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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In contrast…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re playing for keeps.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Some years ago my friend Duane Cross and I were in the Chicago area attending a preaching/speaking conference at Willow Creek Church. Before going to O’Hare to catch our plane, we spent several hours at the Chicago Art Institute.

If someone gave me a ticket to anywhere in the country to spend a day in solitude, I’d be walking up the steps of the Chicago Art Institute. I get misty just thinking about the big lion statues that guard the front doors. Even though I can’t draw a straight line if you spot me a ruler, the Art Institute is a magical place for me. Home to some of the world’s most famous masterpieces, it is at once a place of awe, romance, inspiration and reverence. It’s impossible for me to be in the presence of such exquisite art and not worship God.

The Art Institute has an extensive Monet collection. As Duane and I stared at one of his genius examples of Impressionism, Duane said, “Check this out”, and pointed to the signature on the lower right corner of the canvas. It read simply,

Monet 77

Duane astutely observed, “Just “Monet 77″. Not “1877″. Because for Monet, what other “77″ would there be?”

However self-aware Monet was of his God-given talent to paint, I doubt he could have imagined that this canvas he signed off on would be hanging in a world famous American gallery being admired by thousands of people some 130 years later.

It’s 2011. Whatever you and I sign off on today, literally and figuratively, ends in “11″. Unless you’re born this year and possess some stellar genes, it’s highly probable that this “11″ is the only “11″ you’re ever going to know.

Which brings us back to the question. What are you signing your name to today?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to acts of service and generosity? As you walk through the parking lot at Sam’s Club are you looking for the elderly lady who could use a hand lifting the 20-pound box of Tide into her trunk? Are you stopping to buy Girl Scout cookies from the red haired, freckle faced cutie in the Brownie vest because it will make her day and if you’re going to overpay it may as well be for Thin Mints?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to working with integrity in your job? Are you standing up for a co-worker who’s being gossipped about in the break room? Are you refusing to engage in office politics, choosing instead to focus on being your best in the position you occupy?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being an amazing spouse in your marriage? Are you loving your wife unconditionally and working hard to speak her love language? Are you respecting your husband unconditionally and working hard to speak his love language?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being a good parent? Are you looking as hard for what your kids do right as what they may be doing wrong? Are you building them up with words of encouragement and praise? Are you taking time to tell them stories about their heritage and where they come from that they may develop a sense of place and belonging?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being honest with God? Can you summon the courage to dump the trappings of church and religion and ask God for genuine relationship with Him? Can you release your grip on who you think you are so God can show you who He designed you to be?

What kind of brush strokes are you laying down on the canvas of your life today?

If we are signing our name and “11″ to a life of living for and loving others, then the canvas of our life will be viewed and remembered long after we’re gone. Because a life lived for others leaves a legacy that points people back to God.

Monet couldn’t have imagined his canvas being honored and appreciated 130 years later. He just applied the paint with the talent God gave him and signed off on it. Which is another way of saying that if we focus on painting a beautiful life of loving others and loving God, our legacy will take care of itself.

Todd A. Thompson “11″ – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

]]> http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/02/16/monet-77/feed/ 0 http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/11/15/tipping-point/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/11/15/tipping-point/#comments Mon, 15 Nov 2010 07:16:25 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=507 Most Sunday evenings you’ll find me somewhere having coffee with friends, doing my best to finish out the weekend while staving off the coming work week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Um, yeah. That’s what I thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your server can do without the mixed message.

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

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuna must be on sale today.

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

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

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

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

But the basket….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve always seen myself as the good guy.

And that’s a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

In a sentence…I have allowed my burden to become an idol.

For my readers who don’t know me, four years ago my spouse chose to walk away from our marriage. I didn’t want that. My daughters didn’t want that. We were (and continue to be) left bouncing in the wake of the consequences created by her decisions.

The burdens I’ve been carrying since; burdens of abandonment, betrayal, loneliness, starting life over from scratch without a network in a new state is but a short list of what has dominated my thoughts. Not to mention the constant fear she would again someday pick up and relocate our children again. I have allowed these burdens, by the amount of time spent fretting and obsessing over them, to become an idol. By definition, an idol is something to which time and devotion are paid. I have paid too much time and far too much attention to my burdens of the past four years. They have become idols at the expense of time and attention focusing on God’s sovereignty over my life.

Are my burdens real? Absolutely. I can’t begin to describe the profound loneliness of beginning life over in a place you never wanted to live where you know no one, leaving behind 14 years of deeply invested friendships, ministry, network, jobs and every good thing that feeds your soul. Add to that the burden of single parenting, a job God never intended in His original design of family, cover it all with a daily feeling of being “on the outside looking in” and it’s a small start in communicating what a head-banging process this has been.

