The Mountain

You are standing close to the crest of a mountain. You have just emerged from the tree line and are standing about halfway between it and the summit. If you turn, with your back to the crest, you can see clear back to the horizon to where your journey began. Your whole life lies before you like a panorama. You can see the place where you gave your heart to the Lord. That place has great emotion associated with it and is probably your favorite. You can barely make out the trail as it originates there and winds around the flatlands before beginning the slight rise which becomes a steady uphill climb toward the summit where you are now standing. You recall, even after all these years, all the times you stood and gazed at the faraway peak. You wondered what it would be like to stand there above the tree line, so close to the summit, imagining how it would feel to walk those last few hundred yards to the top and be able to see what was on the other side. Now, after all these years, you are finally standing there. The summit is so near. As you continue to survey the scene below, you also see the trail as it disappears down into the many valleys along the way. Some of those valleys were very deep as you recall; some so deep that it seemed the sun failed to shine in their deepest recesses. Others were obscured by dark clouds, however, while others seemed to be deep at the time, you can now see that they were but mere depressions in the landscape.

You can also see the clearings that you walked through on your journey. There the going seemed to be very easy where you rested from your strenuous climb out of the valleys and took time to lay down in the meadows and by the brooks and enjoy a brief respite. It was in those times that the Lord came to speak to you and comfort you. There He revealed to you the necessity for your last valley and assured you that you were never alone. It was in those peaceful meadows that you rested, drew strength, and then arose to continue your journey.

As you continue to take in the panorama of your life below you, you can see the trail as it traverses several smaller mountaintops. You recollect that each time you climbed to the top of a smaller mountain you thought, just for an instant, that it was the mountain on which you now stand. You remember that for a time you enjoyed the exhilaration of being on those mountaintops only to suddenly look upward to see that the mountaintop which was really your destination was still high above you, holding captive the faraway horizon. You recall that each time the exhilaration was replaced by the realization that your journey wasn’t yet over, and you would continue toward the horizon.

Now you stand between the tree line and the crest of that mountain, the one that captured your imagination, the one that held captive your aspirations and dreams. You slowly turn your back to the past and turn toward the peak before you. Between you and the top of the mountain is only a grassy, rock strewn landscape. No trees grow here, no more valleys to descend. Here the trail is very faint. Very few have climbed this far. Few have gone before you. Another thirty minute climb and you will stand on the summit; you will have arrived at your life’s destination. You remind yourself that this is why you began that climb those many years ago.

You begin the final leg of your climb when suddenly the wind begins to blow. At first you are refreshed by the breeze after your strenuous climb, but then ominous storm clouds begin to seemingly move in from nowhere. What happened? Just a minute ago, the sky was clear and sunny. Before, you could make out every detail of the craggy horizon, but now you can hardly see it. It begins to rain. The air is electrified by intense lightning, and the ground vibrates as a result of the incredible thunderclaps. The footing becomes treacherous as the rain saturates the ground and becomes torrents rushing down the steep grade. What before seemed like a short climb to the top now seems impossible, but you haven’t come this close to your goal to be turned back now. You redouble your efforts and attack the incline. The storm that before was intense now becomes intolerable. You have in your entire journey never encountered anything like this. Even the deepest, darkest valleys were never this terrifying. Your strength gradually ebbs. For the past several minutes you have been reduced to crawling forward on all fours. You must stop to rest for a minute and catch your breath, sitting with your back to the slanting rain, massaging your muddy hands and scraped knees. You consider that the trees below would provide a safe haven from the storm. The tempest doesn’t seem so intense there, and you feel the trees would provide some shelter from the storm. Your muscles ache with the strain of the climb, and you turn to look again toward the top of the mountain, now closer than ever before. You have made a little progress, but the incline appears even steeper than before. Turning back to the tree line, your whole being wants to rise and take the easier, downhill path to the refuge of the trees.

Just as you place your hand on the ground behind you to lift yourself up and head toward the trees, you feel the ground begin to vibrate. Simultaneously, the entire universe seems to be illuminated by the brightest lightning bolts you have ever seen. Immediately behind these comes a thunderbolt so powerful and loud that you feel your body lifted off the ground. You turn involuntarily toward the source which seems to be somewhere on the other side of the summit. Your mind rushes back to the time when God visited Sinai. What before seemed like an extreme storm now dims in comparison to what is taking place before you. The previous lightning flashes and rolls of thunder originated within the storm itself, but these newer, more intense ones seem to be coming from beyond the horizon, from the other side of the mountaintop. They are so severe that they drown out the others. God seems to be angry that you would consider turning back.

