Beloved, You've Got Mail

 

Beloved, You’ve Got Mail

I have a confession to make. I’ve read your mail, and what’s more, I don’t feel sorry, not in the least. My mom told me that it’s wrong to read mail addressed to others, and that’s why I feel the need to confess. Though I think by the end of this post, she may give me some heavenly forgiveness. She’s pretty good like that.

Paul, once known as Saul of Tarsus, wrote most of the letters to you that I read. When I think about it, though, all the epistles, and by extension, the Gospels and Revelation, were addressed to you as well. Aw, let’s face it, the entire Old Testament linked up with the New Testament is one big love letter from God, penned by others, driven by the Holy Spirit, and sent to you.

I know these writings are yours because, somewhere in many of them, there are salutations where you are named:

Romans 12:19, “Beloved, never avenge yourselves…”

I Corinthians 10:14, “Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.”

Philippians 4:12, “Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed…

II Corinthians 7:1, “Since we have these promises, beloved…”

Hebrews 6:9, “Though we speak in this way, yet in your case, beloved, we feel sure of better things…”

James 1:19, “Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers.”

I Peter 2:11, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners, and exiles…”

1 John 3:2, “Beloved, we are God’s children now…”

You are God’s beloved; these and more are addressed specifically to you. They are yours to open.

This part might get a little dicey, and you should convince yourselves not to use this information for personal gain of a lowbrow nature, especially teenagers who might be reading this post.

My friend Webster tells me that beloved means “dearly loved: dear to the heart”. Trust me on this, that ‘dearly’ part is no little thing. Jesus dearly paid the price for us to be in a condition to be beloved.

The Song of Solomon, considered by many as erotic poetry, is full of beloveds exchanging compliments and entreaties.

Married couples, think about the effect you would have on your spouse if you addressed them as ‘beloved’ when you started an apology with the assurance that the apology was genuine and that your path for atonement is true. Instant forgiveness. Need a hug? Making the apology with "beloved" and hugs wouldn’t be enough.

To dating couples who are about to propose marriage, address the object of your affection with ‘beloved’ if you want a near guarantee of a yes in response. The ring will be icing and the wedding planning will flow with a unity rarely seen on reality TV. Go for it.

God used the term beloved regarding His own Son, Jesus Christ, when he said in the Gospel of Mark 1:11, “And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my beloved Son, with you I am well pleased.’” For the authors of the Bible to use beloved while addressing us is to place us in the most-loved-people category.

I am certain these letters, neatly packed into a big book, are addressed to you. Open them. Read them. Be beloved.

As for me? I believe Mom will be okay with me opening your mail as often as I like and every day that I can. And, I will.

In His grip,

jjwhite

O’er the Bridge – Round the Bend

 

Up the Gabrielino Trail from Gould Mesa...

Whatever our journey; a Walk with God, our life, or a simple hike in the woods we come to points of choice – go over the bridge or not, go around the next bend or not.

This is the unknown. We can plan to the nth degree and still we do not absolutely know what we will find on the other side of the bridge or around the bend, or even on the bridge. We make our choice to move on or not and then go with a mix of faith and trepidation. On a hike we may have walked dozens of times and there we give little thought to the unknown beyond the possibility to meeting someone else on the trail or maybe a view of wildlife. With life, walking with God or not, there may be degrees of knowing the outcome of our choice but always laced with the possibility of surprise.

Crossing bridges is an adventure, rounding curves exploration. As the Station Fire raged on in the back country of the Angeles National Forest late in 2009 I was AT&T’s Radio Planner and Coordinator for California and Nevada (I had no counterparts in other regions). I was tasked with inspecting our microwave stations back in the forest. Okay, I was feeling particularly invulnerable after having been allowed back to our home to find it standing after I was certain to find a pile of burnt rubble and smoldering debris and I volunteered to go up into the mountains to find out how our sites fared. Actually, I didn’t volunteer, I just did it.

I rounded many bends that day and most of the bridges I crossed had been deemed safe by structural engineers. Most but not all. I was able to visit all our sites with the exception of Camp 16 whose access road was still closed due to ongoing investigations into the loss of two firefighters, our team visit to that site is story all to itself, and a sobering one at that.

During my expedition, if a long one-day trek can be called an expedition, I found surprises around several bends; three or four bears scrounging around an abandoned fire base station for food, the Sherriff’s helicopter and its crew at Mt. Disappointment, and then Camp Colby across a bridge that hadn’t yet been inspected.