My burdens are real. They are heavy. And they may not go away anytime soon. Yet in focusing on them, both knowingly and unknowingly, I have allowed these burdens to become an idol. Like a man examining a stain on his necktie, my vision has become myopic. I’ve become oblivious to the larger environment around me, the environment over which God is fully sovereign. Focusing on my burdens has created in me a spirit of fear. I’ve been waiting and worrying over the next bad thing that could happen instead of acknowledging God and His perfect love that casts out fear. To, even in one’s mind, relegate God in any way as subject to one’s circumstances is sin.

One would think a seminary graduate would have this figured out. But there is a big difference between head knowledge and heart assurance. At some point all of us will experience a life event that forces us to decide whether or not we will “own” our theology. When life is full of everything happy and circumstances are favorable, it’s easy to pay lip service to the goodness of God. When life kicks you in the head and takes away most or all of what you value, the question is unavoidable. Is God still good when life is not?

In the wake of my spouse walking away, my friend Jerry Sittser told me, “In God’s big-picture drama, people who walk out of your life are small players. As painful and horrible as this situation is, there is nothing anyone can do to thwart God’s purposes for your life. Or for the lives of your children.” This is a true statement. Yet in my pain I lost sight of this. God, in my mind, became subject to the decisions of my ex-spouse. Instead of rightly seeing God as in control of His universe (and mine) in the middle of my awful situation I viewed Him as subject to my rotten circumstances instead of sovereign over the details of my life.

Psalm 34 calls us to “magnify the Lord and exalt His name” and that in doing so God will “deliver us from all our fears.” In allowing my burdens to become an idol, I’ve done the opposite. In magnifying my fears I have minimized God. That in itself is grievous. Yet the arrogance of this sin is magnified by the irony that my spirit of fear has been cultivated while surrounded by God’s blessings. I’ve lamented to God the burden of moving to and surviving in a place where I knew no one, while across the room sits a cabinet full of customer files, every one of them a stranger until God brought them into my life. I’ve lamented to God the burden of leaving behind the bonds of an established church family, while the members and friends at Turning Point Church, many of whom don’t even know me that well, have consistently prayed for me and cared for my daughters as if they were their own. I’ve lamented to God my burden of loneliness, and in doing so treated God as if He hasn’t been here for every tear and every sleepless night.

While I’ve been guilty of treating God as though He is subject to my circumstances, true to form God has been incredibly patient and kind with me. He has, in ways big and small, used these same circumstances to remind and encourage me that He transcends everything I can see and imagine. He really does “cause all things to work together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purpose”. After disappointments in my job, He surprises me with unexpected sales. Or sitting in church, missing all my friends and ministry in Arizona, a hand on my shoulder and a voice saying, “You’ve been on my heart a lot. Let me pray for you.” Or in moments of deeply felt insignificance someone saying, “Thanks for what you said in your sermon. God really used it in my life.” And even in ways far outside the box like a guy named Bob at Sam’s Club in Roswell, New Mexico who offers to pray for me while filling my car at the gas pump.

If I’d spent as much time looking for God in the details as I’ve spent focusing on my fears, how different would my life look?

So there you have it. My confession. And my resolution to stop living from a spirit of fear. God’s arm is not too short to save. There’s nothing that will happen in my life that He’s not already aware of. The fact that I am still here is proof of His provision. He promises to give me a hope and a future. He promises not to quit working on me. And He promises to “restore all the years that the locusts have eaten”. I have no idea how He will do that, but I look forward to seeing it.

In the meantime, my burdens may not get lighter. My situation may not change. It may get worse. But it doesn’t matter because God is on His throne. He loves me. I don’t know why. But He does. And His promises are bigger than my fearful circumstances.

Or as He says, “If I (God) am for you, who can be against you?”

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

“Girls, what are we here to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, honey.”

Emma pauses before concluding, “She loves him.”

Indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Do you sing? Do you play a musical instrument? Do you pray? Do you read the Bible? Do you dance?

These are all appropriate expressions of worship. (Yes, my Baptist friends, even dancing.)

Yet it seems that the best act of worship is one we often fail to do. Or even think about.

Our best act of worship is to be the person God made us to be.

It goes like this…

If we are created in the image of God (Genesis 1) and God had all our days written down in His book before there was yet one of them (Psalm 139) and He has prepared good works in advance for us to walk in as His workmanship in Christ (Ephesians 2) and that as His workmanship we are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139), then being the person our Creator designed us to be with all our God-given gifts and talents and abilities (1 Corinthians 12; Ephesians 4) would be our best personal act of worship.