You are terrified! Between you and the summit appears certain destruction, but each time you turn to look back at the inviting tree line, you are filled with an overcoming feeling of foreboding and failure. Why does the decision have to be so heartrending? You want more than ever before to finish your climb, but why does it have to be today? Why can’t you rest for awhile among the safety of the trees and try again tomorrow or next week when you will have more strength? But there is something inside you that tells you that if you retreat to the safety of the trees, there will never be another chance. If you are going to the top of the mountain, you must go now.

You hesitate again, pausing to look once again toward the horizon above you. The thunder rolls and the entire sky is set aflame by the lightning bolts. It appears like all heaven and hell are at war between you and the top of the mountain. After one last glance backward, you make up your mind. You only have one life, and that life won’t be worth living if you give up this opportunity to reach for your ultimate goal. You think you might very well die in the next few minutes, but at least you will die knowing that you died climbing upward and not running away.

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

Compromise

Compromise

To compromise is to lower your standards and settle for less than you know is ethically acceptable. Whether it is a blonde bombshell in her “boots,” or a Christian artist who decided to “cross over” with her music, it is a sure bet that somewhere along the line they have had to compromise to get to where they are today. Washington, Nashville (and of late, Branson), Motown and Hollywood are notorious for stealing the integrity of their protégés. You can’t expect to play with fire without getting burned.

Hardly anyone goes into a situation expecting to have to surrender their values. Not many people expect to sell their souls to the devil, but it is a daily occurrence that creeps up on us like a mountain lion on its prey. It is a process that occurs to those blinded by greed and desire for fame and power.

The process begins with a person having talent that elevates them above their contemporaries. It could be a beautiful voice, musical ability, a great personality coupled with a way with words that is able to sway the multitudes - a talent that others would die for. In years past, personalities like Ed Sullivan, Ed McMahon and Dick Clark exploited the youth of our nation. Today, it is Simon and Paula who tease thousands of our youths into becoming “idols.” What an appropriate word! We have all heard the stories of young girls who get their start on the couch of some Hollywood producer. We are just repeating history, but we are not learning from our mistakes.

We would like to think that this only happens to non Christians, but no one is exempt from that same voice that deceived Eve 6000 years ago. We are still being tempted by the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh and the pride of life, and it is ruining our present and future generations.

If you are a young, talented Christian reading this, let me describe the process which Satan will use to bring you to the brink of Hell. If you were to be “discovered” by either Hollywood, Nashville or Washington, I am sure that you would think, “Here is an opportunity to make a difference in the world. I can use my fame and fortune as a platform to tell others about Jesus.” You need to know that while this may be on your mind, the one whom the deceiver has sent to tempt you and your talent away from God isn’t thinking this at all, but he will use this motivation to persuade you to make the first step.

You will find yourself having more money, recognition and fame than you ever thought possible. The praise of man is a narcotic. It will cause you to be dissatisfied with what you have and you will come to the place that you will do anything to remain on the crest of popularity. Remember this, there will always be somebody else who has already sold his soul to the devil and he will stop at nothing to stay on top. If he is on top, then you are not. This desire to be the best will cause you to say yes to those things that before you would have rejected. The thought will come to you, “Just this one time.” Upon compromising that one little point, you have placed your foot on the top step of an ever downward spiraling staircase to Hell. Each step you take will take away a little piece of your life until finally you find yourself no longer knowing, or caring about, what is right and wrong. Finally, one morning you will wake up to the realization that you are no longer praying, reading your Bible, thinking about God or his will. You only care about what you need to do to stay on top.

You began this process with the desire to bring the world to Jesus. You end with bringing the world to you and Jesus is nowhere in the picture. I am sure that people like Jessica Simpson and Whitney Houston have all come to a place where they wonder what happened to that little girl who used to sing in the choir in church, but I am afraid they no longer care.

Walking Wisely

May I quote a verse from Proverbs for you. In Prov. 13:20 we are told, “He who walks with wise men will be wise.” If you want to be wise, find someone who already is wise and associate with him.

I have received many cards, emails and letters in my lifetime and one that comes to mind right now was given to me by a young man whom I mentor. It is a picture of a little boy walking with an older man, probably his father. Inside the card is reference to this verse. He considers me to be wise. What a great compliment.

Shamefully, I remember my youth, and how stubborn and foolish I was. Rebellion and prideful are two words that come to mind when I consider how I reacted to older men whom God put in my path. Young men especially have always been filled with the need and determination to be their own man. We had to do it our own way. Remember the words of Frank Sinatra, “I did it my way.” Foolish, foolish, foolish.

I am now an older man, and I hope a much wiser man than I once was. I look for wiser men than I with whom to associate. Considering my situation, for the most part I have to rely on authors and the books they write. Some of the men that I consider worth walking with are Dr. James Dobson, Dr. Mark Rutland, Dr. Les Parrott, Dr. Paul E. Paino, and Stu Weber. There are others, of course, but these are very prominent in my life. Wait a minute, there are some women, also. At the top of the list is my wife, Karen. I also receive from Joyce Meyer and a few individuals whose names you would not recognize.

