Always Room for a Misstep

Route of the Day

Matthew 7, 13 & 14: ¹³“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. ¹⁴But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.

A thought came to mind while walking with Ollie Verdoodle on the Catalina Verdugo Trail and the Ridge Motorway. I followed that one up with others I could imagine as we trekked along.

There is always room for a misstep of one kind or another – there is some sort of guarantee in that statement, just don’t try to cash it in. What is not guaranteed is an open and soft landing spot when we fall.

The Ridge Motorway is wide and there isn’t much chance of falling down the hillside on it. Unless you’re driving a motor vehicle. So there isn’t much chance of a bad spill when we trip over our own two feet, slide down-slope on the gravel, or stumble over a rock or some downed brush. Or is there? Our hands lead our trip to soften the landing and later that afternoon we are sporting a cast or two from our elbow to our wrist. We twist out of our stumble to land on our rump and miss and later that night we are being escorted down the hall for our first walk on our new hip.

Jesus is telling us in Matthew 7 that it’s easy to walk the road to destruction. But while we are tripping along Easy Street we can end up hurt before we arrive. Maybe that would be a lifesaver and lead us to later find the small gate and narrow road.

The Catalina Verdugo Trail is narrow and full of switchbacks and old slides from previous rains. Rocks strew the trail, canine companions race by as do trail bikers, and bushes grow from up-slope over the trail to block the way. It’s easy to trip on one obstruction or another, a simple task to have your boot slide out from under you. And our landing? No guarantee we’ll be anywhere near the trail when we stop. And, the same simple endings to a fall on the motorway are still available to us on the narrow trail.

What is the advantage of one over the other, narrow over wide? The end-goal.

Don’t bother with the wide gate and broad road. If you want God’s presence you’ll end up doubling back to the narrow gate anyway.

What’s the counter plan to a walk full of stumbles and falls? Prayerful vigilance. It’s the only way.

So, have an adventure and walk the narrow way with its switchbacks and steep runs – the vistas are amazing. But, be vigilant, take Jesus with you, and pray.

In His grip,

jerry

Dear Ethan

May 22, 2019

Dear Ethan,

    It is good to be writing you this morning – 4:47 a.m., to give you a little perspective on this and where it fits with your life. Ethan Scott Childs is a legacy name, full of promise, a name to live up to, and one to be embraced, just as you are as a person to be embraced. But, you will grow into the name and make it your own, as I suspect you already have to some extent. I know it’s had an effect even at this early stage of your life, though I doubt your mother thinks it is early. More on this name thing later.

    You are born into two families that love and cherish you. You’re the physical embodiment of a spiritual unity that took place when your parents married each other. Your mum and dad, if you don’t mind me using somewhat British terms for them, are quite something and I’d like to share a little of what I know of them with you. First, regarding what you will end up calling your parents; I bet they have an idea of what they’d like you to call them but I think that will be determined in large part by how your speech patterns develop, that’s been the case with my grandchildren. I was a bit overwhelmed when it came to my own kids and didn’t really note this whole naming thing at the time. Your grandparents will have more say in what you call them so pay attention, that’s just the way it works. And, I can’t wait to see how that all plays out.

    I had a good feeling about your dad when I first became aware of him through the social media outlets at the time, namely Facebook. I spent a good amount of time with him during a Wilderness Tour the summer before he married your mom. Everything he did confirmed my sense of the two of them fitting well together. The most important thing for you to know about him right now is that his love of your mom and his love of Jesus are authentic. If he did nothing more than love your mom well, he would be doing well indeed. But it’s the source of this love that makes him stand out. He doesn’t seem to lose his wonder in things and people. I’m glad you’ll have him as an example of a good man.

    I’ve known your mother for considerably longer than your dad and have been friends of her family since before she was in Middle School. She was 12 years old when I started working with her in Junior High Ministries and your Uncle Tyler had moved up to High School. My own Lauren and your mom were a year apart in school but closer in age and we’ve had a long-running gag about their names both being Lauren Elizabeth and who stole who’s name since they are so close in age. The funny thing is now if you used the initials from their married names they are the same, LEW. Well okay, at least I think it’s funny. Your mom is bright and funny, kind and loving, and determined. Get used to that last part; she will be determined for you to succeed and be responsible, to be fun and enjoyable to be around, and more than anything, to be loving. You are already loving. However, I suggest you start in early on to develop the proper expressions to serenely manipulate her to soften that determination, just a tad. Just kidding there; the two of you will have such a bond and a tenderness toward each other that will astound people. It will melt your dad’s heart.

