Cottonwood - Thompson Farm - Swea City, IA

Under pressure? Feeling squeezed?

Me, too.

Do you like it?

Me, neither.

Pressure. Squeezed. Pressed. In the vice. However you describe it, I hate it.

So how about we just eliminate it?

No more pressure. Badda boom. Badda bing. It’s gone.

While waving my mental magic wand, I thought about what life would look like without pressure. To not be squeezed would be refreshing. Yet if all pressure was truly gone, life wouldn’t be as we know it. In the immediate moment, I wouldn’t be writing this column on a computer. Because the plastics in my laptop had to be melted down and squeezed through an injection mold. If you knew how bad my handwriting is, you’d know how thankful to be for my typing.

In fact, everything we deem functional, useful, or otherwise serving a valuable or needed purpose has undergone some form of pressure that result in their usefulness.

If it’s made of wood it’s been sawed, carved, routed, sanded, grooved, planed, pressure treated, or cured to achieve it’s intended purpose. Metal is heated, molten and poured. And those favorite denim jeans you wear didn’t grow that way on the cotton plant. Cloth has to be woven, dyed, cut, and stitched before it becomes clothing.

Muscle grows when it is stressed to the point of being torn at the cellular level. When amino acids and proteins repair the tear, it builds back bigger than it was before. The ache you feel the day after a workout is proof that you’ve put your body under pressure.

In God’s creation, at the most basic cellular level, pressure is the norm. Have you ever wondered how a tree is as green at the top as it is at the bottom? Especially with no pump to get the water from the roots to the leaves? It’s called “turgor pressure”. It involves the adhesion and cohesion of water molecules and the building up of pressure within the individual cell wall. Water travels up the xylem tubes in the tree through this pressure. That the top of the tree is as healthy as the bottom assumes unbelievable constant pressure that causes water to flow to the top. Increase the diameter of the tree and the pressure required to keep the plant healthy increases. Imagine the turgor pressure within a Redwood that’s 35 feet in diameter and 300 feet tall.

Without turgor pressure, the tree dies. Growth requires pressure. And greater growth means increased pressure. The hard truth my comfort seeking self doesn’t want to hear but can’t avoid is that I can’t grow as a person or a Christ follower without pressure. You and I can’t have a cutting edge faith without enduring trials. No missionary returns from the field with exciting testimonies of comfortable circumstances. Without pressure, there’s no growth.

In Romans 5:3, Paul says, “we also rejoice in sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance”. The Greek word Paul uses for “sufferings” is “thlipsis”. It means “a squeezing pressure”. Paul knew a thing or two about being squeezed. Shipwrecked, beat up, imprisoned, falsely accused and put on trial, Paul was familiar with pressure. Yet he says that this squeezing pressure produces endurance. In describing this endurance, Paul chose to use the word  “hupomone”. It’s an endurance that actively seeks to overcome the trials of life. In Paul’s life the squeezing pressure produced an endurance of character that was able to say “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

Pressure. You hate it. I hate it. But it’s how we grow. And if our aspirations are to grow taller in life and character and effectiveness then it requires even more pressure.

The good news is that if God can grow a tree, He can grow us, too. Whatever “squeezing pressure” you’re experiencing, remember it’s part of God’s plan to make you more of who He desires you to be.

And while you’re remembering that for you, maybe drop me a note and remind me of the same truth.

We’re all in this together.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“I know it sounds cruel, but if he’s going to do something, he should divorce her and start all over again, but make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her,” Robertson said. He went on to say that he wouldn’t “put a guilt trip” on anyone who divorces a spouse who suffers from the Alzheimer’s, then added, “Get some ethicist besides me to give you the answer.”

His co-host asked about the marriage vows that couples make, including the promises to take care of each other “for better or for worse” and “in sickness and in health.” Robertson responded by saying, “If you respect that vow, you say `til death do us part… this is a kind of death.”

As one who visits with and interacts with Alzheimer’s patients every week, I can tell you they are very much alive. Robertson’s likening Alzheimer’s as “a kind of death” is offensive to me. Imagine if we said to those dying from famine in Africa that our Slimfast diet plan is “a kind of starvation”.

Let’s acknowledge the obvious. We’re all sinners and we all say stupid things sometimes. Thankfully for most of us, our stupid remarks are not aired on national television.

That said, it is disconcerting to hear a prominent figure in the Christian community redefining the terms and conditions of God’s design for commitment in marriage. We don’t need an ethicist to give us a ruling on the meaning of “till death do us part”. It’s a sign of the times to take that which is black and white and paint it gray.

The terms and conditions of a relationship determine the nature of the relationship. If we allow ourselves to say that Alzheimer’s is “a kind of death” because that person, while still very much alive, has a diminished capacity for recognition, what are we doing? Especially if our purpose is to abdicate our responsibility and commitment? It’s a despicable example of situational ethics; redefining the terms of the relationship to suit our personal desires. Never mind that it flies in the face of God’s design for marriage.

My personal opinion, seriously offered, is that Pat Robertson should retire, go buy “The Notebook” on DVD, and pray that his wife didn’t hear how he answered that question. And if she did hear what he said, he better start praying he never gets Alzheimer’s.

In contrast…

Saturday morning I was making my weekly visit to Carillon House and Vista Care Hospice. While at Vista Care one of the nurses gave me a heads up that the lady in Room 8 was having a hard day and would I maybe spend some time with her, which I gladly did.

Joyce was sitting in a chair next to her husband’s bed. Wesley was sleeping peacefully and after the hard week they’d had, she was thankful for that. Last Sunday they pronounced Wesley dead, only to discover quite some time later that he had a pulse.

Who would know the simple office chair Joyce occupies has been a week long roller coaster ride?

Her Wesley has Alzheimer’s. It’s in an advanced stage and he can’t take care of himself. He talks crazy talk, she says. But she knows it’s the disease and not him. He’s 91 now and she’s 85. They’ve been married for 65 years. 65 years. She said she never dreamed they’d make it to 50 years.

After hearing her story I said, “Joyce, this is going to sound like a silly question but I have a reason for asking. Why do you stay here? Why do you stay with Wesley?”

Had I not prefaced the question I’m certain she would have looked at me even more strangely than she did. Her answer was simple.

“Because we love each other and we love the Lord. We’re playing for keeps.”

After saying my good-bye I left the room, trying not to let the nurses see my tears. It was a holy moment in the hospice unit. A privilege to be in the presence of two people who really get it. Two people who love each other and love the Lord and are playing for keeps. Two people who are leaving a legacy of faithful love to everyone who knows them.

When Wesley and Joyce got married 65 years ago, they set the terms and conditions of their relationship. Love each other. Love God. Play for keeps. Those terms and conditions have determined the nature of their relationship ever since. It’s why Joyce wouldn’t dream of leaving Wesley’s side, even though he doesn’t recognize her anymore.

God willing, I’ll be back at Carillon and Vista Care next Saturday. Wesley might be gone by then. Or he might still be there. As Joyce said to me, “Who knows how long this could last?” One thing is certain. You can set your clock by it and take it to the bank.

If Wesley’s there, Joyce will be there, too.

They’re playing for keeps.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

As Frederick Buechner wrote, “Laughing is better than crying and maybe not even all that different…(because) no matter what the immediate occasion is of either your laughter or your tears, the object of both ends up being yourself and your own life.”

Several months ago while driving on Loop 289 with my girls, Annie said out of the blue, “Daddy, we need to get you a girlfriend. We’re going to be graduating soon and we don’t want you dying alone.”

She packed three traumatic events into one sentence. I was proud of her for her efficient word usage and communicating with maximum punch. And frightened that my 10-year old sees her graduation and my passing as imminent events.

“Yeah, Daddy”, says Emma, “Why don’t you get on one of those “Date.com” things?” Apparently they’ve seen the commercials. Apparently, so have a lot of people.

It’s estimated that in 2011 the U.S. online dating industry will hit $1 billion in revenues. That’s a lot of people hoping to find the happiness they see in the commercials for sites like E-Harmony and Match. In the UK, 1 in 5 marriages of those age 30 and under are relationships that began online. And to think my parents and grandparents managed to meet and marry, all without the aid of computers. “Instant Messaging” for my Grandfather meant tossing a pebble at Grandma’s window to get her attention.

I was on E-Harmony for awhile. The sign up process made me nervous. I was very leery of this online stuff. Maybe I’m more like my Grandfather than I thought. We gave him a new radio once for Christmas. He set it up on the refrigerator in a prominent spot, while continuing to play the old radio he had stashed behind it. Technology is not to be trusted.

Not being sure if I’d like it or not, I decided not to use my first name, thinking I could change it later. You can’t. So now I’m “Rambo”. Not really. I used my middle name, “Stud Warrior”.

