What proficient skills do you possess because, once upon a time, someone had the patience to start from scratch and teach them to you?

Have you said “thank you”?

As I sit here composing this column it occurs to me that my fingers are quickly, and fairly accurately, navigating the “QWERTYUIOP” keyboard with little thought or effort. If you can believe it, I’m not even watching my hands. A feat which, for a guy with only one eye, may be of greater or lesser significance depending on how you look at it.

I owe it all to Mrs. Johnson.

It was a one semester class. Typing. That’s what they called it back in the day. And Mrs. Johnson was our teacher. Anyone who teaches junior high is automatically a saint. The only question after that is how many stars they’ll have in their crown. Teaching a bunch of ornery pubescent 8th grade boys to type had to be good for a least a couple.

Mrs. Johnson was a classroom veteran, having taught my Dad and I suppose some of the Dad’s of my fellow classmates when they were in high school. She was a no-nonsense person and as I recall, nothing phased her. A trait that served her well when trying to get me and my buddies to pay attention long enough for her to explain the basics of the electric Royal’s and IBM’s.

We learned one letter at a time. Where to place our hands. What fingers to use to reach for the letters above and below. How to use the space bar, the shift key and the tab. How to set our margins. How to capitalize. And eventually, hopefully, how to do all that without looking at our hands, which she insisted would ultimately slow us down.

As the semester progressed, we were given tests. To type certain assignments from the flip-chart style textbook that stood next to our typewriters. A mistake couldn’t be erased. If you messed up, you had to start over. The purpose was to develop our attention to detail while working toward speed and accuracy.

However, my buddies and I viewed it as a challenging opportunity to obliterate the other guy’s work. On test days, we didn’t look at our hands as much but only because our heads were on a swivel, watching for incoming bombs of balled up masking tape, big erasers or, in extreme typing warfare, a tennis shoe. All launched with the objective of wiping out 20 minutes of keyboard perfection. If your radar and deflector shields weren’t up, your “quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” became “quick brown fox juiyrpyweseg”, complete with a massive key jam. The sound and score of a direct hit was immensely satisfying. To get bombed on the last line of your test and have to start over, the ultimate frustration.

Somehow, in spite of all our horseplay and inattention, Mrs. Johnson taught me how to type. And in the process, she made it enough fun that when school let out for the summer, I went home and found my Grandpa’s old manual Smith-Corona. I even lugged it on our family trip to Ohio and West Virginia, journaling our adventure. A month of pounding those stiff green keys and you had finger strength enough to poke bare handed through drywall. A few years later, my parents gave me my first electric. It felt like I was typing on air.

Mrs. Johnson’s been gone for many years. I never had opportunity to say “thanks” for teaching me a skill I use everyday. More importantly for me, a skill that is an integral part of my passion to write and communicate. That I can sit down and quickly type out an idea, think on paper (or word processor), or otherwise express written thoughts and sentiments to others is an ability I take for granted.

Take a moment and think about something you love to do. Or a skill you use everyday. Who taught you? Make a point to find them, wherever they are, and say thanks. You’re a better person because they taught you something. And because you’re better, everyone in your life is better. Because it’s impossible to only make a difference in one person’s life. We’re all connected. Make a difference in one, and you make a difference in more.

Go make a phone call, send an email, or write a note and say “thank you for teaching me”. It will make their day. And yours, too.

I will be typing my thank you notes on the computer while looking at the screen.

And not at my hands.

Thanks, Mrs. Johnson.

Todd A. Thompson  www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

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

Nothing.

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

Nothing.

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

Could it be?

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

…and pressed the button.

Door down.

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

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

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

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

Suffice it to say they did some pointing.

And no small amount of butt kicking.

And it made all the difference.

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

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

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

Neither can you.

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

- Proverbs 27:5-6

Todd A. Thompson - www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com 

The girls and I have a way of cramming a lot of theological discussion into the 15-minute drive to 1st grade.

Annie wonders out loud, “So we’ll get to see all our friends up there, right?”

Her question unknowingly intersected with my homesickness. I really miss all my friends back in the Phoenix valley. The people here in this new place have been more than kind. It’s made the hard work of starting life over not quite as daunting. Still, they are all new. Everything is new here. It’s the difference between the brand new loveseat at the furniture showroom and the favorite couch at your best friend’s house. The difference between sitting gently and not for long and flopping down, hugging a pillow and settling in for the entire four quarters of Monday Night Football.

