Good Lord, How I Miss Her

(Image provided by StoryBlocks collection)

I celebrated my birthday a couple of days ago; for the last five years, that’s been a relative term in my family, especially for my wife, her dad, and me. Five years ago it seemed that a meteor struck and Janet Hall Mauk suffered a horrific stroke. That’s when the grieving started, when the angst opened up like a crater and the waters of worry and doubt flooded in. For nearly five years I treaded water, sinking at times only to bob up and gasp for air, or for a period, laying back and floating on the surface. Make no mistake, I didn’t leave the bowl that formed the lake and even when swimming I failed to feel as though I made progress. The gloom at the depths of the lake have been ever-present.

The loss of our fare Janet was made official on October 2, 2018 as she passed away with family gathered around her. It was fitting that they were at her side because she was such a faithful mother and wife and she relished family gatherings. My greatest regret on the trail from her stroke to her death is that I did not grab her hand and pray The Lord’s Prayer with her. I’ll carry the regret right to the throne room on my own final day.

Good Lord, how I miss her and these few words scarce do the feelings justice. All the wonderful words, psalms, and scriptures we Christians offer upon the passing of a person of faith seem like clichés when they are being said to me. It is a strange feeling during the early days of grief to hold these words as weapons against the loss in one hand and rail about their seeming inadequacy with the other. This seems especially poignant when someone has suffered, or at least the family has suffered, for so long as Jan.

I miss my mother-in-law, miss her quiet wisdom and the look on her face that said she knew more than she was sharing – and found it humorous. She laughed with an ease that bespoke of great practice. It was one of the things about her that continued after the stroke took her from us. We could see glimpses of our beloved Jan when she joined in the laughter during our frequent family gatherings around her. She loves her family; husband, sons and daughter, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Cousins, aunts, and uncles all knew the warmth of her heart.

I miss my sister. Jan worked my spiritual butt off. She grabbed hold of some sort of faith for me that I could never fathom the reason for. (Yes, she’d grind her teeth at that dangling preposition; probably is now as she stands in God’s Throne room.) But that’s faith in a nutshell. Jan got me to serve on our church’s Session, an elected group of ruling elders, when most people couldn’t. I was called, and she knew it, and I couldn’t say no to her. I suspect the nominating committee she served on then knew that as well. She called on me to say prayers at family dinners and was a quiet source of support as I plied the waters of youth ministry.

I miss my fan. I first started writing for the Messenger, our church newsletter when the Student Ministries Director ask me to write the group’s monthly articles. I loved doing it. It was different than the business writing that I was doing on a daily basis and I relished the opportunity to write about cool kids and the faith they inspired in me. Jan loved it too and made the effort to let me know how much she liked each article and was as sad as I was when the next director came in and took back the responsibility. Aside from my own mother, Jan was my biggest supporter and the hole left behind is significant.

I miss my mother-in-law and the identity she brought to family gatherings. I love the deference she is shown by her sons and daughter. The love and devotion shown by her husband could be written as a chapter by Paul on love in one of his epistles.

Rest well sister. While your works did not earn your way into heaven they nevertheless stand as evidence of a life well lived, well served, and well loved.

jerry

An Invitation

photo via subscription to Storyblocks

I’ve received an invitation at the end of which are the simple letters RSVP, an initialization for the French phrase répondez s’il vous plait. Please respond. The onus is not upon me to say “Sure, I’ll be there” nor is it incumbent to reply, “I’m sorry, I won’t be able to attend.” I simply must reply. I fear this invitation and the choice it brings. If I demur, will another invitation ever be forthcoming? If I say yes, where on God’s earth, or rather, in his Kingdom, will I end up?

You see, this is no beckoning to attend a party, to go on a motorcycle ride, or to go out to lunch. I’ve not been summoned so much as asked to come along. I felt summoned when I accepted another term on Session (Presbyterian Church governing body) and summoned when I volunteered as Clerk of Session and, having been summoned, I obeyed. No, this is different…this invitation is one of wooing me and asking me to be in for a long journey, one that if I choose to accept it, will bring a change. We Presbyterians often resist change, humorously so.