I took the multidimensional personality profile that E-Harmony boasts. Supposedly it will cut through the superfluous data and match me with highly compatible females who share my interests and values. I’m sure the profiles I saw represent nice people. But for the longest time it seemed the only matches E-Harmony sent me were 55-year old retired librarians who live in Missouri in a big house with 12 cats. I’ve got nothing against librarians or Missourians. But I live in Texas and I like dogs. They must have adjusted the algorithm slightly because I started getting matched with 48-year old women from Arkansas whose goal in life was to work for the ASPCA and rescue all the cats the librarians had yet to get to.

In the online environment, as in face to face environments, everyone wants to put their best self on display. Except the anonymity of the cyber world allows the opportunity to exaggerate one’s information and appearance. A recent study done in Europe found that over 55% of those involved in online dating had experienced some form of deception. Italians seemed to have the most trouble being honest with each other, saying over 70% of them had lied or exaggerated their profile. Mamma Mia! That’s putting a lot of extra cheese on the calzone.

If I’m meeting a girl in person for a first date I can’t say that I look like a young Sean Connery because before she can say “007″, she’ll be able to discern that Sean never had a forehead that high or a hairline in rapid retreat. Yet online one can post any photograph of themselves. A guy once told me that he had a chance to finally meet the lady he’d been corresponding with online. “In her picture, she looked young. When we met in person I realized the picture was probably her drivers license photo and she was on the last year of a ten year license.”

Getting to know someone in an online environment is challenging for anyone. It’s not easy being single. Harder being a single parent. And even more challenging when you’re divorced. Add to that, I’m an older single person. All these together are daunting for anyone.

But nothing is ever easy for me. I’m “divorced, older, single parent guy with a plastic eye.”

In the interest of full disclosure, how do you gently work that into an online instant message chat?

And if the relationship has potential, how do you sell that as an upside? “If you marry me, you can make faces when I’m driving and I’ll never know.” Or, “I promise to only see half of any mistakes you might make.” Or maybe, “Hey, just think! Our contact lens budget will be reduced by 25%!”

After going through the process you start to think the chances of meeting someone compatible are about the same as marrying the person who pulls up next to you at a red light. Which, now that I think about it, might not be a bad idea. People have gotten engaged, married and had their first kid in the time it takes traffic lights in Lubbock to turn green.

Single or married, divorced or widowed, God loves us. Quirks and all. How wonderful that He does. He’s right there in the middle of it all whether we’re happy or sad, connected or disconnected, joyous or grieving, loved on or lonely.  He’s always here, caring constantly about the details of our lives. However frayed our edges are, He promises in the end to tie up all the loose ends. Psalm 138:8 promises that “The Lord will accomplish all that concerns me.” One translation reads, “The Lord will perfect all that concerns me.” Which is to say however incomplete we feel, God will never leave His purpose for us undone.

Next time you see the commercials, remember not everything is as it appears to be. “Rick and Becky – matched on E-Harmony, July 2010.” Him spinning her happily around in a field of wildflowers while she laughs at the sky.

The commercial I think we’d all like to see is what happens when she meets his mother and he forgets Valentine’s Day.

That’s what you call “reality television”.

“The Lord will accomplish all that concerns me.” – Psalm 138:8

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLIfeToGo.com

On this night my friend Allen Weathers, worship pastor at Turning Point Church, and I were at IHOP enjoying the java and conversation. Our server, we’ll call her “Lori”, was friendly and attentive. More friendly and attentive than most people would be at 9 PM on a Sunday night after working all day.

In the booth behind us sat three people. They spoke loudly enough that it was pretty difficult not to overhear. Their conversation was thoroughly “Christian”. The snippets I heard included everything from church issues to whether or not it’s ever appropriate for Christians to sue someone, to roles in relationships. I even heard a mention of “love languages”, a distinct reference to a popular Christian book by Gary Smalley.

After about an hour they left the restaurant. Lori went over to clean off their table. She picked up the empty plates and walked behind the privacy screen separating the seating area from the kitchen. From our vantage point, Allen and I could see behind the screen as a co-worker asked Lori how she was doing. In a sad and somewhat exasperated tone, she quietly stretched out a one dollar bill. “Those people all ordered food. They sat in my booth for three and a half hours. And they left me a dollar tip.”

I looked at Allen. “Did you hear that?” He did. We sat there, both boiling about the message that was just conveyed. Nothing like talking God stuff in front of your server for three and a half hours and leaving a dollar thank-you for her to remember you by.

And Christians wonder why the world has a negative opinion of us?

Over the years I’ve heard all the different viewpoints about tipping. Some people tip little or nothing because they think they’ve already paid a lot for their food. Some think tipping should be based on the quality of service. (Interestingly, those who hold that view usually have impossibly high standards for service.) Others just build a standard tip into the cost of their meal regardless of service. When I listen to all the different opinions, most of them end up trying to justify tipping less instead of more. An opportunity to be frugal instead of an opportunity to be generous.

Precious few people understand the nature of the service industry and how those who work in it earn their money. More often than not it’s a thankless job. Think about it. As customers, we sit down at the cafe with the expectation that the person waiting on us will be wonderful no matter what kind of day they are having. If the party before us was impossibly rude and stiffed them, we don’t care. We want prompt service regardless of how busy they happen to be. We expect our water glasses to be full and our coffee kept hot.

And we want all this service delivered by a smiling, happy person. If they happen to be having a hard day, we don’t want to know about it and we definitely don’t want to see it in their demeanor because we’re the paying customers and we’re not paying for anything less than delightful. And if our server fails us at any or all points, we will communicate our displeasure by tipping on a sliding scale that starts at cheap and descends to zero.

If you think that’s not true, if you think that’s too harsh, if you think our expectations are not one-sided then answer me this:

When’s the last time you said to your family, “We’re going out to eat. I want us all to remember that the person who will be waiting on us has a life just like we do. Working at this restaurant is how they earn their living. They might be having a great day or a bad day and we need to be understanding about that. Let’s be sure we do our best as their customers to make their day better and not worse. Be polite, be respectful, be friendly. And don’t leave a big mess for them to clean up.”

Um, yeah. That’s what I thought.

What if the person waiting on our table was allowed to extend service based the same expectations we have for them? What if our being rude to them meant we had to wait an hour before our ham and cheese sandwich was delivered? What if they were allowed to grant service only to the level of gratuity we planned to give them? I dare say some of us would still be waiting for the surf and turf we ordered in 1985.

It’s a fact. We have expectations of those in the service industry and more often than not, we don’t hold ourselves to the same standards.

Here’s my crazy idea. Whatever idea you have about tipping, if it’s anything less than “always be generous”, get rid of it. Of all the places to watch your pennies, tipping isn’t the place. Why? Because it’s a real person on the receiving end of that tip. Want to save money? Stop eating so many candy bars. Quit smoking. Buy wholesale or buy in bulk. Switch to a store brand. Use coupons. But don’t go cheap on the tip.

We can never go wrong being generous. When we’re generous we make someone’s life a little better. When we’re generous we help to make up for the cheapskate that came before us. When we’re generous we cause people to wonder about the Source of that generosity. Most important, when we’re generous, we’re following Jesus’ example. He generously gave everything He had because He loves us. Thank God He didn’t base His decision to die for us based on the quality of our service to Him.

Next time you’re dining out, be to your server the kind of person you want your server to be to you. Kind. Engaging. Friendly. Then throw caution and percentages to the wind and be generous with the tip.

And to all of us who claim to be Christian, from one believer to another…please, if you’re in a restaurant and plan to be cheap with the tip, then do the family of God a big favor. Talk about the weather or your work. But don’t drag God or His church into the conversation.

Your server can do without the mixed message.

“For God showed His great love to us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8

“Do all the good you can, By all the means you can, In all the ways you can, In all the places you can, At all the times you can, To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.” – John Wesley (1703-1791)

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

I’ve learned something about me and grocery store check out lanes. On the regular ones, the cart ahead of me can have 2 items or 22 items or 222 items. It can be so sparsely filled that you can see through the wire mesh to the tiled floor. Or it can be piled to the ceiling with coffee and condiments and draped with six packs of Cokes and Coors hanging off the sides like a wagon headed down the Oregon Trail. Either way, I’m abounding with patience and grace.

It’s the Express Lane that turns me into a number crunching legalist.

“Express Lane…Ten Items Or Less. Please be courteous to other customers.” That’s what the sign says. And you can be sure I’m looking to see how much courtesy the shoppers in front of me are extending.

The man reaching for his wallet three people ahead of me has two cans of tuna and a loaf of bread. He must be a kind man since he obviously respects the rules of the Express Lane. God bless him. Though he’d be extending a little more courtesy if he’d use a speedy debit card instead of taking us all back in time to 1978 by reminding us how long it takes to write a check.

The married couple two spots ahead of me are here with two little boys using the cart for a jungle gym and are grabbing for every candy bar and pack of gum they can see. With these distractions to contend with, they could be forgiven for miscounting and having eleven items. But the blond-haired pony-tailed checkout girl slides seven items across the scanner as the Dad tosses Thing 1 over his shoulder while Mom grabs the groceries in one hand and the arm of Thing 2 with the other.