New takes time to become comfortable.

Emma must have caught my expression in the rear view mirror. “Are you okay, Daddy?”

“I’m fine, baby.”

I thought she’d press the question. But it’s like she knew what I was thinking.

“You’ll make new friends here, Daddy.”

Who is this kid? Ten minutes ago we were standing in front of the bathroom mirror battling over ponytail vs. “some up, some down”. Now she’s Yoda, the life coach with a Hello Kitty backpack.

“That’s right, Daddy.” Annie joins. I love when they do this. The twin dynamic never ceases to intrigue me. They share a brain. And whatever thought they offer is delivered in stereo.  “It’s just like the song we sing at Girl Scouts, Daddy.”

I was going to ask what song but all Annie had to do was sing the first word and by the next eighth note Emma was in perfect sync and perfect pitch.

“Make new friends, but keep the old.

One is silver and the other is gold.

A circle is round, it has no end.

That’s how long I want to be your friend.”

A relational reality of living in a fallen world is that those we love are never “all together”. Even perfect attendance reunions of friends and family are only momentary distractions; a weekend glimpse of what life would be like without separation. When everyone gets in their car to go home, we all go back to loving from a distance.

The Bible says that no one can imagine what God has prepared for us in heaven. That we can count on. No one does surprises like God. And just think what He can do with all this time to prepare? And while I can’t point to chapter and verse to back this up, I have to believe a big part of heaven will be enjoying all the friends we’ve ever made without the tyranny of a fixed schedule. There is a freedom in “forever”. Not the least of which is never having to say the word “good-bye” again.

Till then God calls us to “…one another” one another. Pray for one another. Bear one another’s burdens. Encourage one another. Cry with one another. Laugh with one another. Serve one another. Forbear and forgive one another.

We do this where we live, wherever we live. Making new friends. Silver, perhaps, for the moment. But they will all be gold up there.

With no end.

“Eye has not seen nor ear heard what God has prepared for those who love Him.”

- 1 Corinthians 2:9

Todd A. Thompson - www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“Daddy, look! There’s Hazel!” Annie and Emma take off running to give her a hi and a hug.

At the other end of the long hall, sitting in her wheelchair, is Hazel. She came here a couple months ago after suffering a stroke. A Southern belle originally from Baton Rouge, her soft Louisiana voice is charm school sweet and dipped in Mint Julep.

During our first conversation the topic of her age came up. Her daughter told me she was 93.

“Hazel,” I said, “I’m gonna take you to the fair and make a lot of money having people guess your age because there’s no way you’re 93.”

“Why, thank you.” Her smile seemed to agree that I’d make bank.

Hazel’s memory has been affected by the stroke. Almost like a sporadic dementia. Some days we visit without difficulty. On this day, her short-term memory has stepped out for a bit. She is slowly wringing her hands; anxious, fretful and nervous.

“I’m hoping they’ll come for me. If I sit here I think I’ll see them. I hope they find me.”

Her daughter Nita is running errands and will be back in an hour or two. Hazel has forgotten that. She squeezes her hands together and leans forward in the direction of the elevator, anxiously looking for the familiar face that will put her heart at ease.

Emma pats her shoulder. “It’s ok, Hazel. We’re right here.”

Perhaps a distraction will help. “Hazel, I’m sure Nita will be back soon. You can hang out with us while we put out the flowers. Why don’t you come along with us to the rooms. Emma can push your wheelchair.”

“I can push you, Hazel.” Emma grabs the handles and Annie puts a hand on her shoulder.

Hazel is lost in her worry. “I hope they come for me. Because I’m here. I hope they come for me.” She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m right here, you know.”

“I know, Hazel. And we’re right here with you.” And we are. But we’re not sure if today is a day that Hazel can know that.

We begin putting out the flowers. Hazel doesn’t want to move, afraid she might miss whomever she is hoping for to come around the corner.

We make our rounds, visiting with our elderly friends while replacing last week’s roses with fresh ones. By the time we get around to Hazel’s room, a nurse’s aide has helped her into bed. Her demeanor is changed. She seems relaxed. At peace. I wonder what happened to make it so.