I’ve been asked to come along on an exploration of prayer. I’m saying yes and thinking that I should document this trip, thus this Calvary’s Thread post. The guidebook I’ve picked up is Richard J. Foster’s book Prayer, Finding the Heart’s True Home. That subtitle…where then will I reside when I’m through? What will I have left behind to get there?

St. Augustine said, “True, whole prayer is nothing but love.”

To find true, whole prayer we cannot allow ourselves on ounce of hate nor smidgeon of contention. I’ve learned that I’m a man of contention with a vein of a judgmental spirit at his core. I’d rather write about things I don’t like in the church, the country, or my neighborhood – write about how my ideas are the best. But prayer? I have to put contending aside and lay bare my dark soul and expose myself to pain. What if you don’t like what I say about prayer, how I’ve written it, or you find my typos, poor grammar, and childish technique distracting to the point and miss the invitation? Suck it up White (an old coaching phrase I’ve heard over the years).

Being asked to pray is an invitation to come home to a God whose arms are open wide for us, who has been yearning for us to return to fellowship with him, to sit and talk, to rest in him, and to let go of the world. This home has a door and the door, a key. The key is prayer. The door is Jesus Christ, he is the way and the truth and the life. Without him there is no entrance, no access to the Holy of Holies where we will find God’s presence and his listening ear.

We are asked home to prayer from a country on the far side of nowhere that is filled with noise, crowds, and hurry and where we jostle each other for position to be first and to get the most. We must leave this behind and come into His rest and fellowship. I’ll take the trip and hope that I have a tentative enough grasp on the far country to let go and that I have enough connection to the Holy Spirit to offer a little travelogue of the journey.

We are invited. Let’s répondez…

In His grip,

jerry

Full of the Spirit and Wisdom

Acts 6: 1-7a –

“1In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Grecian Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. ²So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, ‘It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables. ³Brothers, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them and ⁴will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word.’

⁵This proposal pleased the whole group. They chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to Judaism. ⁶They presented these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them.

^7aSo the word of God spread.” (NIV)

The ministry of the deacon and deaconess are the nearest thing to New Testament ministries we have in our church. I know these people to be full of the Spirit and wisdom and possessed of a determination to meet the needs of the people of the church and community.

Deacons hold the keys to the church. Notice verse 7a from the Acts 6 quote, ‘So the word of God spread.’ The apostles prayed and laid hands on the deacons and the word spread. The inference here is that the apostles had the time to devote to the word of God. The deacons opened the door for the word of God by their service and keeping the people in the hands of a caring ministry.

Romans 16:1 & 2 –

^“1I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church in Cenchreae. ²I ask you to receive her in the Lord in a way worthy of his people and to give her any help she may need from you, for she has been the benefactor of many people, including me.”

I have considered writing a post on the Deacons’ ministry on an off since I began writing Calvary’s Thread. Upon reading a letter from my friend Kerry in our monthly church newsletter I find that I need to write this. She has inspired me to share thoughts on the office of Deacon and the people ordained to it. Her letter is thoughtful and open and reveals the heart of the deaconess/deacon. She states in regards to the deacons, “They are the face, hands and feet of God here in our church and our neighborhood.” A deaconess herself, Kerry writes of her personal need and the deacons’ who rallied around her and then, in the midst of that great need, offers herself in service to others. This is the true heart of a deacon.

I serve the church as an elder and have taught and lead in several niches in the church. I am in awe of our deacons and admire them and their seeming tirelessness. They need our prayers and deserve them so that they can be refreshed while serving to be refilled with the Spirit as they pray and wait on God. Each time they serve a person in need they serve Jesus himself. We need to pray for growth in wisdom and discernment so they are directed to people in need, both great and small. I hope they see Jesus in every person they serve a meal to or help in times of trouble.

