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

We looked up to see a man screaming at his kid.

The dad was a barrel chest with a flat top haircut. Movie casting would have made him a football coach or drill sergeant. The way he was barking at his son, he may have been either or both.

The son looked to be about 15 or 16 and slightly built, the water boy to his Dad’s football coach. Wearing a black fleece zipped up around his neck, as if to protect against the cold air and the heat of his father’s words, he was leaning against the back quarter panel of a new burgundy Nissan Altima. Inside, looking pained and shamed and staring straight ahead, his mother and a younger sister.  

Alan and I purposely looked the Dad in the eye. He saw us but didn’t temper his words or lower his volume.

I can’t speak for you but if someone looks at me when I’m acting stupid, my immediate reaction is one of embarrassment. Not this guy. He just kept yelling. I got the feeling he wouldn’t have cared if we set up bleachers and sold tickets. Step right up and see the big bad Dad humiliate his family.

While he blustered and blew, the son stood motionless, hands in the pockets of his fleece, staring straight ahead. Not looking at his Dad, not up at the sky and not exactly on the ground. Just gazing at someplace in between, no doubt wishing he could disappear.   

I sat in my car and watched, cell phone in hand, half wondering if there would be a need to call the police. I found it curious that not once did the son speak back a single word. No rebuttal, no self-defense, no retaliation. It was as if he knew to speak would only invite more wrath. He seemed to know, too, that to walk away from this blistering attack would mean there would be hell to pay. Whether by fear or default, the son was demonstrating infinitely more maturity than his father.

My gut had the sad feeling that this wasn’t the first time the son had done some leaning against the rear quarter panel.

When the ten minute tirade was over the young man opened the door, got in next to his sister and slid down in the back seat like a prisoner headed to jail.

Tragically, whatever point the angry Dad was trying to impress will be forever overshadowed by the young man’s memory of being humiliated by his father in the parking lot at Loop 289 and University.

Admittedly, Alan and I weren’t there to see what happened before the yelling started. But it doesn’t matter. This was horrible parenting. Even if the teen had done something wrong, matters of correction and discipline aren’t to be paraded in front of total strangers. As a parent, our responsibility is to protect our children. That includes protecting their dignity in teachable moments.

It is true that “hurt people”… hurt people. It’s not a stretch to assume the screaming Dad had, as a son, done some leaning up against the rear quarter panel himself. Who knows what kind of a childhood he had? If it was bad, his pain deserves equal compassion. It’s true that children learn what they live. If we’re yelled at, we learn to yell. If we’re shown kindness we learn to be kind. Certainly the atmosphere we are raised in shapes us. Yet to say our behavior as adults is determined solely by the environment we grew up in is to abdicate personal responsibility and our power to choose for the better.

There are far too many examples of individuals enduring a hellish childhood who made the choice to live rightly in spite of it. I have friends who grew up with fathers and mothers who were absent, abusive, alcoholic and/or who abandoned. These people made the choice to live better. More importantly, they made the choice to be the kind of parent to their children that they wish they had themselves. Regardless of our upbringing, we have the individual responsibility to live and act appropriately. It is irresponsible and wrong to blame our adult sins and dysfunction on our childhood. 

God is our heavenly Father. The Bible is clear that God disciplines those whom He loves. God corrects us when we sin and make mistakes. That is not a pleasant process. God is all about shaping our character. By definition that means we often have hard lessons to learn. But God never humiliates us. He always leads with love. Always. Romans 2:4 tells us, “Do you not know that it is God’s kindness that leads us to repentance?”

God doesn’t yell and scream at us. He loves us into submission. When we stand corrected, we stand in His grace.

God is love. When He corrects us, it is never apart from His loyal love. Because God protects our dignity when He disciplines us, our hearts remain open. The next teachable moment, though it may be painful, is able to be received because we know His heart toward us is His unfailing love. God lovingly maintains His relationship to us without compromising the truth or the process of conforming us to the image of Jesus. It begins and ends with the fact that His kindness leads us to repentance.

As we parent, may we always follow God’s example and lead with love, protecting the dignity of our children and in doing so keeping their heart open to receive the next teachable moment.

“The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will He harbor His anger forever; He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our sins from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.” – Psalm 103:8-13

It’s really windy here in Lubbock. Which is to say the Pope is Catholic, water is wet, the Grand Canyon is deep, and the Minnesota Vikings still haven’t won a Super Bowl.

If Rodgers and Hammerstein weren’t able to obtain the financing for “Oklahoma!” they could have staged the musical “Lubbock” because the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain here most every day.

The 30-mile per hour gusts are pushing my car around as I’m driving down 19th Street to pick up Annie and Emma from school. I’m about to turn on Toledo when I notice a lady from a lawn service crew using a leaf blower on the sidewalk. Every twig and blade of grass, every leaf and speck of dirt she points her Black and Decker at blows out two feet, leaps up, does a seven foot back flip and lands four feet behind her.

I laugh and shake my head. “What’s the point?” When face to face with Mother Nature, sometimes it’s wise to concede to the greater power.

When we think about using a leaf blower in a wind storm, we ask “what’s the point?” Yet there’s something we do that’s equally foolish.

And tragic.

And life draining.

Something that should cause us to wonder, “What’s the point?”

Songwriter Bob Bennett put it best.

“It’s amazing how foolish I can be, to hang on to my sin when it’s forgiven me.”

I grew up in the church, was raised in a Christian home, graduated from a Christian liberal arts college, earned a seminary degree, have actively led and facilitated ministry both inside the church and in the workplace. I’ve been a preacher and a teacher. My head knows the right answers. At least many of them.

Yet as someone has said, the longest distance in the world is between the head and the heart.

Knowing you are a forgiven person and living like you’re a forgiven person is the distance between the head and the heart.

I can’t speak for you, but that’s been a struggle for me.

How many of us know in our heads that we are saved by grace through faith alone, yet our hearts can’t seem to shake the feeling that there must be some minimum level of performance required for God to be pleased with us?

How many of us know in our heads that God forgives us yet our hearts wonder if He does so only because it’s in His job description?

How many of us know in our heads that nothing can separate us from God’s love, yet our hearts are fearful that past sins make it impossible for us to be loved by God, let alone accepted by Him?

In my Bible I carry a bookmark given to me by Dr. Norm Wakefield. It reads, “The terms and conditions of a relationship determine the nature of the relationship.”

True.

So it boils down to this: In our relationship with God, whose terms and conditions are going to rule? Ours? Or God’s?

Put another way, isn’t it time we stop defining God by our experience and allow Him to define Himself and His relationship to us by His own terms?

God says those who have put their faith in Christ are:

Forgiven (1 John 1:9) Reconciled (Romans 5:11) Adopted (Romans 8:15-16) Heirs (Romans 8:17) Elevated (Ephesians 2:6) Never abandoned or alone (Matthew 28:20) Players in God’s divine drama (Ephesians 2:10) Proof of God’s grace (Ephesians 2:7) Forever loved (Romans 8:35-39) Eternally saved (Romans 6:23)   

And that’s just the short list.

After all those promises, God the Father pulls us close, looks us in the eye and says, “Now listen. You believe in me. And I believe in you. Don’t forget that you’re my kid. So when you wanna talk to me, don’t come here hangin’ your head. You come strong. Head up. You come talk to me with confidence because my grace is all over you. You’ll find everything you need right here in Me.” (paraphrase – Hebrews 4:14-16)    

In light of these truths, what’s the point of hanging on to our sin when it’s forgiven us? What’s the point of living in a past that God has forgiven at the expense of a future that God has redeemed?

If we haven’t done so already, it’s time to allow God’s terms and conditions to determine the nature of our relationship with Him.

When face to face with the living God, it’s always wise to concede to the greater power.

Because our leaf blower logic makes no sense against the wind of His truth.

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

One entry on the list captured perhaps the most foundational truth about prayer. Diane, age 8, offered up this communication to God…

“Dear God; I am saying my prayers for me and my brother, Billy, because Billy is six months old and he can’t do anything but sleep and wet his diapers.”

Diane was praying on behalf of her baby brother because he was helpless to do anything on his own.

Someone has wisely noted that, “Prayer is the language of totally helpless creatures.” This is a foundational truth about prayer. In the middle of our self-reliant, self-help, independent, pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, make our own way in the world attitudes, the fact remains that we are, in the things that matter most, totally helpless creatures. Even that which we obtain through our responsible work ethic and effort come directly from the hand of God.