Camp Colby, now known as Colby Ranch, is a location equipped with a meeting/mess hall, residential and visitor cabins, and other out buildings that all provide the infrastructure for organizations to come for educational, religious, and business retreats. The camp is connected to the communications network via one of the microwave radios I had responsibility for. I expected the camp to have been burnt to the ground, what I found was a miracle brought to us by the Grace of God and fire fighters determination beyond reason to save the camp.

I found people here, stranded and isolated. Their one vehicle was out doing errands and hadn’t been allowed back in. When I showed up it seemed I was some sort of conquering hero. This camp is nestled in the crook of three hillsides and is a wooded vale with one access road o’er a bridge to the Angeles Forest Highway. The folks there told me of the flurry of firefighting activity that had saved their little vale and this is where the heroics took place.

They had plenty of food but no communications and their loved ones had no way of knowing their condition. The radio site here was in perfect condition lacking only the power to operate it. The feed stations along the backbone of the system were in similar condition, some with singed antennas and buildings but all operational. I was able to radio out to our operations people and by the end of the day they had generators in place and the Camp Colby telephones on line.

I was informed later that the bridge I had so blithely crossed had supporting members seared and still smoldering. Our operations trucks arrived with an inspector to allow access after I had left to complete my inspections. I had unconsciously made a choice to the cross the bridge – what if I hadn’t? How long before the camp attendants’ loved ones knew they were safe? Fool that I was, I was operating under some sort of faith and shield.

It seems to me to be the ‘or not’ part of our decisions is where the risk really is. We risk not seeing the miracle, meeting the person that needs us to alter their path of destruction – we risk not seeing the waterfall round the bend or the great vista through the notch in the mountains only accessed by going over bridges, crossing streams, rounding bends, and scrambling over rocks. When I risk the ‘not’, it tends to leave an emptiness where the adventure not taken would have filled a gap.

Then there is the option of turning around and going back. The thing about this option is that we still need to cross the bridge and go back around the bends that got us there in the first place. Who knows what happened to the bridge in the meantime, or what creatures have come along behind us round the bend?

...and back down the trail.

Life is an adventure, walk its path with a greater degree of faith with open eyes for the surprise, the opportunity to achieve something great or to simply gaze over the vista, a vista otherwise known as the rest of our lives.

Always remain in His grip.

jerry

To Laugh or To Cry?

(courtesy of my storyblocks.com account)

Romans 12:15 “¹⁵Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Phil had me read a short, powerful scripture the other morning during our Zoom Men’s Meeting. The impact on me was immediate and many-faceted and continues to expand for me as I write this post. Let me lay the foundation that I would have hoped would have been known to me a bit more than twenty years ago but, as it turns out, was laid down in the beginning, as in ‘In the beginning was the Word…’

It was an earlyish Mission Arizona (MAZ) and when the senior high students were doing a project on one part of the reservation (Gila River Indian Community) and I was off with Julia, James, and the junior high students painting the interior of the Sacaton Presbyterian Church. Earlier in the week Julia and I were talking about things and a subject came up where she wanted to know what was in store for her and a tad frustrated at the progress in the area under discussion. In my hubris, I told her I would pray about it and come back to her with something. Nothing seemed forthcoming as the week rolled on.

Thursday is generally the last day of major work during MAZ with Friday the day we clean up and put the final wrappings on our projects so that we can enjoy a fun evening before trekking home on Saturday. Our painting wore on deep into the night while our paint supplies ran short. So we instructed the students that only an adult was to pour paint from the 5-gallon bucket into the individual cans and roller pans to make sure we didn’t waste any.

It was somewhere around one a.m. Friday morning when I went outside to pour paint for someone and found a good quart had been spilled on the sidewalk thus wasting the paint and making a mess that needed to be cleaned up. I probably said some inappropriate things as I went down on my knees to scrub the paint up as best I could. I know I mumbled things like, ‘those thrashers!’. I love those kids but junior boys and girls are thrashers. Everybody stayed clear of me while I worked out the week’s frustrations on the sidewalk.

A coyote jogged through the parking lot, stopped, and stared at me while cocking his head to the side to help him figure out what he was seeing. I sat up from my scrubbing and had to laugh with him and that is when I heard as clearly as I hear His voice, “It is not for you to know or determine. It is for you to laugh with her when she laughs and the cry with her when she cries.”

Reading that scripture on this Wednesday morning for me was like jumping off the rocks into a cold alpine lake. It was shocking and it awakened me to more of God's. When I was spoken to it was directly out of scripture and for twenty-three, twenty-four years, I had never realized it.

The implication is plain to me – if I want to hear God speak to me, I need to read the Bible. While I’m reading it, He will speak to me. While I’m praying or being silent, the Lord will speak to me from the Word. Homer Simpson said it very well for me, “D’oh!”