It is relatively simple to find reference to deacons by name and deed in the New Testament. Philip and Steven set the bar high in Acts. Phoebe is named as a deaconess and her excellent service is praised by Paul in Romans. As important an office as elder is, it is difficult to find accounts of elders’ exploits for the Gospel. I have found references to elders named in salutations and references to elders being given instructions by apostles but not much in the way of specific actions. Both Peter and John refer to themselves as ‘fellow’ elders so perhaps we can confer great words and deeds upon the office of elder in that way.

The ministry of the elder is given over time and at a pace to provide a deep foundation. The ministry of the deacon is immediate and impactful in ways that open doors and bring spiritual healing and an openness to the elders’ instruction and leadership.

Paul speaks of deacons and he tells us to recognize them. I go on to say we need to aid them when they ask it of us and pray for them always.

I Corinthians 16: 15-18 – ¹⁵“You know that the household of Stephanas were the first converts in Achaia, and they have devoted themselves to the service of the saints. I urge you, brothers, ¹⁶to submit to such as these and to everyone who joins in the work, and labors at it. ¹⁷I was glad when Stephanas, Fortunatus, and Achaicus arrived, because they have supplied what was lacking from you. ¹⁸For they refreshed my spirit and yours also. Such men deserve recognition.”

In His grip,

jerry

And then I saw…

Photo credit to Cynthia on our New Orleans trip

Our Wednesday morning men’s group meeting started out as per usual until my imagination took an active role while we read God’s Word, worshiped, and prayed.

I saw myself as though I was releasing doves into the air except they were men, men that I know or have known over my lifetime. I was lifting them up to God as I listened to His word being read, as we sang songs of praise, and as we prayed over a wide range of people and events. Some came to me as names and others as faces drifting from my uplifted hands. They continued to emanate from me coming from my heart to my hands and into the sky to be blessing even when it was my turn to read and as I sang songs.

My imagination, for I’ll stop short of calling it a vision, operated nearly of its own accord. I say nearly because the men came to me and were lifted up in concert to what we were doing. They did not intrude but enhance. I think an excellent wine aptly paired with the food does that to a meal, enhance it without intruding on the dining experience.

My best of friends were there for healing and a touch of peace. Men in my family from generations past, present, and just now blooming. I think of four-generation photos with my grandfather, father, and son and now 4-gen shots with my dad, son, and grandsons and they were all a part of my offerings. Men who’ve left their mark on me, Spiritual Fathers, grandfathers, uncles, teachers, both living and having passed on, were a part of the stand that spread out in front of me. Even men whose marks left behind were meant for harm. There were missionaries and adversaries, bikers and ballplayers, churchmen, and a few kite fliers…some I scarcely know and must have been included simply because they need a blessing. In-laws of every ilk; brothers, fathers, and sons…it has been quite a kaleidoscope.

Toward the end of our time together we read John 1 and what I saw then were thousands of men in a field like a wide-ranging wisp of snipe and then again as they waded in the shallows like a vast mustering of storks. They fed, preened, and generally got along with life.

Upon reflection of this phenomenon I wonder if I experienced just a taste of the flow of Living Water Jesus talked about in John 7:38. Regardless, it is my wish, my prayer that this will be the case for each man who has come to mind and lain upon my heart today.

The experience continued as I wrote these notes in my little notebook and typed up this post. I’d like to continue here for a while.

In His grip,

jerry

Dear Mothers

I’ve been scrolling through my Facebook news feed and seeing posts about mothers, this being Mother’s Day this is not surprising. I’ve seen posts by mothers with their children, by children with their mothers, husbands to wives, parents to children with children of their own, and a host of other permutations that send the mind reeling and  are too long to type out for fear of not having any room to spare. In short, all my friends have mothers, are mothers, know mothers – ah! There I go again.