However, there are some men who have written things that minister greatly to me who spoke to us a long time ago, but their words are timeless: The Apostle Paul, Solomon and most of all, Jesus.

What about you, reader? Who do you allow to speak into your life? Are you teachable, are you open for counsel; do you even want to be wiser? A wise man once said that the beginning of wisdom is to acquire wisdom. How true, how true.

Admitting that you need help and asking for it, and listening to others who know more than you do are not bad things. It is wisdom. I want to close this with a quote from Proverbs 9:8a-9:

Reprove a wise man, and he will love you.
Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser,
Teach a righteous man, and he will increase his learning.

First Times

All of us experience first times. There was that first kiss, the first visit to the mountains or the seashore, the first time you drove a car, your first date. Life is full of firsts. My wife remembers the first green persimmon she ever ate (she didn’t finish it though). I remember my first black eye, which came shortly after I persuaded my wife to eat her first green persimmon.

I even remember my first hamburger. I was nine years old, and my family had gone on a vacation to New Orleans. On the way back we talked my dad into stopping at a burger joint and buying us all hamburgers. The reason I remember this was because he was flabbergasted that the hamburgers costs $.35 each. We didn’t have much money in those days, so as I ate mine I felt like I was a king-a burger king! I bet I was the first kid in the neighborhood that had ever spent that much money on a burger.

I remember my first “F” in school, soon to be followed by another one. I was on a roll. I think the first one had something to do with it being spring and I was in love. I had no excuse for the other one, but it was the last one I ever got. Did I mention it was in physics?

I remember owning my first Jeep. It was used, but buying it was a dream come true. Soon after I bought the Jeep we took a trip to the mountains and I drove it down a dirt road, across a creek and up onto a muddy stretch of road. It was the moment of truth. There in front of me was a mud hole about twenty feet long. Now the thing about mud holes is that it is impossible to determine how deep they are by looking at them. I once had a bad experience with a mud hole. When I was a teenager my dad let me take the car one night over to my neighbor’s house (we lived in the country so houses were a good distance away from each other), but before I left, he told me that I had better not get stuck. You guessed it. I got stuck so bad that they had to bring a tractor to get me out. So I hate mud holes.

Let me interject something here. If you have never owned a Jeep, or other formidable 4X4, then you can’t appreciate the feeling one gets from sitting up higher than everyone else and the sense of power that comes from being able to go anywhere and do anything you want. I must say that it tends to make one a little arrogant. You also can’t appreciate the humiliation of having to call a tow truck if you get your 4X4 stuck in a mud hole! And there before me lay my potential Waterloo.

I tried to talk my way out of it, but my wife had begrudgingly watched me spend all of our money on this machine and she wasn’t about to let me get out of this. And she fought dirty! “Why in the world did we spend all that money for this Jeep if we can’t at least go through a little bit of mud!” she exclaimed. It didn’t help matters a bit that her dad who lived in the Everglades only had a 2X4 and he went everywhere in it.

At this point, I wisely spoke up and convinced her that it would be imprudent to get stuck unnecessarily out here in the backwoods of north Georgia and be stranded in the same area where they filmed Deliverance (you remember what happened to that one guy don’t you). So, finding a long pole, I decided to check the depth of the hole and the firmness of the mud underneath the murky water.

Standing at the edge of the water with my ten foot long stick in one hand and holding on to a tree with the other, I jabbed it into the water, expecting to see it sink out of sight. When it stopped abruptly at two inches, I thought I had hit a submerged rock. I tried another spot and again it only went about two inches under the surface. The entire mud hole was only two inches deep! Wisdom is vindicated by its children! (It always helps for a preacher to quote Scripture in such cases).

I just met a young lady who has the most beautiful smile. She has come on a short term mission trip to Poland. She is in her twenties, works at a bank in Texarkana, and is distracting all of my young men. I have never seen so many guys in la la land. Anyway, she is experiencing many firsts on this trip. She cut her first tomato, peeled her first cucumber, and rode on her first train. One morning she announced that she just heard a quail. Had she ever heard a quail? No! Then how did she know it was a quail??? (By the way, it wasn’t.) Is she embarrassed? I don’t think so. Are we kidding her about all this? You betcha! But you know, she is living life to its fullest. She is going for all the gusto. She is not going to allow a little thing like, “I’ve never done that before,” get in her way.
Chopping tomatoes, onions, peeled cucumber. Quail, flown out of US., ridden on a train,
May I ask you a question? Have you experienced any “firsts” in your life recently. Once we get past a certain age, we become comfortable with where we are and try not to upset the apple cart. We didn’t like being embarrassed as a teenager and we definitely don’t want to relive those embarrassments again.