The line is moving. I’m now within range. With only a club sandwich and an iced green tea to purchase, I am extending enormous amounts of generous and beneficent courtesy to those behind me. Just one small item in each hand. They should all be grateful to me. For them to bow a little as I glance over my shoulder, holding up my two items for everyone to see would be a bit too much. After all, I could be in line to buy a single box of Tic Tac’s. Then they would really owe me. Still, with a mere two bar codes I’m blessing their day by not taking their time.

The lady ahead of me has a blue basket. To my trained eye, it looks a little too full. Maybe there’s one really big bag of potatoes in there making it seem more loaded than it really is.

A box of frozen mini pizzas. Hot Pockets, two boxes. Five cans of tuna.

Tuna must be on sale today.

I start Express Lane profiling. She’s wearing scrubs. A nurse or an X-ray tech, perhaps. Maybe a dental hygienist. If so, I know she can count at least to 32. No wild offspring with her like the couple that was ahead of her, who are now in the parking lot trying to bungee cord their boys into car seats. So we can’t grant any grace for grocery store grabbiness.

A can of Rotel. The mild kind. Not the habenero kind that makes your hair bleed. That’s nine items.

Corn tortillas. That’s ten. Ten items allowed. Ten items scanned.

That’s it. Ten up, ten down. Thanks for visiting the United Express Lane.

But the basket….

The blue basket that should be empty is not empty. Blonde-haired pony-tailed checkout girl reaches into the bottom and pulls out a package of pork chops. Six of them.

Nefarious enough to exceed the ten item limit of the express lane, but to scan six pork chops cleverly shrink wrapped into one item takes passive aggressive to a new level. Technically, we are now at 16 items. If we could give tickets for speeding in this lane, she would be going straight before the judge.

I’m now looking at this blatant offender. Is she fumbling with her purse? Kneeling down pretending to tie her shoe? Is she doing anything at all to make it appear that she was ignorant of the fact that she has exceeded the Express Lane limit?

No. She is standing there like she meant to do it. Imagine! The gall!

Certainly blond-haired pony-tailed checkout girl will at least shoot me a sympathetic look. A “Hey, don’t think I didn’t notice that she just slipped a package of chops in here at number 11.” But she doesn’t. She just scans it and stuffs it in the plastic bag like it was item number 3 or number 5.

If the keepers of the Express Lane fail to uphold the rules of said Express Lane, what is left for us to do?

I look behind me to see if anyone else notices that the level ten ceiling has been broken, but no one is paying attention. They are reading magazines or talking to each other about inane things like what they’re going to cook for dinner tonight.

All that needs happen for anarchy to reign in the Express Lane is for good shoppers to do nothing.

With the injustice pouring over me, blond-haired pony-tailed checkout girl reaches again into the basket and pulls out another package of pork chops. Six of them. Drat you evil shrink wrap! You’ve conspired to allow this woman to flaunt the rules of the Express Lane by technically allowing her 22 items.

The transaction is made. The receipt stuffed in her pocket. At the very least, two items two many.

I pay for my sandwich and my tea. With a debit card and room for eight potential items to spare. Yes. I am the king of the Express Lane. I do it the right way. Everyone should be like me.

That’s what I was telling myself when I looked up and saw I was walking through the wrong automatic door. The one with the big red “Stop – Wrong Way” sign on the glass that said “Entrance” with an arrow pointing to the other door with a big green “Go” sign on the glass that said “Exit”.

I don’t think I have to tell you that the irony, and the lesson, was completely lost on me until I got into my car and drove away.

“God, you know so well all of my sins and you know how stupid I am.” – Psalm 69:5 (The Living Bible)

“Everyone wants to see justice done….to somebody else.” – Bruce Cockburn

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

As good literature proves, without tension there is no story. Enter the antagonist. These are the bad guys and the bad girls. They stand opposed to, struggle against, or compete with the good guys. Their flaws are more obvious than the good guys’, making it much easier for us to dislike, if not hate them.

We cheer the hero. We boo the villain. We find ourselves drawn to the struggle of the heroine. We wonder how the villainess could be so evil. We read on, hoping at each turn of the page that justice will be served.

Simply put, we identify with the good guys. And the good girls. We see ourselves as the protagonist. The hero. Because, really? Why would anyone want to be the zero?

On Sunday morning, walking out the door to church I heard a radio preacher reading from Luke 17. It’s the account of Jesus healing ten lepers. Ostracized and isolated because of their disease, cultural law required them to keep away from the general public. When anyone approached, they were required to yell, “Unclean! Unclean!” as a warning for passers by to keep their distance. Difficult enough to cope with the physical deformities of disease. How emotionally awful would it be to verbally remind yourself and others that you are an outcast?

You likely know the account. The lepers cry out to Jesus as He passes by. “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!” And Jesus does just that, telling them to go show themselves to the priest. As they go, they are healed.

The Bible says that one man, upon realizing his healing, runs back to Jesus. Throwing himself at Jesus’ feet he thanks Him profusely. Jesus wonders out loud about the other nine. Did He not heal them, too?

I grew up in the church. From the week that I was born. In 47 years I’ve heard many sermons and Sunday School lessons on Luke 17. I’ve read the passage in my personal time with God. I’ve studied it in seminary classes. I’ve taught the passage in Bible studies. Yet on this Sunday morning the thought occurs to me that in 47 years I’ve always lined myself up with the one who came back to say thanks.

More importantly, in 47 years I’ve never lined myself up with the ungrateful ones who grabbed their healing and walked away, never returning to say “thank you” to their Healer.

I’ve always seen myself as the good guy.

And that’s a problem.

There is an inherent danger to always seeing ourselves as the good guy. Especially when reading the Bible. In fact, I would argue that if we insist on seeing ourselves as the protagonist when studying God’s Word we miss much, if not all, of what God wants us to learn.

We read that Jesus healed the lepers and only one came back to say thanks. We think to ourselves, “That’s me. I would have said thanks.” Really? Are we really that grateful? Do we go through our days keenly aware of every good thing God does for us? Do we always remember to say “thank you”? I can’t speak for you, but I’m not that consistent. And if in my study of God’s Word I always see myself as the good guy then I don’t have to do the hard thinking about all my failures. Or about all the areas of my life that need to improve.

In reading this account, what would happen if we said, “I’m just like the nine who never said thanks.”

If we read the Bible seeing ourselves as the good guy who always agrees with Jesus, it’s quite possible to read the entire Book and never learn a thing. To always imagine ourselves standing at Jesus’ side in righteous agreement with everything He says is to miss the point. Apart from Christ, we are the antagonists. We are the bad guys. The Bible goes as far as to say we were born the bad guys. David says in Psalm 51, “in sin did my mother conceive me”. Paul says in Ephesians 2 that you and I by our very nature are “children of wrath”. Which is to say the only good in us is there because of Who Jesus is.

Here’s an idea. From now on when you read your Bible, identify the person or persons in the text who have the most to learn. Whatever their particular fault is, be they short-sighted, obstinate, arrogant, self-righteous, ungrateful, legalistic, or just plain opposed to God…line yourself up with that person. Line yourself up with the antagonist and say, “That’s me.” Then read the account again and ask God to show you what He wants to teach you.

Oh, and about that account of the ten lepers Jesus healed? The ending has a twist.  The one who came back to say thanks?

He was a Samaritan. A sworn enemy of Jews like Jesus.

It was the bad guy who came back to say thanks.

Could it be we’ll all experience a better ending if we start reading the Scriptures from the perspective of the bad guy?

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Pulling into the parking lot, I ask my 9-year-old twin daughters the same question I ask every week.

“Girls, what are we here to do?”

“Galoshes 5:13b.” (We’re still working on the reference part.)

For the past two years, Annie, Emma and I have been bringing flowers and hugs to the residents of Carillon House and Vista Care, a skilled-care center and in-patient hospice. God uses our simple act of service to teach us many life lessons, like the power of encouragement and the frailty and brevity of life. It’s also allowed us the privilege of witnessing the final chapters of beautiful love stories.

Say to any couple, “Tell me how you met,” and you’re guaranteed a fun and fascinating story. Beginnings are full of romance and anticipation.

Sadly, romantic beginnings do not guarantee happy endings. If only couples could be glued together like the souvenirs in a wedding album. Some thrive during seasons of “better”—times of health and wealth. Yet when the “worse”—sickness and poverty—happens, their commitment wanes.

“How we met” stories are many. “How we stayed together” stories are much rarer.

There are many love stories among our Carillon friends. Ray and Margaret had been married 65 years when she died last month. Mr. Williams is a steady presence at the side of his bride of over 50 years. He watches helplessly as Alzheimer’s assaults her memory.

What choices do you make when “for worse” will never get better? Buddy and Shirley were married 50 years when he went in for a hip replacement two years ago. Complications from the anesthesia have left him bedridden ever since.

My Emma asks me, “Daddy, is Shirley with Buddy every day?”

“Yes, honey.”

Emma pauses before concluding, “She loves him.”

Indeed.