Nearly all of the posts are happy and loving. A few are sad, as in, “This is my first Mother’s Day since we lost mom…” and stuff like that. I read these posts and my heart goes out to those in grief and rises in joy with those who celebrate mom both here and gone.

As for me I am fortunate to have my mom (Betty), Stacey (my sister and mother to a niece and three nephews, two of them twins - no little task that, I'll assure you), my mother-in-law (Jan), my wife, and my two daughters (Ashley and Lauren) to celebrate with. To say that I am blessed by these women is to give new depth to the notion of blessings. And get this; my daughter-in-law Ani will soon join this all-star list of mothers I get to celebrate. They are fantastic, each and every one.

I’ve been around for a while and I have one or two ‘Old Guy’ shirts to prove it. One of the great bonuses of having coached girls’ sports and doing youth ministry for years is that I’ve ‘adopted’ bonus daughters – friends of my own kids, players on the teams I coached, and amazing young girls/ladies that came through the youth programs I was involved with. I’m talking about more than 45 years’ worth of women, a couple of generations’ worth.

Let’s start with La Crescenta Church of the Living word where Cindy and I were ‘youth pastors’. My friends on Facebook include re-connections with Dayna, Michelle, Kristi, Sheri, Tomi, and Sammy, to name a few. I see their loving posts, talk to them about the amazingness of parenthood, and see photos that can’t be photo-shopped to create the genuineness of their love for their kids. And this group? Some of them are enjoying grand-motherhood. See, I told you I was an old guy. They are an amazing bunch.

My bonus daughters come from friends of my kids and through my association with them at LCPC that I’d take in at the drop of a hat. And notable children of friends, (Christen). They are becoming parental units in at a dizzying rate. Kayla, Whitney, Caroline, Jennie (yes, I count wives of directors), Sarah, Renee, and Lauren. It is astounding to me how well this bunch loves their kids but it shouldn’t really, they have mothers who led the way and set the bar high.

Mothers of the caliber I’m talking about here are heroes to me. I have a few categories of people I consider heroes and one of the categories closest to my heart are the single mothers I’ve known, watched, prayed for/with, and agonized over. I’ve know these women through work, sports, and church and each one has rocked motherhood to the max. I’m thinking of Jane, Doreen, Cheryl, Betty, and Laurie, to be specific. Betty is my Harley riding great-grandmother Living Word friend. If you read that, you know she’s amazing. Laurie is special almost beyond description but I’ll try anyway. She was part of the group on my first MAZ trip that effected a spiritual healing for me I desperately needed. Later, we coached together and out that I ended up with Kayla as bonus daughter and best of friends to my daughter Lauren - both those young ladies are taking motherhood by storm.

These single moms have raised excellent daughters on their own while earning a living, supporting the household, getting their kids everywhere they needed to be, and still, they took time to help still others. My list above include a couple who took a level of responsibility that is way above the call of duty; for one reason or another they were the primary adult in the lives of granddaughters. Amazed? You should be.

Now, I know I’ve left some names out this account but I remind you of this, I’m an old guy and that’s bound to happen. If you’re a mother who’ve loved your kids and sacrificed on their behalf then you should pat yourself on the back whether you’re listed here or not. You deserve it and I applaud you. Thank you for contributing to the hope of the world.

I would be remiss if I didn’t cover a category of motherhood that is not easy to deal with as the definition is a little nebulous; spiritual mothers. They are few and far between and many of our female friends in our walks of faith fall more into the category of spiritual sisters. We’ll be lucky to have one in our whole life. My earthly mother transcends the line and has been both to me. Lois Machal has been my spiritual mother; looking after me, coaching, praying, and even pushing me. She and my mom were there during that critical time all believers have as we are coming into our own walks of faith.

One last thing, and let me be unequivocal about it, I unashamedly put my mom on the top of my list of heroes. 