Think about the memorable people in your life. What do we say about them? We say, “There’s nobody like Susie.” Or “Jim is one of a kind”. Or “God broke the mold after He made Liz.” We say these words because these memorable people, in some way, are expressing their lives as only they could do.

What we don’t say about the memorable people in our lives is, “Bob. He’s so normal and average. He blends in perfectly. He’s so much like everyone else that it’s amazing.” No. Memorable people stand out because they display their unique personalities.

Yet how many of us spend enormous amounts of time trying to be like everyone else? How much time do we spend chasing other people’s dreams? To drive the car that everyone else wants to drive? To live in the big house and wear the same designer clothes? The irony of everything “designer” is that it makes us the same as everyone else sporting that label. The things we seek to set us apart just make us more like everyone else.

What if tomorrow everything “designer” disappeared? What would your world look like if everyone you know, including yourself, were truly being the person God made them to be? If everyone expressed themselves with a divine purity that captured the full palette of colorful personalities as God intended? What if everything we did to “be like someone else” so we could fit in and belong…ceased?

What would our world look like if we found our identity in Christ and our confidence in being the unique person God created us to be?

What would churches look like if preachers stopped trying to be like each other and started being themselves? What would missions organizations look like if the missionaries took their unique gifts in full expression to the lost they try to reach? What would church look like on Sunday morning if we all stopped putting on airs and started reflecting the image of God in our uniqueness as He designed us?

And I wonder…what would happen to the advertising industry if everyone suddenly became content with who God made them to be?

Your best act of worship is to be you. Not a cheap imitation of someone else. You glorify God when you are who He made you to be. With all your charm and quirks and idiosyncrasies.

Be the person God made you to be. It’s your best act of worship.

“God, I start this day by giving You my uniqueness. Use it any way you see fit. Help me to discover my uniqueness in You, to fully express the ways I am truly and fearfully and wonderfully made. That I would be a blessing to others by being the person You designed me to be. That I wouldn’t miss any opportunities by trying to be something I’m not, but rather experience the abundant life You promise by being fully who I am the way You made me.”

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

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

What’s your steady diet?

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

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

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

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

Whatever our steady diet is determines our flavor.

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

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

What’s your flavor?

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

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

A double glance in the rear view mirror (I’ve heard the stories about people backing before looking) tells me I’m cleared for takeoff. Out in the driveway I reach up, push the button to close the garage door and…

Nothing.

Ever notice that stuff like this never happens on days you have plenty of time?

Press the button again. And again. Harder. Really hard.

Nothing.

As if harder would fix it. Kind of like how every game of Pictionary has people who think their answer will be right if they just keep saying it louder.

Get out of the car. Check the wall mounted opener on the inside.

Nothing.

I was about to engage the manual override (pull that red cord thingy and drop the door like our grandparents, who were their own garage door opener) when I remembered a random thing my friend Brent had said in a conversation several months ago. He said during certain times of the year, during certain times of the day, his garage door won’t go down.

Could it be?

Remembering what he said, I checked the eastern sky and looked down at the safety sensor mounted at the bottom of the track. Positioning my body just so, I cast an intervening shadow…

…and pressed the button.

Door down.

The sensor was so blinded by the sun that it couldn’t read the steady signal being sent by it’s companion on the other side.

It happens to us, too. This blindness. For some, it’s an overbooked schedule that keeps us from hearing the requests for balance being sent by our families. For some, it’s a chronic circumstance or a painful past that, over time, we’ve allowed to define us. For some, it’s an addiction that dulls us to everything except our next fix of food or drugs or alcohol or pornography. Whatever “it” is, it’s in our face. Incessant and relentless, it prevents us from seeing the steady signals being sent by the other side; the side we need in order to function in the way we’re designed to do.

It takes an intervening shadow. Someone to step in between you and whatever is blinding your vision. A friend who stands in the gap long enough to get your attention and long enough for you to hear the messages you’ve not been receiving. In the extreme, it’s a full blown intervention. In the day to day, it should be a friend or friends we regularly invite to be the intervening shadow in our life.

These past couple years have been, in more ways than I can say, hell for me. Yet a decision I made early on has meant the difference between success and failure. The difference between sanity and insanity. The difference between hope and futility. The difference between character and cowardice. My decision? I purposely and pro-actively surrounded myself with intervening shadows. Counselors, advisors, mentors and friends, many of them older and all of them wiser than me. I gave every one of them permission to point out my blind spots. I gave every one of them permission to kick my butt if they thought I needed it.

