“Ladies and gentlemen, hear ye, hear ye! Step right up! Welcome to the Freak Show! Behind these doors is the biggest group of mystifying misfits ever gathered under one roof. Forget the Bearded Lady and the 12-Toed Man. Never mind Lizard Girl and Penrod the Mind Reading Chicken. Zoltan the Cyclops has nothing on this collection of mutants and ner’ do wells.

But take heed! Do not enter lightly. These are not strangers passing through town. No! They are your friends and neighbors. And yes, hold on to your hat, even your very own family!

Yes, indeed! Step right up if you dare to get a close look at the biggest freak show on earth! Inside these doors you’ll find…

Business owners faithfully tithing off profits from their illegal schemes!

Choir members singing hymns on Sunday and gossipping Monday through Saturday!

Deacons denouncing divorce while gorging themselves to gluttony!

Treasurers stealing their company blind!

Be sure to stop and see Haughty Harriet, the back-biting Bible study leader! But be warned, do not look directly into her eyes!

But wait! That’s not all! Inside these doors you’ll see unteachable teachers and pious pilfering preachers!

You’ll meet closet smokers and behind the curtain drinkers! And don’t forget addictions of every kind!

There’s Business Card Bob and Ned the Networker. Vicky the Victim and Nancy Narcissist. Prima Donna Alanna and Judgmental Jerry.

I know what you’re thinking. “Will I get my money’s worth?” Friends if you only knew…behind these doors you’ll find Paul and Polly Political. And keep your children close when going past “Hate the Sin and…what the heck, Hate the Sinner” Sam.

Yessir, ladies and gentlemen if you’re still standing at the end you’ll meet the most frightening freak of all…the saint who’s forgotten what it’s like to be a sinner!

I know you’re ready to pay your money and take your chance. But I’ve got to tell you one more thing. This is not for the timid or faint of heart. For those brave souls willing to go face to face with the scariest freak they’ve ever seen, just one extra dollar gives you access to the horrifying, terrifying Mirror of Truth!”

Yes, indeed ladies and gentlemen. It’s a freak show. And we’re the freaks.

Though no doubt some will castigate me for saying so, I’ll say it anyway. When we consider the corporate mess of humanity that makes up the church and that the church is the bride of Christ, it’s not hard to wonder why He picked the ugliest girl to marry.

Yet He did. In spite of our sin and betrayal and fickle hearts, in spite of our despicable treatment of each other, in spite of our arrogant, self-absorbed and over inflated opinion of ourselves, Jesus picked the church to be His bride.

It’s a freak show. And we’re the freaks. Apart from Christ, we are sinful people with a fallen sin nature. The irony of our fallen sin nature is that it prevents us from knowing how truly fallen we really are. It’s one of the enemy’s best and most often used tools. If he can keep us busy looking around, comparing ourselves with everyone else at the freak show, we never look in the mirror to see the freak that we are. And if he can get us to believe that our freakyness isn’t as extreme or as bad as the others at the show, we’ll never look into the mirror of God’s holiness.

On the first night of a theology class at Phoenix Seminary, Dr. Steve Tracy said to us, “Of all the Bible doctrines, the doctrine of sin is the most important. Because if we don’t understand our sin, we can’t fully appreciate the miracle of God’s salvation.”

He’s right.

I said to my friend Andy, “Do you ever have moments where you realize that life is a freak show…and we’re the freaks?”

Andy answered, “Isn’t it great that Jesus stepped into our freakness? He became one of us for the purpose of saving us.”

Amen.

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

“We’re all bastards. But God loves us anyway.” – Writer/Preacher Will Campbell’s paraphrase of Romans 5:8

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“I feel like my life is on hold.”

My Dad’s habit is to get up about 4:30 in the morning to read his Bible and pray for people for several hours before the day starts. On March 20 he suffered a massive stroke during his prayer time.

So for the past several weeks I’ve been sitting in different units of Avera McKennan Hospital in Sioux Falls, South Dakota with my Dad. From ICU to Neuro to acute care I’ve watched him get poked and prodded, IV’d and intubated. He can’t swallow. Can’t talk. Can’t walk. His right side is mostly paralyzed. He’s completely aware of what’s going on, recognizing everyone who comes to see him, yet unable to visit with them. Which, to my Dad, is taking away his favorite thing in the whole world; interacting with people. If my Dad could talk, I’m pretty certain he would say he feels like his life is on hold.

If Dad’s life is on hold, then there’s a whole hospital full of people in the same boat. Like Hilda, across the pod from my Dad in the neuro unit. She had a malignant tumor on her spine. They removed it and for several days she couldn’t move her legs. She’s the wife of Mike, a Hutterite farmer I became friends with over days and nights of visiting in the waiting room. We talk hogs and cattle and crops to give our minds a break from watching our loved ones struggle.

Strokes, heart attacks, paralysis, broken bones, spinal injuries. This entire place is full of people in backless gowns confined to a bed, able to watch but not participate in the flurry of activity around them. My Dad can’t eat. Can’t talk. Can’t walk. I know he feels like his life is on hold.

Is it?

On the hurried flight to get to my Dad in the hours after his stroke I changed planes in Dallas-Ft. Worth. DFW is one of the busiest airports in the world. They have moving sidewalks there. When you’re on them you can stand still or you can keep walking. It really doesn’t matter. The sidewalk goes forward regardless.

Life is never on hold. It’s like the moving sidewalk. Always going forward regardless of how we feel. That is a simple matter of time and motion. The infinitely more important reason that our lives are never on hold is because our sovereign God has “written all our days down in His book before there was yet one of them” (Psalm 139). Which, to follow the logic, means that if God is sovereign then each day in that book has a purpose.

There is no such thing as “partial sovereignty”. God is either fully in control or has no control at all. Because God is fully in control it means there is no day, no experience that befalls us good or bad that is outside his sovereign plan for our lives. Further, God promises these days written in His book are purposeful. Because “we are God’s workmanship created in Christ Jesus for good works which He has prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10) God didn’t just block out the calendar of our lives. He filled it with divine tasks and appointments for us to engage in.

When we say “I feel like my life is on hold” what we’re really saying is “My plans are on hold”. Strokes and tumors and layoffs and car wrecks and people walking away can alter our human direction. But as my mentor Jerry Sittser wisely reminded me a few years ago when it appeared my life plans were derailed, “No matter the circumstances, God’s purposes for your life will never be thwarted.”

Whatever event has put your life into a tail spin, remember you’re still on God’s moving sidewalk. Through the chaos and confusion He will take you forward to your appointed destination, accomplishing good works along the way. It’s all written down in the Book.

In God’s plan you’re always moving forward. Even when you can’t walk.

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

Todd A. Thompson – A Slice Of Life To Go

Assuming these numbers are accurate the upside, if you’re an extremely paranoid person, is that people only have 3% of their time to plot against you. I mentioned this to an actuary friend of mine and he said, “Well, if the U.S. population is 300 million, it still means that 9 million people could be out to get you.” That’s statistical comfort at its best.

If we think about the people in our lives as a series of concentric circles then the red circle bullseye is the 97%. It’s the “I, Me, & Mine” circle. If we’re really generous we could include our immediate family in there with us.

The next circle out is our close friends. These are the people we do life with. The ones we share our ups and downs, go on vacations with and watch each other’s dogs when we’re out of town. These are the friends who love us no matter what, the ones we know will be there in good times and bad.

The next circle out are our acquaintances. We see them during the course of our work and routine. The Schwann’s man who knocks on our door to make sure we have enough blackberry ice cream. The mechanic who keeps our Chevy running smooth. Our co-workers. The lady behind the counter at the Post Office who knows us well enough to ask about our kids.

What about the outer circle? These are the “close by, far away” people. We see them. We don’t know them. Nameless to us yet with names like us. They have families and are living life the way we’re living ours. The grocery store clerk who says, “Press “Yes” and then enter your pin number, please.” The driver of the blue pick-up who gets to the stoplight the same time we do every morning on our way to work. The old man who walks his Scottish Terrier past our house every evening at dusk. The teenagers in the low-rider hot rod with a trunk full of audio speakers that rattle our roof as they drive by at 11 PM. Moms pushing strollers through the mall on a Saturday morning. The young couple in the next booth over at Chili’s drinking iced tea and eating steak fajitas.

These are the “close by, far away” people. We see them. We don’t know them.

It’s a given we don’t have the time or emotional energy to know everyone we come in contact with. But I wonder if we could do a better job of focusing on that 3% we have to think about others? How much encouragement could we pass on in stand alone moments with the “close by, far away” people in our lives?

The first time I really started thinking about my 3% was during my graduate school years at Phoenix Seminary. I purposely got my divinity degree to use it in the workplace. And when I began to focus on my 3%, God introduced me to lots of people. Every one of them, like you and I, have a story. Some are ordinary. Some are inspiring. Some are terrifying. All of them are real life.

“Mike” is new to the area. He’s a husband and dad to two small children. He likes it here but his wife is homesick for the town they left behind.  When you’re home with the kids all day in a brand new city it’s difficult to get out and make friends. He feels the pressure of making a living while trying to be a good husband that encourages his wife. They’re adjusting, but it’s not easy.

“Jim” doesn’t seem to fit the mold of a salesman. He’s too rough around the edges. When I ask about this he tells me he is a third generation Irish policeman. During 15 years on the force in a big city on the east coast he eventually went to work as an undercover officer. During an ambush he was shot 12 times. Eight bullets went into his Kevlar vest, another went through his arm, one grazed his shoulder, one shattered his knee and one .22 caliber bullet hit him in the mouth, lodging itself in the bone just below his nose, knocking out some of his teeth. He doesn’t know why it didn’t go all the way through his head. He retired on disability and now makes a living as a collections agent while his heart and his passion remain with the police work he can no longer physically perform.