Hug your mom and tell her you love her.

jerry

Don’t Doddle, be Led

photo courtesy of my subscription to Storyblocks

Selected portions of versus from Psalm 23: “²…he leads me beside quiet waters, ³…he guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. ⁵You prepare a table before me…”

He leads – it is up to me to follow.

He guides – it is up to me to listen to his directions.

He prepares – it is up to me to sit down and eat.

Oliver, our most outstanding Labradoodle companion, and I walk between three and five times a week from two to four miles  at each outing depending on the route and the route depending on the day of the week and my to-do list.

For much of the time I lead Ollie on-leash. Company policy, as I think of it, requires that I keep him on leash in parks proper. On the various trails we walk that are found branching out of parks and off mainstream walkways I take him off leash as long as I am reasonably sure others aren’t nearby on the trail. If he is off leash and someone comes around he goes back on leash until we are clear again.

I keep Ollie on leash when we encounter people, with or without dogs, mainly so that I can control the encounter until I’m sure of the person and their dog. Unruly dogs we ignore. Mostly we see good people who have good dogs. There are some other reasons you might observe him on-leash and out on a trail and I’ll cover those in a bit.

Since these walks are more about getting Ollie out than me exercise I make sure to let him do dog stuff. This means that while he’s on-leash I end up with an interval workout – ten steps, stop, sniff, mark - move on. Once off his leash, he gets to stop as long as he wants while I keep moving, then sprints to catch up.

Now, once in a while he’ll get off trail. It happens and I’m not too upset unless when I call him back he doddles. Doddling doodles can be irritating. If it gets serious enough he goes back onto the leash and we walk for a little bit, no dog stops included until I feel he’s learned and then he gets off leash again as long as the coast is clear.

I have to admit, and hate doing so, but Ollie is better at this with me than I am with Jesus. I doddle. I go up a wrong path and take my own sweet time getting back on the trail where he is leading. Because Jesus is who he is and operates the way he does, it’s up to me to get back on the trail, he doesn’t clip a lead to my collar, though at times it may feel that way.

He guides me on the path of righteousness for his name’s sake. He is generally pretty quiet about it, but of late, let’s say over the last several months, he’s been rather intrusive about it and his guidance has me into things I wanted nothing to do with. I’m still straining at the leash to stop and diddle around or go my own way and it’s making the walk along the path I know to be of his choosing an unpleasant one. I fear that I won’t get to the place that it will all be for his righteousness sake. Grace here is a heavy requirement.

Sometimes I don’t feel like sitting down to eat when and where the table’s been prepared for me. There are people there and some of them are difficult to eat with. There is food there that is tough to swallow for a guy that likes fast food and copious amounts of chocolate. It’s a banquet table and requires certain manners and customs to be observed when I’d rather bolt down the food and be on my way when I’d be better off digesting the whole experience.

It is always up to us. You know, free will and all that stuff? We must make the choice to be lead, to follow our guide, and to sit and eat with our Host. Jesus would rather we do these things out of an abiding love for him rather than out of fear of reprisal.

So, let us be led by Jesus and walk alongside our Guide to sit at the banquet table with him and fill ourselves with a heavenly feast.

In His grip,

jerry

Dear Grandson

Your closest family at your mom and dad's wedding

Sorry for the generic title to this letter to you but your mother and father have been steadfast in their determination not to share your name with us until you’ve made your appearance. Your Great-aunt Denise has called you Oscar and you’ve been referred to as ‘Grommet’. You are already collecting nicknames. It is exactly two weeks before your due date, though I expect you’ll be a little early on the scene. In your case, a little early is just fine because you’ve been eagerly awaited by many of us. I thought today would be a good day to tell you a few things about your family and what I believe for you.