A more timely aspect of this passage from Romans is how much need the world has for us to pick it up this scripture and live it. We need to grab hold of this and in Christian empathy and concern weep with those who are in mourning for the loss of family and friends and their way of life. And we need to laugh and celebrate with those who overcome and persevere and find accomplishments in spite of a world gone sideways.

We must resist those who live in the ‘me-first’ moment. You know, the attitude that led to the ‘America First’ movement and the continued and ever deepening of America’s isolation from a world shrinking in on itself in misery and international effects? That is not of God and never will be. We are to be in the world. Not of it, no. But in it and among those who weep and laugh, celebrate and mourn. If we are to be Christ’s ambassadors in the world, we need to become really good at heeding this short verse.

Find someone and mourn or laugh with them as required.

In His grip

jerry

(images courtesy of my storyblocks.com account)

Foul Ball!

A tangent inspired from a men’s meeting filled with enough baseball coaches to run a team and baseball minded men to field one:

We have been playing this game since birth. The Game of Life. According to some theologians and philosophers we’ve been rigging the game since our first breath, if not outright cheating at it. Original sin, some call it. I’ll leave it to you to figure out when you started moving the pieces when you thought nobody was looking and you can determine the why of it all for yourself. That’s not the point here; well, other than a starting point.

We have runners on base in our game regardless of how far along we were when Spring Training Interuptus struck. Nevertheless,  the game of life continues. We have people we want to see on first, things we gotta do on second, and maybe our future on third. Runners all over the place – some at peril of the force out while other are vulnerable to the pick-off. The pitcher is crafty, he’s throwing heat and the hook, the backdoor-slider and the spitball and there doesn’t appear to be anyone to check for the hidden emery board or foreign substances.

We are in the midst of a long at bat with a three and two count and something less than two outs. It seem as though it doesn’t matter if we are knocked down by a pitch because it hits the bat for a foul ball and the count remains full anyway. We have to swing at everything because the umpire is sometimes sane and into the game while at other times he’s coming from left field and everything has been called a strike. We don’t hear a trash can lid or a whistle and the buzzer in our wristband stopped working in the third inning.

There are runners in scoring position. All we have to do is squirt the ball through an infield with a major shift on, even players shifted from the bench to the field and there must be fifteen studs spread out between the foul lines, one or two straddling the lines and it feels like the only safe hit will be into the stands, fair or foul. Studettes too, it’s a friendly coed game, right? No pressure, the game’s not fair.

Your runners are tired, they’ve been breaking on every pitch because the run-and-hit has been called every windup. You’re tired because you’ve swung at everything since the count went full and you’ve had to pick yourself up and climb back into the box for an eternity. Here comes the heater and you swing hitting the ball foul right into fastball alley and you hope a spectator doesn’t get brained. The ball gets tossed back at you from the stands. What the heck, this is a home game!

The runners on base slog back and touch the base. At this stage of the game it’s about the only rule in force and it’s most important to touch up before the next pitch is thrown or the runner will be called out. The pitcher knows this and is ready to quick-pitch when the ump isn’t looking. Nevertheless, your runners know and are faithful to do it while you give them time keeping one foot in and the other out the batter’s box until the runners are reset. While you watch them the base-coaches and runners are both restored and refreshed when the base has been touched. They are more relaxed, focused, and ready for the next pitch. All you need to do is put the ball in play past the drawn-in fielders and you will bring a runner home.

Even if you feel like doing it, don’t lean into the pitch to ‘take one for the team’ and move the game along. With this umpire, he’ll call you on it and with two strikes already you’ll be out and walking to the dugout with no way for you to advance your runners.

Shoot, there are less than two outs. All you really need to do is put a ball deep enough and the runners can tag up and advance. The keys being tagging up and timing their sprint to the next base.

These days with our world turned sideways and the rule-book thrown in the dumpster we need to remember the one good and safe rule - Tag Up! Touch the base and check in with your base coach for the next sign. Take a load off even if for just the span of one pitch. Relax, be ready, and stay sharp. Check in with your friends and family, the people you work with, play with, or do business with. Check the batter; make sure he or she is ready for the pitcher to make his next play. And pray. When all is said and done, that’s the base we need to touch.

In His grip,

jerry

Hebrews 10:23-25 “²³Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. ²⁴And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds(to run the bases), ²⁵not giving up meeting together (be it from six feet away or some sort of chat), as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another--and all the more as you see the Day approaching(the next pitch).”

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

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

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

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

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