Off the Bench

 

So nice and comfy here, just give me a few more minutes...

Spiritually speaking, I have been sitting on the bench now for quite some time. I hesitate to estimate how long I’ve been picking pine because I would probably underestimate the length I’ve have been sitting on the bench or standing on the sidelines. Some would say I am mistaken with comments like, “Look at the eighteen months you’ve been on the Pastor Nominating Committee (PNC)”, “You are active with the CFC Committee”, and things of that nature. True as those things might be and as deep as the trenches are for a PNC, my heart has been missing in action. If I’m honest with myself, my inaction goes well before taking care of my folks during their end-of-life journey and the pandemic so I can hardly pin this on them.

Truth be told, I have been setting myself up for a ‘well-deserved’ sabbatical and officially withdrawing from all committees, all services – who knows how many alls I could string together with this. It is embarrassing.

I played competitive High School (CVHS Falcons) and Junior College (Glendale Junior College Vaqueros, now known as Glendale Community College) basketball. With the exception of a loosely regulated (by the CIF) Junior Varsity Season in 1971, I came off the bench, though I should have started my sophomore year at GCC, but that’s another long and sad story. The point is, I know what sitting on the bench is and can be and what my responsibilities are. Until I put myself on the spiritual bench, I never took myself out of a game and on the bench - but I knew how to come off it.

Along comes our interim pastor, Mike Harbert, with the notion of putting our congregation though a program called Emotionally Healthy Spirituality which is a mouthful to say so we are calling it EHS. Pastor Mike has also been riding alongside our PNC since the beginning so he is familiar with me and he approached me as EHS planning was underway and told me that a certain elder on our Session told him that I would be a good table leader. Now, I am familiar with this young elder and have been watching her grow as a Christian since she was a wee lass coming into Junior High and going on Mission Arizonas with me. I couldn’t very well out rightly say so no this and thus decided to give it some thought and prayer.

The prayer part is what snagged me because when I mentioned it to the Boss I heard a still small voice that has been absent for some time now and He clearly said, “Get off the bench and into the game.” Okay, the still small voice hasn’t actually been absent, I have had my ears plugged and I've focused on feeling sorry for myself. There was no condemnation in the order, simply an urging to come in and make a difference, grow, and open myself to a new way of living. Again.

I know what I’ve done to myself here with this post. I put myself in a position to be held accountable. It nearly made me run the other way but that is not how I acted when on the bench in the olden days. I’m in the game.

In His grip,

jerry

Put me in coach, I'm ready to play.

Forever In His Grip

 

Forever in His Grip

He evolved. During a lifetime of being a leader and possessing intelligence, of being athletic and artistic - dad applied those things to a changing landscape of passions throughout his life. Russell Jay White, aka RJ to my mom and friends, aka Russell to his mom, aka Rusty to his aunts and uncles, and Russ to just about everybody else. Dad and Batman to me.

Dad was class president as a senior and while I don’t know his GPA, I know he was among the top of his class. He led. He was in the DeMolay and that required commitment and leadership. Following high school he went into the Navy and while he was never an officer, he was looked up to by his peers and he led them. He went to work at Pacific Bell Telephone and Telegraph and led his way up from an entry level installer position to a be second level manager and his people loved him. He figured things out and designed systems and procedures that improved every team’s performance.

I am not sure what sports dad participated in as a little boy as it seems we never talked about that. As a high school athlete he was an all-league football player, went to the state gymnastics meet in floor exercise, and was an all-state competitor in wrestling. While playing for and being captain of the football team at El Camino College, Paul Hornung pointed to him and, using some profanity, said to keep that guy out of my face. While Hornung didn’t remember it specifically, he smiled at my telling of the story and said that sounded like something he’d have said. While in the Navy, dad boxed and was the ship’s champion. Not a bad accomplishment on an air craft carrier with 1200 men on it. I was a different athlete and once he figured that out he helped me go my way into baseball, basketball, and track.