    I’ve had a special place in my heart for your mom’s family; her mom and dad, brother and sister. Sometimes they make my heart ache for joy and at times I ache out of compassion, life is not always an easy road. Let’s talk about your Uncle Tyler, the first of your family that I met and worked with in the church. I was a Junior High advisor at the time and he was part of a group of standout kids. He made me laugh most times and he always impressed me. During one of our Mission Arizona trips together I was having a particularly difficult time and didn’t feel right about how I was dealing with the kids. I took a quiet timeout and waited on the Lord about each of them and this is what I said about Tyler – he possesses faith and faithfulness, he is kind, and has the capacity to move in the greatest gift, love. I’m pretty sure that is spot on. One of the exciting things for you about this part of the family is your older cousin. You’ll be best of friends for life with her.

    Your Aunt Emily is a treasure. I’ve believed that since first knowing her. She has a lot to offer the world with her kindness and her willingness to go out on a limb for others. For Emily I give you a special charge; love her and capture her heart. It will be a great investment that will pay dividends for both of your lives. I think this will be a simple matter for you to undertake and the first step will be the first time she holds you in her arms. Get after it.

    Your Grandmother Gossett is quite amazing. She is passionate and her focus is unwavering in everything she undertakes. In case you are wondering, this is where your mom gets her determination. Your grandfather is a determined man as well but it was your grandmother who really planted the seed. When she sees something that needs doing and feels called to it you’d best not get in the way cause it’ll get done with you, or without you. The best part of this? She gets it all done and make a person smile while it’s happening. You know you are loved and cared for when you are around her.

     Grandfather Gossett is my friend. He’s been my partner in the biggest task that I’ve had at our church, Mission Arizona. Lots of adults came with me to help, only a few were partners. When Uncle Tyler came back as a young adult to lead, he was a partner. You should be seeing a theme here by now – things like this run in the family, being partners and being kind. Scott, as I know him, leaned over during his first organizational meeting for his initial MAZ and said, “You know, we could build them a basketball court.” It had been a little dream of mine and we went and did it together with about 25 others on the team. He puts his arms around people and loves them, sees a bigger dream for them and helps them come to believe in it. His faith, while tested, runs deep. Or rather, because it has been tested, runs deep. He will provide another model for you to emulate.

    Let’s talk about your name for a bit, Ethan Scott Childs. Your middle name is for your Grandpa Scott. You should have seen his face when he told me of your middle name. His heart has been touched by this. You will, of course, share a special bond but way more than the naming thing. It’ll help though. I’m not sure how your mum and dad decided on Ethan for your first name but it is an excellent one. By Old Testament reckoning it means ‘strong’, ‘safe’, or ‘firm’, and ‘long-lived’ which I pray will be the case. I’ve also seen ‘impetuous’ in there but really, isn’t it a responsibility of being a boy to be somewhat impetuous. Just be cool with it.

    The last name you have is Childs. I’m not sure how that got into your ancestral line and a bit of geological research may be in order at some point for you to figure that out. However, Jesus said unless we turn and become like children we cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Keep that in mind as you grow older and never let go of the childlike quality of your faith that I know is in you now, even before birth.

    I’m looking forward to meeting you someday and hope that his letter is a blessing to you and your family.

In His grip,    

   

jerry white

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!

Roll Back the Stone

I sat and listened to scriptures being read while friends were gathered round a campfire in front of the church. It was our Good Friday Vigil and the scriptures were followed by songs, prayers, devotional thoughts, and hope. Most assuredly, hope. A huge stone had been rolled in front of the entryway to the church – in times past one of our high school students would dress as a Roman soldier and stand guard.

I was struck with the certainty that I keep such a rock covering my heart, not to keep Jesus in as they did at his Passover burial chamber, but to keep him out. I don’t want him to know the truth of who and what I am, a sinner and full of hypocrisy. I’ve had my hypocrisy pointed out by a long lost friend recently and I take no consolation that hypocrisy crosses every line and reaches into every pigeon hole of humankind.

The stone even keeps me from truly knowing myself so that I can surrender to God’s Grace completely. The final act of grace was accomplished with Jesus’ sacrifice, the victory over sin and death sealed with his resurrection.  I can only cry out and cry out again, pray and pray again, and knock and knock again, rather - pound and pound again - at the door and beseech him to overcome the rock over my heart.

Lord help me roll away all that blocks me from being true to your word.

He rises!

In His grip,

jerry

Mistaken Identity

Image from Storyblocks under my subscription

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.

**********

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.”

**********

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