“Mary” is nice enough but seems preoccupied most of the time. Polite, but distant. Each day at her work she appears to be carrying something much heavier than the clipboard she walks around with. When I inquire, she tells me that she’s in the middle of legal action against her ex-husband who is in jail for murdering their 10-month old daughter. Her reality is listening to attorneys tell her that he likely won’t get a life term because her daughter “wasn’t yet a productive member of society” and that her being beaten to death wasn’t “violent enough” to merit his being permanently incarcerated. Mary says she buried her baby the day before Easter but hasn’t had time to grieve yet because she can’t afford to be anything but strong for her 5-year old son, who was an eyewitness to his sister’s murder. “His nightmares are just now starting to go away. I only have so much money so I’m spending it on counseling for him. I’ll deal with me later.”

We have at least two things in common with ”close by, far away” people. First, the God of the universe is our Creator. He made us all in His image and as such we are all priceless to Him. Second, we’re all grinding it out, trying to make it in this rough and tumble world. We don’t need to know their name to know that they could use some encouragement.

So next time you’re face to face with a “close by, far away” person, don’t wonder if they need a kind word. Assume it. Then offer it. Always with grace.

God understands our frame and He understands our 97% self-absorption. Yet if we’ll ask Him to help us focus our 3% on the “close by, far away” people in our day, He will use us to encourage others in the middle of their story.

And who knows? Maybe in the process begin a new chapter in our own.

“Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. Look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” – Philippians 2:3-4

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Being a writer, it was a choice environment. When up to 18,000 people show up for an evening of entertainment there’s always plenty of material to gather.

Part of the job included working concerts. Over the years I was fortunate to see and hear famous musicians from almost every genre perform Top 40 hits that spanned decades.  U2, Cher, The Rolling Stones, REO Speedwagon, Styx, Simon and Garfunkel, Phil Collins, The Police, Faith Hill, Nine Inch Nails,  Mannheim Steamroller, The Goo Goo Dolls,  Alan Jackson and the Boston Pops to name but a few.

The most memorable part for me was the opportunity to see and hear these artists perform their signature songs, the tunes for which they are known. I was blessed to see many classics. Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”. Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” Roger Waters presenting the best of Pink Floyd. And instead of acting like the 60+ year old grandmother she was, Tina Turner danced with the energy of a hyper teenager while asking the musical question, “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”

Some of the signature tunes, like Gloria Estefan’s “Conga”, had people dancing in the aisles. Other times performers brought thousands of people into a reverent silence as they listened to old familiar ballads. When the Eagles’ Don Henley uttered the last words of “Desperado” and the piano’s plaintive last notes echoed away, you could have heard a guitar pick drop.

When Andrea Boccelli sang “Ave Maria” it was so moving I almost turned Catholic. And when Sting sang “Fields of Gold” I stood in the portico, transfixed and crying in the presence of music and lyric played to perfection.

I doubt anyone puts more demonstrable passion into their signature song than Joe Cocker when he sings “You Are So Beautiful”. Small towel gripped in one hand, other hand on the microphone, pulling the stand toward his sweat soaked shirt he sings in his one of a kind raspy, breathy voice, “You are so beautiful to me. Can’t you see? You’re everything I hope for and everything I need. You are so beautiful to me.” In his tone is an urgent desperation. She needs to know. No, she must know how beautiful she is to him. And when the song is over you’re afraid he will collapse because every ounce of who he is was just spent communicating his heart.

Truly there are songs that can’t be covered by anyone else. Only the original artist can do it justice.

The signature song begins with a musical phrase. A familiar string of notes that causes the audience to cheer and quickly quiet so as not to miss what they’ve come to hear. Maybe it’s the piano intro to “A Bridge Over Troubled Water” or Eric Clapton’s unmistakeable slow hand guitar riff into “Wonderful Tonight”. The artist on stage begins to sing and play. As the notes and words roll over the crowd, they reach down and pull up memories.

And the audience remembers. Their first dance in high school. Sitting on the tailgate of a Chevy pickup on a Saturday at harvest time. The sound of the wind in the pines during a fishing trip with their Dad. Jukeboxes full of 45′s at the small town diner that served greasy cheeseburgers and delicious chocolate malts.

They remember road trips and driving down the freeway holding hands. They remember staring at the moon on lonely nights apart and making love on rainy afternoons. The signature song stirs the memories of car washes that turned into water fights that turned into backyard lay on the grass and stare at the clouds afternoons that, here in this moment, it feels they could reach out and touch.

They remember walking the floor at 2 AM with their bundle of noisy joy and they remember handing over the car keys to their daughter for the first time. They remember their Mom and their Dad and how many times they yelled, “Turn it down!” when this song tested the limits of the Pioneer speakers 30 years ago and how they’d pay money to hear them complain just one more time about the volume. And at the end of the signature song, the notes fade and float and settle on tears that are thankful for the kindness of dim light.

As Hugh Prestwood wrote, “Even if the whole world has forgotten, the song remembers when.”

What’s your signature song?

Not the one on the radio or your I-Pod. What’s the signature song that is you?

Are you singing the song of your life in such a way as to create memories? What’s your signature song? What’s the tune of your life that causes other people to remember and laugh and smile and cry and be warmed by the thought of the you that is you?

What’s your signature song? What is the unique pursuit of your life that God has hard-wired you to do? Are you singing that song with all your being? It’s been said and it is true. Life is God’s gift to us. What we do with that life is our gift to God.

So be who you are. Love deeply. Live passionately. Cry hard and laugh loud. Live for God and others and sing your song with a passion that leaves you spent, sweat soaked and beautiful.

Because your signature song can’t be covered by any other artist.

You’re the only one who can sing it.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

The Beautiful Dirty Beat

In the beginning was the beat. And the beat was with God. And the beat was God. And the beat was good.

The beautiful, dirty beat.

Jazz cats and Rock-n-Rollers, Fusion artists and Punkers, Psychedelics and Metal Heads, Rhythm and Blues’ers, all may think their beat is new. But it’s all just variations on one eternal theme.

Because the beat’s always been with God.

2/4, 3/4, 4/4, 5/8 or 6/8, pick your groove. Or be like my man Dave Brubeck who told us all to “Take Five” while he beat the beat in 5/4 time. Whatever your meter, the beat is God’s and the beat is good.

Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. You know about the beat. Even your dog knows about the beat. Just watch Fido’s tail when you come home. A wagging metronome of joy.

Oh yeah, all God’s creatures know about the beat.

Because in the beginning was the beat. And the beat was with God. And the beat was God.

It’s His beautiful, dirty beat.

Beautiful, yes. But dirty, too?

Oh, yeah.

Because the beautiful beat, it travels. It goes places.

It gets coffee stained at the diner. Dusty at the rodeo. Picks up some grease in the garage.

It gets ripped and torn in the mosh pit. A little smoky at the jazz club. Sweaty at the honkytonk. And beer splashed at the baseball game.

At the opera it’s dressed to the nines. And if you can dig it, at church it wears purple when someone spills the communion juice.

I guess you could say that the beat is beautiful because it’s dirty.

The beat goes everywhere and everywhere it goes, like the pounding throbbing bass bleeding through the brick walls of a downtown club, God’s beat finds and fills every crack and crevice.

The beat, the beautiful dirty beat, goes everywhere. Because the beat is God’s, it goes where He goes and He goes everywhere.

The beautiful, dirty beat…it’s God’s heartbeat. His life infusing, sin forgiving, soul healing, joy bringing, relentless pulsing desire to make forever music with His creation.

Can you feel it?

In the beginning was the beat. And the beat was with God. And the beat was God.

And the beat, the beautiful, dirty beat…

It’s good.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Though it would be difficult for my kids to imagine, computers weren’t everywhere back then. There were no laptops or desktop PC’s in every room. Our college computer network was confined more or less to one room known to students as the “Computer Center”. It sported a large mainframe computer that the school was rightfully proud of and that, in today’s technology, would have the practicality of a 500-pound paperweight.

Dan and Dave were into computers. They took classes in coding and spent a lot of time in front of those monochrome screens with the blinking green cursor. I remember them walking down the hall with telltale dot matrix printer paper sticking out of their notebooks. Sheets and sheets of letters and symbols and numbers that looked to me like a drunk monkey had done the Charleston on their keyboard and then hit “print”. But to Dan and Dave it all made perfect sense.

One day during a dorm room conversation Dan and Dave were talking about something called “email”.  “Email? What’s that?”, I asked. They explained that email was short for electronic mail. You could send messages from one computer to another. In fact, they said they had sent messages to each other in the Computer Center.Their enthusiasm for this was pronounced. Imagine. Electronic mail!

It didn’t strike me as all that impressive. Or practical. My response to Dan and Dave? “What’s the point of sending messages to each other in the computer center when you can lean back in your chair and talk in person?”

Obviously, I wasn’t very good at envisioning the future. Had I been better at it perhaps I would have spared myself becoming a Minnesota Vikings fan. Also obvious is that Dan and Dave could see potential beyond what I thought was impossible. All I saw was one room and a handful of computers. Dan and Dave saw an electronic world.

Going about my days in December I hear phrases like “the magic of the season” and “the miracle of Christmas”. Magic and miracles both imply something beyond our human ability to “do”. Often even beyond our ability to imagine.