But isn’t this a boring way to live! Shouldn’t we be out there rock climbing, wrestling with alligators, or skydiving. (I am sorry but I can’t attempt any of those things. I have weak knees!) Of course, there are milder ways to get out of our quagmire of routine.

I remember a movie I saw last Christmas called Skipping Christmas. There was a scene at the end of the movie in which Tim Allen wanted to give away his cruise tickets to an older couple across the street. This couple thought of every reason they could that would make it impossible for them to go. There was nothing scary about a cruise, they just didn’t want to make the effort to break out of the monotony.

Isn’t it that way with us Christians sometimes? We see how God has blessed our friends who have gone on a short term mission trip, or an excursion to The Holy Land. Perhaps a group has gotten involved in lay ministry and invited us to participate, but we hold back. We have never done that before. It would be a first, and it frightens us a little.

Come on. Be young again. Take the plunge. It takes faith to do something for the first time. The building blocks of confidence are first times. Don’t let a mud hole prevent you from reaching your destiny.

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

The Bus Stop

Unbelievably, bus stops and roadside vegetable stands have had a great impact on my life. You find some very interesting and friendly people at these two places, but sometimes you find much more.

We live in Poland as missionaries. Four years ago, while traveling to a distant lake for vacation, I asked our friends who were traveling with us a question that was to change my life forever. I had heard that Poland was doing very well economically after surviving almost 50 years of Communism and wanted to know if this was true. I was not ready for the reply I received.

We listened as our friends told us that in many small villages of Poland, depressed, hopeless husbands and fathers were committing suicide, children were going hungry, and parents were keeping their children home from school because they had no shoes. This greatly impacted me and opened my eyes to an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of poor people in this nation.

Previously, we had served as missionaries to Mexico where we would frequently load up the van with 50 lb bags of beans, corn meal, flour, shoes and used clothes and anything else that we felt the people could use. It was a source of great joy to see the smiles on the faces of the people as they accepted our meager attempt to make a difference in their lives.

In Poland, Karen and I loved to spend Sunday afternoons driving through the countryside and exploring small, off the beaten paths leading up into some secluded valley. The road always ended in some poor village where society had all but forgotten the people. I thought we surely could do the same thing here in Poland that we had done in Mexico. For me it was simply the willingness and desire to meet a need, but I still needed to know that this was what God wanted me to do.

That weekend we had a wonderful time of sailing and swimming on the lake, but just under the surface my mind was constantly filled with scenes of barefoot, starving children and different ways that we could help alleviate their hopelessness and desperation. I still had not heard from God, but I knew that His answer would come soon. I didn’t have long to wait.

It happened in a rainstorm. It is amazing how many encounters I have had with God during rainstorms. The sky was ominous with sinister thunderheads that seemed to be woven together with jagged streaks of lightning. The rain began to fall in torrents as the wipers fought to keep the windshield clear. That was when I saw her. She was just a wisp of a girl, torn between seeking shelter under the overhang of the bus stop and standing in the rain so that she would draw the attention of anyone who might stop to buy her last two jars of blueberries. The money from one last sale could provide a paltry breakfast for her breakfast the next morning.

It happened so fast that I was already past her before I realized she was there. Abruptly, I pulled to the side of the road, made a U turn, and drove back to the bus stop. It wasn’t the blueberries, freshly picked from the surrounding forest, that made me return. It was she. For me, she was the lone symbol of every poor, starving, forgotten child that I had seen file past my mind that weekend. I didn’t need the blueberries, but I bought both the jars she had left. I offered her a ride home, but at that instant her father appeared to collect her so she wouldn’t have to walk home alone in the torrential rain.

As I pulled away from the bus stop, I had a very difficult time seeing the road ahead of me. It wasn’t the rain falling from the sky, it was the tears falling from my eyes. You see, in that small bus stop, almost hidden from the road behind the sheets of rain, He had spoken.

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

Today Is The Yesterday of Tomorrow

A legend has died. People around us die everyday, but there are those among us who seem to have become part of our families. Peter Jennings was one such person. Regardless of what you thought about him and felt about his reporting at ABC, he became a household face in many of our living rooms over the past 22 years along with Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Chet Huntley and David Brinkley. Just the mention of these names brings a flood of memories to most Americans.

I was deeply moved when I heard of his passing. It wasn’t that I knew him, or loved him, but it was because he represented to me a lot of memories. If you recall, I am big on memories. Whether it was the fall of the Berlin Wall, Tiananmen Square, Beirut, or the terrorist attack at the 1972 Olympics, you can’t help but associate the name Peter Jennings with those events. He became a part of your history, too.

In his passing, we are reminded not only of his past accomplishments, but of our own. To see a man who achieved so much, even though a high school dropout, makes us compare our lives, not to his, but to what ours could have been like. We are reminded that today will become the yesterday of tomorrow. If we are ashamed or disappointed in our lack of commitment, achievement or significance, we can receive comfort in the fact that we can change how we will feel about our past ten years from now by determining to do better today. If for no other reason, I am thankful today that I am again reminded that I can change my future.

