I was blessed to live near all my grandparents. I got to see them all the time. Grandpa and Grandma Thompson lived the closest. A short half mile down the gravel road on the farm. In the summer of 1981 they had been married for 56 years. That the marriage happened at all was a tribute to my Grandfather’s considerable charm and persistence. In a letter my Grandmother wrote to my cousin, she said, “I once told your Grandfather it would be a cold day before I would ever marry him. And it was. 34 degrees below zero on Christmas Eve in 1924.”

Grandpa Thompson was quite a character. A gifted conversationalist. A skill that served him well as a salesman and in talking his way out of speeding tickets. He had a dry sense of humor and a keen wit. He was a great story teller. An excellent woodworker. He taught himself to paint in his 70′s. He had a green thumb, loved to grow raspberries and roses. Best of all he was a quietly strong Christian role model. A Grandpa who was a wealth of wisdom and seasoned life experience for his grandkids.

About a month before he passed away, a big storm blew through. Summer storms in our part of Iowa always came from the northwest and this one had been building all day. It wasn’t a matter of if it was coming, but when it would arrive. We knocked off work at 4 pm, poured some lemonade, watched the horizon and waited. According to the radio, this one wasn’t some wannabe wind. This was going to be a “head for the basement and it wouldn’t hurt to pray” kind of storm.

The clouds were more ominous than anything I’d ever seen. Rolling, dark blue, then fading to black. The radio station said this weather cell had spawned a couple tornados and was leaving a trail of serious damage. I stayed out by the field taking pictures until I felt the air temperature quickly drop. Then it was a sprint to the house with my Shetland Sheep dog right on my heels.

Everyone went to the basement but me and my Dad. We looked out the window and watched the wind flip the switch to high. It was as impressive as it was sobering. Then just as quickly, the switch flipped off. Completely off. It was the first and only time I’ve literally experienced the “calm before the storm”. Everything outside in an instant went eerily still. Not leaf moved. There was no sound. The sky was a scary green gray. The air felt charged. It made my skin crawl.

Dad said, “Look out. Here it comes.”

Wham!

The storm after the calm shook the house. Trees bending, shingles flying and it sounded like a train was rolling through our living room. We went to the basement to ride it out. Time passes. Slowly and fearfully when you’re thinking your house could blow away.

After the noise died off, we went upstairs. The house was still there. But outside, what a mess. We’d be cleaning this up for days.

My cousin Jack, in a voice of urgent concern, said, “Man, we better get down the road and check on Mom and Pop. I hope they had time to get to the basement.” They were 81 and 82 years old. Trying to navigate those stairs in a hurry would be dangerous for them.

We jumped in the truck and headed south. All the way down the road we zigzagged to avoid the debris. Heading up the lane we saw chunks of corrugated steel roofing draped over power lines like laundry hung out to dry. A couple small buildings had fallen in. The tornado had hit the edge of Grandpa’s farm. It tore the roof off the hay shed and sent it screaming across the acreage. There was a ten inch hole in the siding where the wind had javelined a tree limb into the side of the house. A huge branch was blocking the front door. Jack and I scrambled to lift it out of the way.

Flinging open the door we instinctively headed for the basement but there was no light on down there. Curious. We poked our heads around to look up into the kitchen. There sat Grandpa and Grandma at the table, drinking coffee and having an afternoon snack.

Jack went off. “Pop, what the heck are you doing up here? Why aren’t you in the basement?! Didn’t you know it was storming outside?”

“Yep.”

My turn. “Then why the heck are you up here? Don’t you know a tornado lifted the roof off the hay shed and blew it over your house? It knocked your chimney down!”

“I thought I heard somethin’.”

“Heard somethin’?! You’ve got a hole in the side of your house! Another two feet over and that tree’d come right through the window and killed you. Why aren’t you in the basement?!!!”

He looked at us and without pause graced our 18 year-old questions with an 82 year-old answer.

“Because if you’re gonna go, you may as well go eating pie.”