When we pray, be it a prayer of thanks or praise or confession or grief or petition or fear or joy or confusion, we are acknowledging that we are indeed helpless creatures. We are created beings and we desperately need our Creator. We need God. To be sure, this is true.

But what if we turn the question around? Does God need us?

In a word…no.

God doesn’t need anything or anyone. God is self-sufficient. Self-reliant. Self-fulfilling. God is the only One who could stand on stage, accept any award and say with complete integrity, “I’d like to thank no one because it’s all about Me.” God is God. And God is all God needs.

If God is everything in Himself, then how does prayer fit into that? Logically speaking, it doesn’t. When we think seriously about prayer and what’s in it for God, from our human perspective it doesn’t make sense. Our prayers don’t offer God anything that He needs.

God needs nothing from us. God doesn’t need our money. He owns, as the Psalmist put it, “the cattle on a thousand hills.” Elsewhere, the Bible says, “the earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof.” God owns everything so He lacks nothing. What do you buy for the God Who has everything? He owns it all.

God possesses all knowledge so there’s no college course you can sign Him up for that would help His resume look better.

God is perfectly content in relationship with Himself so there’s no names you can drop and no one you can introduce Him to that would help Him expand His network.

God is all powerful. He tells the ocean waves “this far and no farther” and He hung the stars in the sky and calls them all by name. And, as the prophet Isaiah eloquently put it, “the nations are but a drop in the bucket to Him and He weighs the islands like fine dust”. So there’s no political office or military position you can offer that would increase His influence or power.

God is immutable, He never changes. So there’s no self-help book you can suggest to Him that would help bring consistency to His life.

God is perfectly balanced in His perfections of love and justice, mercy and wrath, so there’s so anger management course you can enroll Him in that would improve His judgment.

Simply put, God doesn’t need us. Were that the sum total of truth in the Bible, we’d be hopeless indeed. But there is a wonderful twist to the truth that God doesn’t need us. A twist that makes no sense at all and is at the same time a most hilarious surprise.

God doesn’t need us.

God wants us.

It’s a lot to get our head around. The fact that God wants us. It’s true. Prayer from God’s perspective is all about relationship. It can’t be anything else. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. Why else would a perfect God want to involve Himself with imperfect people like us? We don’t have anything to offer. The only possible reason God has for involving Himself with us is because He wants to.

When I ask Annie and Emma to help me make breakfast, it’s not because I’m incapable of doing that on my own. And it’s certainly not because having two six year-olds grabbing for eggs and bacon with four hands speeds up the process. It’s not because they have a better working knowledge of ham and cheese omelettes. If speed and efficiency and minimal mess were the goal then the best thing for me would be to keep them out of the kitchen.

But that’s not the goal. I ask Annie and Emma to help me make breakfast because I desire the relationship I have with them. So what if Emma gets a little wild with the whisk. So what if Annie throws an extra fistful of cheese in the pan before I can get to her. So what if they make a bigger mess. In the end it’s the mutual satisfaction of relationship that counts.

I don’t need their help. I want their relationship.

The perfect God of the Universe wants and desires relationship with us. We are His creation, created in His image. When we better understand our worth to Him, we’ll better understand why He values our prayers.

It’s all about relationship.

“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” – 1 John 3:1

“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

Before there was a universe with galaxies and black holes and white hot stars, there was God.

God filled this nothingness and there was no void, because God is all God needs. He is complete in and of Himself. He is in the best sense of the word completely and rightly self-absorbed in His perfection. Perfectly extreme and perfectly balanced. He is eternal perfection. Satisfied in Himself.

This perfect God, for reasons we may never know and if we could know would not understand, decided to create. He created the heavens. Space beyond our wildest imagination. He created day and night; the blazing sun and the reflective moon. He hung stars in the sky like so many lights on a celestial Christmas tree. He created the earth with layered atmosphere, expansive seas, and dry land. He made vegetation of every type. he made fish to fill the seas and animals to inhabit the dry land. Birds He made to soar and sing. He gave order and boundaries and His creation was a reflection of His perfect and wonderful nature.

Then God created man and woman. “Male and female He created them in His own image.” That’s what the Bible says. He created man and woman with physical bodies and spiritual souls, and He placed eternity in their hearts. A “God space” as someone has described it. A place in our hearts that only He can fill.

God created human beings to have a relationship with Him. A relationship of mutual love and joyful hearts. Not that God needed the company. He wasn’t lonely. Remember, God is all God needs. God created man and woman because He wanted to.

Unique to man and woman, God gave the freedom to choose. He gave them a will. He clearly drew generous loving boundaries of obedience that would maximize the joy and satisfaction of His creation.

Sadly, man and woman made a poor decision and disobeyed. It altered the relationship between human kind and God. It broke God’s heart.

Even if they wanted to; these humans were incapable of fixing the problem they created for themselves. It was up to God. And God doesn’t need to fix anything. He is everything in Himself. Perfection. God didn’t need those people who broke His heart.

He wanted them.

Man and woman’s disobedience, their sin, forced them to leave the beautiful garden they had enjoyed. Still, even though they left their garden, they were still under God’s sovereign umbrella. They could go to the ends of His earth and still they would be under His sovereign umbrella.

God is perfect in every way, including His commitment to His creation. Not one to walk away from a project, God is perfect in His faithfulness to His people. The path for His humans would be radically different than His original design, with lasting difficult consequences for His creation, yet God is sovereign. He will accomplish what He set out to do.

God, in His mercy, remained committed to His creation, including man and woman. He set in place a redemptive plan that would unfold over the course of human history. A plan to redeem that which humankind made a mess of. And in the process, He taught them about love and discipline, about faithfulness and forgiveness, justice and mercy, all the while pleading with His children to find their fulfillment in Him.

Along the way God sent messages to His people. Beautiful messages. Love letters, you might say. Letters scented with the fragrance of a jealous love. “Please return to Me. I’m all you’ll ever need. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

The message was always the same. Though He sent it in different ways. Sometimes He said “I Love You” in billowy cloud. Sometimes in a pillar of fire. Sometimes He dropped food from the sky and turned rocks into fountains of cold clear water. He parted seas and rivers for them and drowned their enemies. He gave and gave and gave, even though they rarely gave back.

God’s heart was broken many times. His lover was very fickle. One moment they pledged with passionate resolve their love to Him forever. The next moment they were flirting with gods who spelled their name with a small “g”. Sometimes they denied Him altogether.

Yet God is also perfect in His persistence. He never quits. It’s as if their stubborn refusals only fueled His love. God was determined to get His message across; “I love you and in Me alone will you find your satisfaction.”

“I love you. I always will. No matter what. There’s nothing you can do to change that. You can run away, but I’ll be looking for you to return. You can sin against Me and break my heart, but I’ll forgive you if you’ll just ask Me to. I don’t want your sacrifice. I don’t want your lousy 10%. I want you. All of you. Because I want all of you to experience all of Me. That your joy might be complete. For I am the great I AM. I am your God.”

That, in paraphrase form, is the Old Testament message of God’s love for us.

God’s message has not changed in thousands of years. He still pleads with His children to put their trust in Him. To find their joy and satisfaction in Him alone. To return to their first love. God is still jealous and forever creative in communicating His heart’s desire.

Friend, the fact is God loves you unconditionally. You can run away if you choose. Wherever you stop you will find Him waiting for you. You can hide. Wherever you hole up you will find Him with you. You can ignore Him, yet He will never stop paying attention to you. 

You are the object of His affection. He loves you with a loyal love that will not let you go.

Ever.

“For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world should be saved through Him.” – John 3:16-17

For those individuals selected to be on camera with their item, the question they want answered is “How much is it worth?” Many nearly foam at the mouth in anticipation of the answer. Some people have paid a lot of money for their item and want to be told they made a good investment. Others have an antique given to or passed down to them. It has sentimental value because it belonged to their Aunt Mabel and they would never sell it because it belonged to her. At least that’s what they say before they find out the vase is worth $30,000. Then they start reasoning on second thought they were never really that close to Aunt Mabel.

What’s it worth? That’s the question. And it’s an important one. Not just in wondering the value of your grandmother’s antique ivory hat pin, but what are you worth? More accurately, where does your value as a person come from?

There are two kinds of worth: “inherent worth” and “imputed worth”.

Inherent worth is based on a quality.

Imputed worth is based on the value ascribed by another.

In my Bible I carry a dollar bill. Specifically it is a 1935 Series A Silver Certificate with “HAWAII” in black block letters stamped on the back. It’s a piece of family history. During World War II, three of my great uncles served in the military. Uncle Ev was an Army Captain in Europe, awarded a Purple Heart and a Silver Star. My Uncle Russ was on a destroyer in the Navy. My Uncle Al was in the Army in Hawaii. They didn’t see each other for over three years during the war.