His death also reminds us of our mortality. None of us will live forever on this earth. Whether we are the homeless wino on the streets of Brooklyn or Princess Diana, we all have an appointment with the grim reaper. We can’t help but reflect on what comes next for each of us. It is a question of massive proportions and we would be remiss if we didn’t seriously consider it.

Peter Jennings died at a relatively young age considering that a contemporary of his, David Brinkley, was 82 when he passed away. If you were watching the broadcast when he spoke of his children calling him on that fateful day of September 11, or of his announcement of his having lung cancer a few months ago, then you got a personal glimpse of the man behind the desk. At that point, I am sure he wished that he could have undone the past and had stopped smoking a long time ago. But it was too late. The damage had been done.

Perhaps this would be a good time for us to ask ourselves what is in our lives that is slowly destroying us and stealing the years we have left. It isn’t always the things we do that harm us and steal our peace and joy. Sometimes it is the things we don’t do. Today, you have your chance to make a difference in your life and the lives of those around you. Don’t throw away that opportunity.

Be The Best You Can Be

We live in a world where only the best is good enough. If I own a Ford, I want a Cadillac. If I own a Cadillac, I want a Mercedes. If I own a Mercedes, I want a Rolls. Even I am only driving my Jeep Grand Cherokee until I can afford a Hummer!

When young boys gather together on the ball field, they choose sides. Does anyone ever choose first the kid who can’t catch and strikes out most of the time? No! Personally, I didn’t play a lot of ball. I just couldn’t handle being chosen last or next to last. I finally quit when they started letting girls play. I couldn’t stand the humiliation.

Have you ever heard of the saying, “Keeping up with the Jones’s?” We have a tendency to always want the biggest, the most expensive, the most exclusive, well, the best. There is a saying that the worst enemy of the best is the good. Good is o.k., but it will never be the best! Settling for good will always keep us from striving for the best.

I have never been the best at anything. When I was in the sixth grade, they considered four of us for immediate promotion to the seventh grade at the beginning of the year. My best friend Tommy and I had very good grades, but Alicia and Janice had better. They were the best choice. Even at our seventh grade graduation, Laverne gave the Valedictorian speech. I had to settle for Salutatorian. On the baseball diamond, in sixth grade, and now seventh grade; foiled again-by a girl! I’m over it, I really am. They will probably ask me to be the poster boy for the next Women’s Liberation conference!

I didn’t like being second best. I wanted to be the one that everyone else strove to be like. I didn’t become the best at anything until I became Conference Champion in the three mile race in college. But, hey! It wasn’t the best conference! See! Most of us find ourselves in a rat race with no chance of ever becoming the very best. That position has already been filled , but in that position we have hope.

Included in being best is never making a mistake, or always doing exactly what is required, or never giving up. It means to never settle for anything less than the very best. I know of only one person who can fill those shoes, or should I say sandals-Jesus of Nazareth.

Satan tried to get him to settle for less than best in the wilderness. There were many times that He was tempted to call fire down from heaven to consume the Scribes and Pharisees who taunted him. He even struggled in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night of his crucifixion. Even his worst would have been better than our best, but he was not content to settle for anything less than the best.

What was best? His Father’s will. He said nothing he didn’t hear the Father say. He did nothing except what he saw the Father do. He was perfect in every way and he left us with the commandment to “be perfect as I am perfect.” In other words, we should be the best we can be with what he has given us.

It is in the position of being “in Him,” that we achieve perfection. God doesn’t see our imperfections, because we are hidden in him. In God’s eyes, we are as Jesus. It doesn’t become a matter of doing something better than anyone else, it becomes a matter of doing what pleases God, of not settling for anything less than what he asks.

Personally, this is where I am right now. I am not satisfied with doing anything less that what he desires of me, but I have peace in knowing that my relationship with him doesn’t hinge on “what” I do, but “who” I am. Nevertheless, I really like that verse in the Bible which says that in his eyes there is neither male nor female.
© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

Burning Hearts: Forewarning: Extremely volatile!

I preached my first sermon when I was about 7 years old. I was visiting my neighbor, Verna, who was too much too old for me (she was 9), but that didn’t stop us from being a make believe couple. She would make mud pies for me and while she “cooked,” I would preach to her. I made a big impression on her and her parents because they still remember it fifty years later. I should have written down my sermons.

As I grew older, I used to lie in bed at night and preach silently under the covers. I was a great evangelist. My pretend congregation always gave me great accolades. I should have written those sermons down, also. However, my career came to a screeching halt when I announced my call to preach at the tender age of twelve. I should have known that with such outstanding qualifications the pastor of the church was going to jump at the opportunity to have me fill the pulpit; that, and the fact that the pastor was my dad.

