When the sun began to slip behind the trees lining the west side of the lake, we pulled in the ropes and turned the boat toward the dock. As we headed across the water I looked over at Clair and Steve and saw them putting their life jackets back on.

“Are we going to ski some more?”, I asked.

Clair threw me a life jacket and said, “Put this on.” Clair was two years older and bigger than I was, so I did. He then pointed at Kristi, “You drive the boat.”

As Kristi took her place behind the wheel, Clair tightened the belt on his vest and said, “Here’s what we’re gonna do. When Kristi gets this boat up to full speed, the three of us are going to jump out. It’ll be fun.”

I believed him.

Kristi spun the boat around and jammed the accelerator forward. We were really flying. With a scream, Clair jumped over the edge. Then Steve jumped. Just like Navy commandos in a war film.

Then I jumped.

I hit the water, but I didn’t go in the water. I just bounced and rolled across the top like dice on a card table. When I stopped rolling, I swooshed into the lake. After getting my bearings I looked around and saw Clair and Steve bobbing in the water like a couple of brainless buoys.

Somebody yelled, “Is anybody dead?”

Nobody was dead.

So we got back in the boat and did it again.

When I think about that day on the lake, I can’t help but admit it’s a fitting illustration of how I sometimes handle the fast and frantic pace of life. The quiet waters were there. The calm and the still. But I wasn’t resting beside them. I was bouncing and rolling across the top.

If I’m honest, too often that’s my pattern. I bounce and roll over the top of the quiet waters God leads me to. Those moments of reflection I need for renewal and godly refreshment. Instead of resting beside the still waters, I race past desperately needed solitude with Him.

And even knowing that I’ve bounced and rolled past the quietness God offers me, I get back in my busy boat and do it again.

This is the time of year when we begin to evaluate where we’ve been and where we’d like to go. What we’ve accomplished and what remains to be achieved. Hopefully there are goals fulfilled we can check off our 2008 list. Even if we achieved greatly, it’s likely we have unfinished business to carry into 2009.

As we evaluate and plan, I wonder… 

…if we spent less time spent bouncing and rolling out of the busy boat and more time reflecting by the still waters, is it possible we could accomplish more? Better, would more time spent with God beside the still waters help us to accomplish the right things? Would He help us not to confuse activity with productivity? If we spent more time with God, to hear Him and know His heart; is it possible our efforts to achieve would begin to flow from our relationship with Him?

Here’s to less time spent bouncing and rolling. More time spent with God beside the still waters. In spending time with God, we learn who we are in Him. When we know who we are in Him, we understand better what He would have us do for Him.

“…He leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul.” – Psalm 23

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Rock piles.

Depending on the lay of the farmer’s land, before planting crops it’s sometimes necessary to harvest rock. The freezing of winter and the thawing of spring brings to the surface of the ground stones that were previously hidden. Some are hand-sized. An easy grab and pitch into a skid loader bucket or onto a flatbed trailer. Others require two hands, a knee bend and a strong back. And on rare occasion, one needs to be pulled out with a tractor and a log chain.

Say the phrase “pick rock” to any Iowa farm kid and they know exactly what you’re talking about.

The reason for picking rock is simple. Come harvest time you don’t want a field stone to go screaming through the internal gears of a John Deere combine that could be traded even up for one of your nicer homes in Scottsdale, Edina, or Lake Forest. So to avoid costly down time and expensive repairs, you walk the field and move the rock to an out of the way place.

My Uncle Ev and Aunt Katherine had a rock pile on their farm. We kids called it “The Mountain”. We played regularly on it. It seemed so big. Go back there now and it’s still there, a memorial to a literal century of hard work and successful farming. When we look at it, we remember.

Joshua 4 is one of my favorite accounts in the Bible. It’s where God rolls back the waters of the Jordan River to allow the people of Israel to walk across on dry ground. God instructs them to build a monument of 12 stones to mark the event. He had a specific reason. “…in the future, when your children ask you, “What do these stones mean?” tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.” -(Joshua 4:6-7)

God knows that His humans have short memories. That’s why He wanted them to set up the 12 stones as a reminder of the miracle He did. That rock pile was for remembering the great work He had done for them.

This Thanksgiving season as I count my blessings, it occurs to me that I’ve done a lot of worrying this year. A lot of asking God why He seems so slow to respond in certain areas of my life. And if I’m honest, no small amount of doubt and anxiety. Wondering sometimes silently and sometimes in full voice, “God, are you gonna take care of me?”

The irony, of course, is that I’ve done my worrying and doubting and whining while sitting squarely on top my rock pile. Those stones of good health, food to eat, a place to live, a car to drive, healthy children, opportunities to earn a living, friends old and new, wonderful parents, a church family, and multiple moments of God’s grace and mercy, dropped into my life at a point of need and always above and beyond what I could ask or imagine.

What audacity. To sit atop my rock pile of blessings, lifetime proof of God’s faithful provision, and wonder if He will come through for me this time?

Perhaps there is more symbolism to the stones than I realize. Could it possibly be God’s inside joke of what a blockhead I can be?

God, please forgive my arrogance of distrusting You while surrounded by your tangible blessings. This Thanksgiving help me to be mindful that You are forever faithful, my Source and my Provider. When I wonder, when I doubt, remind me to look at the rock pile that You’ve built in my life and renew my faith and trust, because You are faithful and true.

Here’s hoping you take a good long look at your rock pile.

Happy Thanksgiving.

“The Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The Lord protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need He saved me. Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.” – Psalm 116:5-7

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

After the sun and sugar had their way the girls were ready to go home. We loaded our loot from the silent auction into the car and rolled down 19th Street, happily chatting about how fun it was to smash confetti eggs on people’s heads and when we were going to use the movie tickets we’d just won.