First, let’s look at that word I put in the first sentence, ‘steadfast’. My friend Webster says steadfast is to be firm in belief, determination, or adherence. Webster is a friend I hope to someday sit with you and get to know a little better; I learn something every time he and I get together. Listening to what he say about steadfast, I have no doubt it applies to you – it’s genetic. Your whole family line on both sides has it as far back as I can see. Now, a scientist may tell you that DNA has no bearing on a trait such as ‘steadfastness’ but I am a simple man trying to be faithful to scripture and Paul tells us differently when he spoke to about Timothy’s faith which was first seen in Timothy’s grandmother and then his mother. See? Simple. You’ll find firm determination in your parents, firmness in belief in your grandparents because of God’s good grace, and firm adherence in all your great-grandparents that I’ve had the joy of knowing.

Next, let’s talk a little bit about the family you’ll be born into. I’ve known your mother since the first moment she was born and I felt many of the things she and your dad have felt as they’ve prepared to welcome you. They’ve been amazed and nervous, steady in their preparations for you and a little frightened they may have forgotten something important, and tender toward you and each other while being a bit like the momma and poppa bear in protecting you. They’ve done really well and you’ll be taken care of like a prince.

Your mom was a partner of mine in some great adventures in Arizona with the church kids while we worked, worshipped, and played together. I coached her basketball teams and saw every play she had role in for the Crescenta Valley High School drama department. She has never been a ‘drama queen’ nor is she fond of the kind of drama I’m eluding to here. She is steady, perceptive, and rational; fun loving, adventurous, and brave. I have a tender spot for all my kids and I am fiercely proud of all of them. She’ll be a fantastic mother for you.

I’ve known your dad since he was a rambunctious third grader, about seven years old. He was in the first Sunday school class I taught when your Grandmother Mumsy and I rejoined the La Crescenta Presbyterian Church. I had fun with him when he came into the Junior High program of the church and went with me to Arizona. He came back to Arizona after graduating high school and I taught him a little gorilla sign language, something he may want to teach you when you’re old enough. He played football, baseball, and basketball and is a very competitive man; he loves to do well and competes most strongly with himself. I have always loved him; first as a little boy, then as teenager, and then as a young man. I had a feeling he and your mom would get together and I’m glad I was right. He has a lot to teach you.

It was during high school your mom and dad met and became friends. That’s a huge advantage to them as a husband and wife and I believe their friendship will be a great help to them as your mom and dad. 

I’ve known your Grandma Chambers since she was a little girl and our families went on vacations together. She swam in our pool, played with our dogs, and now she directs the Center for Children that her mom, my mom, and some their good friends started way back when. 50 years ago actually. She’s smart, loving, and kind. Right now, she is a little tender with you coming into the picture and your Aunt Kelsey getting married in a just two weeks. I love our partnership with the school and I love watching how well she cares for her staff and the children of the center. She will be a load of fun for you.

I’ve known your Grandpa Chambers about the shortest of all those I’m talking about here. He’s a bit enigmatic but I watch him and have observed that steadfast quality I talked about earlier. He gives his heart to people and sticks by them; he’s a faithful and strong friend to have by anyone’s side. If he tells you he’s going to do something, you can believe that it will get done and done well. He will be one of your biggest fans in whatever you pursue.

Your Grandmother Mumsy is a gifted artist in several media. She has been a fantastic Labor and Delivery nurse and is a Psychologist, I’ll let her explain what that is, but believe me, she is an excellent listener and counselor. Both your grandmothers have been a big help and support to your mom. I love Mumsy dearly and wish I’d done it better but I’m working on that. She will do great and fun things with you and help you discover the artist inside of you. All of us have at least little creativity and only a few discover it as a passion like she has. I can’t wait to see her holding you for the first time. The look on her face and the love that will be coming from her is likely to break my heart in a very good way.

You have aunts and uncles, great-grandparents, great-aunts and uncles, and cousins all eager to meet you for the first time. I’d tell you about each one, how I love them all, and what I think they’ll mean to you but then this letter would go on and on and I might not leave any stories for others to tell. I can’t let myself have all the fun. Although, I may have to write you a second letter and tell you about your cousins since they’re my grandchildren too. Regarding your cousins, you’ll learn sometime soon that your Uncle Daniel and Aunt Ani are having a baby and you will have a cousin only four months or so younger than you. Won’t that be excellent?