Dub stares at a photo of himself and his wife, Cody. “She was the pick of the town. Everyone told me how lucky I was. A kind and godly woman of high moral character. Everyone loved her.” After combat in the Pacific Theater during World War II, Dub came home and proposed. They built a life together as West Texas cotton farmers.

Through better and worse, God was good to them. He blessed them with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As he speaks, Dub doesn’t want to cry. Yet with the memories come the tears.

“I had a stroke 18 years ago,” he says. “I was dependent on her. She was so good to me. No matter what, she made sure I got out of the house twice a day. She would drive me to McDonald’s, and we’d sit and have a 37-cent cup of coffee and talk.

“I had to have a hospital bed in our bedroom. When I woke up, I always looked over at her. She’s been gone for over a year now, but when I wake up, I still look that direction.”

When your eyes have awakened to the same beautiful face for over six decades, how could you not keep looking and hoping she would be there? Dub and Cody were married 62 years when she died.

“Those 18 years after my stroke were the best years of my life because I got to see her every day. If I hadn’t had that stroke, I’d have been out playing golf or out fishing and I would have missed that time with her,” Dub concludes.

Sometimes it takes the worst to teach us what is the best.

Ecclesiastes 7:8 tells us, “The end of something is better than the beginning.” Maybe Solomon was saying that however something starts, finishing well is more important. Better a beautiful final chapter than a happy first paragraph.

My daughters know the reason we come to Carillon is to “serve each other with love.” I hope someday they realize the Dubs and Codys they met here succeeded in marriage for the very same reason.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

When Thanksgiving rolled around, they had been there for some time. Long enough to be missing home and family in the United States. They thought it would be good for their morale to prepare an old fashioned Thanksgiving dinner. They planned and cooked and with great excitement sat down to enjoy the feast. Taking a bite of the turkey, they were surprised to discover the flavor was nothing like the turkey their taste buds were anticipating. In fact, it was a bad surprise. Steve said it tasted awful. They cooked it the way they always had. So how could this be?

Then it dawned on him. Turkeys in England aren’t corn fed. They are raised on fish meal. Therein lay the difference. The flavor of the turkey has everything to do with the turkey’s steady diet.

What’s your steady diet?

Proverbs 23:7 reminds us, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.” Our thoughts are powerful. And our thoughts, whether we like to admit it or not, are fueled by whatever “steady diet” we feed into our mind.

What’s your steady diet? Does your day start and end with Constantly Negative News (CNN)? Is break room gossip part of your Monday through Friday routine? Is your mood dictated by what you hear on talk radio or read on the front page of USA Today? Do you spend time on the phone with a whining partner, talking about everything that’s wrong in your respective lives? Is the music you’re listening to angry and depressing? The people you hang with…is their glass chronically half empty?

What’s your steady diet? Does your day start and end with hope? A prayer of thanks? The thought that no matter how ugly life looks God can make it beautiful? Are you listening to positive music? Are you reading books that stretch your mind and feed your soul? Are you surrounding yourself with people who have just as many problems as you yet choose to look for positive solutions? The people you hang with…is their glass half full?

It’s a given that we get bumped around in our rough and tumble world. No amount of positive thinking can shield us from that. We’re going to get knocked around. It’s when we get bumped that people find out what flavor we are. A crisis here, an emergency there, an injustice done to us and no one has to guess what our steady diet has been. It’s right there at the surface. In our words, our reactions, our response.

Whatever our steady diet is determines our flavor.

I can’t speak for you, but I’ve got to spend more time paying attention to my diet. More God, less fear. More God, less worry. More God, less whining. More God, less short-sighted human thought. More God, less me.

From the outside, all turkeys look the same. Their steady diet determines their flavor. When people have opportunity to discover my flavor, what’s real on the inside of me, I don’t want them to be badly surprised.

What’s your flavor?

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, think on these things.” – Philippians 4:8

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Have you ever been deeply wounded by another person who, with deliberate action and malice aforethought, hurt you on purpose?

Have you waited for justice to be served?

And waited some more?

Are you still waiting?

(Maddening, isn’t it?)

In our broken world, wounds come in three ways. Sometimes people wound us unintentionally. It is to be expected in the rough and tumble of imperfect people living on Planet Earth. These wounds are easier to forgive because there was no malicious intent.

Sometimes we wound ourselves by our own poor choices. We make bad and/or foolish decisions. That pain is at the self-serve pump. No one to blame but ourselves.

Then there are the wounds inflicted by others who hurt us on purpose. They knew exactly what they were doing and they did it anyway. Perhaps it was a quick measured decision. Perhaps it was a long process of planning to do evil to us. And when we are blindsided by their harmful actions we stagger back, wondering how anyone could do so much intentional damage with no regard or conscience?

In the middle of our pain we console ourselves with the thought that certainly justice will be coming. The account will be set straight. They will have an attack of conscience and come to us with apology and we will have our satisfaction. Then we will be vindicated.

At first we hope for that.

Then we wait for that.

Then we wait some more.

Then we seethe over the delay and think, “It will happen. It must happen.”

(Not you, of course. But people I know. They think this way.)

Then one day we wake up and realize that the apology we’re waiting for will never come. Their conscience has cobwebs on it. More infuriating, the one who did evil to us is cruising through life without hitting so much as a speed bump.

What to do?

Here’s what my friend Jennifer has to say on the topic. I don’t think anyone could say it better. If you see yourself at all in the above paragraphs, this will hit you like a train. Read this carefully, let it sink in. Apply it to your life if you need to, then pass it along to anyone who could benefit.

“Picture yourself walking through your life at this moment. But turn yourself around in your picture….you’re walking backwards. Not traveling to the past, but moving forward into your future, while facing backwards.

Instead of seeing your future and all the new people in it, you are constantly staring at your awful past. Especially at those who did evil to you.

As long as you continue to want to be vindicated and wish for an apology while looking back at how wrongly you were treated, reflecting constantly on how you were gipped, you will walk your life moving in a forward motion, only facing backwards.

Walking forward, facing backwards you will miss all the beauty of the things and people in your life right now. Because in your soul you are not facing them, you are looking backwards. And because of that you will see your future through past events. It will cause you to guard your heart and miss out on all the joy because of your “facing backwards” perspective.

It will happen in your thoughts. It will happen during what should be happy moments. All are tainted by facing backwards.

When you decide to grab your healing by the horns and shout it out that you refuse to allow one more day to be stolen, you will find yourself turning around and walking forwards, facing forwards.  Then you will see the new things, the new people and the good things that are happening in your life.” - Jennifer Hildebrandt 

 ”This one thing I do: Forgetting what lies behind and straining toward what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 3:13b-14

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

The “junk drawer”.

Most often found in the kitchen, it usually barely opens. Pull it out five inches and a ruler or a tire pressure gauge or a plastic thingy from some forgotten project gets stuck cross ways and you have to jiggle the drawer back and forth.

Why the plastic thingy is there, you can’t remember.

What the plastic thingy is, you can’t remember.

Why you didn’t throw it away, you can’t remember.

Why you don’t throw it away now?

The reason there will always be a junk drawer.

And why it will always be full.

When I moved into my place here in Lubbock, I told myself I wasn’t going to have a junk drawer. No need for it. “A place for everything and everything in its place”, is what I said.

A year later the drawer by the stove that started out complete with organizer tray is full of pens that don’t work, jagged tip Sharpies, zip ties, twist ties, Zip-Lock bags, a padlock, matches, stray paper clips, hose washers, a partial roll of silicone tape, mini Phillips screwdrivers, a magnetic stud finder, an empty packing tape dispenser, a blue Crayon, an empty bottle of dry erase board cleaner, AAA batteries (some new, some not, who knows which are which), picture wire, paint samples, a phone charger, push pins, and a shopping list scrawled on a napkin.

The thing about junk drawers is that ours is the only one in the world that makes sense. If you’ve ever been to a friend’s house and in looking for a fork to eat your cake with you pull out their junk drawer, your first thought is, “Why the heck are they hanging on to all this crap?” Our friends are idiots for keeping leftover parts from the ceiling fan installation but somehow the two wooden dowel pegs, half a pack of Juicy Fruit and broken sprinkler heads in our drawer are the epitome of frugality and foresight.

The solution, it would seem, would be to give each other permission to clean out the other guy’s drawer.

It doesn’t make sense to hang on to an empty bottle of dry erase cleaner. It also doesn’t make sense to hang on to empty relationships. Or grudges. Or bitter feelings toward someone who did us wrong. But we do. Maybe we think we’ll use them again someday. Maybe we’re afraid of what will happen or how we’ll feel if we toss them out. The resentment and pain that keeps our drawer from opening all the way just gets jiggled around, but never thrown away.

A friend looking in the junk drawer of our heart would say, “Why the heck are you hanging on to all this crap?”

And they’d be right.

The solution, it would seem, would be to give someone permission to help us clean out our drawer. Someone to help us identify our emotional junk and why we need to get rid of it. A trusted friend, a wise counselor, someone who can help us with the process of dumping our drawer to clear the way for healthy relationships and make room for a healthy life.