The big day came, or was it night, and I stood before the congregation full of vim and vigor. It was a long time ago, but I seem to remember thinking that the congregation under the covers was much more receptive than this staunch bunch of Baptists. Nevertheless, I am sure that I astounded my dad’s flock with my exegesis of the Scriptures, but it was simply too much for me. In my mind I had built my own expectations to such an impossible level that even Billy Graham would have found them difficult to meet. This young twelve year old didn’t have a chance. I am not sure what the text was. I am glad that I didn’t write it down.

So, I took a sabbatical. God had mercy on mankind, and I didn’t step into another pulpit for twenty years. There are those who are of the opinion that I returned too soon, but the die is cast. I am here to stay (it’s hard to get work nowadays).

I must have improved with time like a good wine. I even have a friend that remembers the very first sermon she heard me preach, and that was over 20 years ago. Many come to me who attended a service at my home church back in Georgia five years ago and tell me that they still remember the sermon I preached about my dad. These I do have written down. At least I have learned something over the years.

I now have the confidence to tell the joke about the preacher that preached his heart out at his church. As he was stepping off the platform, mentally patting himself on the back for such a great sermon, he was met at the bottom of the steps by one of the women in the church. She said, “Pastor, that has to be the worst sermon that I have ever heard in my life,” and walked away. One of the elders, standing close by, came over to comfort him. “Pastor,” he said, “don’t you pay any attention to what she said. She was just repeating what she heard everyone else saying.”

I have to tell you, I have had days like that. Even I couldn’t stand to hear myself any longer and fast forwarded through my notes to put an end to everyone’s misery. I can always tell when it’s been bad when my wife avoids me after the service and my daughter asks to spend the day with a friend.

Before we went to the mission field, I did a lot of itinerating. I did what many traveling speakers do. I preached the same five or six sermons over and over. One day I saw my daughter, who was about eight, drawing during my sermon and afterwards, chastised her and told her that it didn’t look very good when the preacher’s own daughter didn’t listen. The next time I preached she paid rapt attention during the sermon. It appeared that she hung on every word I said. After the service, she wanted to pay me a compliment by telling me that what I preached was the most prophetic sermon she had ever heard. However, her vocabulary was still growing in those days and instead she proclaimed, “Dad that was the most pathetic sermon I have ever heard.” Out of the mouth of babes!

To bring this pathetic story to a close and try to salvage what I can from it, let me get to the point. Today, I was reading the story of the two men on the road to Emmaus the day that Christ resurrected. In case you don’t remember, they were approached by Jesus and together they continued their journey. However, Jesus had hidden his identity from them for a time during which he revealed the Christ to them throughout the Scriptures. Later, after their eyes were opened to whom he really was, they exclaimed, “Did not our hearts burn within us as he spoke with us and explained the Scriptures to us?”

This has become my heart’s cry. I have no desire for fame or fortune, I only desire that God will speak through me and that people’s hearts will burn within them. Whether I am good or bad, pathetic or prophetic, I must preach. It is my calling. It is my destiny. As the prophet Jeremiah said, “if I say, ‘I will not remember Him or speak anymore in His name,’ then in my heart it becomes like a burning fire shut up in my bones.”

Burn fire, burn!

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

It Defies the Imagination

Have you ever been to the Empire State Building in New York City? It is bigger than life itself. Before the completion of the World Trade Center, it was the highest building in the city, and at one time was the tallest building in the entire world. I have been there twice; once when I was about 12 years old and again recently. It is as awesome today as it was 50 years ago.

When I stand on the sidewalk in front of it and look upward. I can’t help but think of the Tower of Babel. It just has that effect on me, and if you have ever tried to communicate with a taxi driver in New York, you may think that God confused man’s language once again for trying to reach the heavens.

Before I made my first visit to the Empire State Building, my father had told me about it. You know, children can hear something described and in their minds they can always amplify it so that they are disappointed when they finally see the real thing. Not this time. It far exceeded any picture I had drawn in my childhood mind. Some things are just like that. For instance, as a young boy I could not imagine an expressway with twenty lanes of traffic. It was in California and, as you know, it is hard to imagine anything in California!

When I first saw a picture of a car driving through one of the giant Sequoia trees, I thought it wasmake believe. And my first visit to the Smithsonian Institute in D.C. revealed to me sights that a country boy just didn’t have the capacity to believe. There are some things that simply defy the imagination.

I remember a story I heard one time by Dr. Mark Rutland, President of Southeastern Bible College. He told of a trip to Africa on which he found himself close to Mt Kilimanjaro. He said that he never could have forgiven himself if he hadn’t made the effort to see this magnificent sight. So, while in Africa, he arranged for a guide and went to sleep anticipating a great outing the next morning.