Suffice it to say they did some pointing.

And no small amount of butt kicking.

And it made all the difference.

In relationships, there is a difference between “being transparent” and “being vulnerable”. Transparency means I control how much of me I let you see. Vulnerability means I give you permission to work truth into my life. We can be transparent with many. Vulnerable with only a few. A small circle of intervening shadows, committed to our growth and bent on doing their part in helping us to “be conformed to the image of His Son” (Romans 8:29). It’s hard work. Gut wrenching work, if you’re doing it right. You’ll cry and you’ll cuss. But the character and clarity of vision that comes from committed friendships is invaluable.   

Whatever’s in your face, whatever’s blinding you, get some intervening shadows in your life. You can’t afford to surround yourself with a bunch of “yes” people who tell you what you want to hear. You need people who will stand in the gap and tell you the truth until you’re able to tell the truth to  yourself.

My life and my future are too important. I can’t afford to be the leader of my own “rubber stamp parade”.

Neither can you.

“Better is open rebuke than love that is concealed. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy.”

- Proverbs 27:5-6

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you think so, Emma?”

“Because I felt a finger.”

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

Real.

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

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

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

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

Ouch.

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

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

Let’s be real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A cleaner field makes for a better crop.

A better crop makes for a great harvest.

Praying for you as we pull together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Owning it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His answer?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That last one is golden. 

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

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

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

They are still learning and don’t yet understand the importance of a soft touch. Emma had a two footer to finish out the first hole. At the top of her backswing I had to grab the club because her follow through would have driven the ball down the Superstition Freeway. Annie couldn’t get to the next hole fast enough. Hit the ball and run. Hit the ball and run. We had the best time together and they enjoyed figuring out the ramps and which door to hit their ball through.

It was getting to be about 7:30 and they were starting to fade so we stopped to come home. We weren’t done with the course but it didn’t matter. They were whining a little on the way out and weren’t acting as nicely as they could. Their behavior was nothing I had to discipline them for. It had been a long day for them and they were tired. I got them home for some food and a bath and bed.

In the middle of the night, maybe around 4 AM, I felt someone looking at me. Annie was standing there. She crawled in and snuggled up next to me, face to face.

“Daddy, I’m sorry that I quit golfing tonight.”

That didn’t sound like the real reason she was out here talking to me in the wee hours. I told her she didn’t quit, we just decided to come home.

Then she said, “Daddy, I’m sorry that I wasn’t very nice to you on the way home.”

So that’s it.

I told her it was ok. That she was tired and we all get cranky when we’re tired. I hugged her and told her how much I appreciated her apology. “It’s not easy to say you’re sorry, Annie. I’m very proud of you. Do you want to go back to bed now?”

She nodded.

“Are you ok?”

She smiled, “I’m ok.”

“I love you, Annie. So much.”

“I love you too so much.” And she trotted off to her room.

I learn from my kids all the time. Here’s what I learned from Annie at 4 in the morning.

Annie thought it was so important to make things right with me that she got up in the middle of the night to do it. It is a hard thing to come to someone and confess and apologize. I know that’s true for me. More often than not, our ego keeps us from saying the things we need to say to those we’ve hurt or offended. The longer we wait, the harder it gets.

That’s what the Bible means when it talks about “giving the devil a foothold.” When we let our conscience grow cold, we clear a spot for all the wrong things to grow in our heart. Hard feelings. Bitterness. Grudges. Resentment. Once those grow deep, pride becomes a ruthless gardener who is loathe to let them be uprooted.

Annie’s apology reminded me of another truth. When we care enough about the other person to say “I’m sorry” and make things right, we elevate and honor the relationship. Annie showed me in word and action that I was a person she cared about enough to talk about what was troubling her. And significant to me was how I felt when it was over. When she apologized for what she perceived was a hurtful thing she had done, I would have moved the world for her. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more proud of Annie. Because of the respect and honor she showed me, it makes me want to work even harder at being a better Dad. That single 60-second transparent moment deepened our relationship.

When we confess and apologize for the hurts we’ve caused, we:

Communicate a contrite heart that cares about making things right.

Communicate respect to the person and our relationship.

Communicate that the person is more important than our pride.

Communicate a desire to move forward in a healthy, restored way.

God, help us be people who care enough to say, “I’m sorry.”

“And be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you.” – Ephesians 4:32

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Who do you think makes the coffee?”

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

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

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

Go make some coffee.

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