When we’re stuck in one room, it’s difficult to imagine a bigger world.

If you think about it, everything about Christmas nudges and prods us. It grabs our parka sleeve and pulls us out of the room we’re in and into God’s world where anything is possible. A world where snowmen talk and dance and reindeer fly. Where misfit toys find their place and Santa delivers to every house whether they have a chimney or not. A world where your curmudgeonly boss gives you an unexpected bonus and an even more unexpected kind word. A world with Little Drummer Boys and silver bells and First Noel’s and fruitcakes and yule logs burning. A world that wherever you find yourself, you want to come home. Even if home is Cleveland. Or Tucumcari. Or the no stoplight town that no one’s ever heard of.

Christmas calls us out to a world where angels sing to shepherds about a baby born. A baby in a manger who has come to pull you and me out of our dark and oh so sad room and into a world where God can do anything. Not the least of which is making us perfect and new, giving us a forever hope and a future.

What room are you stuck in? A room of disappointment? Broken dreams?

Are you stuck in a room of bitterness? Cynicism? And maybe you’d like to come out of your room but you’d just get slapped down if you did?

Is your room a waiting room? A waiting room where they never call your name?

Whatever room you’re in, Christmas is calling you out. Magic and miracles are definitely beyond your ability to do.

They are not beyond God’s ability to do.

Or as the angel said to Mary, “Nothing is impossible with God.” (Luke 1:37)

Here’s hoping you experience God’s love and desire to do for you “above and beyond what you can ask or imagine.” (Ephesians 3:20)

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

On one particular Thursday in 1994 I drive to East Mesa to clean Mrs. Follett’s house. Whatever needs this dear 83-year old lady may have, my service doesn’t appear to be one of them. Her house is spotless when I arrive. Dust mice are an endangered species in her home. The Scandinavian prayer plaque hanging in the kitchen makes me feel welcome, like the kitchen of an Iowa farm wife which, it turns out, she happens to be.

Wiping off her counter, it seemed robbery to be paid for cleaning an already impeccable house. I mention this to her yet she insists she needs me. Mrs. Follett’s standard of clean is high indeed. She’s part of a vanishing breed. Midwestern farm wives with strong backs and strong values who came through the Depression, raising kids and cattle, sewing clothes, cooking meals, baking bread from scratch, working in the fields, and keeping a home.

I notice the wistful look on her face as she watches me. With a can of Lemon Pledge in hand I say, “This is hard for you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my yes, it sure is. No one cleans my house like I do. But my arthritis keeps me from doing it so I need help. I just close my eyes and try not to look.”

She looks away for several seconds but can’t help opening one eye. “Don’t forget to dust the bottom of those chairs.”

Her husband of 63 years is dying in a nursing home nearby. He’s lost 20 pounds in the last couple weeks and will pass away any day. With unconvincing bravery she admits, “I know it’s coming. We’ve had a good life. But until the door closes for good, I won’t know how truly hard it will be.”

A drive toward Red Mountain takes me to my next job, a large brick-front home at the end of a cul-de-sac. There’s an Arizona Highway Patrol car in the driveway, obviously taking the day off along with it’s driver.

A forty something man with a thin mustache greets me. His wife is out running errands today, he says. Tomorrow she is scheduled for an MRI at the hospital. He seems relieved that at least for the next couple days she won’t have to endure any more painful invasive procedures, like spinal taps or chest catheters.

His lovely wife is dying of cancer.

The house is dusty. It gets dustier as her condition deteriorates. In the living room, open glass shelves on either side of the entertainment center are full of beautiful family photographs, mostly of their two children; one boy and one girl. Carefully cleaning each picture, I glance over at the man of the house busying himself in the kitchen. His tired face suggests the pewter framed smiles I hold in my hands haven’t been seen around here for a long time.

Back in the master bathroom, I notice a peach colored candle on the ledge. With that, I take extra time to wipe it off along with the rest of her decorative items around the tub, including a small wicker basket full of scented soaps, each shrink wrapped in plastic. A gift, I suppose, from a friend during one of her many hospital stays.

Christian radio and television reach hundreds of thousands and big name preachers address packed sanctuaries from behind ornate pulpits. Biblical scholars publish insightful commentaries. Who knows? Maybe I’d jump at the chance for such opportunities. Whatever our field, we dream of greatness and of positions of influence in large audiences. Certainly God calls each for His purposes regardless the size of the stage.

Yet in dreaming of the “someday when big things” we are wise not to miss doing the “here and now little things” that make a difference in the lives of others. Because it’s true. If we’re too big to do little things for God, then we’re too little to do big things for Him.

God calls each of us for His purposes. His purpose for me on this Thursday in 1994 is to polish Mrs. Follett’s kitchen cabinets to her satisfaction. And to make certain that when Mrs. Butler comes home exhausted from a day of being poked and jabbed by doctor’s needles, she can relax in a hot bath and watch the candlelight bounce softly off her squeaky clean knick-knacks.

“Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind, let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. Look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” – Philippians 2:3-4

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Laying on the ground at the foot of the dumpster is a clear glass vase filled with a dozen red roses. Complete with all the greenery and Baby’s Breath, there is a red and black teddy bear lashed to the vase with sheer red ribbon. Tethered to the bear, a shiny helium filled Mylar “Happy Birthday” balloon, dancing in the breeze.

The roses are fresh. New. All that’s missing is the water. In the August heat, sans water they won’t be fresh for long.

People rescue dogs. And birds that get blown from the nest. What do you do when you find fresh roses next to a dumpster, dying of thirst?

I guess it’s their lucky day. I love roses. I used to work for a company that imported long stem roses from Ecuador. If I leave these beauties out here in the dirt, I won’t sleep tonight. So I take them in, re-cut the stems and fill the vase with water. They sit awkwardly on my table, rescued to be sure. Yet in a place they never expected to be.

Oh, that the roses would talk to me. Were they too little too late? Were they not enough? Were they an “I’m sorry I forgot your birthday and that’s why there’s a teddy bear on here, too?” Were they gladly received only to be tossed after a birthday party turned ugly? Or were they given to someone to whom nothing is ever good enough, a gift doomed to futility from the start?

Why on the ground? If one is angry enough to throw away a brand new vase of red roses why not give full vent and smash them in the dumpster? Why lay them on their side for a slow death? If you’re going to throw something away, why not all the way?

However it is, the roses and the teddy bear aren’t where they thought they’d be.

At some point in life, we all find ourselves in a place we never thought we’d be. Maybe we weren’t enough for someone. Maybe an illness steals our ability to physically enjoy our favorite activities. Or a pink slip downsizes us out of a career. Or maybe we derailed ourselves by our own bad choices.

However we ended up by the dumpster, we’re here.

People rescue dogs. And birds that get blown from the nest. And guys like me rescue roses on the ground.

God rescues people.

God rescues people. And it doesn’t matter where He finds us. By the dumpster. Or in the dumpster. Whether someone tossed us aside or we threw ourselves there, God rescues us.

The irony of being rescued from a place we never thought we’d be is that God will take us to places we never thought we’d go.

How wonderful is that?

Thank you, God, for rescuing us.

It’s our lucky day.

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Years ago I had the privilege of enjoying an 8-day Caribbean cruise to Martinique, Barbados, St. John’s, Antigua, St. Martin and St. Maarten, San Juan and the Virgin Islands. God’s creation is on display in each of these beautiful places. It’s a trip I’ll always remember. If you’ve ever wondered whether cruises are as much fun as the commercials portray, they are. Fabulous food, stunning scenery, fascinating people from all over the world, and nightly entertainment.

One of the shows I saw was a sleight of hand artist. Except he didn’t use a deck of cards. He used people. He called individuals and couples out of the audience to come up on stage and visit with him. His interviewing skills were superb. His questions got them talking about themselves; questions about where they were from, how long they’d been married, what they did for a living, and what was the occasion for coming on a cruise.

As they talked he did, in front of a live audience, things I thought would be impossible. He took off their wristwatch. He picked their pockets. He removed rings from women’s fingers. He pulled cash from a guy’s front pocket. He took off one guy’s belt.  Each time continuing to ask them questions while dangling the pilfered item behind his back to the audience’s delight while we howled with incredulity. When he finished with each person or couple he directed them back to their seat, each and every person oblivious they’d just been fleeced faster than a sheep at shearing time. The last man he called up on stage had seen everything that happened and was quite confident his self-awareness exceeded those who came before. Not only did the sleight of hand artist take his wallet, watch and belt, he also removed the Windsor knotted silk tie from around his neck, all the while engaging him in a conversation about his work and career.

The next morning as I was leaving the ship for a day trip onto the island I saw the entertainer in the lobby, standing about ten feet away. I nodded a “hello” and when he smiled and nodded back I realized my hand was on my pocket making sure my billfold was still there.

Every time I play the memory of that experience I wonder how he was able to take from these people items that were so close to them. In fact, everything he removed from them was touching their person. How is it possible they couldn’t feel their valuables leaving them?

The trick, of course, is that he got them focused on something other than their wallet, belt or tie. When he moved in close to ask them a question, the caring hand with microphone touching their shoulder was a decoy for the hand that was about to lift their wallet. The friendly bump in the midst of happy banter about how long he’d been married disguised the lightning fast twist that loosened the knot. The question about his career distracted him from feeling the quick tug that pulled the tie from around his neck.