And with that he put down his fork.

I can’t speak for Jack. But in my memory that was perhaps the first time I realized that in the sovereignty of God, when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. The best we can do is make sure we’re living life to the full every day, even in the storms, until we go. In this, we have a choice.

Several weeks later the entire extended family was gathered at our house for dinner. We grilled steaks and hamburgers, ate sweet corn, drank iced tea and enjoyed being together as we had so many times before. Grandpa Thompson was at the table, relishing the conversation and the laughter and his family when he fell out of his chair and died. A massive stroke or heart attack. I think he was gone before he hit the floor.

He was drinking a cup of coffee.

And eating a piece of apple pie.

“Show me, O Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life.” – Psalm 39:4

It’s 8:40 PM. I smell water in the air.

The palm trees are swaying in a breeze that is more than a breeze but not yet a wind. It feels like the atmosphere is getting ready to take a really deep breath before exhaling.

The rain starts falling on my drive home from downtown Phoenix. There are no proper introductions, no polite pitter patter. These are big, kamikaze raindrops hurling themselves into my windshield. My car stereo’s auto-volume turns itself up to compensate for their noisy splats.

At home, my dog greets me with more sincerity than usual. Thunder bothers him and from the looks of his brown eyes he’s been bothered a lot in the last hour. I stop at the fridge to pour a glass of iced tea before finding my seat in the dark theater that is my patio. It’s time for the storm show.

I sit far enough back to stay dry and far enough out to feel the cool gusts of wind. The canopy of grapevine, long branches hanging full with fruit and wide beautiful leaves make a picturesque frame around the moving pictures of clouds and sheets of rain.

Just to listen. So many sounds within the storm. Big drops pelt the grape leaves then, momentum gone, slowly drip from top to bottom, leaf to leaf like a Slinky moving down a flight of stairs. A roof river waterfall, thunk thunk thunking an empty plastic bucket below. And the incessant din of water hitting concrete.

The backdrop of sky is ever changing. Endless blue and clear just hours ago, it is now gray and hulking. Like a surly fat man in an overcoat in no hurry to move along. Rolling angry clouds filter the lightening which, like an irregular strobe, lights up the dance floor for my rose bushes. Pink and white and coral colored blossoms moving to the music of the storm.

I sit and watch the show thinking it the best I’ve seen in a very, very long time.

My dog is close by. Content to stay because my right hand is stroking his fur. His loyalty keeps him near me, though his back is turned. One eye on me and one eye on his doggie door.

I drink my tea and count the seconds between flash of light and sound of thunder. One thousand one, one thousand two. Then, no chance to count. A lightening bolt strikes all too close. A piercing laser clap I see and feel and sends my dog scrambling into the house. A magnificent display of raw, unbridled killer energy; as if God unplugged His bass guitar before turning off His amp.

The smells.

Of water in the air and wet bark and mud.

The sounds.

Of raindrops and a rumbling sky. Of trees shaking in the wind. The sound of the water is a comfort. It rocks me into a few brief moments of sleep before jostling me awake with far away thunder.

I watch the rain fall and the wind blow knowing this is a one night only engagement. This is the desert. Rain doesn’t play one venue for very long.

As the party moves to the south I walk into the yard, take a deep breath of wet wonderful air and raise my glass to the sky. A toast to the smiling moon peeking through the mist, watching me enjoy this magic moment of monsoon.

“O, Lord, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth, Who has displayed His splendor above the heavens!” – Psalm 8:1

What will your kids be looking at in the picture albums when they become adults?

Children learn what they live. What kind of environment are we creating for our children? What are we doing to help them develop a sense of identity and place? How do we teach our kids about God and His faithfulness?

Joshua 4 is a wonderful account that teaches a valuable lesson in “building rock piles to remember”.