You will be a blessing to many; a loyal friend, teammate and partner. You’ll be a son to make your mom and dad proud and happy. You will make us smile and cry at the same time. You will do amazing things because you’ll be steadfast, strong, fun-loving, steady, and a bit wacky. Some of your best friends will be your cousins, older ones and younger both. You will be loving – and there is nothing better than that.

I can’t wait to hold you, rock you to sleep, and watch over you. Someday we’ll get to roll around on the floor together and wrestle. You’ll probably win; that’s usually how it works. I’ll tell you other things that might amaze you. I certainly hope to make you laugh.

Your Opa

I Could Not Bring Myself to Write It

A Storyblocks Image

Malachi 3: 16-18:  

“¹⁶Then those who feared the Lord talked with each other, and the Lord listened and heard. A scroll of remembrance was written in his presence concerning those who feared the Lord and honored his name.

^“17They will be mine,” says the Lord Almighty, “in the day when I make up my treasured possession. I will spare them, just as in compassion a man spares his son who serves him. ¹⁶And you will again see the distinction between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who do not.” (NIV)

I sat down this morning to write judgement on certain people who lead us on a path of destruction. Matthew quotes Jesus about them in his Gospel in the 24^th chapter, verse 4 and again in verses 10-11. I cannot even quote it. I cannot write the judgement. I am weak and I fear. I’m well aware of the hypocrisy strewn about within my person and I know that to write it is to bring the judgement upon myself. Even to think it now and avert my fingers from the task brings a level of conviction I can scarcely stand.

See how the font follows my line of thought? I love to write posts in Comic Sans because it has style and there is some part of me that enjoys the whimsy of using a font with such a name. I cannot do it here. Someone must pay.

I confess to praying judgement. I have a young friend I made at VBS who should be entering her middle school years carefree; free to be creative and funny, smart and witty, cute and sassy. She carries the burden of abuse. I’m pissed off that I didn’t see it happening and have castigated myself that I allowed it. I’ve prayed for judgement on the perpetrators and know that it will not rest upon solely one person. I remember Jesus quote in Luke 17: 1-3.

I confess to praying judgement when I read my own daughter’s ‘Me Too’ Facebook post. I railed at whomever it could have been. It was by the thinnest of margins that I held back from trashing the office where I sit to write this. I wanted my own hands round their necks, my own fists to pummel the ba-jesus out of them. I feared that I could have contributed in any way.

I am powerless in this but for one thing. Rereading our Men’s Group scripture from this past Wednesday, I was looking for one thing but found something else. A bit of hope. Some direction. And so it sits atop my post as the only scripture I’ve quoted though I’ve referred to a couple of others.

The children have it right. They gather in protest as victims of this latest mass shooting and they have it right, correct in thinking they must speak out so we’ll listen. The children brought to our country in the arms of their parents who thought it was an adventure, a trip to a better life, only to live in fear have it right and must speak up so we will listen.

And those of us who fear the Lord must listen to the children and talk with each other. The Lord will listen too. If we fear the Lord and honor his name, he will listen as we talk and wisdom will be found and we will be his.

And those who ‘listen’ and offer one thing to the children in exchange for their own hateful desires? Well, look back at Luke 17.

In fear and trembling at my own weakness but forever in His grip, 

jerry

Decisions, Decisions; the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Apostles cast lots to determine the replacement for Judas...

Decisions, decisions; the good, the bad, and the ugly. Let me fix something right up front that I couldn’t bring myself to do in the title. There’s the Right Stuff. It’s the decision we need to make every time if it’s there for us to make.