My twin daughters turned 11 years old yesterday. I know it’s just another day in their growing up and not all that different than the day before. Yet I looked at my girls as they walked out of their school. I always watch for their smiling faces but on this day I really looked. They aren’t little girls anymore. And they certainly aren’t the sub-4 pound preemies I held when they came into the world 7 weeks ahead of schedule. They are “tweeners” now. All about hair and hoop earrings and math class and music. No longer little girls and not yet teenagers. I’ve done my best to make the most of the days and I’ve enjoyed every stage of their lives. But I wonder…

How much of their lives have I missed by being focused elsewhere? Have I allowed my pockets to be picked? Am I missing quality opportunities with them, perhaps even when I am with them because I’m distracted by worry? Am I allowing myself to be fleeced of what’s important to me because I’m paying more attention to the decoys in life that appear urgent, but aren’t important?

What am I allowing to be taken from me by not having my focus on what’s truly valuable?

Thankfully, the sleight of hand artist gave back everything he took from them, except for the momentary dignity they lost on stage.

Time isn’t that generous. It takes what it takes and never gives it back. Which is to say at the end of this day what we’ll have to keep is what we’ve kept our hands on.

Keep your hands on what’s valuable.

Let us not be distracted.

“Lord, teach us to number our days that we might gain a heart of wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Cottonwood - Thompson Farm - Swea City, IA

Under pressure? Feeling squeezed?

Me, too.

Do you like it?

Me, neither.

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

So how about we just eliminate it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’re all in this together.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In contrast…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re playing for keeps.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“The terms and conditions of a relationship determine the nature of the relationship.”

This is true. For example, think about the employers you’ve had in your life. Managers like to boast about having an “open door” policy. Yet it doesn’t take more than a week or two before you figure out there are two kinds of open door policy. The first one is a manager who invites your feedback, respects your viewpoint and values your contributions to the company.

The second one is a boss whose actions say, “My door is always open for you to come in and see my closed mind.”

The terms and conditions of a relationship determine the nature of the relationship. The manager who seeks out and values the input of the employees creates a relationship environment of team work and free flowing ideas. The boss who doesn’t creates a relationship environment of stunted communication and self-preservation.

The terms and conditions of the relationship determine the nature of the relationship.

When it comes to your relationship with God, whose terms and conditions are you operating by? Yours? Or God’s?

The distinction is crucial.

Some of us are operating by terms and conditions that view God as the divine policeman who waits for us to do something wrong so He can write us up. We live our lives walking on spiritual eggshells, afraid to risk or chance or dream for fear of messing up and incurring God’s wrath.

Some of us are operating from terms and conditions determined by our bad church experiences. People within the church have disappointed us. Or worse, wounded us. Perhaps pastors or leaders have abused our trust by taking liberties with their position. Living by these terms, we approach God with suspicion thinking it only a matter of time before He, too, will disappoint us.

Some of us are operating from terms and conditions imposed on us from our upbringing. Perhaps our parents’ view of God was extreme to one direction or the other. Years later, God to us is either a wholly unapproachable fire and brimstone Diety or our heavenly Fuzzy Buddy. Our terms and conditions have us viewing God as a single facet, ignoring the whole of who He is.

Some of us are operating from terms of guilt and shame. Our sins, we think, are impossibly large and unforgiveable. And should we manage to summon the courage to seek God’s forgiveness for these, we think it best not presume upon Him after that. For to do so would be asking one too many favors. So we live each day at a lonely distance from God, like a stray dog starving for attention, yet afraid to come close.

The terms and conditions of a relationship determine the nature of the relationship. When it comes to your relationship with God, what terms and conditions are you living by? Yours? Or God’s?

The flip side of Dr. Wakefield’s bookmark reads:

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

These are God’s terms and conditions for His relationship with us. God is gracious. He extends to us blessings we don’t deserve. He is compassionate. Which is to say He knows what we’re made of because He made us. And because of that He cares for us as a loving Father cares for his children. How would your relationship with God change if you understood His heart toward you is always gracious and full of compassion?

God is slow to anger. He is not a heavenly hot-head with a hair trigger. How would your relationship with God change if you understood God is patient with you?

God abounds in lovingkindness toward us. Lovingkindness. In Hebrew, the word is “chesed”. It means a “loyal love”. A love that won’t quit on you. A love that is bulldog tenacious. A love that latches on to you and will not let you go. Ever.

According to God’s terms and conditions, His lovingkindness to you is abounding. We don’t use that word often but it’s wonderful in context here.  It means to “exist in large quantities.” So to paraphrase God’s terms and conditions, “God is kind beyond reason, understanding beyond measure, incredibly patient and loves you with overflowing large quantities of tenacious loyal love that will not let you go. Ever.”

When we allow God to define Himself and His relationship to us by His terms and conditions we experience the grace, acceptance, love and freedom He desires for us.

Whose terms and conditions would you rather live with? Yours? Or God’s? You get to choose. I’d choose for you but I can’t. It’s up to you.

So I’ll just encourage you to make your own bookmark. And think about getting it laminated.

That’s what I’m doing.

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

You can imagine that when in August of that year God moved me to Phoenix, Arizona to attend seminary that it was quite an adjustment. Out of some two million people living there at the time I knew only four. It didn’t take long before I was missing my family and friends in a major way.

It took several months of visiting churches before God pointed me to First Baptist-Tempe. In December just before Christmas I was invited for dinner at the home of Chet and Rosie Farrington who were long time members there.

After a delicious meal, Rosie said to me, “Todd, there’s something here you might be interested in.” She reached out and pulled a small plaque off the wall. It looked old and it had a Bible verse on it. Nice, I thought. I like old things that have character.

“Look on the back”, she said.

I turned it over. A list of signatures. And the names…”Hey, I know all these people!”

“That’s the plaque the Men’s Brotherhood of First Baptist Church in Swea City, Iowa gave to Chet in January of 1956 just before we moved to Arizona.”

Swea City, Iowa is my hometown. And First Baptist Church is where I grew up from the week I was born. On the list of names are the signatures of my great grandfather, both my grandfathers, a great uncle, and many of my neighbors growing up.

What I hadn’t known in moving to this big city was that before I was so much as a twinkle in my parents’ eyes, Chet and Rosie had lived across the field from my grandparents and attended my home church.

To see those names and the familiar signatures of my family members in this new and lonely place was like water in the desert. It was a connection. A reminder of my heritage. That I come from somewhere. And most important, that the God who grew me up in Iowa was with me in Arizona.

That plaque didn’t just happen. Back in 1956, someone in the First Baptist Church thought it would be a nice gesture to give Chet Farrington something to remember them by as he moved away to the big city. 37 years later that person’s thoughtfulness encouraged another guy who had moved away to the big city.

Friends, when we extend kindness to others we never know how far it reaches. Or who it touches. Across the miles and across generations. Let’s be purposeful in our kindness and intentional in our encouragement.

That’s a legacy we can gladly sign our name to.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

It’s remarkable how we can know how slim the odds are and yet be so enticed by the possibility. We’ve put our coins in the slot before, certain that it would be the one to push many over the ledge only to watch it slide aside and become just another coin on the shiny brushed metal platform. How can it not work? There are coins at the precipice, literally stacked up on each other.  George Washington and 33 of his twenty-five cent friends leaning over the ledge, defying the laws of physics. How can it be that my quarter can’t give them the nudge they need to take the plunge?

I was thinking about my life the other day and realizing that, if I’m honest, sometimes when I pray I feel like I’m standing in front of the coin pusher. The blessings are at the ledge. They are stacked on top of each other. And it’s my prayer, strategically placed, that will bump the blessings into my life.

Yet sometimes it feels like my prayer just slides aside into a sea of previously prayed and still unanswered prayers. How can it be? The blessings. They seem so close. I can see them. Yet after all my effort and all my prayers these blessings stack up on the ledge of my life. How can they be so close and yet so far away? Maybe just one more prayer. Or one more week or month of petitioning God will give Him the nudge He needs to bump them over the edge and into my reality.

And still they sit. Piled up on the ledge, refusing to drop into my life.

Frustrating, isn’t it? Maddening, even.

So we think, “Maybe I’m not praying the right way.” We search and scour the Bible to see if there’s something we are missing. God says“we have not because we ask not”. So we ask. He says “not to worry about anything but with prayer and supplication with thanksgiving we are to make our requests known” to Him. So we try that, being careful to say lots of “please” and “thank you” as we go. Then we read the parable about the woman who wouldn’t stop pounding on the judge’s door till she got her hearing. So we try pounding on the door, praying with importunity.

As the frustration builds, we even scream and yell. Maybe even cuss. (Though I don’t expect you to admit that like I just did. I’m probably the only one who’s ever done that.)

We may even cry. Out of frustration. Or exhaustion.

And finally we sit in silence.

At least that’s what it’s like for me. I can’t speak for you.

And as the prayers go unanswered and the blessings seemingly taunt me from the ledge, I don’t know what else to do. Everything in my heart has been expressed to God a hundred times in a hundred different ways. There’s nothing left to say. Or as I told a friend some months ago, “I think I’m going to just quit praying for a while”, expecting him to launch into a Christian lecture on why that would be wrong. Instead my friend replied, “That’s actually not a bad idea. Maybe it would be good to take a break for a bit.”

Evidently, I’m not the only one who’s wondered why the coins are stuck on the ledge.

Before you think me or my friend as less than spiritual, what do you do when all the Sunday School answers leave your soul high and dry?