However, when he awoke he was greeted by fog so intense that he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He was assured by his guide that he would still be able to see the mountain. So with a mind full of doubts he climbed into the car and they sped off. Finally, the car slowed and pulled off the road. Now surrounded by deep forest the fog was even thicker. His guide told him not to worry, he would still be able to see the mountain, and led him into the woods. Mark was sure that there was a trail of some kind, but for the life of him, he never saw it. Following almost within arms length so as not to get lost, Mark blindly followed his guide until he stopped abruptly and said, “Here we are.” As Mark looked, it appeared that they were standing on the edge of a great sea of fog. His guide swept his arm, motioning for Mark to behold the great wonder that he had traveled half way across the world to see.

Not wanting to embarrass himself nor offend his guide, Mark stepped forward and with intense concentration peered into the fog looking for any sign of the great mountain. His body language was of one straining toward the finish line. Despite all his efforts, he just could not see the mountain across the expanse. Sensing that Mark was having difficulty seeing the snow capped peak directly in front of him, the guide stepped behind him, took his hands, placed them on either side of Mark’s head, and tilting his head severely upward said, “No, Pastor Mark. Not there, THERE!”

And towering above him, rising up out of the fog, overwhelming the landscape and brushing the bottom of the heavens, was one the most magnificent sights Mark had ever encountered-Mt. Kilimanjaro! It was bigger than life. It was beyond his wildest dreams. You just had to see it to believe it, and even then it defied the imagination.

The Empire State Building, giant Sequoias, Mt Kilimanjaro; these help to expand our minds so that we can begin to understand faith. Even then, faith is so much bigger than anything that man can imagine. It is faith that enables man to begin to understand God, and even then, we will never fully understand. There are some things in this world that are awe-inspiring. There are other things that defy reason, and there are some things that cause us to realize just how insignificant man really is.
Faith makes it possible for man to see what others cannot.

Faith also helps us to do things that others think impossible. How can a man speak to a blind person and he see? How can a man command a storm to be still? How can a man hear and know what God is speaking? It is only by faith. Such a valuable possession and yet it is a gift, free for the asking. It takes such a small amount of faith to do such great things.

If you read this and it makes a difference in your life, we do not ask that you send it to 10 of your acquaintances. We merely advise that you simply ask for this free gift. It will open new arenas of life for you and for others. Faith will enable you to see the mountain-and move it.

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

The Torch (part 2)

As he rushed over the crest of the knoll, his spear ready to deliver the killing blow, he was startled to find another caveman rushing toward him with his spear raised, ready for the kill. Not quite knowing what to do, they stood there for a minute until disappointedly; they lowered their weapons and just stared at each other. Finally, the other man spoke. When he discovered that the hunter had come from a long distance in search of food and had been unsuccessful, and realizing that night would be upon them in a matter of minutes, he invited him to share his cave for the night.

Together, they entered the opening in the side of the hill and walked slowly forward. “This was a very warm hole in the ground,” he thought as he slowly moved further into the darkness. As he turned a bend to the right, he was astonished and frightened at what he beheld! There in the middle of the underground room was a sight he had never experienced! He quickly brought up his spear to shield and protect him from this, this…he wasn’t sure what it was. He thought at first that it must be some sort of demon spirit. The whole creature shone as one great, red eye, flickering in the night. It moved, but then it didn’t go anywhere. It leapt upwards, but it never left the ground. It crackled like the sound of bones breaking, but it didn’t attack…what could this creature be?

He turned to the other man for understanding and for assistance in battling this unknown enemy, but was astonished to find the other man calmly walking past him with his spear lowered! Hesitantly, he lowered his own spear and slowly moved forward. As he got closer, he felt a warmth much like the rising sun, becoming warmer the closer he came. Only after he was standing next to this enigma did he see the other people in the room. Off to the side were a woman and two children eating a piece of meat which had been cooked on the fire. It seemed to escape him at the moment that had it not been for the fire, he would not have been able to see them at all. Motioning for him to sit down, the stranger offered him a piece of meat that he ripped from the carcass roasting on the spit. Voraciously, he attacked it for he had not eaten in days. It was only after he had consumed half of it that he noticed that it was cooked! He had never eaten anything cooked before. This was the first time that he had ever experienced fire, and how can you cook without a fire? With a full belly, a warm fur, and a roaring fire in front of him, exhaustion overcame him, and he slept.

The next morning, he and his new friend went hunting together and finally were successful. That afternoon they returned to the cave, and after gathering enough wood to keep the fire going through the night, they ate, talked, and slept again in the warm cave. The next day, the man arose and prepared to start his long journey back to his family. As he was about to leave, his new friend presented him with a great gift. Having wrapped a club with pitch, he lit it in the fire and gave it to the man to take back to his cold, dark cave. Now he would be able to light his way, warm his home and cook his food. This gift was the gift of life, changing not only his life, but the life of his descendents forever. Life would never be the same.