In the spring of 1945, Uncle Al was back home on leave. The family was having a picnic at Sylvania Park in Fairmont, Minnesota when the news broke that the Allied forces had won victory in Europe. VE Day - May 8, 1945.

Having three brothers in the military, this was wonderful news. They felt they should do something to mark the moment so Uncle Al pulled out several one dollar bills which they passed around and everyone signed. The bill has signatures from 8 family members, including my Dad who was ten years old at the time.

The inherent worth of this piece of currency is one dollar. To the clerk at Circle K, it’s enough to buy an Icee. Yet to me, it’s worth far more than a dollar. The imputed worth of this dollar bill is priceless. I wouldn’t part with it because of the value I’ve placed on it as part of my family history.

When the question is asked, “What are you worth?”, God answers the question with, “You are worth the price of my only Son.” Humanly speaking, it’s a surprising answer. Because the people in question aren’t highly polished people of refined quality. On our best day, we’re a mess. We’re sinners. We all fall short of God’s standard of perfection. Yet God in His matchless grace says we are worth dying for.

Until we take to heart the fact that our worth is based in Jesus Christ and that our worth is imputed by God, we’ll never experience the peaceful security that God wants us to know.

The temptation is to believe God loves us for what we do or how we perform. But He doesn’t. God doesn’t value us for what we do or accomplish. He doesn’t value you because you’re a brilliant engineer or because you’re a successful business woman. He doesn’t value you because you’ve never missed going to church in 30 years. He doesn’t value you because you’ve got ten Division I schools knocking on your door to grab your athletic talent. God doesn’t value you for the greatest thing you’ve ever done. God values you because he willingly paid the price of His only Son for you.

Your value, your worth, has been imputed to you by God the Father. The Lord of Creation. The King of Kings. The eternal sovereign God of the universe. That’s where your worth is.

Whether you feel like it or not, you are of infinite value to God. If you’re feeling beat up and behind, torn and tired, guilty and grieving, remember you are priceless to God and ask yourself this question:

If God paid the ultimate price for me, why wouldn’t He take care of every other detail in my life?

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

“See how great a love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God; and such we are.” – 1 John 3:1   

“All Movies $9.99″.

On the top row in the middle was “The Greatest Story Ever Told”, an epic film from 1965 about the life of Jesus Christ. From His miraculous virgin birth to His sacrificial death on the cross, and His resurrection from the dead to ascension into heaven. A three hour and 17 minute masterpiece that can’t begin to record all the works that Jesus did for our good and His glory.

Right next to that DVD in the slot to the left was “The Garbage Pail Kids Movie”. The plot summary for this forgettable 1987 flick is, according to Volker Boehm,

“Seven disgusting kids but nevertheless of interesting personality are being made of the green mud coming out of the garbage can. Once alive their master gives them rules to obey although they think that life is funnier without following stupid regulations like no television or no candy. Naturally, this will cause some conflicts.”

Naturally.

On this night before Christmas Eve, those two DVD’s side by side well illustrate the reason for the season. Jesus Christ, the greatest story ever told, comes into our garbage pail world to clean us up and make us whole. It’s not an easy task. Because we Valerie Vomit’s and Foul Phil’s and Messie Tessie’s (add Terrible Todd’s) think that life is better without following our Master’s regulations. Left to our own desires, we’d rather live in our green mud. It’s bound to cause some conflicts. We are not very loveable people.

Which makes Christmas even more amazing.

Jesus Christ willingly left the glory of heaven to be born into our muddy world. And as He lived He didn’t hold His nose while walking through our garbage. He drew near to us. To hug and to heal. To dine and to drink. To talk and to touch. To seek and to save. Instead of avoiding our mess He waded into it.

When you think about where He comes from, it doesn’t make any sense. Moving from the Ritz on Park Avenue to the dump outside of town? How can “downward mobility” ever make sense? But Jesus loves us. So much that He came our direction. He took on human form to experience everything that we do. In doing so He became our perfect advocate before God the Father. “Dad, I know what they are going through. I’ve been there.” In short, when it comes to the hard life we live, Jesus can relate.

This Christmas you, like me, may not feel worthy of God’s love. If you don’t, you’re not alone. The Bible says that all of us have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. (Romans 3:23) The fact is, we aren’t worthy of God’s love. That’s the miracle of Christmas. The sinless Christ born for sinful us.

Jesus loves us. And not because it’s in His job description. He loves us willingly, joyfully and with no limit. There’s nothing you could do to make Him love you less and no great accomplishment you achieve could make Him love you more. Jesus loves you for who you are right now in this moment. We may think we need to clean up before we can come to Him, we may think we need to scrape off the mud and find some cleaner clothes before we talk with Him. But Jesus says, “I showed my love for you in that while you were yet sinning, I died for you.” (Romans 5:8) That’s the definition of unconditional love.

This Christmas I hope your “greatest story ever told” is how Jesus came into your muddy world and showed you His unconditional love. If you’ve never experienced that or if you have questions about much Jesus loves you, please contact me. I’ll be happy to point you to the God who absolutely delights in you. The God who loved you so much He came into your world to pull you out of your mud and into His arms.

Jesus Loves You. This I know.

Merry Christmas.

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

“And the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! For behold I bring you good news of great joy which shall be to all people. Unto you this day in the city of David is born a Savior, which is Christ the Lord!” – Luke 2:10-11

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 

On my very first Sunday with the cribs and the crawlers I wasn’t there 10 minutes when my friend Mark brought his 8-month old daughter Amy. He handed her off to me so he could go to the church service. She was fine for all of five seconds until she saw him walking away. Then it was open the hydrant, turn on the faucet, open the flood gates it’s cryin’ time baby. How such a little girl could generate such big tears was beyond me. I tried everything to get her to stop. Toys, walking, talking, and saying please please please don’t cry. Nothing was working. If anything it felt like she was picking up momentum. She was crying louder and longer.

I wasn’t a pro at this but I figured that a noisy nursery isn’t the best place to try and quiet a screaming kid. So Amy and I went next door into the pastor’s study. He had a nice glider rocker in there. We sat down and she cried some more. And I kept talking to her. I told her in my best calm, logical voice that the situation wasn’t really as bad as it seemed. Her Daddy would be back in half an hour. He was still in the building. I told Amy that I wasn’t such a bad guy and that her Dad wouldn’t leave me with her if he didn’t trust me.

And you know what? She responded to that.

She cried harder.

After about ten minutes Amy just flat cried herself out. Now it was just short little breaths and some quiet tears. Finally after a time Amy did what little children do when they are afraid and confused. She pulled in, put her head down on my shoulder, and after a couple more minutes fell asleep to the rocking of the chair and the steady tick-tocks of mantle clocks.

Holding Amy and feeling my left arm joining her in a nap, I was so relieved to see her calm down. As proud as I was of myself for hanging in there until she went to sleep, the fact is Amy didn’t understand a thing I told her. In her little frame of reality, she didn’t know for sure if her Daddy would be back. She didn’t know if everything would be ok. The fact is as she sat on my lap she didn’t understand anything about the situation she was experiencing. So she did the best thing she could. She pulled in, settled in, put her head on my shoulder and went to sleep.

Friends, when life is hard, the best thing you can do is sit on God’s lap and let Him hold you. It might seem simplistic to say when life is hard, just be still and trust God. But that’s what God says we are to do. And please understand that sitting on God’s lap when life is hard doesn’t guarantee a full understanding of the pain you’re going through. There are some hardships of life that can never be humanly explained.

What explanation will comfort parents after their 11-year old son drowns in the bathtub after an asthmatic attack? How do you adequately explain a house fire that destroys every single possession? A drunk driver taking innocent lives? How do you explain a relentless cancer that refuses to be contained? How do you explain the abandonment of a spouse? There is so much pain and suffering that makes no sense and this side of heaven, never will.

We do one another a disservice when we say trite religious things to put a good face on what God openly acknowledges is heartbreak of the deepest degree. God admits to us that life is hard. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous” says God. (Psalm 34) Yet God also says that He is in full control of the chaos that surrounds us. When life is hard, God says, “Be still and trust me.”

Friend, when life is hard, the best thing you can do is sit on God’s lap. Be still and let Him hold you.

Life is hard. But God is good. That’s what we comfort one another with. Whatever our pain, in the middle of it we remind ourselves and one another that the God of the universe who created the world and hung the stars in the sky and calls them all by name is the God who knows us intimately. He loves us with an unconditional love, a patient and forgiving heart, and a perfect ability to work all things together for good in our lives. Even the gut wrenching, soul ripping pain we experience that we don’t understand.