The problem, perhaps, is that in trying to bump the blessings off the ledge and into our life we are viewing our prayers as the magic token. Certainly the heretical theology of too many prosperity preachers on TV lead us in this direction. They teach that God is like a divine vending machine. If we put in the right tokens He will give us what we want. (Interestingly, they tell you your chances of answered prayers are even higher if you slide your tokens their way in the process. But that’s a column for another time.)

There is a significant difference between the coin pusher in the arcade and God. Standing in front of the coin pusher you know that the odds are against you. It’s set up to benefit the arcade, not you. The arcade is blessed when the quarters pile up on the ledge. It will let you win just enough times to keep you depositing more tokens. But when you walk out the door you’ll have less and the arcade will have more. In the end, there will always be more quarters on the ledge than in your pocket.

Standing in front of God, we know the odds are in our favor. In fact, there are no odds. He is 100% for us. Or as Paul put it,“If God is for us, who can be against us?” When we stand in front of God we are not standing in front of a capricious fickle diety who plays games with our lives. We are standing before the One who tells us to“come boldly before the throne of grace”. Grace. Unmerited favor. He doesn’t tease us with just enough blessings to keep us coming back. We always end up with more blessings than our pockets can hold.

So what of all those blessings stacked up on the ledge? There’s no denying that some of our prayers go unanswered. Or at the very least aren’t answered in the time and manner we would like.  What do you say to the person who’s prayed for years about the physical healing of a loved one? Or an estranged relationship? There’s no satisfactory Sunday School answer for that. We do each other a disservice when we gloss over heart rending realities with pious platitudes.

It comes down to a simple question, really. Do we trust God’s heart? If we do then we’ll trust Him to bump the blessings off the ledge that are right for us. Always in His time and in His way. Part of that trust means accepting that there may be some prayers that God chooses not to answer. At least in the way we want Him to. When that happens, we need to remember that it doesn’t mean God is against us. God is for us. Because He said He is for us. And God is not a man that He should lie about that. Or anything else.

I was at the arcade on Monday. A play day with my girls. I saw the coin pushers. Boy, were the coins stacked up. It looked like a good sneeze would send $30 down the chute. But I didn’t drop a quarter in. I’d like to think I’m on to them now. But who knows? Some day I’ll probably send George Washington on a mission to take Token Ledge by storm. Until then, I think I’ll keep talking with God and asking Him to help me get a grip on that wonderful truth that He is for me. And if He is for me, then I can trust Him to give me His best.

And that includes holding back from me those things that are not.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

In case you haven’t heard or in case there’s no billboard in your area making the announcement, Jesus is supposed to be coming back on Saturday, May 21, 2011. As of this writing, the rapture is going to happen tomorrow according to some who seem to be making a career out of predicting the return of Christ. Further, these same people predict that God will destroy the world on October 21, 2011.

For the record, Jesus can’t return soon enough for me. I’m ready to experience life in an unbroken world. I’ve already put in my request to haul dirt and work in the rose gardens in the new heaven and new earth that the Bible speaks of. I want that to be my job. As a farm kid, I’d be good at it. As for the mansion, I don’t need one. Just give me a nice tree to sleep under on a patch of heavenly green grass that will beat any TempurPedic mattress NASA technology could come up with. Add some food and water and I’ll be happy as a June bug on a hot rock.

I’m ready for the eastern skies to open. But one thing’s for sure. No one knows the day or the hour of Jesus’ return. Jesus told us that Himself. I figure if anyone would know, He would. So if someone says May 21, 2011 is the appointed hour then you can safely make plans for the day without wondering if your backyard birthday bash will be interrupted by a trumpet blast. That is, unless it’s by the guy you hired to do music for the party.

Plenty of sound Christian scholars and thinkers have offered well reasoned critiques of why the “May 21 rapture” crowd are wrong in their interpretation of Scripture. I’ve read through it and can tell you the arguments Harold Camping and his ilk have put forth contain more holes than a screen door. He appears to arrive at his conclusions more through numerology than a solid Biblical hermeneutic. His website states “these dates are 100% accurate and beyond dispute”, yet this isn’t the first time he’s predicted the end of the world. Obviously his prediction was less than 100% accurate and beyond dispute the last time around.

Rather than add to the theological debate, I offer a simple thought.

When I was a kid, back in the day when we didn’t worry about wearing seat belts and before cars had DVD players, you had to make up your own ways to pass the time on a road trip. One was to play the “license plate” game. The object as you traveled down the highway was to spot cars from as many different states as you could. It was great for keeping kids focused and not asking, “Are we there yet?”.

The reality of the license plate game is that license plates were all you looked for. When the 1970 Dodge Cornet passed you on the freeway your eyes went straight to the metal rectangle between the tail lights, hoping that it would flash a different color than the ones on your tally sheet. The unintended consequence of the license plate game is that license plates were all you saw. The Rocky Mountains or the Great Lakes or the golden wheat fields of Kansas could be passing by your window but all your eyes saw was whether the car ahead of you was from Colorado or Michigan or Oklahoma.

Trying to predict the day Christ comes back is like playing the license plate game. If all we do is focus on the date of His coming, we miss everything about the journey He has us on. And this life is all about the journey. God put a lot of thought into what’s passing by our window. Psalm 139 tells us that “all our days were written down in His book before there was yet one of them”. Ephesians 2:10 tells us that God has “prepared good works in advance that we should walk in them.” God doesn’t want us deciphering human code in a laughable attempt to prove we know something that only He knows. He wants us to be out there walking in the good works He has prepared for us to do. That includes walking in a manner worthy of the calling with which we’ve been called and sharing the love of Christ that He has so graciously extended to us.

As for the rapture, rest assured it is coming. But only God knows the day and time. And honestly, if we’re genuinely watching for it, doesn’t it make sense to be looking out the window instead of dates on a license plate? It’s the view through the window where we’ll see the good works that we’re supposed to be about.

In addressing the tension of the present and future, C.S. Lewis said, “Every Christian should be found at his post, living each day as though it were his last, yet planning as though his life will last a hundred years.”

As with most everything Lewis said, that is very wise.

“However, no one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. Only the Father knows.” – Matthew 24:36

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what you call “reality television”.

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLIfeToGo.com

I will never forget the first time I ever held Emma to give her a bottle. She was a day old. She was hungry so I’m thinking this should be easy, right? Holding her in my left arm, bottle in my right hand I said to myself, “It’s time to be a Dad.” I put it up to her mouth, which is in this moment open and screaming. About one inch away, her jaw clamped shut like a bear trap.

That’s odd. She’s hungry. Why did she do that? Being a guy and sensitive Dad that I am, I thought, “No problem. I’ll just wedge it in here.” But she’s not having it. Any of it. So I try again.

Complete lock down.

The NICU nurse shakes her head and says, “With this one, ya gotta do things a little different.” Little did I know in that moment what a prophetic statement that would turn out to be. The nurse, still shaking her head, says, “You’ve got to put a little drop of formula on her bottom lip so she can taste it first or she won’t drink.”

I didn’t say anything but the look I gave the nurse, roughly translated, was “Please. You have got to be kidding me.” NICU nurses are very kind. And very no nonsense. She pointed at me and commanded, “Do it.”

I put a drop of formula on her bottom lip. Emma let it sit there for a half second, tasted it, then opened her mouth wide as the Grand Canyon.

“How cute!”, I thought. That will make for a charming story in her baby book. But can I tell you something? Every day after that whether it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon or 2 o’clock in the morning we had to play the drop on the bottom lip game until she graduated into a sippy cup.

From day one, Emma wanted to do it her way.

From the day we are born, there is something inherent in us that wants to do things our own way. As human beings, we don’t like submitting to authority. We don’t like it. We buck against it. We submit when we have to. Submitting to authority in our jobs and careers, in most cases, beats getting fired. Submitting to the rules of the road beats getting a ticket or being arrested. But make no mistake, we don’t like it. And if we think that’s not true, then why do we do so many passive aggressive things when we’re under authority? Why, when we are under authority of our boss at work, do we surf the internet when they aren’t looking? Or take an extra ten minutes on a lunch break? Why on a road trip do we set the cruise 3-5 miles an hour above the speed limit?

Whatever the situation, we don’t like submitting to authority.

The Bible says that we are to “submit to one another in love”. How are we doing on that one? In our relationships do we sincerely defer to one another? Do we, for the sake of the relationship, set our needs aside for the purpose of showing love? Or are we insisting on having the last word, being subtly superior because we can’t bring ourselves to submit even for the sake of love?

And while we don’t think about it much, Ephesians 5 tells us that the church is to be subject to Christ. Most of the time we get stuck in that chapter arguing about what it means for wives to be subject to their husbands and how husbands should love their wives as Christ loved the church. But in the middle of all that it says we as the church are to submit to the authority of Christ.

As the church, how are we doing at that? How often does the church get off track by pressing its own agenda, defining God by religious, cultural or political views instead of submitting to the authority of Christ? How often is the mission of the church driven by a pastor or an elder board’s idea of what a church should look like in the American Christian sub-culture instead of submitting to Christ and allowing Him to define it and direct it? Even in the church we struggle with submitting to Christ’s authority.

It goes all the way back to Genesis 3. The Bible says that in Adam, all sinned. King David said in Psalm 51 “in sin did my mother conceive me.” Ephesians 2 tells us that before God got hold of our lives and saved us by grace through faith, you and I were “children of wrath”. Romans 3:23 reminds us that all of us have “sinned and fall short of the glory of God”.

Bottom line: We’re all natural born sinners. And natural born sinners don’t like taking orders.