He and mom got into racquetball in their mid-forties and I rarely beat him. He won a few club tournaments. Then it was golf, something that took he and mom on wonderful journeys and tourneys. I never beat him.

He evolved.

He loved music. He played clarinet in the school band, must have fooled around with the French Horn because we have one in a closet at the big house. He played keyboard, harmonica, and the kazoo. He sang in the choir and had a lovely voice that ranged from basso to baritone. I got none of this from him and only played the drums one year as a sixth-grader. He finished his singing activities by being part of the praise choir at Bethany Presbyterian Church in Grants Pass, Oregon.

He loved building and home projects and creating cool spaces and watched every nail being driven into the house he and mom built in Merlin, Oregon. Later in life he discovered Intarsia, the art of making wood mosaics using the natural colors and grains of various types of wood. He loved making them for family and friends and he told me he thought lovingly about each person as he created the piece. A bit of his soul rests in every piece he made. He had Stacey and Denise and every grandchild pick a piece from the pattern catalogs he had and then he went out to his shop, found the various woods, cut them, sanded them, and pieced them together, sealing in the textures of his love with coats of varnish. He didn’t have me pick mine as he had one he wanted to do for me and it was spot on – the Red-tailed Hawk, my favorite bird. It is one of the most ubiquitous birds and is found in every state of the union but Hawaii. I call it the “Everyman Bird”.

I was relocating mine today so I could put the piece that I brought back from their house as my keepsake and my red-tail now sits where I can see it out of the corner of my eye as I write. While moving it I looked on the back to his inscription, “For ‘Stick’. Together in His grip. Dad 10-24-05”. ‘Stick’ is the nickname he gave me and the one I hold dearest to me of the oh-so-many nicknames I have. I sign off many of my letters and emails ‘In His grip’. It is a phrase I want desperately to always be true.

In His grip,

jerry

OJT

During the last few walks with Oliver, a wonderful lad of mixed canine decent, I have been considering that putting ‘Grandfather’ on my resume has been one of the coolest things I’ve added since June of 1979. It amazes me that I’ve come into the position with a certain amount expertise that, until I began considering it more fully, has baffled me.

When I was a child I was able to observe my own four grandparents and benefit from their love of the job. Grandpa White gave my sisters and me wheelbarrow rides around the double cul-de-sac in Gardena and let us play with his wooden hardware organizer drawers as a place for us to put play money and act like we were a store. Grandma White fixed her wonderful English cuisine meals. I especially liked the way she prepared carrots. Grandma Matt (Mattingly) always made a couple of my favorite dishes when I visited at Bass Lake – lemon meringue pie and shrimp cocktail were her specialties for me. Grandpa Matt had a way of teaching me the practicalities of daily life and snuck a $5 bill into my hand for gas as I was driving away when I was able to go up on my own. My favorite memory was him sitting us down at McDougal’s for our favorite ice cream dish. It was a banana split for me.

Those four could be gruff at times and I suppose that was due to coming through the depression and other depredations of the lives they had. I never once felt they didn’t love me. I know they did, or do. I seem to still have conversations with them now and again. Most of them were great huggers even if Grandpa Matt liked to rub his stubble on our young cheeks. I suppose the good long time I had with them burned the programming into my firmware.

When I became a man and after June, 1979 I was blessed with observing Cindy’s and my parents take to the role of grandparent and man, they are hard act to follow. From the moment each of the four held Ashley in their arms the first time I knew we had an awesome foursome of grandparents for our kids. Our mothers were creative and attentive and our fathers were watchful and protective. All of them were playful at times. One thing that stands out about them is the sense of wonderment at the joy of being a grandparent was. It is as though my observations of my and Cindy’s parents reemphasized the programming that took place when I was a boy and maybe did some debugging as well.

With all that training by osmosis I still needed some more practical lessons and there is nothing better than On the Job Training (OJT). The best teachers for grandparent OJT started with Teya and Jeremiah, then Logan and Nairi, and now Becca. Grandchildren are the best teachers of grandparents and it happens in the field, on the playgrounds and on living room floors, in their highchairs and on changing tables. We get tested here and the programming gets beta-tested right then and there and we adapt.