It’s a smart thing to do.

Now if they could just help me with that drawer in my kitchen…

“Listen to counsel and accept discipline, that you may be wise the rest of your days.” – Proverbs 19:20 

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Purposely provoking her sister Annie to frustration. Lots of button pushing in her communication with me. A good measure of “I hear what Daddy is saying but I’ll do it when I feel like it.” Then, when called to accountability, blaming her sister or feigning poor hearing as excuses for her actions or lack thereof.

She knew better, but on this morning she was determined to live on the edge. 

As a farm kid, I remember seeing cattle in a great big lot with room to roam, yet insisting to stand right by the electric fence. Then having the nerve to look surprised when they got shocked.

On this morning, Emma seems bent on getting a close look at the fence.

After reprimanding her for poking her sister while they watched Scooby Doo, Emma stood up and looked at me. Determined to make this my fault and not hers, in a full lung bluster of self-righteous indignation she blurted, “I never want you to talk to me again!” With high drama she made her exit, stage left.

As a parent there are things we do to show our children we mean business. Yet if truth be told, we’re just freezing them mid-step or mid-stomp, hoping to buy time till we think of something to say.

“Emma Elizabeth! You get back here right now! One, two…”

What the heck? How should I address this? Think….think….

Emma came back around the corner. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared. She was ready for a showdown.

Then I looked in her brown eyes.

Anger, yes. But fear, too. A dash of confusion. And playing peek-a-boo behind it all, a soon to be 8-year old saying, “Daddy, I’m in over my head and I don’t know what to do.”

“Come here, Emma.” When we’re mad and deep down know we’re wrong, we don’t like walking toward accountability. Her steps were grudging.

“Emma, you said you never want me to talk to you again. That hurts my feelings.” Her eyes lowered. I had begun the familiar “you shouldn’t talk that way to me because it hurts my feelings” argument. The one that attempts to modify the offending party’s behavior by making them stare at the verbal martyr statue of ourselves that we sculpt right in front of their eyes. But somehow it just doesn’t feel right.

Is this about my feelings? Or about our relationship?

“Emma, if I could never talk to you again that would make me so sad. If I couldn’t talk to you again then I’d never get to say, “Emma, can I get you some ice cream?” or “Emma, do you wanna play the Wii with me?” or “Emma, I have a surprise for you!”

Speaking of surprises, I was surprised at what was coming out of my mouth. If this teachable moment is for Emma, why do I feel like the one learning?

“And I could never say, “Emma, wanna go to Krispy Kreme and get some donuts?” That would be so sad.”

Maybe God wanted me to give enough examples to get Emma’s attention. Then again, maybe He wanted to get mine. See, I’ve been a Christian for 40 years. I know God loves me. He has to love me. It’s in His job description. Yet my heart has always struggled with wondering.

I know God loves me…but does He like me?

Too often I’ve thought about my relationship with God from the bottom up. How it looks to me. Rarely have I looked at God’s relationship to me from the top down. How it looks to Him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, telling my daughter all the things I’d miss saying to her if I could never talk to her again gives me pause to think, that just maybe, God would miss not communicating with me. It’s a thought I want to hold, but am not sure how. So I just say the next thing that comes to mind.

“And Emma, I’d never ever get to say, “Come here so I can hug you…”

At the sound of those words Emma’s defiance melted. She threw herself into my arms, sobbing and bear hugging my neck.

In the middle of our anger and our frustration, even in the middle of our sin, we crave relationship. God’s response to our clenched jaws and squared shoulders is not to say how much our defiance hurts His feelings. His response is to open His arms and say, “Come here so I can hug you.” God does not force our obedience. He loves us into submission.

Walking through Wal-Mart later that day, Emma had to be corrected a couple times. Except this time after the teachable moment, she grabbed me and said, “Hold my hand, Daddy. Wrap your fingers around really tight, ok?”

And that’s how we walked. Her ornery streak still intact, but with a grip on her Daddy’s hand.

“Do you not know that it is God’s kindness that leads you to repentance?” – Romans 2:4

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Crack a joke.

Help the carry out person wrangle a couple stray carts. Write a real paper and pen note to a former teacher telling them what you learned from them. Call your parents and tell them you noticed how much smarter they got after you went to college.

Hold the door for someone.

Let the person behind you go ahead of you in line…even if they have more items than you do. Volunteer to take someone to the airport – and pick them up when they return. Don’t go through the shirt pile at Target like a hog rooting for truffles…find your size and stack the rest neatly back. Pay attention to body language – if the words say “I’m fine” and the face says, “I’m not fine”, ask what’s wrong. Then listen.

Develop eyes for the “invisible people”…they are created in the image of God.

Hold someone’s hand.

Send someone in need an anonymous gift card with a note, “God will never let you down.” Don’t go slow in the fast lane. Help someone change a tire. Pull your kids close, look them in the eye and say, “I wouldn’t trade you for the world. I am so proud to be your Dad/Mom.” Go to the nursing home and give Gladys and Lily a makeover while you ask them about the good old days.

Tell your neighbor not to buy a new lawnmower…he can use yours anytime he wants.

Love your wife. Respect your husband. Cherish your children. Offer your God-given talents to the church and community. Make the cashier at WalMart laugh. Hug. Visit someone in the hospital. Clean up your mess.

Own your mistakes. Say “I’m sorry.”

Forgive.

Invite someone to church. Pass along the magazine article that made you smile. Gather your friends in crisis and host a “Life is Hard But God is Good” party – 30 minutes of crying and complaining followed by two hours of laughing and reminding one another that the joy of the Lord is your strength. Smile and say “thank you” and make eye contact when you do.

Ask someone, “How can I pray for you?”

Then pray.

Share a beautiful photo. Give an I-Tunes gift card with a note, “Buy the music that speaks to your heart.” Stop being grouchy. Compliment other people’s kids. Show up at someone’s door with a decadent chocolate cheesecake. (And don’t forget the coffee.) Read to your children. Give someone a roll of quarters for the car wash. Be a surrogate Mom/Dad, Grandpa/Grandma to a college student from out of state. Take out the trash without being asked. Post your child’s artwork on the refrigerator.

Leave a big tip.

Be patient with your kids.

Buy a bag of groceries for someone, put them on the step and do a “ring and run” (it’ll be a rush and you’ll feel like a kid again.) Rake leaves for an elderly person who wishes they could but can’t. Give a single parent a break by entertaining their kids for an evening. Pay compliments to those who least expect it…”Something I always notice when I come here is how clean it is. Thanks for scrubbing those restrooms. You do a great job.”

Make those who feel insignificant feel significant. Make those who feel unloved feel loved. Call out the obvious talent you see in someone and spur them to develop it.

Stop being prideful. Apologize.

Call a long lost friend in another state, tell them to go outside and look at the same moon while you talk about old times.

Play a practical joke. Make a memory.

Be thankful.

Be grateful.

Live your life as a gift to God.

Point people to Jesus.

“This is the message you heard from the beginning: We should love one another.” – 1 John 3:11

Among the boxes I came across a manila envelope full of papers and old clippings my parents sent to me some time ago. One item was an unremarkable white window envelope with a postmark of April 6, 1965 and a return address of 200 First Street SW, Rochester, Minnesota. Inside was an itemized billing statement for $329 from the Mayo Clinic.

I’m not sure how far $329 would go at the Mayo Clinic today, but back then it covered all the lab tests, exams, X-rays, anesthesia and surgery to remove my right eye.

I was 20 months old at the time. The diagnosis was retinal blastoma, a malignant tumor on my retina. From what I understand, it was a scary time for my parents and grandparents. My Grandma Thompson told me about her conversation with the doctor after the surgery. She asked when they would fit me with an artificial eye. He answered, “If he’s still alive in six months, bring him back.” A response which, though poor bedside manner, is likely more indicative of how little they knew about cancer 40 plus years ago. They were worried the tumor had spread. Thank God, it didn’t.

Because I grew up with it, my brain made all the adjustments early on. I can judge distances with no problem. So it’s no big deal to me. I rarely think about it. In fact, I have no memory of what it’s like to see with two eyes. I literally can’t imagine how a person would focus two eyes on one object. It seems like extra work to me.

There are advantages to having one eye. I don’t have to squint when looking through a microscope or shooting a gun. And when the box of contact lenses says “90 day supply”? For you. 180 days for me. When I fly I always sit by the window on the left side. That way even if someone occupies the seat next to me, it still feels like there’s no one there. My own built in anti-claustrophobia mechanism. No stimulus, no response.

When discussing eyesight or the lack thereof, often people will close one eye to imagine what it would be like. The thing is, when you close a good eye, you still see black. I see nothing. It’s like trying to read a book with your elbow.

Friends who know me well have used my plastic eye to their friendly advantage. When playing driveway basketball my buddies Doug, Mark, Dave, Jeff, Ed and Kevin would remind each other to “set the pick on Thompson’s right. It’s his blind side.” And the lack of peripheral vision has caused me to bump into door jams, people and parking meters to name but a few embarrassments. It’s also one way I measure the depth of friendships. When people start cracking one-eye jokes I know they are comfortable with me. And I with them.