So what to do?

Hang around the church long enough, be a Christian long enough, and you’ll eventually hear someone say, “You need to make Christ Lord of your life.” I think we know what is intended by those words. But may I propose that “making Christ Lord of your life” can’t be done? You and I can’t make Jesus Lord of our life. Why? Because you can’t make someone something that they already are. According to Philippians 2, Jesus is Lord whether you and I acknowledge that or not. And someday, all of us will.

If someone is employed by Microsoft, they don’t drive to work saying, “I think I’ll make Bill Gates in charge today.” Microsoft employees don’t make Bill Gates in charge. He is in charge. You can’t make someone what they already are. When the Pittsburgh Steelers go to training camp, they don’t say, “I think I’ll make Mike Tomlin coach this season.” Mike Tomlin is their coach whether they like it or not. The only question for the players is whether or not they choose to place themselves under his authority on the field.

Some may say, “That’s just semantics”. But it’s not. It’s more than that. According to the Bible, Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father. Whether we acknowledge or admit that or not, Jesus Christ is Lord. He was Lord before the world was created. We can’t make Jesus what He already is. And when it says that the day is coming when “every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord”, understand this clearly; it’s not the bowing and the confessing that makes Him Lord.

On that day God the Father isn’t going to say, “Wow, Jesus! Take a look! What a great turn out here! Look at the response! All these people paying homage to you. By popular vote, I guess that makes you Lord.” Nope. Jesus Christ is Lord right now. Our response or lack of it does not make it so. The only question is, are you and I going to align ourselves under that authority? Are we going to submit to His authority as Lord of the Universe and agree to live life by His terms?

Hard questions. And the answers are even harder. If we’re wise, we’ll spend the rest of our earthly life wrestling with them.

It all starts with a decision. Am I willing to submit to God and allow Him to define Himself by His terms?

When we do, we’ll find God true to His word. That He is gracious, slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindess. That He has a plan for us that includes good works that He prepared in advance for us to do. And that He will always forgive, never leave, and always love.

Emma’s ten years old now. Her stubborn streak is still intact. Yet she’s learned that her Daddy loves her unconditionally and has her best interest at heart. Knowing that, it’s easier for her to trust and obey. Likewise, you and I can submit to God’s Father heart without fear, because He loves us perfectly.

“How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure”

- Stuart Townend

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

We hear it (or say it) when attitude takes on, well…an attitude.

“Remember who you’re talking to.”

I reminded my daughters of this the other day. All the signs were there. The raising of the voice. Exaggerated body language. Speaking with a tone that is too presumptuous. And though they are too young to understand the term, let alone spell it, a bit of condescension. A hint of “I know more, so let me educate you.” They were forgetting they are 10 and I’m, well…their Dad.

“Remember who you’re talking to.”

What is it in us that makes us forget who we are talking to?

We’ve heard it said, “Whatever it is you’re thinking and feeling, tell God. Even if you’re angry, pour out your heart. He’s big enough to take it.” This is true. God is big enough to take it. Indeed God invites us to “cast all our cares on Him, because He cares for us” (1 Peter 5:7). He goes even further in telling us to “come boldly before the throne of grace that we might obtain mercy and find grace in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16). God is clear. He wants us to communicate whatever is on our mind and heart.

I wonder, though, if in the communicating we sometimes forget who we’re talking to?

The perpetual challenge for Christians of every generation is to worship the whole of God. Our natural tendency as imperfect humans is to gravitate toward the perfections of God we like the most.  We like God’s patience with us. We like God’s forgiveness. We like that God never leaves us or abandons us. We like God’s love. I remember the Jesus Movement of the 1970′s where it seemed the love of God was emphasized above all else. It was the aftermath of Vietnam and the the anti-war movement. Years where the peace symbol was found everywhere t-shirts, bumper stickers, and records were sold. A popular book of that time by “Peanuts” creator Charles Schulz was titled, “Happiness Is A Warm Puppy.” That’s how many Christians viewed God. He was your pal. A heavenly fuzzy buddy you could get close to.

Certainly God is our friend. The Bible is clear on that. Yet in the process of becoming familiar and comfortable, it seems we’ve pushed aside other equally present attributes of God. Like His holiness. Or His sovereignty. Or the fact that He is self-existent and eternal. God’s righteousness and justice are no less part of His perfection than His love and mercy.

If we focus on God’s love toward us at the expense of His holiness, it is possible to forget Who it is we are talking to. The same God who bids us to cast all our cares on Him is the same God who, with perfect judgment, destroyed people and nations for their sins against Him. The God who calls us friend is the same God whose purity and holiness is an all consuming fire. The God who tells us to ask Him for our daily bread and promises to take care of our needs is the same God who spreads out the heavens like a tent and uses the earth as a foot rest.

Do we remember Who we are talking to?

I can’t speak for you, but during the inevitable episodes of deep frustration and anger in my life I’ve sometimes been guilty in my “God is big enough to take it” rants of forgetting Who I’m talking to. I’ve spoken to Him as though He is blind to my circumstances. I’ve prayed as though I need to remind Him of my plight, that maybe He missed the meeting where we discussed my life falling apart. My attitude in these moments has been equal parts “Where have You been?” and “What have You done for me lately?” Notice where the focus is. My “me” is asking God to explain Himself and to give an account as to His faithfulness. Talk about presumption and condescension. When I do this I’m forgetting that I am me and He is, well…God.

Forgetting that the One we are venting to is the One who created us is bad enough. But when we forget who we are talking to and abuse the “God is big enough to take it” privilege, I fear we sometimes relegate Him to an impenetrable steel diety. A divine punching bag who receives our verbal buffeting without emotion. As if we think God’s feelings cannot be hurt. Or worse, that He has no feelings at all.

To miss this is to miss God’s father heart for us. Follow God’s journey with His children from the beginning and we see Him as a Father who loves beyond reason, forgives without measure, blesses abundantly and relentlessly pursues us when we walk away. Even when we as fickle followers turn and take after gods that spell their name with a small “g”, God woos and pines and pleads with us to return to our first love that we might find our ultimate joy in Him.

The God of the universe has a heart. And of all His creation, we are the only ones who can break it.

Going forward, as we talk with God let’s remember Who we’re talking to. When we remember God’s holiness, it makes His love even more amazing. When we remember His justice, it makes His forgiveness even more incredible. Simply put, the best way to experience God fully is to worship Him wholly.

Do we remember Who we’re talking to?

“And can it be that I should gain an interest in the Savior’s blood? Died He for me, who caused His pain—For me, who Him to death pursued? Amazing love! How can it be, That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me? Amazing love! How can it be, That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?” – Charles Wesley

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Each week they sent an empty coffee can home with one kid. The kid could place anything he or she wanted in the can, put the lid on and bring it back on Sunday. When it was time for the children’s sermon they’d hand the coffee can to the pastor and he’d have to do an on the spot lesson based on whatever he found inside the can.

One Sunday Jack opened the lid to find a blue plastic frog. What to do? Creation? The plague of frogs from Exodus? Jack came up with something else. He talked about “church hoppers”. People who go from church to
church but never settle in one place, never plug in and commit to being members of a local community of Christ followers.

The kids loved it. Some of the adults? Not so much. One couple, who evidently happened to be doing some pretty regular hopping chose not to come back.

I admit that church hopping is something that bothers me, too.

We are, to a large degree, products of our culture. It seems especially true when it comes to the American Christian sub-culture. We’re a consumer society. We are blessed, and one could argue cursed, with innumerable choices. If we don’t like a particular cafe, we find a different one at which to dine. If we’re not enamored with the Ford we purchased, we trade it for a Nissan. Even our daily minute to minute decisions are consumer driven. Ever sit and channel surf on your TV? We give a “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” to a given program in three seconds or less. We like what we like. And we want what we want. And we want it when we want it. Which means we want it now.

This consumer mentality carries over to how we view church. Don’t like the preaching? Go to another church. Don’t like the music? Go to another church. Don’t like the youth program? Go to another church. Encounter someone who isn’t easy to get along with? Go to another church. It’s called “church hopping”. More accurately, it’s church shopping. And it’s not healthy. Or Biblical.

Lubbock, Texas is sometimes referred to as “the buckle of the Bible Belt”. There are around 300 churches in the area, give or take a couple sets of pews. If a person wanted to, they could visit a different church every Sunday for nearly six years. And the way some of us hop around, both here and across the country, it’s a wonder more churches haven’t installed revolving doors.

Too many Christians possess an attitude of “what can the church do for me?” And, for good or bad, churches cater to that consumer mentality. Planning meetings are based on the question, “What can we do to attract people to our church?” They invest in modern facilities, contemporary music styles and technology. In many churches today there are just as many people scrolling through the morning’s Scripture text on their smart phones as are flipping the pages of their Bible.

There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s crucial that we be relevant to the culture we live in. In fairness, part of the reason for church hopping is that some congregations are living in the past and refuse to do whatever it takes to communicate God’s truth in today’s reality. It’s not practical to ask people who live in a graphic intensive, high tech culture to go back in time 40 years on Sunday morning and expect them to relate. God’s truth is always fresh, never stale or antiquated. Wise are the churches who work hard to communicate with relevance.

That said, the bells and whistles of a particular church are not the issue. The issue is committing to a group of Christ followers where we live. Or as the Bible calls it, “the body of Christ” (Ephesians 4:11-16).

The Bible talks about you and I as members of the body of Christ. We’ve each one been given unique talents and skills and abilities by God to use for the building of His Kingdom. Ephesians 2:10 describes them as “the good works that God has prepared in advance for us to do.”