After twelve years of experience, one great lesson I’ve learned from them is that expectations from them are going to change as they get older and their needs get more…sophisticated. Add to it that I’m just getting older and rolling around on the floor and tossing them in the air isn’t quite as graceful. I know Teya’s experience of me will be far different than Becca’s.

Those are a lot of words to get to this point and you are likely wondering, if you’re still reading, what does this have to do with a Calvary’s Thread post about my Christianity? And these days, what does it have to do with covid-19 and faith?

Let me go here with my tangent: How did twelve fishermen, tax evaders, and otherwise tier-one individuals come to be the founders of Christianity? OJT. There were no seminaries and no Bible schools to mold them into Apostles other than the rabbinic teachings they got growing up and those somehow missed who the Messiah was to the point the leaders of these schools had Jesus put to death. Only the revelation that poured from the disciples turned some of the teaching into truth for the Jews at the time.

These guys hung out with Jesus for three and half years and were taught on the run and in the field. They were instruments in Jesus’ hands for the feeding of the five thousand, were sent out by twos to minister in His name (Mark 6:6b-13, Luke 9:1-6, and Luke 10:1-24) and otherwise assisted Jesus with his ministry. On the Job Training.

Then their mentor, teacher, and the Father of their faith was killed and they scattered only to be reeled back in to have their training refreshed. Their OJT continued in Acts and when a new teacher, or rather a teacher with a different aspect of the Father, came upon them, the lessons continued. The first big evidence that they were ready to graduate into Apostleship was Peter preaching and adding three thousand to the faith. He’d never really preached before. OJT baby.

Do you want your faith to expand, your effectiveness to grow? Wade into the river and get hip deep into the work of the Kingdom to the point the Holy Spirit has to come upon you to succeed. Learn by doing, live by grace.

In His grip,

jerry

Battery Life

Isaiah 40:28-31 and 41:10^a – “²⁸Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. ²⁹He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. ³⁰Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; ³¹but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” And “^41:10afear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God”.

Have you ever been using a portable electronic device for something important to you? Like your smart-phone, iPad, or notebook computer for a work presentation, or an oral report for a class, or, God forbid, your Sunday sermon and your plan is to be *hip and sharp using the device for your notes instead of, gasp, paper? And the battery dies…you know, like the terrorist underling video-taping the leader’s manifesto in True Lies. “Battery Aziz…” (YouTube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=An-9zO0PlvA)

Do you think it’s a good idea to make sure you come into your critical event fully charged?

Have you ever done all the prep-work I mentioned above and finished your presentation only to look at your battery life to see it in the RED? And you say to yourself and anyone around, “God, that was lucky.” No, that was grace and a simple heartfelt “TYG (thank you God)” is in order.

It is the same way with our spiritual life and my suggestion is to plug in whenever the opportunity presents itself. Go a step further and create the occasion to top off your batteries throughout the day.

How do you recharge? What devices do you use to maintain a connection to the Holy Spirit throughout your day? However you choose to connect, do it. And find something new to try. Maybe it will work for you, maybe not, but the action of finding one will provide a connection in itself and perhaps refresh some of your old tried and true methods.

A few weeks back I downloaded a new ap to my phone, “Oh Snap”. It’s a random reminder generator that pops up with a reminder now and then throughout the day and within the hours you set for it. They can be green (low priority), yellow (medium), or red (hot and frequent). I have one reminder loaded and it is labeled “Stop, It’s Time to Pray”.

The problem with my new ap is that over the last several days it’s been crazy busy with stuff and I’ve simply scrolled by the reminder. They’ve been important things that aren’t fun. I’d rather have been writing a Calvary’s Thread post like I’m doing right now and pausing in the flow to pray.

So friends, stop and pray. Reconnect and recharge every day and frequently. Do. It. Now.