When life is hard, take refuge in God.

When life is hard, be still and trust God.

When life is hard, crawl up on God’s lap. Be still and let Him hold you. He is our Heavenly Father who “has compassion on us as a father has compassion on his children.” (Psalm 103)

In His promises you and I will find the peace that passes understanding.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea;

“Cease striving and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our stronghold.” – Psalm 46:1-2; 10-11   

When we were finished I went up to the counter to pay the check. After the cashier handed me my receipt, I turned around. Standing in front of me was a huge man. At least 6′5″ tall and every bit of 280 pounds. He was scary big. He looked mean, like a bulldog in a bad mood. His hair was brown and long, pulled back and held in place by a red bandana. He had a mustache goatee combination that made Fu Manchu look like a pre-pubescent school boy. Over his black sleeveless t-shirt he wore a black leather vest with Harley Davidson patches on it. His arms were tattooed. Some guys have muscles like guns. This guy had missiles with elbows.

I started to step around him when he held up his hand like a stop sign. I’m thinking, oh no, did I sit in his favorite booth? Did I take his parking spot?

In a brass knuckle voice he said, “My little girl said she saw you prayin’ before you ate.”

Great. Big Bad Biker Dude’s little girl saw me praying.

Looking at this guy who could snap me in half like a fortune cookie, I’m wondering how his little girl feels about prayer?

I’m hoping she’s in favor of it.

“Uh…yeah…that was me.”

“Well, I have to tell you that I think…that’s great. We pray, too. Hey, do you have a church home? Because if you don’t we’ve got a good one and you’re welcome to come visit anytime.”

He gave me the cross streets of his church, shook my hand and said, “God bless. Good to meet you.” Watching him drive away I couldn’t help but think he was the perfect man for the church outreach committee. Who could say no to his invitations?

I do it. You do it. We all do it. We judge people. We judge people by their appearance or their behavior. They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but the truth is most of us are very shallow readers. It’s easier to size people up by what we see or what we hear or what we think we know than it is to take the time to get know people for who they really are.

We do the same thing to God. We size Him up by what we see or what we hear or what we think we know. Because it’s easier than taking the time to get to know Him for who He really is.

For some of us, God is a perfectionist drill sergeant. For others He is an impossible to please task master. For some of us He is a divine policeman, waiting for us to make a mistake so He can bust us down and make us pay. To some of us He is an indifferent, uncaring being; distant and even detached from everything that concerns us.

We also tend to judge God by our experiences. Some of us grew up in homes where our parents shoved God down our throats and when we got old enough to shove back, we pushed God out. Some of us don’t want anything to do with God because we feel like He abandoned us by not answering our prayers the way we hoped.

Some of us judge God by our church experiences. Maybe we’ve been in places where they cared more about getting in our wallet than caring about our soul. Maybe we’ve been hurt physically or emotionally by someone professing to be a Christian.

There’s no denying the damage done by fallen people in a fallen world. We do some pretty fair damage ourselves at times. But sooner or later we need to extend God the same courtesy we desire for ourselves; the chance to define who we are by our own terms.

While the opinions of others can be valuable, no one can describe you better than you. No one can communicate your heart, your convictions, your passions and your dreams better than you. And in the end, whether people like you or not, agree with you or not, or believe you or not, isn’t there a deep gratification that comes from having been given a full hearing?

Sometime soon give a thought to giving God the opportunity to be fully heard. Set aside what your mother thinks. Turn off the slick televangelist with the slicker hair. Put your bad memories and your bias in time-out. Clear the stage of everything you’ve been tripping over or have been using as a prop to support your arguments and your excuses.

Then grab a Bible and read the words of Jesus.

And as you do, just keep this question in front of you:

How does Jesus describe Jesus?

In the end, whether you agree with Him or not, whether you believe Him or not, you will have extended Jesus the same courtesy you desire for yourself; the right to define Himself by His own terms. That’s being intellectually and relationally fair.

In the same way that people would be surprised to learn new things about you when they give you a full hearing, you might be surprised to learn a few new things about Jesus. That He came to seek and save you. That He’s with you for the long haul. That He loves and forgives you no matter what you’ve done. That He was making incredible plans for you before the foundations of the world. That He came to give you life. And an abundant life at that. And that’s just the short list.

Oh, and there’s that one about Jesus being “a friend of sinners.”

That’s my favorite.

“And the Pharisees and their scribes began grumbling at His disciples, saying, “Why do you eat and drink with the tax-collectors and the sinners?” And Jesus answered and said to them, “It is not those who are well who need a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.” – Luke 5:30-32

We all get lost from time to time. Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes we wander off. Like a sheep that’s had his head down seeing nothing but the grass in front of his nose, when he pulls up to look around realizes nothing is familiar.

Maybe you’re lost right now. Maybe you’re far away from home. The questions are these:

If we are lost, will God come looking for us?

When we come back home, what will we find when we get there?

A study in Luke 15 and God’s relentless love for us.

(Presented to Hope Covenant Church – Chandler, AZ – 7/30/2006)  

Each of us have been shaped by our backgrounds. Some of us grew up in church. Some of us didn’t. Some of us went for awhile but stopped because we had a bad experience or because we didn’t like what we heard. Some of us grew up in a home where God was shoved down our throats and as soon as we were old enough to shove back, we pushed away.

Without exception, all of us, in some form or fashion, define God by our own terms based on our experiences.

We can try to keep God comfortably stashed within the box of our human ideas and traditions. But sooner or later we realize God’s grace can’t be contained by our narrow ideas or even the four walls of a church. In Luke 5:27-39 Jesus breaks the mold of our human ideas of religion and spirituality by offering His friendship and radical grace to a hated IRS agent named Levi.

Sooner or later we all have to face the questions:

Am I going to continue to define God by my experiences? Or will I allow God to define Himself by His own terms?

(Presented to Hope Covenant Church – Chandler, AZ – 7/9/2006 )

Finally, we get off the ground. The Dad and Mom decide to switch places. He’s holding the boy and from my vantage point all I can see are two little legs sticking out into the aisle, flailing and kicking.

Then the little guy loses it. He freaks out. He red lines his volume. And that’s when it all breaks loose.

Mr. Wall Street Journal spins his head toward the Dad, “Can’t you keep that kid quiet??!!” The Dad exercises enormous restraint, “I’m doing the best I can!” Mr. Wall Street Journal then says a little too loudly to no one in particular and everyone in general, “I didn’t pay for a ticket to listen to this all the way home!” and in the same instant slams his fist into the back of the seat in front of him where the little boy’s Mom is sitting. He hits it hard enough to break the latch on the tray table so it won’t stay in its locked and upright position.

Ever experience one of those flashpoint situations where everything happens at once?

In the microsecond after the passengers realize what has happened, public opinion swings 180 degrees in favor of the little guy. They turn on Mr. Wall Street Journal like a pack of wild dogs. They yell and hiss and in short order make him wish he would have rented a car to get home.

Then something wonderful happens. A kind, wonderful, spontaneous thing that changes the entire atmosphere on the plane. Rolling like a wave from the front to the back, over the top of the seats all you can see are hands filled with bounty from purses and tote bags and backpacks, passed from one row to the next. In less than a minute the Dad’s lap is overflowing with stuffed animals, candy and toys.

Thankfully, a few minutes later, the little guy falls asleep.

Kindness. It transformed the atmosphere on that plane from hostility to peace.

Whatever shape it takes and however it’s offered, kindness has the power to transform. A harsh and angry attitude can be calmed with kind words. A closed and fearful heart can learn to trust when surrounded with kindness. Kindness helps welcome new folks into the neighborhood. Kindness helps dispel our fears. Kindness gives people the courage to try again. Kindness helps people out of awkward situations. Kindness paves the way for reconciliation.

Perhaps kindness is transforming because it’s so surprising. We live in a reciprocal world. Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Be mean to me and I’ll be mean to you. That’s why kindness is often unexpected. It catches people off guard.

This idea of transforming kindness was God’s idea. God is not reciprocal with us. In our faults and failures, God responds with kindness. God is kind toward sinners, which is to say God is kind to me and to you. (Romans 2:4; Ephesians 2:7) That’s certainly a surprise when we’re expecting to be punished. He desires that you and I extend the same kindness to those around us.

Do something wonderful today. Go surprise some people.

Be kind.