Yet instead of asking ourselves, “How has God gifted me to contribute to His local church?”, too many of us hop from church to church asking, “What can this place do for me?” That egocentric approach is a recipe for disaster. There’s no place (or person, for that matter) that will always be able to meet all our needs. If the focus is on our needs, it is inevitable that we will be disappointed. And because the focus has been our needs, the problem will never be our fault. It will be the church’s fault. And that’s when the enemy steps in and whispers sweet lies in our ear.

“You don’t need to put up with this. There’s a perfect church out there for you. A church with no politics. A church where every song is your favorite. A church that will meet all your needs and the relationships will be easy and free of disagreement.”

Really. It’s out there. Somewhere. The enemy says, “Just keep hopping till you find it.”

Of course, it’s a lie. There is no such place. Yet if the enemy can keep you hopping, then he can keep you disconnected. When he keeps you disconnected, he keeps your God-given talents and abilities from being offered and used within in a group of Christ followers. Without your God-given gifts and talents, without the life experience you bring, the body of Christ is less than it was intended to be.

When we continually hop around, the body of Christ suffers. And the devil wins.

It’s not about finding the perfect church. There is no such place. After I joined Turning Point in the fall of 2007, I was asked to share with the congregation my experience of being a first time visitor there. In concluding my remarks I said to them, “I know Turning Point isn’t a perfect church. And if it was before, it’s not anymore. Because I’m here now.”

Do your homework. Pray about it. Then pick a church and plug in. Quit hopping around. Offer your God-given talents and abilities. Bring to that group of people your life experience that is unique to you. And in doing so commit to that church for better or worse. It might be a mega church or a house church. It really doesn’t matter. They’re all made up of imperfect people, just like you, who are loved by a perfect God.

You’ll be surprised how far God will take you when you quit hopping around.

“But, speaking the truth in love, may we grow up in all things into Him who is the head – Christ – from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share, causes growth of the body for the edifying of itself in love.” – Ephesians 4:15-16

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/2011/02/05/pecking-at-pebbles/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/02/05/pecking-at-pebbles/#comments Sat, 05 Feb 2011 18:08:01 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=541 Have you ever tried to make something be what it can never be?

Annie and Emma are in the back seat at Sonic Drive-In, enjoying an after school snack while we sit with engine running. It’s unseasonably cold this week. So cold that there is no one dining at the outdoor tables, the same tables that smart sparrows know to be a smorgasbord of crumbs for them.

The sparrows are here this day, too, feathers fluffed against the wind and single digit temperatures. Looking for food in all the usual places, one sparrow flits under a red metal bench. Leaning down he picks up what must look to him like a tiny piece of a cast off tater tot or onion ring. He pecks it, picks it up and clamps down with his beak. But it’s not food. It’s a pebble that looks like food.

He drops it, looks at it, then picks it up again. Again he clamps down. Maybe it really is food but today it’s frozen food? Nope. Still a pebble. He drops it, hops away for about three seconds, looks back and returns to pick it up again. This time pecking really hard and trying to crush it in his beak.

Still a pebble.

Silly bird, I think. You can want it to be food. But it’s always going to be a pebble. It should be easy enough, I reason, for even a bird to tell the difference between food and a rock. But then I think maybe that sparrow isn’t the only one having trouble figuring that out. We humans do our own pecking at pebbles.

Are you trying to make something be what it can never be?

Maybe you’re pecking at your job. You’re telling yourself that if you just work a little harder and adjust your attitude and suck it up and buy into what management is saying that you’ll come around and really like what you do…even though your heart is screaming because you know you’re hard-wired for something completely different.

Peck.

Maybe you’re pecking at your dating relationship. He is a nice guy and it’s 90% pretty good and you’re telling yourself those nagging doubts you have that you never talk about aren’t really red flags at all. They’re just jitters and everyone has them and once you walk down the aisle all your fears will disappear and you’ll live happily ever after…even though the part of your soul that always tells the truth is telling you not to proceed because that missing 10% is the difference between forever joy and permanent misery.

Peck, peck.

Maybe you’re pecking at the relationship you have with a friend or family member struggling with an addiction. Yes, they drink more than you’d like them to but they function at a high level in spite of it and they aren’t like the other drunks you know. And if you just keep being the understanding friend then they’ll eventually see the light and change their behavior…even though your gut knows that their happy veneer is wearing thinner with every binge and their self-destruction is only an open bar away.

Peck, peck, peck.

Maybe you’re pecking at your relationship with God. You go to church every week except for the two times a year you’re sick and that Disney vacation to Orlando. Your Christianity is comfortable, like the fleece pullover you’ve had for years. It fits and it never rubs you the wrong way. In fact, it’s so comfortable you never think about it except lately you’ve been thinking about it and you don’t like thinking about it.

So you’re telling yourself that you’re far more dedicated than most people so why should you have these nagging thoughts that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to God than an hour on Sunday? Maybe if you just say “yes” to that committee and volunteer to work the nursery once a quarter then all your wondering about what it would be like to experience a raw, unedited, intimate, and unfiltered relationship with your Creator will be set aside like a church bulletin on Monday morning and you can go back to being comfortable.

Peck, peck. Peck, peck.

What are you pecking at, in spite of your better judgment, hoping that it will change?

Only you can answer that.

If you’re pecking at your job, ask God to point you in a direction suitable for the gifts and talents He gave you. He has “prepared good works in advance for you to do” (Ephesians 2:10). God will be more than happy to help you find your divinely designed sweet spot.

If you’re pecking at your dating relationship, ask God to help you discern between red flags and jitters. And as you do, write this down where you can see it everyday: Your absolute worst day as a single person is absolute heaven compared to your best day in a bad marriage.

If you’re pecking while you watch your friend’s addictive behavior send them into a death spiral, ask God for courage to do the right thing and intervene. “Faithful are the wounds of a friend” (Proverbs 27:6). Better to speak truth into their life and have it rejected than to remain silent. There are some regrets you can’t afford to live with.

If you’re pecking at your relationship with God, ask God for more of God. Ask Him to help you break free of your comfortable ideas of who He is and allow Him to define Himself and His relationship to you by His own terms. It’s scary to let go of the familiar. Yet there is freedom when we finally do.

For what it’s worth, it’s that last one that I’ve been pecking on. Moving away from my ideas about God and moving toward God as He defines Himself. I still come back to the pebble sometimes, but I’m getting better at not holding it in my beak so long. Hopefully the sparrows and I are getting smarter about that.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

When I was a kid I would play Scrabble with my Grandma Thompson. She was into her 70′s the first time we ever played. Grandma liked words. I remember her doing the Jumble puzzle in the newspaper everyday. She had been a school teacher and principal in the 1920′s before marrying my Grandfather and becoming a farm wife. She believed in being a life long learner and led by example.

Scrabble was fun for her because she was good at it. My Grandfather was good at it, too, but I had a hard time getting him to join us because Grandma most always won. And it wasn’t just that she usually won. It was how she won that made him crazy.

Grandma was what could be kindly described as a deliberate player. Grandpa would describe her as a slow player. She would study the board, look at every possibility, then look some more. Her turn would sometimes turn into a coffee break for me and Grandpa. Finally, she would put down her letters, usually for a big word and lots of points.

On this particular day, Grandpa was winning. As the available letters dwindled to zero, Grandpa got excited. He had a big lead. There were no more letters left to be drawn. We were stuck with what we had on our tray. He managed a double word score and increased his lead to what seemed insurmountable. I played some grand three letter word like “sit” or “dog”.

Then it was Grandma’s turn.

She put her hand to her chin and scanned the board, quietly studying the open squares. Grandpa and I looked at the board and then at each other. Why was Grandma taking so long? We can’t see a single opening anywhere, save maybe adding an “I” to an “F” for “IF”. Certainly nothing that could generate enough to win the game.

Why take so long looking and hoping for something that just isn’t there?

Grandpa was a patient man. He’d been married to Grandma for over 50 years. But he was ready for this game to be over. He was ready to win. “Hurry up, Bernice. Play something.”

“I’m still looking.”

Drink a little coffee. Look out the window. Look at the board.

There’s nothing there.

“Oh”, she says. “This will work.”

She put down the rest of her letters. “Let’s see. That’s on a triple word score, too….48 points. And I’m out. What’s the score, Dettmer?”

Whatever Grandpa said to her he said walking away from the table.

Grandma wins. Again.

I was thinking today that at times my relationship with God is like playing Scrabble with Grandma. I can’t make sense of the board and my letters are all consonants and I can’t draw an “A” or an “E” to save my life. I can’t see any openings and I’ve played the same short words over and over. Words like…

Why?

When?

How?

Where.

Are.

You.

God?

I’ve taken my turn. It’s God’s turn to go. But He’s not going.

Drink some coffee. Look out the window. Pray. Repeat. Again. And again.

Day after day. Month after month.

Year after year.

“Hurry up and play, God!”

And about the time I’m ready to quit and walk away from the game because I see no possibilities, no openings and no chance to make sense of anything in my life, God plays His letters. A triple word score with a “Z” and an “X” for a zillion points. And I stand in awe of how He could make something out of nothing. How He made a way where there was no way.

God wins. Again. He always does. And though it’s sometimes hard for my stubborn self to admit, when God wins in my life, I win.