In mid-sentence Annie said, “Whoa, Daddy. Funeral.”

We all looked to the right. Resthaven Cemetery. The familiar roll away green awning. A small group of people huddled in a semi-circle. An American flag fluttering in the wind in front of the honor guard from the VFW.

At 45 miles per hour the solemnity passed quickly.

We were all quiet for a moment. Even Annie and Emma, about to turn 8, seemed aware of the contrast. Just a few blocks away kids are running and laughing, playing ring toss and bouncing around on giant inflatable moon walks.

Such a short drive.

Near where I grew up in Iowa there is a quaint country church, surrounded by corn and soybean fields. A big shade tree sits on their property, the perfect spot for the playground equipment they erected…right next to their cemetery. Not even a fence to separate.

I recall thinking how odd to see monkey bars and swings so close to headstones. As if one has nothing to do with the other. Then a moment later realizing that, intentional or not, this was a picture of life. In the scope of eternity, the distance between the playground and the burial ground is shorter than we think. A quick ride down the slide and we’re bumping against the granite.

Glancing in the rear view mirror I see my daughters. My beautiful, sun-kissed, sweaty, sticky mess squirrely girlies.

Take them home.

Hug them.

Hose them off.

Hug them.

Eat lunch.

See if they’ll share some of their Pixy Stix while we watch Scooby Doo together and remember my childhood as I enjoy theirs.

It’s such a short drive.

“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12

Todd A. Thompson - www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

I’d be on a plane to Chicago before you could say “deep dish pizza”.

Several years ago I had opportunity to attend a preaching/teaching conference at Willow Creek Church with my friend and pastor Duane Cross. When it was over we had some time before catching our plane back to Phoenix. So we drove downtown to the Art Institute of Chicago. My favorite place in my favorite city. One of the world’s best collections of classic art. Monet, Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Picasso all under one big roof.

I actually got misty seeing the lion statues that guard the entrance to the museum. Perhaps you have a place you go to that is good for your soul. The Art Institute of Chicago is good for my soul.

Keep in mind that when it comes to art, I can’t draw a straight line if you spot me a ruler. So I’m sure I can’t appreciate the complexity and genius of these masterpieces the way a true artist would. But I go and stand in front of them and am moved by them just the same.

We had limited time. Duane asked me what I most wanted to see. I told him that if all we did was go and stare at Seurat’s “Sunday Afternoon”, it would be worth the trip. It’s my absolute favorite.

Seurat, a mere 25 years old when he painted this defining work, had spent previous years studying theories of light. The painting technique that he employed was based on those theories. Unlike the broader brush strokes of mixed colors that other Impressionist painters used, Seurat developed a new technique called “pointellism”. Or, as he preferred to describe it, “divisionism”.

As to size, it is a huge painting – the canvas stretches 7 feet x 10 feet. This masterpiece took 2 years to complete. From a distance what you see is the picture. The images of the people enjoying their Sunday afternoon on the Sienne River in France. What you don’t see from a distance is that the entire painting is made up of tiny dashes and dots of pure color paint.

For the first year, Seurat painted nothing but horizontal dashes. The dashes are each one detached from the others. Then he added the dots of pure color paint. As you might imagine, this was a tedious and exacting process. The project was so intense that during the two years it took him to paint it, Seurat refused to have lunch with his close friends lest they distract him and break his concentration.

Up close, the dashes and dots look like, well…dashes and dots. Yet as you step back from the painting to a distance, the dashes and dots combine optically in your eye to form the desired image.

For two years, nothing but days and days of dashes and dots.

Dashes and dots.

How could dashes and dots make a picture? It doesn’t make sense that detached horizontal dashes and dots of paint can combine to make a masterpiece.

But they do.

What are the dashes and dots of your life? What of those thousands of detached horizontal lines of seemingly disconnected events? When you step back are they really all that disconnected? When you step back far enough can you see how God has painted them in such a way that they form the picture of your life?

Was it really chance that you took that job in a different city? Was it just coincidence that you met that certain person? Was the career you felt trapped in really a waste of time? Was the serious illness really a stand alone event that led nowhere? Was the tragedy in your life the end of a dream? Or was God preparing you for something bigger?

Standing less than a foot away from Seurat’s “Sunday Afternoon” and staring at the canvas, you think, “No way does this make a picture. It’s just dashes and dots of paint. No rhyme, no reason, no pattern.” And up close, you’d be right. It looks like one big random mess.

Only when you step back does it begin to make sense. 5 feet. 10 feet. 15 feet. 20 feet. And then the random mess becomes a beautiful Sunday afternoon picnic.

Friends, if you’re like me, you might in the middle of a mess that makes no sense. All you see are dashes of dread and dots of pain. You want to make sense of it but you can’t. Not right now. We’re too close to see what God is painting. This close it’s just dashes and dots. The disappointments and heartbreaks, how can these be part of a beautiful picture?

With brush strokes of grace, God the Artist makes sense of our dashes and dots. Let’s remember to step back from time to time to see how He is bringing them together into the beautiful picture that is our life. Because whether we see it or not, He’s doing exactly that.

God promises to continue perfecting the good work that He began in us. Which is to say He will continue dashing and dotting until the masterpiece is complete.

“For we know that all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” – Romans 8:28

“For I am confident that He (God) who began a good work in you will continue to perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:6

There’s a difference between thinking and reflecting.

We think all the time. We run countless checklists in our head every day. But when’s the last time we took time to reflect on God’s purpose for our life?

How a trip to Chicago, time spent viewing the works of the Old Masters, and dashes and dots give pause for a season of reflection.

(Presented to Hope Covenant Church – Chandler, AZ – 11/7/2004)