In His grip,

Jerry

*or current, cool, chic, stylish, in vogue, or whatever the latest term for this passe word is that I’ve been unable (or unwilling) to dig out.

Surely Not I Lord

How can we be so sure it is not us?

During the Lord’s Super Jesus was reclining at the table with the twelve disciples when he said, “I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me.” (Matthew 26:21 NIV)

The disciples were very sad and replied one after the other, “Surely not I, Lord?” (Matthew 26:22 NIV)

Jesus expanded on His prophesy saying that it would be better for the betrayer not to have been born. Judas then asked, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” (Matthew 26:25 NIV)

Look at the difference between how the eleven ask and how Judas offers the question. The eleven know Jesus is Lord while Judas still thinks him a simple Rabbi. That lack of revelation allowed Judas to betray our Lord out of greed. But, how could any of them been so sure he was not the one?

I prefer the English Standard Version translation of the question, “Is it I, Lord?” I can’t be sure enough to say ‘Surely not I.’

When things go a bit wrong or completely haywire we too often hear, “Not my fault” and then a bunch of dissemination coupled with defensive positioning and a digging in behind half-truths, outright lies, or self-deluded beliefs about one’s own actions and culpability.

What I need to do in those times is to respond with, ‘am I the one?” Then I need to react like David in Psalm 139:23-24, “²³Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. ²⁴See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (NIV)

I will rarely resolve anything by saying that it is not my fault. We will never advance God’s Kingdom with that approach – never come close to what we see for ourselves in God, or bring our vision for the church to fruition unless we hit the deck and cry out to be searched. And the first to do this need to be the leaders. Publicly. They cannot say that it’s the congregation’s fault, it’s not the pastor’s or elder’s or director’s fault. We must lead by example and be the first to hit our knees in repentance. It is the only way or it will be us that betray the Kingdom.

When we do this it clears the way for the Holy Spirit to act because God does not despise a broken and contrite heart. (Psalm 51)

So, take five or ten minutes today and pray to be searched. Read and meditate on Psalm 139 or use Psalm 51. Then, do it again tomorrow and act on what the Holy Spirit shows you.

In His grip,

jerry

All-In - It's a Mom Thing

At Kaylynn's and Donnie's wedding

You know when you’re playing Marco Polo and the It person yells “all in!” to catch anybody cheating by being on the pool deck and running along it? This is not about that. What I’m talking about is a mom thing.

You know how in a poker game a person pushes all his chips in on a bet and says, “All in”? You know, the move that James Holzhauer has popularized during his amazing run during Jeopardy? This is not that, it’s a mom thing I’m thinking of.

All-in, Betty White style, is much more than a move during a backyard pool game in the summer designed to catch ‘innovative’ opponents. It is so much more than betting all your chips where you win the big pot or walk away from the game to raise a stake for the next poker night.

My mom was completely invested in me from the moment I was conceived. She gave over her body so I could have a life. Mom gave up a career in the U. S. Navy so she could have me and later my sisters. She made sure I ate, drank, and was clean. She was there when I rolled over the first time, crawled, walked, ran, and sank my last competitive basket. She learned on the fly and adapted her tendencies to be better at the mom thing.

Mom put off having career until her kids were well on their way and even then, it was a career that fit and enhanced her passion of doing the mom thing rather than squeezing mom duties into her career when she could. She got me to practices and games, church, friends’ parties, and got me to drive a stick shift the first time. Even when I drove myself to college games she’d be there when there was little chance I’d come in off the bench.

She is my biggest fan and always has been. Without exception, she is the biggest fan of anything I write. Don’t get me wrong here; if what I wrote was wrong, she’d tell me to get it right. Writing this for her is little repayment for her being all-in. The best repayment I can think of is to tell her I love her with a big hug. I have just such a hug in reserve for her the next time I am up in Oregon, a virtual hug will have to hold its place and I’m embracing her as I write this.

I love you mom. Thanks for being the embodiment of the mom thing and being all-in. Your Son

if you don't know where this is, for shame!