If you’re waiting for God to play His letters, or wondering how He could ever help you make a word with the goofy mix of letters on your tray, hang in there. Take it from someone who’s gotten out of his chair more than once. Don’t walk away from the game. There is a blessing to be had by staying at the table. Sometimes God is slower than your Grandma. But He’s never late. And He promises that when He makes His play, whatever He puts down for you will be worth the wait.

Oh, about my Grandpa and that Scrabble game…It took a long time before I got him to play with us again. When he finally agreed to another game, Grandma had the first turn. She played a huge word on a double word score. All the usual points plus a 50-point bonus for using all seven letters. She was up 85 to zero before Grandpa’s chair was even warm.

Whatever words he laid down we didn’t hear because he just smiled, shook his head and went outside to work in the garden.

It was just me and Grandma after that.

“But this I call to mind; therefore I have hope: The Lord’s loyal kindness never ceases; His compassions never end. They are fresh every morning; your faithfulness is abundant! “My portion is the Lord,” I have said to myself, so I will put my hope in him. The Lord is good to those who trust in Him, to the one who seeks him. It is good to wait patiently for deliverance from the Lord.” - Lamentations 3:21-26

“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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

]]> http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/01/17/triple-word-score/feed/ 0 http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/01/06/ghost-writer/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/01/06/ghost-writer/#comments Fri, 07 Jan 2011 00:07:23 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=517 The wall mounted mirror is behind the door so you don’t see it when you walk in. Only when you walk out. Even then, I never paid any attention to it.

On this particular day life was pouring in more than usual. Like the way I used to feel shoveling through a giant drift after an Iowa blizzard. I’d finally see sidewalk when a big chunk would bust loose from the top and I’d be up to my boots again in snow.

Some days you just can’t shovel fast enough.

I was telling God about my plight and wondering out loud why it seemed to me that He wasn’t as aware of my situation as I thought He should be. I mean, God, if you’re not going to help me shovel can you at least keep the stuff from pouring in so fast?

A little help here, maybe?

It was time to go pick up my kids from school. I opened the door about half way and that’s when it caught my eye. The mirror. I closed the door and looked again. Nothing there.

Ok, I know I only have one eye but thanks to a contact lens, it works reasonably well. I know I saw something in that mirror.

I opened the door and glanced again at the mirror, this time the way I used to look at the old 3-D baseball cards that came in the cereal boxes when I was a kid. Up, down, sideways. And there it was. There were words on the mirror. Almost invisible, and because of the light in the room I couldn’t see it unless I looked from an angle and even then the letters only faintly showed themselves against the reflection of my black t-shirt.

“Serve the Lord with all your heart and consider the great things He has done for you.” – 1 Samuel 12:24

Whoever stayed here before had scrawled this verse on the mirror with lipstick or some other oil based marker. The mirror had since been cleaned, yet at the right angle in the right light, the message remained.

This verse, in context, is the prophet Samuel exhorting the people of Israel during the coronation of King Saul. In his speech he reminds Israel of God’s faithfulness to them through every generation. From Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses and Aaron, God had remained faithful to them in spite of their sins and disobedience. Even their asking for a king was a sin against God, preferring a human leader instead of God as their King.

Samuel makes the point that even in their short-sighted and often stubborn disobedience, God’s love for them continues. Because God is faithful to Himself, He is faithful to them. Through it all, God did great things for them.

Back in 2008, I was starting life over from scratch in a new place and with a new sales job. I do dinner shows for people and sell high-end cookware. In following up on a contact, the girl on the other end of the phone asked me if I traveled to Snyder, Texas. I said, “I sure do.” Now, I’d never heard of Snyder let alone have a clue how far away it was. But when you’re starting over, you do whatever you have to do. That dinner generated my first customer in that area and led to more dinners which led to many more customers in Snyder, TX. And with each dinner God put me in front of some of the kindest, good-hearted, hospitable and encouraging people I’ve ever met.

When last year I was unsuccessful in my efforts to prevent my daughters’ mom from moving them away from me, I was incredibly discouraged. Instead of being 5 minutes across town, they would now be attending school 85 miles from me. I have equal time with my daughters, but how would it work? Where would I stay when I came to be with them? How would we have a place to be together?

Back in 2008 I thought Snyder was just the place God had me working for a season. I thought I was just meeting new people in the course of my job. I had no idea that He was preparing for what would happen to me two years later. God was preparing future relationships that He would use to encourage us in ways we could not imagine.

The mirror with the ghost writing is in a guest house in Snyder, Texas, the town in which my daughters attend school. It belongs to dear friends who started out as customers back in 2008. When I confided my situation to them last year, they said, “We have a place in our backyard. You and the girls can stay here anytime you want.”

“…and consider the great things He (God) has done for you.”

Is God aware of my plight? The ghost writer left behind the obvious answer to that question. “Consider the great things God has done for you.” God is more than aware. He is involved. His faithfulness toward us never ceases. His love toward us is constant. His attention to detail is complete. God, forgive me when I fail to consider the great things You have done for me. Give me eyes to see You and the works of Your hands in my life.

As much as I like things squeaky clean, I’m only going to Windex the bottom half of that mirror.

Some messages should never be erased.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

In December of 2007 I’d been living in Lubbock for several months after 14 years in the Phoenix valley. I was a not by choice divorced single Dad living in a place I never wanted to live. Somewhere in the middle of the month I realized that this would be the first time in my life that I’d be alone for Christmas.

It was a pretty awful thought.

I volunteered to help with my daughters’ school Christmas party. Among the other parents there was a lady wearing scrubs. I asked her where she worked and she said, “Carillon House”. I didn’t know what or where that was. She explained it was a skilled care facility. “It being Christmas time I suppose they get lots of visitors up there”, I said. She shook her head. “Sadly, no. Even a lot of the residents who have family here in town don’t get visited on Christmas.” That’s sad, I thought. I went back to passing out candy canes and overly frosted cookies.

Christmas Eve afternoon I was starting to lose it. I’ve always been with family and friends on Christmas. Lonely was what other poor souls struggled with during the holidays, not me. “Lonely at Christmas” was an article I read in a magazine, not what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Now lonely was me.

Lonely sucks.

Ever feel like running and you don’t know where to go? I got in the car and started driving, trying to remember where I saw a thrift store. It was about an hour before all the stores closed on Christmas Eve when I found the Savers store. I went in and bought all the vases I could find, then drove to Wal-Mart and bought some ribbon and several bunches of roses. That night I prepped all the flowers and vases and went to bed.

Christmas morning I drove to Carillon House. I hit the elevator button for the second floor. When the door opened I walked to the first room on the north side, took a deep breath and went in.

“Merry Christmas. I’m Todd. Here’s a flower for you.”

The gray haired lady in her hospital bed looked at me with a mix of surprise, gratitude and suspicion. “Why…thank you. Do you have someone up here?”

“Nope. Just here to say hi and give you a flower. How are you feeling? What brought you in here? Are you getting better?”

In case you ever wondered, I’m the best in the world at asking questions. It’s because I’m genuinely interested in people and their stories. And it’s a control/defense mechanism. If I keep people talking about themselves, they won’t have a chance to ask me about me.

And so I went, room to room. I spent over four hours at Carillon passing out flowers and hearing people’s stories. The time passed until it was Christmas past.

A few days into the new week I starting thinking about the roses in the vases. They’d be drooping by now. Few things are sadder than a rose browned and bent over in a vase. They’d have to throw them away. And the vases would be empty.

It was one of those private “come to Jesus” moments. If I didn’t go back to Carillon, then my Christmas day visit would be a pure act of selfishness. Sure, I took flowers. Sure, I visited with people. But the truth is I was there because I didn’t want to be alone. If I never went back, what would that say about me?

So on New Year’s Day I said to Annie and Emma, “Girls, we’re going to go visit some people.” We got more vases and roses and off we went. We’ve been going ever since. With the exception of several out of state vacations and the girls having the flu, we’ve been there every week for the past three years. After the first several months Emma asked me, “Daddy, what’s on the 4th floor?”

“That’s Vista Care Hospice”.

“How come we don’t go up there?” I didn’t have a good answer so after that conversation we’ve been there every week, too.

Over that time we’ve met many fascinating people and heard the stories of their lives. My girls have learned what it means to “serve each other with love” (Galatians 5:13b). At ten years old they are completely comfortable around the elderly, their wheelchairs, walkers and canes. They talk and visit and laugh and I couldn’t be prouder of them. We’ve gotten to know people, developed rich friendships and grieved when they left for heaven.

Christmas is in a couple days. With due respect to my dear friends here, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t still a sizeable loneliness in my life. There’s no getting around the fact that the holiday season magnifies what’s broken in a person’s life. I still deeply miss my family and friends in faraway places and wish that I could be in their kitchen laughing and eating and sitting by their fireplace. Yet from that long ago dark night when the angel announced the Good News to shepherds in the hills of Bethlehem, Christmas comes to us where we are. And where I am, like it or not, is here.

It’s Christmas in a couple days. We’ll go to Carillon House to visit our friends who also know something about “lonely”. They’ll be thinking about their spouses who died this year or last, about all the friends they’ve outlived,  and how they probably never imagined spending Christmas in a skilled care center. We’ll spend time together, encouraging one another and hopefully remembering that Christmas comes to us where we are. And in the coming, it brings the hope that someday we’ll all be in a place where lonely is nowhere to be found.

Wherever Christmas finds you this year, remember that Jesus comes to you where you are. And that He can take even desperate acts of self-preservation and redeem them for something good.

Merry Christmas.

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Um, yeah. That’s what I thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your server can do without the mixed message.

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

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

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com