“…clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.” – Colossians 3:12-14

Driving away I was glad I took five minutes to listen to my kids. I’d hate to miss Annie’s insight on Happy Monica. My Jewish friends will love hearing that one.

Annie and Emma are still learning about Christmas. They’re happily absorbing the entire experience. From participating in their church Christmas program, to reading books about Jesus’ birth, to watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas” on TV. They have daily reminded me that they haven’t had the opportunity to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what they want. We’re going to Santa’s Village tonight so the old guy can put their minds at ease.

Christmas is a wonderful mix of truth and tradition. Jesus birthday is the reason for the season. But there really was a St. Nicholas, too. The Grinch and Frosty the Snowman are fictional characters but a real part of our childhood memories. We read about the legend of the candy cane, sing about Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer, wonder why we put gifts in stockings and wonder why the other eleven months of the year we call them socks.

It’s the week family traditions are ramping up and rolling out. The “this is the food we cook on Christmas Eve” conversations are starting to happen. We look forward to the olfactory overload of gingerbread, pine scent from the tree, hot cider, smoke from burning logs in the fireplace and fresh baked cookies. Though I won’t be there to see it, I’m sure my Mom will be making oyster stew and chili that night. And some diehard Scandinavian traditionalists in my hometown will make lutefisk. My cousins Eric and Neil, who as children were unwilling participants of this holiday tradition, once described lutefisk as “bad tasting Styrofoam”. That’s not far off. It’s a bland, smelly, gelatinous fish that, in my way of thinking, contributed to a million Swedish immigrants getting on a boat and coming to America in the late 1800’s. There had to be better food over here.

Though perhaps we don’t notice it, over the years we’ve mixed truth and tradition within the Christmas account. We know Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem. For some reason we assume it was on a donkey, though the Bible doesn’t say. They could have walked. Since there was no room in the inn, someone had to tell them that. Who else but the innkeeper, though the Bible never mentions one. It’s a good bet that animals were present at Jesus’ birth, especially since Jesus was laid in a feeding trough after He was born. Maybe some sheep or donkeys or a camel. We don’t know for sure because the Bible doesn’t talk about any animals, either.

The Bible doesn’t say how many wise men there were but every regulation nativity set has three. Probably because three gifts are mentioned. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. That assumes that each guy brought one gift. Who knows? Maybe there were five wise men, one bought all the gifts and the other four just signed their name on the card? And don’t anyone go putting the wise men back in the box, but there’s a good chance they weren’t anywhere near the site of Jesus’ birth. It’s possible they didn’t find Him until up to two years later. Matthew 2:11 says the wise men found Jesus in a house, not a manger.

Whatever the configuration of your nativity set, there’s one piece common to all of them. The baby in the manger. That little baby became the central figure in human history. More than that, He came that you and I might have life and have it more abundantly (John 10:10). Jesus came to offer Himself as the solution to a problematic truth; the truth that you and I are sinners in need of God’s forgiveness, mercy and grace. Humanity was in need of some good news. Or as the angel said to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid! For I bring you good news of great joy which will be to all people. Unto you this day in the city of David is born a Savior, which is Christ the Lord!”

Whether camels and donkeys and wise men were there or not, what matters is that the baby in the manger was there. Jesus is the reason for the season. That’s something to think about while we’re opening our presents, baking our cookies and (gag) eating our Lutefisk. Here’s hoping your week before Christmas is full of the truth and traditions that remind us of God’s gift to the world.

“The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all people. To you this day in the city of David is born a Savior which is Christ the Lord! And this will be a sign to you; you will find the baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” - Luke 2:10-12

We are loaded down with the weight of living in a fallen world. Even our best days are sprinkled with sadness, disappointments and tears. And on our worst days we feel like it will never end.

The good news is that Jesus died that we might have life after this fallen world. The day is coming when the weight of our imperfections will be lifted for eternity. Heaven is a real place. A place of redemption, restoration, reunion, and rejoicing.

(Presented to Hope Covenant Church – Chandler, AZ – 11/20/2005)

We live in a performance based society. GPA. ERA. SAT scores. Sales figures. MPG. Batting averages. Won/Loss columns. S&P 500. P&L statements. We measure everything.

It’s easy to carry that performance mentality into our relationship with God. But what if our best efforts could never be enough?

The essential, invaluable lesson of “imputed worth”.

(Presented to Hope Covenant Church – Chandler, AZ – 10/23/2005)

The setting was a facility owned by a large church in the Phoenix valley. The scene was a music concert. A local band was celebrating the release of their latest CD and they had kindly asked me to join them to play percussion. The members of the band are Christian, but they play at many different venues. They enjoy performing their music and talking about their faith to people on the fringe who, for whatever reason, aren’t comfortable in a church.

After the concert everyone gathered for food at the back of the auditorium. I was working my way past the croissant sandwiches when I noticed that one of the band members seemed to be cornered by a couple whose body language indicated a two against one situation. Not a fair fight.

After loading some meatballs on the paper plate I stepped in and interrupted with a “Hi. I’m Todd. Whatcha’ talkin’ about?” The lady stepped back just far enough to face me. I thought it curious that she and her male friend didn’t offer their names in response to my introduction. They just continued on with what I quickly learned was a not so nice critique of the evening.

The lady was short, sharply dressed with bleach blond hair and a ring on one of her fingers. Dangerous though it is to speculate, I’m guessing she was pushing 50. The gentleman accompanying her was all of that and also nicely attired. Since they didn’t offer their names I don’t know if they were married. Let’s just call them Mr. Tweed (for his jacket) and Ms. Sparkle (for her ring).

Mr. Tweed said, “I just couldn’t find the message in the music. The message wasn’t clear at all.”

“Do you know anything about the band?”, I asked. “About where they play and the audience they try to reach?”

Ms. Sparkle adjusted her ecru wool jacket. “It doesn’t matter. One shouldn’t have to hunt for the message. If you’re Christians then you need to play Christian music.”

“The band members are Christians. However, many times the audience they play to…”

Ms. Sparkle interrupts me. It was the first of several times she stomped on the tail of my sentences. “Those people just come for the music. They probably don’t even listen to the words. They might dance to it, but they don’t listen to the words.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. How could people who look so intelligent utter such nonsense?

“Are you telling me that non-Christians don’t think? Have you listened to any popular music lately? Many of the lyrics are loaded with spirituality. That’s the mark of our current generation. People are seeking meaning and they’re looking down every imaginable path to find truth.”

Ms. Sparkle didn’t bat either of her fake eyelashes. She responded with attitude. “You know, we have the money to back this band if we want to. But this concert should have been held at the Legion Hall. Because that’s where this music belongs.”

Everyone has their personal taste in music. That’s no big deal. What astounded me was her arrogant rudeness. And that somehow her money made her opinion superior. It made me angry. I had to remind myself these people claimed to be Christians. It took considerable restraint for me to stay in adult mode and not go off on them. So I asked a question.

“What specifically bothers you about the music you heard tonight?”

“There’s nothing about Jesus in your music.”

“Really? So the arrangement of “For A Thousand Tongues To Sing” wasn’t clear to you? That part about “if we keep silent the rocks will cry out in praise to God” was too subtle?”

Ms. Sparkle ignored the question. “I was at the “Just Give Me Jesus” conference last week and Fernando Ortega was there. He was wonderful! His message was so clear. I understood exactly what he meant in every song.” She sighed like a little school girl as she remembered it. Like she had a little Fernando Ortega statue mounted on her dashboard.

“I’m familiar with his music. It’s good. But you need to remember something. You went to a Christian conference with Christian friends and heard Christian music through your Christian grid of church background. Of course the music made sense to you. How could it not? You know the lingo.”

Ms. Sparkle started to stomp on my sentence again but I jumped ahead just in time.

“My question to you is if a person had attended the same conference and heard the same music only they had no church background, no Christian friends and no Christian world view, would the message of Jesus in the music been equally clear to them?”

Ms. Sparkle stared at me. She looked me straight in the eye. With stone expression and chilling level tone, she answered my question with two simple words.

“Who cares?”

When we focus only on ourselves, our view of God becomes myopic. When our view of God becomes myopic, our faith becomes ingrown. An ingrown faith that concerns itself only with fulfilling personal desires is no faith at all. When we no longer care about the spiritual condition of other human beings created in the image of God, we are pitifully blind and pathetically self-absorbed.

To pick one truth of God as most wonderful is to pick the most beautiful flower in a glorious field of lilies. Yet if I were to choose the most beautiful truth of the Bible, it would be that “Jesus is a friend of sinners.” Which is to say He is a friend of mine. And a friend of yours.

