Stop the cycle. Show someone you care.

Why Don't I Like to Go to Church?

For a minister, this is a very interesting question. Today is Sunday and I just told my wife there were four things I wanted to do today. Going to church was not on the list. I am sure that I am not alone in this feeling and attitude. Probably, there is a large percentage of Christians who feel the same way. Each of us have our own reasons, but I want to just consider a few of my own.

One reason I feel this way is that I don't understand the language with which the minister communicates the sermon. In my case the language is Polish, but in many people's case the minister is speaking a foreign language called "religious rhetoric." We should stand back sometime and listen to ourselves speak around other Christians. We have our own language. Ministers tend to speak about things in a world all of their own. Hopefully, ministers are living lives that bespeak of close communion with God, of a personal relationship where their thoughts are on a plane much higher that those who are "not of the cloth." They have attended Bible school and seminary, read three Christian books a week, listen only to Christian music and watch only Christian television and never, ever enter those places of questionable reputation. Sometimes they forget that those to whom they speak are not quite there yet, and so they (or should I say we) forget to tie in those spiritual thoughts they have with practical application. So, those of us who find ourselves dragged off to church by our wives to keep peace in the family sometimes have to endure the boredom of a non relevant sermon for one more week, hoping she will want to visit her mother next weekend.

I don't think Jesus had the same problems with his "congregations." From what I read, he couldn't get away from the people. He never had trouble drawing a crowd even though sometimes the crowd wanted to lynch him. He had a way of getting right to the crux of the situation. He didn't mince words. I think that sometimes a minister's desire not to offend anyone makes what he has to say very bland. In fact, often I come away from church wondering what in the heck was he trying to say! Listeners to Jesus sometimes didn't understand the parables he used, but they sure knew what Jesus believed. He was boldly forthright!

Jesus' sermons were also very interesting and practical. Give me practical any day. I need to hear something that I can use the next week. It is a war out there and I need a strategy for dealing with it all. I also want to know that what I am hearing is based on truth. I need to have confidence in that man, or woman, standing up there. I can more easily trust that person if I know that during the previous week he has been in the same trenches where I live. That is one thing that I love about Joyce Meyer. You can tell from listening to her that she is speaking from experience. Give me a minister that is real for goodness sake.

I know that you think I am preaching but let me finish with one more thought. I want to go to a church where there is life. I want to feel that my church is on the gridiron and not on the bench. As a minister I have been tempted many times not to push the envelope while preaching because I actually didn't believe anyone would rise to the challenge anyhow. Everyone likes to be part of something that is successful, that is accomplishing things, that is relevant. To be relevant you have to be out there in the trenches "doing the stuff," as John Wimber used to say.

So, with having said all of this (before church today), I am glad to report that the minister this morning gave a very thought provoking relevant message. In fact, I think he must have heard my last sermon.