A missionary is much like this caveman. He has received the great gift of the fire of the Holy Spirit, the great gift of the Light of the World, the great gift of the warmth of the love of the Father. He takes it to those places far, far away where others don’t know about it, and still sit in the cold and in darkness. I am a missionary.

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.

The Torch (part 1)

I am a missionary. When I say this, you immediately form an image in your mind of what that means. The problem is that there are many different images that we have of what a missionary is, depending on our upbringing and experiences in the past. Since I want you to know exactly what I mean when I say that I am a missionary, I want to illustrate with a story.

Within the cold dark cave huddled the man with his wife and child. The cold was brutal, and despite their being deep in the cave, the wind still invaded their home as an uninvited intruder. Their food supply was almost depleted, and tomorrow the man would have to strike out on another journey to the forest to try to spear some more game. At least with it being winter, they would not have the usual problem with spoilage. But that was tomorrow. Tonight, the foremost thing in their mind was to stay warm and not freeze to death. His last hunting trip had been very successful, and the large fur under which they huddled would help keep out the cold.

The next morning, as his wife and small one remained under the fur until the warm sun brought some welcome relief from the cold, the man tied pieces of fur to his feet, slung a smaller fur wrap around his shoulders, picked up his spear, and struck off with the sun at his back. He might run across an early forager, and the sun in the animal’s eyes would help to mask his presence long enough for him to approach within throwing range, but the forest seemed to be empty as he stalked further and further away from the comfort of his cave.

Nightfall had come twice, and he still was unsuccessful. The first night, he had been lucky enough to stumble across a small cave in the hillside to bed down in, but last night he had had to find refuge under a fallen tree. The wind and cold had robbed him of most of his sleep, and the wrap had done a very poor job of shielding him from the elements. Just as the sun was beginning to fall to the ground for the third day, he suddenly heard something moving stealthily just over the top of the hill he was climbing. Maybe this was to be the end of his journey. If he was quick and true with his aim, he may not have to go out again for another week or more.

(to be continued)

What Time Is It?

Do you know what time it is? No, don’t look at your watch. That’s not what I mean. I am not asking for the position of Mickey’s little hand and big hand. I mean, “What time is it-in your life?”

When I was a little younger (I should say a lot younger) my parents asked it a different way. They would see me pull some dimwitted stunt and they would say, “Don’t you think it’s time to grow up?” Or, my college advisor would say something like, “Don’t you think it’s time for you to decide on a major?” Even now my wife will interrupt a perfectly good sitcom by asking, “Don’t you think it is time to take out the garbage?”

You will notice that each of these questions presuppose that we already know that the time in question has arrived, but we are just not acting on it. We need a gentle nudge. Consider this to be your gentle nudge.

The author of Hebrews didn’t exactly use these words, but the meaning was the same, when he implied, “Don’t you think you should be a little further along by now? You should be teachers of the Word but instead, you need again to be taught the fundamentals.”

God meant it when He found Elijah in the cave and asked, “What are you doing here?” Paraphrased it would sound like, “Is this the time to be hiding out on some mountain?”

God had to use a donkey to ask the question for Him when Balaam found himself in the wrong place. Peter felt it when Christ found him one morning fishing when he should have been apostling.”(Don’t bother looking it up in the dictionary-it isn’t there!)

It would be good for all of us to have someone look us straight in the eye from time to time and ask, “What time is it?” You see, there is a destiny for each of us, but destiny isn’t a place that we arrive at all at one time. There are checkpoints along the way, much like the Iditarod, except our course is much more difficult. From time to time I am forced to look at my spiritual clock and realize that I am behind. I missed something along the way and took too much time at one of the checkpoints.

Checkpoints are places where we sign in to show that we are still on course. They are also places to rest for the night. Sometimes, the spiritual path we had to navigate to get to a certain checkpoint was just too stressful, too difficult. So, we decide to “vege out” for awhile. This puts us even further behind, and someone has to barge into our comfort zone and demand, “Do you know what time it is!”

At my age, I look in the mirror from time to time and ask myself, “Shouldn’t you be a little further along than this?” I must admit I have become my own worst critic. Others tell me all the time that I should write a book, that I have a gift for writing, but I find myself preferring to read than write. It is easy to read, it takes effort to write. So a few days ago, I looked in the mirror again and I saw a gray, balding (hey, give me some slack, it’s just that I have been balding for quite some time), middle aged man (I know, I’m taking license again), and behind me was an empty bookshelf-devoid of books written by me. I have been taking too long at the checkpoint again. Wait a minute! Someone is at the door shouting, “Don’t you know what time it is?”

© Copyright 2005 by Paul Whitley. All rights reserved.