This past summer I forgot to order my contact lenses before the current supply ran out. So I was wearing my glasses until they arrived in the mail. One Saturday was a ”mow the yard, clean the garage, run errands” kind of day. At the end of it all I happened to glance in the mirror and saw the right lens of my glasses completely covered with dirt, grease and sweat. Superman couldn’t have seen through that lens. No wonder the clerk at Home Depot was smiling. I looked like a complete dork.

The dirt was less than an inch away from my eye, but I couldn’t see it.

Blind spots are that way. Right in front of our face, yet we can’t see them. I walked around all day, oblivious to the obvious. It took the unflinching honesty of a mirror to show the smudges I couldn’t see. 

Mirrors can help with a physical blind spot. But the best remedy for emotional, relational and spiritual blind spots is the unflinching honesty of a faithful friend. Someone who knows you well and loves you enough to not allow you to go bumping blindly along.

The past twelve months have been the most traumatic and stressful year of my life. The smartest thing I did in the midst of the pain and confusion was to gather an inner circle of faithful friends who were committed to my personal growth. I asked them to hold me accountable and gave them all permission to point out my blind spots, which they did.

Sometimes it made me mad to hear their observations. Sometimes their counsel was 180 degrees from the direction my impetuous heart wanted to go. Yet I deferred to their wisdom because I trusted their heart and commitment to me. I’m glad I did. The Bible says that “faithful are the wounds of a friend” (Proverbs 27:6) It’s true. God used them greatly in my healing process. I’m a better person for having been “wounded” by them.

Crisis or not in your life, give the people in your inner circle permission to point out your blind spots. If we are serious about becoming the men and women God wants us to be, then we can’t afford to have any “yes” people in our life.  Surrounding yourself with people who validate your blindness is great foolishness.

Don’t be the leader of your own rubber stamp parade. Allow others to speak truth into your life by pointing out what you can’t see. You’ll be a better person for it.   

Another change, pleasantly so, is the temperature. Unlike Phoenix, which turns the burner to “high” in May then walks away for six months, here it actually cools off at night. And more often than not it’s breezy. So every night I crack the garage door six inches, open all the windows and the back door, and create a mini wind tunnel in the house. After years of triple digit heat, cool air I don’t have to pay for is a treat.

Last Friday night I was working at my computer with Emma on my lap. She was writing on a clipboard, forcing me to practice my no-look typing skills. She glanced into the hall area outside my office, turned back to her drawing and with the calmness of a crisis hotline operator said, “Daddy, there’s a frog in the house.”

Maybe it was because she wasn’t screaming or maybe because no one’s ever said that to me before, but it made me look. Sure enough. Sitting on the throw rug, staring right at us was a frog. Not a little baby frog who lost his way. A big fat frog who had toured the kitchen and was ready to see the rest of the house.

I started laughing. “Emma, go get me a cup to catch him in!” She ran to the kitchen and came back with a tiny pink plastic tumbler that would have been fine for catching tadpoles. More laughing. “Emma, that’s too small. Go get a big one!” This time she’s got it but in the meantime Froggy had demonstrated his considerable leaping ability several times and is one hop away from introducing himself to Annie, sleeping in her bed.

We finally corner him. Then a capture and release in the backyard. Last we saw him, he was headed happily for a hole in the fence. Maybe he’ll visit the neighbors tomorrow.

Emma and I were still laughing about it days later. She slapped herself on the knee and giggled, “Daddy, how did that happen?!” Good question.

And the answer is simple.

Our door was open.

There’s something about an open door. It’s inviting. In a long hallway of offices or classrooms you walk right past the closed doors without a thought. But an open door tempts you to peek in, even if it isn’t your destination. We wonder…who’s in there? What’s it like inside? Even if the open door is to a broom closet full of mop buckets and cleaning supplies, I bet you still turn your head. In fact, I would wager that we couldn’t not look. There’s something irresistible about an open door.

I think we like open doors because we all have a desire to feel welcomed. All of us want to belong. Who doesn’t like to hear the words, “Hey there! Come on in!” (Unless it’s someone in scrubs pointing us to the chair for a root canal.)

Sometimes we humans wonder why we don’t have friends. Sometimes churches wonder why they aren’t growing. In both cases excuses are made. They don’t care about us. They are stuck on themselves. They are self-absorbed. Folks just don’t get what we’re about.

Maybe.

Or maybe it’s because our door isn’t open.

Open the door of our souls and let ourselves be known for who we really are with our hopes and dreams and flaws and struggles and we’ll have more friends than we can count. People are drawn to authenticity.

Open the door of our churches and dump out the self-aggrandizing programs on the inside that have become more important than the people on the outside. When people get that a church is genuine about God’s grace, growth is inevitable.

We all want to feel welcome. We all want to belong. We all need God’s grace.

It all starts with an open door.

“I (Jesus) am the door; if anyone enters through me he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.” – John 10:9

“Grandpa, I don’t want to be 4. I want to stay 3.”

“Why is that?”

“Because after you turn 4, then you turn 5.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Because when you turn 5 you go to kindergarten and they make you spell hippopotamus…and I don’t know how!”

We’ve all been there. The unknown. We look ahead. We wonder. We worry. What waits for us? Will we be ready? Are we up to the challenge? Little Nathan was doing the “double jump ahead”; fearing an unknown twice removed from his present moment. We laugh at the story because we’ve done it, too.

President Calvin Coolidge said, “If you see ten troubles coming down the road, you can be sure that nine will run into the ditch before they reach you.” The wisdom being “don’t borrow trouble”. While President Coolidge’s advice is comforting, if you’re like me, instead of being relieved that nine troubles are dead in a ditch, you worry like crazy about the one trouble that will end up making the trip. What will it be? What will it look like? How will it affect me? We “what if?” ourselves into a tizzy.

What if…?

What if…?

What if…?

Allowed to run unchecked, our minds are masterful at creating imaginary crisis. Yet unless we’re terribly neurotic or boringly rich, rarely do we sit around and manufacture crisis out of thin air. Our worry usually stems from genuine present moment troubles. That one trouble that makes it down the road to our door. A chronic health problem. Financial pressure. An unstable job situation. A teenager running away with their desire for independence. A relationship that’s headed for the point of no return. These troubles are all very real.

I’ve been battling worry a lot lately. With due respect to President Coolidge, I have one or two or twenty troubles right now that ignored the ditch and are parked in my driveway. They don’t look like they’re moving on anytime soon. I’d like to say I’ve handled my worries well. But it’s been paralyzing at times.

So what to do?

I’m learning. Slowly, painfully, tearfully, imperfectly. I’m learning what God is trying to teach me about worry.

And trust.

“Todd, here’s the deal…

I told you that I’ll never leave you or forsake you. Others may have promised that and bailed, but I’m not them. I’m Me. I’m God. And I am not a man that I should lie. Simply put, you’re never alone. Ever. You might feel like you are, but you’re not.

Next, you need to understand that I understand your worries and your fears. I know that life is hard. I’ve never sugar coated that. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous” is how I put it in Psalm 34. You’re living in a broken world. Being a Christian doesn’t make you immune from that. Your problems are real. That is not lost on Me.

You need to understand something else. And it may not make sense to you. But everything that happens in your life, good and bad, passes through My sovereign hand. If I allow it, I have a reason for it. That doesn’t mean I cause bad things. It means I work all things, even the bad things, for good in your life. There are no loose ends in your life not connected to my perfect purpose.

You’ve asked me a few times, “Why am I allowing this @#$% to happen?” It’s a fair question. If I love you, why don’t I spare you? You might not like this, either. But there’s more at stake here than your present circumstances. See, I care more about your character than your comfort. I need you to come to grips with your faults, the things you need to change for your good and My glory. I need you to learn to trust Me with the injustices in your life. I need you to go through this. Not around it. The hard stuff, the pain, it’s all part of the process of making you like Jesus. 

And you have no idea how committed I am to that process. Does the phrase, “never stop this side of heaven” ring a bell?

I know heaven seems far away right now. That’s why I need you to believe Me when I say take life one day at a time. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Each day has enough trouble of its own. The things you need, I’ll provide. I promise. It’s about depending on Me every day. That’s why Jesus called it “our daily bread”.  Just do the next thing in front of you and trust me. Don’t waste your time on the “what if’s” about tomorrow. I’m already there. And I’m working in ways you can’t see or understand.

So keep talking to Me. All the time. It’s the best thing you can do. Don’t polish it, don’t edit it. Don’t spiritualize it. Just bring it. The angst. The tears. The passion. The needs. Just bring it. Your worries plus you equals fear. Your worries plus Me equals peace. And my peace passes all understanding.

Whether your circumstances get better or worse…and yes, they could get worse, remember that nothing separates you from My love. Come hell or high water, I love you. I’m for you. Do I need to state the obvious?