(Presented to Hope Covenant Church – Chandler, AZ – 6/13/2004)

In the last week I’ve heard this word used to describe music, cars, trucks, food, television shows, cartoon videos, athletes, flowers, newspaper articles, soda, baseball stadiums, home runs, gas mileage, slam dunks, clothes, and sale prices. I’ve also heard it used to describe monumental feats of human achievement such as showing up for work on time, being seated at a restaurant after a long wait, color coordinating an outfit, and successfully refueling an automobile.

It is, by all counts, the most popular, over-used, tired two-syllable superlative in America today. The word is? (As if you need me to tell you…)

Our word “awesome” has several uses:

1. Inspiring awe: “an awesome thunderstorm.”

2. Expressing awe: “they stood in awesome silence before the ancient ruins”

3. Expressive of awe or terror. “to be awestruck”.

4. Slang. Remarkable; outstanding: “Dude, that’s a totally awesome arcade game!”

Our problem? We’re stuck on #4. To us, everything is “awesome”.

“I’m home!” “Awesome!”

“Dinner’s ready.” “Awesome!”

“We’re going to the mall on Saturday.” “Awesome!”

“Here’s that report you asked for.” “Awesome!”

“Johnny used the potty chair all by himself!” “Awesome!” (Ok, that one is a big deal.)

“The Minnesota Vikings won today.” “Awesome!” (This season, even Johnny would be impressed.)

There’s nothing inherently wrong with slang words or phrases. Used appropriately, they add zip to our English language. To tell your bowling buddies, “I’m staying home this evening” isn’t nearly as colorful or descriptive as, “I’m on a short leash and layin’ close to my dish tonight.” The first sentence says where you’ll be. The second says where you’ll be, why you won’t be at the alley and communicates a “say no more” as to who put your collar on.

When a single word becomes all-purpose and indiscriminate in its usage, its meaning is diluted. Words once bursting with flavor are now void of zest. They’ve lost their power to influence. The adjective is no longer the spicy Hot and Sour soup that prepares your taste buds for the sizzling Orange Peel Shrimp. It’s Bland-O Cream of Mushroom soup, the main ingredient of 2,001 chicken casserole recipes. Yum.

I did a search through the Bible on the word “awesome”. I learned some facts I didn’t know. The word is used approximately 34 times. In almost every instance it refers to either God Himself or the works and actions that God has performed. Interestingly, the word “awesome” does not appear in the New Testament.

The Bible is loaded with amazing accounts. Accounts that detail the heroics of incredible, ordinary people. Moses leading the Hebrew people out of Egypt. Joshua and the Battle of Jericho. Samson slaying the Philistines. David killing the giant Goliath with a slingshot. Nehemiah and company rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem. Rahab bravely hiding the spies. Gideon and only 300 men defeating the Midianites. Paul and his adventurous missionary journeys. Yet when the Bible uses the word “awesome” it’s reserved for God and His works.

David was a “man after God’s own heart” and was a mighty king of Israel, yet he’s not referred to as “awesome”. Solomon was the wisest and wealthiest man who ever lived. He built a temple with materials so grand and exquisite that to behold it would leave you breathless. Yet neither Solomon nor the temple he constructed are described as “awesome”. In the Bible, “awesome” is reserved for God.

So what are we to do with this? Am I saying that we should feel profound guilt if we use the word “awesome” for anything other than God or His works? (Could you? Please? Just for a week?) No, not really. Just think about the word and how we use it. If we use the word “awesome” to describe songs on the radio, hamburgers, and 4×4 pickup trucks, what distinction are we making in our mind when we use the word to describe God?

In a sentence…

When we apply superlatives to the ordinary, we have no meaningful way to describe that which is truly extraordinary.

Someday when we see God face to face, our words will fail us. We’ll be speechless in the presence of His glory, goodness and grace. Until then, what say we reserve our “A” word for the One worthy of it? In the meantime, we can impress one another with our expanded vocabulary. There’s lots of awe…uh, I mean…appropriate adjectives in the thesaurus.

“Come and see what GOD has done, how AWESOME his works in man’s behalf!” – Psalm 66:5