Whatever music they’re playing down at the Legion Hall, I think Jesus would be down there. He loves us sinners. He’d be there and anywhere there are people who need to know they are loved, forgiven, and accepted.

Maybe someday Ms. Sparkle will hear the music and drop in.

“For the Son of Man (Jesus) has come to seek and save the lost.” – Luke 19:10

I have a jar of sand from Newport Beach, California. Now, I know what you’re thinking…a person would have to be out of their mind to count sand in a jar.

I started on a Monday. And this is what I did…I went to the kitchen and pulled out the smallest measuring spoon I could find; one eighth of a teaspoon. Sitting at the table I dipped this measuring spoon into the sand, leveled it off with a knife, and tapped it out on to a sheet of grid paper. I turned on a small overhead light, picked up a straight pin and started to count.

Some of the grains were small. Some were very small. And some were so tiny that I’m quite sure an ant could walk over them without noticing. Guess how many grains of sand were in my one eighth of a teaspoon? Approximately 32,500…give or take a thousand. That means that in this jar there are approximately 15,600,000 grains of sand.

Have you ever been to Newport Beach? How many “15 million grain jars” do you think we could fill? In Psalm 139, King David paints a beautiful picture of God’s intimate care for us. In verses 17-18 he makes this most wonderful statement, “How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand.” Imagine! God’s thoughts toward us are more than all the grains of sand in all the sandboxes and all the beaches and all the deserts of the world. God’s thoughts toward us are countless.

As human beings we know what it’s like to be ignored. We’re familiar with that. We could all go to the mall right now and be ignored by hundreds of people. Yet the Biblical truth that God pays infinite attention to us isn’t so familiar. We simply can’t begin to comprehend anyone thinking that much about us. But just for a moment let’s suppose that when you’re born, along with a slap on your tush and a Social Security number, you’re given a jar of 15 million thoughts from God for your lifetime. I wonder what kind of thoughts are in here?

During the first several years of our life there are a few thoughts in here to protect us from ourselves. You know, a thought or two to keep us from kissing the electrical outlets or pulling the ironing board down on our head. There are thoughts about our growing up and how to get along with our family. Thoughts toward keeping us safe from the playground bully. Thoughts to help us survive puberty, first dates, and algebra. Thoughts about what college He wants us to go to, the direction of our studies, the friendships He wants us to develop and if and when and who we should marry.

There are “God thoughts” in our jar about the gifts and talents He has given us, and how we can best utilize them in ministry within the body of Christ. Thoughts about wisely using the money and resources God will entrust to us. Thoughts about how we can someday best raise our children in the fear and wisdom of God. And lots and lots of thoughts about growing and maturing into the godly person He desires us to be.

While 15 million thoughts will take us a long way, in reality our jar of thoughts from God will never be empty. In His great love for us, God pays eternal attention to the details of our lives. There is nothing that happens in our lives, whether big or small, that He is not concerned with. With God we are never alone and never ignored. His thoughts toward us flow from His heart of goodness and kindness, of mercy and grace, forgiveness and love.

“How precious also are Your thoughts toward me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand…” – Psalm 139:17-18

These best friends went out to ride their bikes together and never came back. Some despicable, evil bastard stabbed them multiple times and left them for dead.

In an unrelated Fox News story, a stray dog in Nairobi, Kenya found an abandoned newborn baby in the forest. The dog got the baby girl out of the plastic bag she was put in, dragged her out of the woods, across a busy street and through a barbed wire fence into a shed where her own puppies were. The 7 pound 4 ounce infant is now in the care of hospital workers who have named her “Angel”.

Adults who are supposed to protect the young, murder kids and abandon babies in the forest. What does it say about our human condition when a stray dog demonstrates a better understanding of care and nurture than we do?

Some say the world is going to the dogs. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Murder. A mafia hit is something we can make sense of. When Guido gets popped in the head while eating seafood linguine at the neighborhood ristorante because he spilled the family secrets to the Feds, we get that. When someone goes postal and brings a shotgun to work looking for the boss who made his life miserable, we shake our head and say we could never react that way but we think, “Some people just get pushed too far and then they snap.” Gang bangers wage turf wars and kill each other in drive by shootings. It’s a tremendous waste of potential, but we say, ala Karl Marx, “environment determines expression” and we can sort of understand the tragic cycle.

Second grade girls haven’t lived long enough to betray secrets or experience pent up, trigger happy anger or mark their territory with a Glock. Second grade girls watch Rugrats and Sponge Bob Square Pants on TV and show each other the shiny tassels on their handlebars and think it’s oh so grown up to have a tube of glittery watermelon lip gloss in their pink Barbie backpack.

When Guido sleeps with the fishes and quiet Bob goes off with the 12-gauge and Paco shoots Jimmy while he’s washing his street rod, we shake our heads. But we kind of sort of get it.

When innocent second grade girls are murdered, there’s nothing to get but absolutely, completely livid in an “I want to kill whoever did that” way.

Think it’s a little extreme to feel that way?

I don’t.

A couple years ago someone asked me what I would do if someone tried to hurt my little daughters. I answered in a very calm and rational tone. “Whoever it is better know Jesus because I’ll kill them so fast they won’t have time to get saved.” The questioner backed away slowly. I guess it wasn’t the response he was expecting. I make no apology for being Papa Bear. God put me here to take care of my cubs and this I will do, to the death if need be.

How does one be Christ-like when responding to evil? How is a Christian to respond to gut wrenching headlines like this? Don’t be too quick with the Sunday School answer that “God loves the killer, too.” Yes, God does. Theologically, that’s correct. And for the families of these girls, it’s a truth that’s as hollow as an old dead stump. God is also the creator of life. I can’t imagine He is anything but angry and heart shredded by their senseless deaths.

It’s maddening though. Because God does love the killer. My human mind rants and rails against it, but it’s true. God’s offer of forgiveness and mercy is on the table for all of humanity. Even the ones who murder little girls. And in that statement lies both the evidence and my conviction. “Even the ones…” It betrays a mindset that deep down believes some sinners are worse than others. And of course I place myself in the “not as bad as they” category. How could I be as bad as the evil maniac who murdered these girls?

I may not be as bad, but it’s not about being bad. It’s about falling short.

God says we all fall short of His perfection. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23) My prideful attitude, my occasional outburst of anger, my lustful thoughts, my desire for more at the expense of contentment, take your pick. Any one of these sins causes me to fall short of God’s perfection. Which means on my own merit, I don’t have a relationship with God and I don’t see heaven.

No, I’ve never killed anyone. But in a long jump contest at the rim of the Grand Canyon, there are no winners.

Only when we get up close to our own dirt do we realize the benevolent, gracious love of God. Romans 5:8 says that, “God showed His great love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

Southern Baptist preacher/writer Will Campbell paraphrases the verse this way. “We’re all bastards. But God loves us anyway.”

Amen.

Several months ago I worked the Phil Collins concert. I was at my stand selling T-shirts and other merchandise when in the crush of people a little girl appeared in front of me on the other side of the table. There with her mother, the little one looked to be about 9 or 10 years old. Way too young to be at a concert, let alone know who Phil Collins is. But she seemed like a true fan. She was giggly excited. All bouncy and wiggly and grinning and trying to decide which T-shirt to buy.

In the middle of her decision she spun toward her Mom and blurted, “Isn’t this just incredible?!!!”

“Yes, this is incredible!”

I said to the little one, “You seem really glad to be here.”

“I so am!”

Not five minutes earlier they had been upstairs headed for their seats in the nose bleed section of the arena. You know, the “Section 223 – Row 50″ seats where the band on stage looks like a musical flea circus.

A man stopped to talk with them as they were finding their way up the steep stairs to the upper row.

“Are those your seats up there?”

“Yes.”

“They don’t look like very good seats.”

“Yeah, well…it was the best we could do”, said the Mom.

Looking down at the little girl, the man asked, “Do you like Phil Collins?”

“Are you kidding?!!! I LOVE Phil Collins!”

Looking up toward the top row, the man said, “Those seats aren’t very good. I think you need better ones.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Two tickets.

Floor seats.

Front row.

Dead center.

The man was with the band.

It was the little girl’s front row smile that said “Thank you!” when I handed her the T-shirt. She pulled her Mother into the portico and down the stairs to the arena floor.

That would have been enough, wouldn’t it? To tell your friends at school that you were going to the Phil Collins concert only to come back the next day and say you went from last row to front row? And what street smart fourth grader on the playground would believe that? You’d have to show your ticket stub to prove it and how much fun would that be? To flash the evidence and say, “See? I told you!”

