Mistaken Identity

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Mistaken Identity

Ephesians 5: 1&2: Therefore, be imitators of God, as beloved children; ² and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.

My thanks to the good Pastor Tom Berry at Bethany Presbyterian Church for sharing the following story during his sermon this past St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve personalized it at, as you will see.

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A Case of Mistaken Identity

The man, let’s call him Herbert, was driving down Foothill Boulevard at or just above the speed limit with is two young children in the backseat; one tucked snuggly away in the car seat facing rearward, the other proudly sitting atop the booster seat taking in the passing scene. The signal turned yellow and Herbert went to his brakes coming to a stop just his side of the crosswalk. The woman behind, who shall remain nameless, had been too close to begin with and was rushing to make it through the intersection on the tailpipe of the car in front of her. The woman’s ABS brought her to a hard stop just short of the rear bumper.

She laid on the horn a fraction too long and then began gesticulating as only irate drivers can. Her abusive language wafted out the windows cracked to let in fresh air. This continued for several seconds when she heard a tap on the driver’s side window. The stream of vitriol ended abruptly when she saw the L.A. County Sheriff's Deputy standing there.

He ordered her out of the car, turned her around, and had her place her hands on the hood of the car, warm from the engine which now pinged and tinged as it cooled from its labors. The good deputy patted the woman down, handcuffed her and gently placed her in the back of his black and white SUV. The car was towed to impound and the woman found herself in a holding cell at the Briggs Avenue substation.

A couple of hours later a somewhat sheepish deputy arrived at the cell with his sergeant and both were apologetic as the door to the cell was unlocked.

The good and kindly deputy said, “I am so sorry for the confusion about this. I was sitting behind you at the intersection and I saw the ‘Choose Life’ bumper sticker on the left, the ‘What Would Jesus Do’ license plate frame, and the ‘Not of This World’ bumper sticker on the right. Finally, I saw the LCPC sticker in your rear window – I know that’s La Crescenta Presbyterian Church because my kids attend the Center for Children there.

“I just knew the car had to have been stolen and therefore brought you in.”

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Let us be true ambassadors of Christ and live our lives accordingly.

In His grip,

jerry

Finding Sea Glass

@Cayucos - birds and people searching

We were in Cayucos, CA and I wrote the first draft of this from our room at the Shoreline Inn. We had what I can only lamely describe as a lovely day together. The purpose for our visit was underscored by our somber gathering to remember of my beloved mother-in-law. However, were I to regale you with a recount of our day, I would miss the central point I am making but nonetheless enjoy the writing.

We had driven roughly four hours from home, the last half of which was through intermittent rain squalls. As I checked in at the counter, Cindy walked Oliver out to the beach where he is allowed run off-leash. (Cayucos appears to be the most dog friendly place on earth) I joined them after having unloaded the car and was refreshed by both the fine rain and pounding surf. As I looked up and down the beach, I saw people either standing in one place or moving slowly along while gazing intently at the rocky shoreline and I wondered what they could be looking at or for.

The young lady I spoke to at check-in had invited us to bring Oliver in to meet her and shortly after showing Ollie the room we walked him over and made the introduction. During our time chatting she shared her collection from the day of sea glass that she found during her morning break. This is what all those folks were doing up and down the beach, looking for sea glass. Sea glass are shards of glass washed on shore after having been polished and the edges worn smooth by the action of the surf for years. Apparently this is the time of year for the search as the sands have washed out to sea by winter tides and left a rocky strand. Cayucos has an annual Sea Glass Festival in March where sea glass arts are featured. I think we’ll need to go back for this.

I’d found a couple of pieces during a quick walk on the beach later and followed that up with a successful find in the afternoon. Every time I looked out at the surf and over the beaches, there were people searching for the stuff. My best luck, if you’ll allow the term, was walking along toward one place or another and simply watching where I was stepping. I could see the glass standing out from the surrounding rocks and then harvest it. However, I found that when I peered in any particular spot looking for shards, I was unable to find any. Once, I had spotted a piece, I looked up to greet Oliver, and then was unable to find the glass when I searched diligently for it.

The first day's find, destined for a cynene creation

 I was thinking that, for me, finding God’s hand in anything can often be like finding sea glass. The harder I look for it, the more difficult it is to identify. When I expect to see it, look intently where and when I think I should see it, His influence is often masked. I have found that if I have a task or a particular destination and I am moving toward my target, I find Jesus along the way. As long as I remain open to finding him, just as I am hoping for sea glass while walking along the beach, I see him and find him in the darnedest places or people.

The key for me is to go through life hoping to see Jesus, expecting that somewhere along the line, he will be there. Just walking along rarely does it for me. Would that be like vigilant ambivalence? Could there be such a thing?

Upon further reflection I have to say there are many ways to find Sea Glass. Some peer for long moments at a single square foot of rocky beach. Others walk a step or two, stare down, and shift the rocks about with their feet. Still others sit down and sift the sand and rocks through their fingers or scoop out depressions between their splayed legs and search as though shards of Sea Glass will drop in their lap. Whatever the strategy, the key are the same – look expectantly and always hope for a piece that fits perfectly to your life.

Take a walk, look for the simple shards of Jesus’ presence, and be rewarded.

In His grip,

jerry

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