The ugly decision is the easiest one to describe. We make them all of the time and yet they should be the easiest ones to avoid. We know the pending action is a sin or is bad for us and we make it anyway. We drink ourselves to drunkenness or we take those office supplies. We drive under rage screaming at the doofus words we’d never utter anywhere near the front steps to the church. We smoke anyway, we flirt and carry it too far, or deny our faith. We tell our children, our spouses, our friends, pastors, and ourselves lies. And sometimes we boast about the ugly decisions we made while in certain company.

These are the classic sins, the deadly sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. Why do we sometimes brag about them? Why do we make the decision to sin like this at all? I’m hoping by the end of this post I’ll shed some light on it. That’s what I’m trying to do here, figure it out by writing it out and end up with a little better grasp of the issue to get myself to the right stuff more often.

The bad decision does not necessarily lead to the commission of a sin. Sometimes it is just a stupid mistake we’ve made like telling ourselves we have plenty of time to step off the curb and jog-walk across the street as the signal turns yellow - surely the car speeding along the boulevard will stop for the yellow even as he accelerates. When we wake up and see the worry etched on the EMT’s face is when we accept that we’ve made a bad decision and we were just plain stooopid.

Wait a minute though. What led us to that decision? If we did a little root cause analysis we’d probably see a little seasoning of deadly sins mixed in our recipe for the bad decision. At least pride and sloth. If we make enough bad decisions they become habit. It we don’t learn from close calls, near calamities, and I-told-you-so moments, they could become deadly. And that would be wrong.

The good decision. Ah, some relief here. We’re Christians and we make plenty of good decisions like when we decide to record our favorite team and go church anyway even though we aren’t up front that morning and all the while we pray nobody says anything about the Saints’ game as if nobody has their handheld device out to watch scores for their fantasy football team. That gets us every time, doesn’t it? Still, it was the good option; who can control what’s said at the ‘party’ between services in the breezeway?

Good can be a subjective determination and in the process of decision making it’s usually made in our own mind and hopefully confirmed by others later. The big question I’m wrestling with is what makes a good decision the right decision?

Some of you may be tired of hearing about Mission Arizona when I talk about stuff. Sorry about that but for more than a quarter of a century I’ve made decisions around that yearly event and it’s something most of my friends who’ll read this are familiar with. I’ve been asked many times if I’ll be going on the upcoming MAZ. My response has been the same and now it will be true about the CASA trip replacing it. I tell them, and try to convince myself, that I’m a year to year contract with God on my involvement, just like Walter Alston was with the Dodgers. I give it careful thought and prayer and I’m trying to make the right decision which by my definition will include the right motivations. You should see what trips me up in that last sentence. It’s not ‘my definition’ that does it; it’s ‘right motivations’.

Over the years I’ve decided to go or not to go that, to me, have clearly been the Holy Spirit telling me to go while at other times it’s been habit and felt right, or it was the right thing but I was unhappy with it, or it was more me than the Holy Spirit saying to stay home but I’d convinced myself it was the spirit. There were a couple of times where I truly felt it would have been fine with God either way to go or not to go.

What’s a boy to do here? What’s the key? Waiting on the Lord. Learning His voice over your own and waiting on Him to decide. It seems that this would be simple for the event or occurrence that’s a year out, or even next week. It is not; it’s hard work separating our own desires to get down the kernel of truth that makes a right decision. It seems that it would be terribly difficult to wait on God to determine if you should cross a street or for that matter, if you should raise your hand and volunteer to serve for the request being made right then, right in front of you. It doesn’t have to be. Set yourself to walk the right path for the day, reinforce it by prayer when you awake, strengthen it with communication with Jesus through the day and when the time comes he will make it known to us.

Jesus lived this way, only doing what the Father told him, showed him. When Jesus leaned over and picked the kernel of wheat, shucked it and had a snack, the Father had shown him it was right even though the Pharisees were there to condemn the act. We can live like this. We are told we can do all that Jesus did and more. It’s a tall order, getting ourselves out of the way, and letting the Spirit lead. But it’s doable.

  

In His grip,

jerry