If God is for you, who can be against you?

I’m for you.

So keep going.”

- God

At the end of the day on our way out of the park was a giant snowman. One of those oversized inflatable costumes with a person inside. I took the kids’ picture by it and Emma shook the snowman’s hand.

As we continued on to the car, Emma said, “Daddy, that wasn’t the real Frosty.”

“Why do you think so, Emma?”

“Because I felt a finger.”

Kids have a sense about what’s real. And what’s not. They know. Like the old saying, “You can’t fool kids and dogs.” Emma knows that Frosty isn’t supposed to have fingers. And when it comes to matters of the heart, kids have discernment beyond their years. They know what’s real and what’s not. It’s a God-given protection, I think.

Real.

What’s real? Is it the oversized, puffed up costume that other people see? Or is it what’s attached to the finger on the inside?

Our culture places a high value on how things look on the outside. It’s why we wash our cars, paint our houses and our faces, get plastic surgery, ink tattoos and buy designer clothes. We spend a lot of time and money on looking good.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with presenting well, unless it’s the basis for our identity. Yet do we spend equal time on what our inside looks like? The condition of our heart and soul? The places no one but God can see? Our Frosty may be all white on the outside, but what does he look like on the inside?

During Jesus’ days of walking the earth the Frosty’s at the gate were a group called the Pharisees. No one could argue with their diligence, their discipline and high regard for God’s law. The problem was they focused too much on outward appearance. They made sure everyone knew how holy they were. Their polished exterior covered an inner heart of pride and self-righteous arrogance. Jesus called them “whitewashed tombs full of dead men’s bones.”

Ouch.

Let’s choose to be real. Even if we are able to make it through life fooling kids and dogs, we can’t fool God. He knows the condition of our heart. We may succeed in fooling everyone around us but the day will come when we’ll have to be honest with God. You might say that He, too, knows that the real Frosty doesn’t have any fingers. And He’s going to ask about what’s inside. Because He cares more about the condition of our heart than the costume we’re wearing. 

The good news is that God is always here to help us clean up. He isn’t surprised by what He finds inside our heart. A simple, “God, I need help with this” is all it takes to start the process. He is unfailing and unconditional in His love, forgiveness, mercy and grace. He is the gentle healer.

Let’s be real.

“Woe to you, experts in the law and you Pharisees, hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs that look beautiful on the outside but inside are full of the bones of the dead and of everything unclean.” – Matthew 23:27

“You desire integrity in the inner man; you want me to possess wisdom. Sprinkle me with water and I will be pure, wash me and I will be whiter than snow.” – Psalm 51:6-7

The type of weed determined how you killed it. Corn, milkweed, lambs quarter, pig weed, and water weed could all be chopped. Nightshade had to be pulled. As did velvet leaf, a.k.a. “button weed”. One button weed could have a hundred seed pods, each containing at least 700 seeds. When it’s ripe it explodes, sending on the wind a “be fruitful and multiply” scenario that anyone in a John Deere hat cringes to see. So you pull the button weed to make really sure it will die.   

When I was in junior high my Dad bought some farm land in north central Iowa. It was excellent land for growing corn and soybeans. The first year we farmed it we discovered a major weed problem. Apparently the previous owner didn’t care much about keeping the field clean. There were huge patches of cockleburs growing in the soybeans.

Cockleburs fell into the “pull” category. Only they weren’t as easy to pull as velvet leaf/button weeds. Some things are like they sound. Velvet leaf is soft. A warm fuzzy in the weed kingdom. Pulling cockleburs is like grabbing sandpaper. Itchy. Scratchy. Irritating. I can still recall the smell of cocklebur juice on my leather gloves and the blisters on my hands.

The cocklebur patches were so thick that one time I pulled 34 plants without moving my feet. Even then my Dad looked back and saw we were missing some. So in the worst of it we got down on our hands and knees to look under the soybean plants to be sure we got them all.

We weren’t walking beans. We were crawling them.

Sure enough, under the leaves were small cocklebur plants that, had we not looked, would have grown up to mock us as we drove by the field two weeks later. Just when I thought I’d got them all, I found some more.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how I live my Christian life. Some weeds are easy to see. And because they are easy to see they are relatively easy to get rid of. Walk and chop as you go along. An obvious unkind word? Yank it out. Lose your temper and make a fool of yourself? Whack it hard and it probably won’t come back. It’s not hard to walk along and get rid of the weeds you see.

More difficult are the weeds growing underneath. The cockleburs of an arrogant spirit. The velvet leaf of pride that, left to grow to maturity, will explode into seeds of destruction. 

The only way to find them is to get down on your knees. It’s awkward at first. You even resent the fact that you’re having to kneel. It seems so, well, beneath you. But once you’re down there, the more you look, the more you find. And when you find, you have to pull. Don’t chop at it. Small weeds, left to grow, will later mock you. It was always embarrassing to drive by your field and see one lone button weed, five feet tall and waving at you in the breeze. You had to go back and kill it. But this time the stalk is an inch thick and the roots are set. Much harder to pull out. A back breaker.

If only you’d pulled it out when you were down there on your knees.

As we walk, look back and look under to see what we’re missing. Time spent on our knees pulling weeds makes for a cleaner field.

A cleaner field makes for a better crop.

A better crop makes for a great harvest.

Praying for you as we pull together.

“He who wants his garden tidy doesn’t reserve a plot for weeds.” – Dag Hammarskjold

“When we confess our sins, He (God) is faithful to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” – 1 John 1:9

Standing in the church parking lot, if the wind is right (or wrong, as it were) you get a good whiff of the Holsteins. Growing up an Iowa farm boy, I’ve always smiled at city folks’ olfactory sensitivity. A little scent of cow yard in the breeze and they run to their car as if trying to escape a nuclear cloud. “They’d never make it in the country”, I smile to myself.

A few days ago, walking across the church parking lot, I caught the scent myself. It brought back memories. And it got me thinking.

When I was on the farm everyday working around hogs and cattle, horses, chickens and sheep, I got used to the smells. It’s not that my nose quit working. It’s that the scents of animals, hay barns, feed bins, and manure became normal. So much so that when city friends came to visit and held their noses I didn’t understand what their problem was. After being away from the farm for a few years and going back, I was now the city guy. The aroma of the hog barn was more potent than I remembered it.           

As I stumble along each day, seeking God’s face in my awkward imperfect way, He is faithful to kindly show me more about myself. I am learning that my own fallen nature keeps me from realizing just how fallen I really am. Like the farm kid whose nose has adjusted and no longer experiences the full aroma of manure, my fallen sin nature keeps me from realizing, apart from Christ, how sinful I really am.

It’s taken years being away from the farm to realize how pungent the odor of a cow pie can be. Farm boy or not, there are other things I’d rather lay a nose to. Here in the city I can roll up my window and drive away from the dairy farm to the good smells of restaurants and mall stores. It’s not easy to drive away from my sinful self. Apart from Christ, it’s impossible. Still, somehow I need to get some distance from myself to get God’s perspective on who I really am if I am to become the man He wants me to be.

There’s no easy way to do that. It starts, I think, with time alone with God. Really alone. Time in prayer. Time reading the Bible. Time in honest conversation with God. Time spent doing a ruthless self-inventory to see where I have failed and where I need to grow. My friends who attend Alcoholics Anonymous put it more crassly, though I think more accurately. They call it the “process of owning your own shit.” I like that. Because that’s exactly what it is. It’s not a fun process. It’s a necessary one. I never looked forward to cleaning the hog pens, but it had to be done.

We shy away from it. We bury ourselves in activities and fill our schedules with every imaginable distraction. Anything to keep from “owning it”. Yet something happens when we “own it”. When we own it we are admitting to God that we are broken. When we own it we take a step away from self-delusion and a step toward truth.  To own it means it no longer owns us. When we own it we are living more truthfully. We are able to say, “This is who I am. Good, bad, and ugly, this is who I am. A person in process.” A person God, in His incredible mercy and grace, accepts with unconditional love.

It’s that unconditional, unfailing love that makes the process possible. As the Bible reminds us, “it is God’s kindness that leads us to repentance.” (Romans 2:4) God’s love creates a safe place where we can deal honestly with our stinky stuff. God doesn’t hold His nose at our sin. He loves us into submission. His kindness draws us back to Him.

Yet He doesn’t stop there. He is not content with that. He wants to grow us. To stretch us. Because He is committed to “perfecting the good work that He began in us.” (Philippians 1:6) God loves us too much to allow us to be nose-numb when sniffing the breeze of our life. He wants our senses fully awakened. To smell in our life everything that’s beautiful and everything that stinks. Then to make more room for the beautiful by being honest about everything that stinks. The more we “own” our stinky stuff, the more we experience God’s love and forgiveness. The more we experience God’s love and forgiveness, the more we become the people He wants us to be.

Owning it.

Lots of pain. Lots of tears. It’s not a fun process. It’s a necessary one.

But there’s no better feeling than being honest with God.