That would have been enough, right?

In the middle of the last song of the set, right before the encore, Phil Collins came off the stage down to the front row. He gave the little girl a big hug, a kiss on the cheek and held up the microphone so she could sing the chorus with him. There was her front row smile, big as life up on the JumboTron, for 10,000 people to see. Excited? She was absolutely out of her mind.

The kids on the playground will never believe this.

Sometimes, just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any better, it does.

We live in a broken world. Because we do, our view of the good stuff on the stage is often from Row 50 in Section 223. The irony is when we do get front row seats on this fallen planet, it’s usually to an ugly or painful event we’d rather not be close to. Chronic health problems, financial stress, strained relationships, or the loss of someone we love. Those seats are always front row, dead center.

We live in a broken world, but we’re loved by a gracious God. A God who promised a long time ago that He would never leave us or forsake us in this broken world. Which is to say that wherever our seats happen to be at any given life event, He promises to be right there with us.

That would be enough, right? To have the promise of God that we will never do life alone? That He will always be here to guide and encourage? To love and strengthen and comfort?

That would be enough, right?

But God goes one better. He promises that all His lavish, gracious love will never end. Not in this broken world, nor in His perfect world that’s yet to come. Someday, when the show’s over down here, we’ll be front row, dead center up there. An unobstructed, up close view of our Savior. The One who came down off His stage so we could sing along.

Sometimes, just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any better…

It does.

“But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions – it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with Him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages He might show the incomparable riches of His grace, expressed in His kindness to us in Christ Jesus.” – Ephesians 2:4-7

“What is it, Emma?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Emma. More than you know.”

“Daddy, you my best fwend!”

“You’re my best friend, too, Emma.”

“But you my best fwend first.”

I started to disagree, but left her with a big hug and a kiss on the head instead. It’s tough to debate a soon to be 4-year old. They possess a maddening combination of stubbornness and charm. I could say, “Emma, you’re wrong.” But she’d just tilt her head and respond with a confident sing-song lilt in her voice, “Noooo, I’m not.”

When it comes to being best friends, Emma thinks she picked me first. In her mind, it was all her idea. A decision she made and allowed me the privilege of being part of. “You my best fwend first.” Of course, it wasn’t that way. We adopted Emma and her twin sister Annie. It was our decision to make them part of our family. Our choice. We picked them.

Emma thinks it was all her idea, this best friend business. She’s too young to understand that it was just the opposite. She’s too young to understand what it was like for her Daddy to stand frozen between two incubators in a Spokane neonatal intensive care unit, not knowing what to do. Like being in an art museum in front of a Rembrandt and a Van Gogh, not knowing which masterpiece to look at first.

She doesn’t understand what her Daddy felt like the first time he saw her tiny three pound fourteen ounce frame and feel the life changing reality of realizing that little bundle would be coming home with him to stay. She’s too young to understand the thrill and the fear and the wee hour bleary-eyed wonder with which her Daddy gazed at her, night after night after night.

Emma thinks she chose me. Of course, I know otherwise. She didn’t choose me. I chose her. I laugh at Emma’s short sighted self-confidence. But I wonder…

How often does God laugh at me for the same reason? How often does He shake His head and smile at my myopic ideas? Truth be told, how often do I “choose God”? Too often, I fear. Though my head knows the correct theological answer that God chose me first, my actions sometimes show otherwise. I choose God to be my best friend when it’s convenient for me. God is my idea that I move around in my schedule. On Sundays I move Him up on the priority list. It’s His day, after all. But Monday to Saturday God sometimes gets shuffled around like an appointment I know I need to keep, but can’t commit to. So I choose to slide Him down after work is over. Or slide Him up if I have an opening or when I’m in a pinch. All the while forgetting that God being my best friend wasn’t my idea. It was His. He chose me. His idea first.

Someday I hope Emma and Annie will understand how much I love them. I hope they will understand that I gladly chose them to be part of my family. To be my kids. To live fully and enjoy everything I have to offer them. I hope they someday realize my unconditional, unwavering, fiercely protective, never ending love for them.

God probably hopes that someday I will understand that, too.

“We love because God first loved us.” – 1 John 4:19

At the top of the High Hill, with a view of the entire valley below lived the High Mudders. Of all the mud in the land, theirs was the best. It had no rocks or debris. It didn’t smell bad. It was smooth and felt good to the touch. It was a mud made from the best topsoil and snowmelt water from the Peaks. The High Mudders were good people. They worked hard, went to church and cared about each other. They looked often toward the Peaks and wondered what it would be like to live beyond. They also looked down, glad they weren’t living below.

A bit farther down lived the Side Hill Mudders. They didn’t have the view that the High Mudders enjoyed, nor was their mud the best. Their mud was bad. It was lumpy, made from clay and water that wasn’t very clear. Their mud smelled like mud and it had rocks and sticks and debris mixed in. The Side Hill Mudders were good people. They worked hard, went to church and cared about each other. The Side Hill Mudders looked often toward the Peaks and wondered what it would be like to live where the High Mudders dwelled. They also looked down, glad they weren’t living below.

At the bottom of the valley in the Swampy Place lived the Muck and Mire Mudders. They didn’t have a view at all. Their mud was the worst. It was ugly. It was gloppy, green and slimy and smelled bad because it was made with stagnant water. The Muck and Mire Mudders were good people. They worked hard, went to church and cared about each other. The Muck and Mire Mudders looked often toward the Peaks and wondered what it would be like to live anywhere but the Swampy Place.

The Mud People lived each day in their mud. The High Mudders lived in their good mud. The Side Hill Mudders lived in their bad mud. And the Muck and Mire Mudders lived in their ugly mud. Thus the Mud People lived in their mud.

One day the High Mudders looked up to see someone coming down from beyond the Peaks. The place He came from wasn’t muddy. His clothes were white and clean. He waded into the good mud of the High Mudders and announced, “I am the Messenger. I bring good news from the Crystal Palace beyond the Peaks. You are all invited to the grand feast. Come as you are.” The High Mudders were thrilled. They had heard of the Crystal Palace and dreamed often of life beyond the Peaks. The Messenger waded out of the High Mudders’ good mud and left them to anticipate the grand feast.

The Crystal Palace was more magnificent than they had imagined. The Messenger greeted them at the door. “Welcome! Enter in to your joy and join in the celebration!” The High Mudders took their places at the tables. Yet the banquet hall wasn’t full. There were empty chairs. Lots of them. Who else could possibly be invited to the grand feast?

The doors swung wide and in came the Side Hill Mudders. The High Mudders didn’t recognize them at first as they had only seen them from a far distance. But the dried lumps of clay that crumbled from their clothes and fell to the pristine white marble floor confirmed who they were. What were they doing here? Had not the Messenger came to the High Mudders to invite them to the feast? The High Mudders wondered about this as the Side Hill Mudders found their seats, some of which were right next to theirs.

The doors swung wide again. It was the Messenger, pointing and directing the Muck and Mire Mudders to their seats. The High Mudders had never seen the Muck and Mire Mudders for the High Hill was far removed from the Swampy Place. Yet they could tell the Muck and Mire Mudders by the smell. Their shoes squeaked on the white floor leaving a trail of green slime and gloppy mud. The Muck and Mire Mudders found their seats next to the Side Hill Mudders and High Mudders.

Everyone was seated. The Messenger stood at the head table and said, “Thank you for accepting my invitation. It is my joy to welcome you to the grand feast. You are each one my honored guest. Eat, drink, and enjoy the banquet set before you.”

Delicious food and vintage wine were brought to every table. Joyous music filled the air. The feast had begun. The Messenger made His way from table to table. He warmly greeted each Mud person with a hug and a kind welcome.

The High Mudders wondered about this. Talking among themselves they decided to pull the Messenger aside. “You waded into our good mud and invited us to the grand feast. But we’re wondering why the Side Hill Mudders and the Muck and Mire Mudders are sitting at our tables.”

“Because I waded into their mud and invited them, too.”, answered the Messenger.

“But, their mud…it’s so bad and ugly.”

Sunshine of the purest light streamed through the windows and fell on the muddy footprints now covering the white marble tile. The Messenger answered, “When the feast is over, I will mop the floor. And when I do, be it good, bad, or ugly…mud is mud.”

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” – Romans 3:23

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places, in Christ Jesus, in order that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.” – Ephesians 2:4-7

For the Roman soldiers walking the perimeter, it’s all in a day’s work. Some people push pencils and keep records for a living. Others sell groceries in the market. For these men, keeping order during riots and overseeing ghoulish public spectacles is part of the job description.