“Do you not know? It is God’s kindness that leads you to repentance.” – Romans 2:4

“The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and great in lovingkindness.” – Psalm 145:8 

That’s why it was so confusing to me when he painted over the entire frame with a cheap can of olive green spray paint.

“Are you crazy?!! Why in the world would you do that? Why would you ruin that gorgeous metallic blue paint job?”

His answer?

“This is all I’ve got to get me from coast to coast. If the bike looks expensive, someone will want to steal it. If they steal it, my trip is over. If it’s ugly, everyone will think it’s junk and leave it alone. I don’t care how it looks. I care how it works.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. But that metallic blue was so cool. Couldn’t you have saved the paint job and just bought a really big padlock?”

He laughed and pedaled away. The bike must have been sufficiently ugly as he completed his Pacific to Atlantic tour without incident.

We live in a culture where image is everything. Looks are more than important. They are essential to success. At least that’s the premise incessantly sold to us. The right toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, clothes, car and credit card will bring more of everything wonderful into our lives. Looking good is the key to landing a new job, getting promoted, and finding that special relationship. And if one is able to associate with other people who look good, so much the better. When Calvin Klein Gucci Obsession Lexus people network with Armani Rolex Louie Vuitton Crest White Strips Mercedes people, corporate success is sure to follow.

No one disputes the importance of personal hygiene and presenting well. Yet at some point, isn’t it worth asking what it is we’re dressing up?

It would be simplistic to say that the two kinds of people in the world are metallic blue and olive green. Both paint jobs can cover quality or cover junk. Sometimes what you see is what you get. Sometimes what you see is not what you get. Appearances can be deceiving in both directions. No person is entirely good or entirely bad. Curiously enough, God thinks we’re all worth redeeming regardless of our paint job. And He seems to care more about our being top of the line in how we work rather than how we look.

That’s especially true in how we treat one another as human beings.

Greet one another. Encourage one another. Serve one another. Pray for one another. Bear one another’s burdens. Forbear one another. Forgive one another. Cry with one another. Rejoice with one another. Admonish one another. Exhort one another. Spur one another on to love and good deeds. Be kind to one another. Treat one another in the same way that you would like to be treated.

That last one is golden. 

Let’s think about our paint job today and ask ourselves, “Is it covering quality? Or covering junk?” If it’s covering quality, it doesn’t matter if it’s metallic blue or olive green. If it’s covering junk, let’s strip the paint and work on the frame.

Given a choice, how it works is more important than how it looks.

“…for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” – 1 Samuel 16:7

“Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings; he will not serve before obscure men.” – Proverbs 22:29 

One Sunday during a worship service at a church in Mesa, the pianist played a solo. An arrangement of an old hymn. It was one of the most beautiful pieces I’d ever heard. I was moved by the music. As he sat behind the Steinway Grand I felt the floating arpeggios and the rolling bass notes. When the last chord resolved, I whispered, “Wow.” It was very worshipful.

When the service was over I made my way to the front to express my gratitude to the musician. “I wanted to thank you for the song you played. It really helped me to worship.”

He was putting away his music. “Thanks. Yeah, this is a decent gig. They pay pretty well.” He went on to say a few more things that confirmed this was just a way for him to make money while he was in school. He didn’t care about the church or the message of the music. To him it was just another piano solo that he got paid to play. Excellent technique, but no heart.

I walked away sad and disillusioned. How could there be such a disconnect between the beautiful music and the person playing it?

I can’t be critical of the piano player. There have been times in my life where my products and projects are visibly excellent, yet void of heart. It looks good from the outside. People may even benefit from it. Yet it’s not been completely consistent with what’s inside me. There’s a disconnect between what is visible and what can’t be seen, that being what’s going on in my heart.

The word is integrity. Simply put, it means your words and your actions line up together. That what’s on the outside is consistent with what’s on the inside. We tend to expect integrity from others. We want the salesperson to represent the product fairly. We want the doctor to fully explain both the benefits and side effects of a prescribed medication. We want the realtor to tell us all about the house we’d like to buy, not just the parts that show well.

We expect integrity from others. But sometimes we lower the expectation of integrity with ourselves. Businesses use politically correct terms like “margin” or “cushion” to describe the leeway. There are other words, too. Words like “inconsistent”, “disingenuous”, “misleading” and “lies”.

When we live in the margin, we compromise our integrity. It affects us. But it also has consequences for those we interact with. When integrity breaks down, trust goes out the window. Maybe not right away. But eventually those you deal with must decide whether or not they wish to continue dealing with you. You may or may not be able to regain their trust.

The sad irony is that once trust is lost, even that which is genuine is viewed with suspicion. My Grandpa bought a Ford back in 1935. It was, to hear him tell it, the lemon of all lemons. After that, all Fords were bad cars. Somehow Ford managed to sell millions of vehicles in the decades following 1935 but to my Grandpa, they were all lemons. Once trust is broken, it’s difficult to regain.

We’re all fallen people living in a fallen world. Which is to say we all have a proclivity toward sin. We’ve broken trust with others. Others have broken trust with us. All of us have broken trust with God. The Bible says we’ve all sinned and fall short of God’s glory. (Romans 3:23).

If you’ve broken trust with someone, resolve to restore your integrity with them and ask forgiveness. Remember that rebuilding the relationship will take time. Be consistent. It’s worthy of the effort.

If your trust has been broken, extend forgiveness. Forgiveness, as Lewis Smedes defined it, is “me giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.” Remember, too, that people can change. God believes that so strongly that He didn’t write us off when we failed Him. The Bible tells us that “God showed His love toward us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

People can change. Even the most trampled on trust can be rebuilt with a commitment to integrity. It means, over time, doing the hard work of putting away the past. When God redeems us, He doesn’t hold our past against us. The Ford Motor Company redefined it’s product since 1935. People broken and contrite over their failings who commit to integrity can redefine themselves, too. Hopefully it won’t take 70 years. But even if it does, it will be worth it.

Wherever you’re at this week, here’s hoping our hearts are on the same page as the music we’re playing.

Ever since high school I had a sense that seminary would be in my future. After graduating from college I realized it wouldn’t be wise for me to go straight to graduate school. My head knowledge needed to be balanced with heart knowledge. Simply put, I needed more life experience. So I purposely chose to become a life insurance agent with Northwestern Mutual Life, “The Quiet Company”. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Hands down, those nine years were the best training and preparation for ministry. The experience taught me people skills, especially the importance of listening for meaning. I learned countless lessons about communication; written, verbal, and non-verbal. I further developed my already established Iowa farm boy work ethic. And working straight commission taught me a lot about living by faith.

My first General Agent was Whitey Thompson (no relation). Whitey was the quintessential old school life insurance man, in the very best sense of the word. Sharply dressed, always smiling, always enthusiastic, and always made you feel important. He genuinely cared about his clients and the agents who worked with and for him. Even after attaining his General Agent position, he led by example in his work ethic. One day I had a 7 AM breakfast meeting with a client that lived 90 minutes away. Arriving at my destination I was feeling proud about how early I’d left and what a great jump I had on the day. Slowing for the first stoplight in town I pulled up behind a gray Cadillac with plates that read “NML 1″. Whitey had driven even further for his 7 AM appointment.

Of all the lessons learned from Whitey, and there were many, the one I think about most is one he didn’t teach at a sales meeting.

Whitey had an agency support staff of four or five people. This particular day was the first day on the job for a new secretary. Whitey had been in conference all morning with an established client, working out the details on a large case. Their meeting had gone for several hours when he buzzed the desk and asked the new secretary to come in. Whitey introduced her to his client and then politely asked if she would bring them some coffee as they continued their work.

The new secretary informed Whitey and his client that she was a highly skilled secretary and bringing coffee to people was not in her job description. In no uncertain terms, she made sure they knew that bringing coffee was beneath her. Whitey graciously said, “No problem” and walked downstairs to get the coffee himself. Her point made, the new secretary returned to her desk.

The office manager said, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“Who do you think makes the coffee?”

Whitey was always the first to arrive at the office. Usually around 5 AM. And Whitey always made the coffee. That way it was ready and waiting for everyone else.

Jesus said if we would aspire to greatness, we must learn how to serve. That sounds backwards. Jesus said a lot of backward things. Give to get. Die to live. And this curious idea that to be truly great we must humbly serve. And serving others isn’t just a means to an end. We don’t stop when we reach the top. In fact, it’s when we attain our degrees and our titles and our positions and our wealth that we need to serve even more. Whitey was the boss. And the boss made the coffee. Why? Because good leaders understand that little things matter. As someone has wisely said, “If you’re too big to do little things for God, then you’re too little to do big things for God.”

Oh, the new secretary? Her first lunch break was a long one. She probably picked up a newspaper when she stopped for a sandwich. That’s what most people do when they’re looking for a new job. That’s another thing Jesus said. Something about “those who exalt themselves will be humbled.” But that’s a column for another time.

Go make some coffee.

“Whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave; just as the Son of Man (Jesus) did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.” – Matthew 20:26-28