They aren’t here by choice. They are part of an occupying force hundreds of miles from their home. They’d rather be back in Rome. Someday they’ll go home. And when they do they plan to march straight down to the recruiting office and have a hands-on conversation with that guy behind the desk who said joining the Roman army meant they would experience adventure and see the world. He didn’t tell them it meant pulling duty in a backwards place like Jerusalem.

And to them, it is backwards. Take this crucifixion, for example. Back in Rome, you’d need a very good reason to put a fellow Roman to death. There would be a trial. The testimonies of the witnesses would have to corroborate. To convict would require hard evidence. The judge and jury would be unbiased. The verdict would be fair. However it turned out, the process would be logical.

To these Roman soldiers, the Jews, at least some of them, aren’t logical at all. When given a choice, they begged and screamed for a convicted felon named Barrabbas to be set free so they could put to death one of their own. That’s backwards. To execute a guy whose only crime it seemed was being too popular with the people. If this happened back in Rome, someone would be put to death all right. But it wouldn’t be this guy on the middle cross. It would be the ones who couldn’t get their story straight and gave a false witness.

But in the end, it’s not their problem. To the soldiers it’s just another day on the killing hill. Three criminals getting their just desserts. Supervising crucifixions is ugly business and gambling for a criminal’s clothing while He hangs dying just a few feet away seems morbid, but it’s a welcome distraction from the moans of pain and gasping sounds of death.

Maybe the next tour of duty will be easier.

After three years of earthly ministry, it ends here. Jesus nailed to a cross. It ends right here. Or does it? Say what you will about this man Jesus, that He was a troublemaker and a rabble rouser, a burr under the saddle of the religious establishment; or say that He was a good teacher sent by God. Either way, you had to admit that He was different. Really different.

How did they put it? “He was one teaching s with authority.” That’s one way to put it.

“Backwards” is another way to put it.

He said we are to be kind to those who hurt us. To turn the other cheek toward those who would hit us. To not refuse those who want to borrow from us. He said the fastest way to become truly wealthy is to give away our worldly possessions. He said if our desire is to become great then we need to assume a humble position. And if we want God to smile on us we should do our fasting and our praying and our giving in secret.

Crazy as these ideas are, most backwards is Jesus’ idea that the best way to make peace with our enemies is to forgive them.

He said it that day on the side of the mountain while preaching to the crowds. “Love your enemies”, He said. It’s one thing to be magnanimous when you’re the center of attention. It’s easy to be bold when you’re free to walk about under the big blue sky. Yet, here is a man pinned to a piece of wood saying “Forgive them.”

“Forgive me, God”, now that’s a phrase I can understand. Forgive me, God because I’m a total screw up. Forgive me, God, because I fail. “Forgive me, God”, is a phrase that makes sense to me. Because I know me. But “forgive them”? Especially when the “them” are my enemies? That’s backwards.

You’d think that being stripped naked and nailed to a cross when you’ve done nothing wrong would cause one to rethink their theology. Changing your position to one of revenge and retribution when you’ve been unjustly convicted of crimes you didn’t commit, well, who could hold that against you? Say what you will about this Jesus. He remains consistent, and backwards, even to the end.

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Jesus is backwards even to the end. Asking forgiveness for short-sighted people who could no longer compete with His truth. Asking God the Father to forgive the ignorance of their actions. Nailed to a cross in excruciating pain Jesus doesn’t ask for His own deliverance.

He asks for ours.

Gambling for the clothing of one dying on a cross just a few feet away seems morbid. If I had been one of the soldiers that day I’d have probably taken my turn at tossing the dice. It would have been a welcome distraction from the moans of pain and gasping sounds of death coming from the backwards man on the middle cross.

The one asking His Father to forgive me because I didn’t know what I was doing.

I was playing behind my grandparents’ farm house, throwing a red rubber baseball high into a square of blue sky, framed on three sides by the tops of evergreen and elm trees that marked the borders of the backyard. It felt good to wind up and pitch. On the way up, it was a desperate attempt at a base hit by anyone from the Detroit Tigers. On the way down it was always a routine diving catch by the Twins’ Harmon Killebrew or Tony Oliva.

On this particular early afternoon in my backyard Metropolitan Stadium, the Tigers’ Al Kaline was trying to avoid going 0-4. His high fly ball along the right field line reached its apex when I heard the familiar squeak of the rusty spring on the front gate. Someone was either coming or going. I wonder who? Remembering we were in the middle of an inning, I looked up just in time for Harmon to make a miraculous over-the-shoulder grab. My game wasn’t over, yet who was at the gate? Hmm, what to do…

Suddenly an unexpected thunderstorm rolls in over 3rd base! The umpire waves both teams off the field. Up in the booth overlooking home plate WCCO Radio’s Herb Carneal, the voice of the Twins, announces yet another Minnesota victory while I run around the corner past the old stump to see whomever it was that made that metal gate talk.

I got to the fence just in time to hear the distinctive whine of the starter on Grandpa Thompson’s brown Chrysler Newport. I waved and yelled and he rolled down the window. “Whatcha want, bud?”, he asked over the idle of the engine. “Grandpa, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a ride.”

A ride? “Can I come with you?”

“Yep.”

“Wait for me, ok? I need to tell Grandma where I’ll be!”

Sprinting up the sidewalk I put two and two together. Grandpa was going for a ride. That must mean he’s going to Fairmont. And going to Fairmont with Grandpa means ice cream! And my sister isn’t here, so…I’ve got Grandpa and the ice cream all to myself!

Flinging open the front door I jumped the three steps into the kitchen. My Grandma was sitting by her porcelain topped table kneading out the dough for her delicious Parker House rolls. “I’m going for a ride with Grandpa. Can you call my Mom and tell her where I am?”

“Sure”, she said, pouring some flour into the sifter. I darted from room to room, looking for the jacket Mom told me not to take off and found it hanging over a wingback chair in the den. I grabbed it and ran out to the car.

It took a giant pull with both hands to close the big door on the Chrysler. Grandpa looked over at me from his side of the front seat.

“All set?”

“All set, Grandpa. Let’s go!” What a great day this is turning out to be! Warm weather, whipping the Detroit Tigers in the backyard and now a trip to Fairmont for a giant ice cream cone with my Grandpa. Life is good.

He dropped the shifter into reverse, reached his right arm over the seat and turned to begin backing up.

We’re on our way! Do I want chocolate or vanilla today?

He looked forward again and shifted into “drive”.

I think I’ll have chocolate.

He straightened the wheels.

Make that a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and a cherry.

Then he calmly drove into the garage, parked, and turned off the ignition. I didn’t understand. This is not Fairmont. This is the garage. I’ve been here before. Unless you’re a connoisseur of old hubcaps, there’s nothing to see.

“Grandpa! I thought you said you were going for a ride?!”

His eyes sparkled underneath the brim of his hat. “I didn’t say how long it would be.” He laughed himself silly all the way to the house where he would be sure to tell my Grandma and every extended family member he could find about the “big trip” he took with his grandson. I’ve yet to live it down. Over 25 years later, my family still asks me to tell them about my ride with Grandpa.

Grandpa’s joke inadvertently taught me an important lesson, one I wouldn’t recognize the value of until my backyard baseball days were long behind me. Simply put, not every trip we take in this life ends up the way we think it will. We begin with the grandest intentions and delicious dreams of chocolate sundae results. That is as it should be. When we pull the door shut on our life’s big Chrysler to pursue our adventure, it’s natural to think we’re really going somewhere.

“Son, heres a full ride Division I football scholarship. Next fall you’ll be dodging Wolverines and Buckeyes…”

“Congratulations and welcome to the company. Here’s your corner office…”

“Good news, Mr.. & Mrs.. Smith. You’re pregnant…”

Yet life being what it is, sometimes we find our trip was an all too short journey to an all too familiar place.

“Sorry, son. The ligament is gone. Walking? Yes. Football? Not a chance.”

“Due to our company’s downsizing, your position has been eliminated…”

“We can’t find the heartbeat. We’re very sorry…”

This isn’t Fairmont. This is the garage. I’ve been here before and there’s nothing to see.

If during the course of life one of your big trips ends up in the garage, remember the overriding promises of God.

“I love you” (Romans 5:8; John 3:16)

“Nothing can separate you from My love” (Romans 8:31-39)

“I will never leave you, nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5)

“I am near to the broken-hearted” (Psalm 34:18)

“I will complete the good work I began in you” (Philippians 1:6)

When you ride with God, you’re always headed in the right direction.