She points to Annie and Emma with excitement. “They found me! I was waiting for someone to find me. And they found me!” Hazel is happy now.

Making certain she has my attention, she points to Annie and Emma. “These are my precious little girls. They are my fairy princesses. I see their angel faces in my dreams.”

I don’t doubt that she does.

As I turn to leave for the next room, Hazel reaches up and squeezes my hand. Hard. With a relieved smile she says, “I’m so happy to be found.”

Sometimes we wander through our days oblivious that we are lost. Sometimes we feel lost and we’re fearful that what is comforting and familiar to us will never return. Sometimes we’re running hard away, knowing full well we are lost but afraid of what will happen if we stop long enough to admit it.

However it happens, being lost is scary.

Saying goodbye to the patient in the last room, I go looking for Annie and Emma. I hear crazy loud laughter coming from Hazel’s room.

Peeking in I see the three of them playing volleyball with a balloon. Hazel, laying down in her bed says, “Oh, girls, you’ve got to hit it harder than that. You’ve got to really smack it!”

Smack!

Hazel serves up a high floater.

The girls giggle and trip over themselves, whacking it back to her. The volley goes between them till Hazel’s return puts the balloon out of reach, stuck in the lamp.

“Hazel!”, the girls shriek, “What a shot!”

Hazel is proud. She showed them how to really smack it.

I step quietly away. It would be a sin to stop this game.

More giggles. More “smacks!”. More laughter.

Indeed, it is a happy thing to be found.

“Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, “Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep. I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

- Luke 15:1-7

- Todd A. Thompson   www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“Friendship is the greatest of worldly goods. Certainly to me it is the chief happiness of life. If I had to give a piece of advice to a young man about a place to live, I think I should say, “sacrifice almost everything to live where you can be near your friends.” I know I am fortunate in that respect.”

Are you blessed to live near your friends? And should God move you, have you developed friendships that will transcend time and distance?

Having relocated six months ago to this new place, I am acutely aware of the importance of friendships. I sadly left behind 14 years worth of relationships in the Phoenix valley; people I had invested in and who had invested in me for over a decade. I miss them greatly.

What I’ve realized by being alone in a new place is that the only way friendships can transcend distance is if they were nurtured and developed with lots of “face time” before you, or they, moved away. In short, if you haven’t developed good friends before it’s time to rent the U-Haul, it’s too late. That I can call my friends, who now live hundreds of miles away, and pick up where we left off is because we spent lots of time together making memories and helping one another grow.

Sometimes the silliest things can help create a bond of friendship that, as Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 4:12, “isn’t easily broken.”

One evening in October of 1983 during my junior year at Northwestern College, my roommate Craig Pennings and I were studying in our dorm room. On my desk was a box of Ritz crackers that I was munching on. I offered him some and he said “No, thanks”.

I said, “What’s the matter? My crackers aren’t good enough for you?” He said, “Hey, I’m not hungry.” When he left the room, I put the box on his desk. Later, without a word he put it back on mine. And so it went for a couple days. One day when I got them back on my desk for the umpteenth time, I put them away.

Before going home for Christmas that December, I dug those crackers out, tied them up in their wax paper wrapping, and stuffed them inside a shoe in his closet. I scribbled a note that said something like, “Since you didn’t eat them in October, I thought you might be hungry by now.” Then I laughed and left. By the time I came back for second semester, I had forgotten all about it.

In May 1984 after final exams I was packing up to go home for the summer and found the crackers stuffed in one of my shoes with a note from Craig that he thought I should keep them.

I did keep them.

For a whole year I kept them.

I kept them until graduation in May of 1985 when I went to his closet and stuffed them back in one of his shoes just before leaving the dorm for the last time. I attached a note that said, “Thought you better have these crackers since you wouldn’t eat them in October of ‘83. You thought I’d forgotten about these, didn’t you?” I laughed, thinking it was the last laugh, and left.

In April of 1988, three years after we graduated from college, I got a package in the mail. Inside were the crackers, along with a note that said, “Remember these? I thought you might be hungry.” 

This was entirely too much. Thinking for three years that you’ve had the last laugh only to realize you were just dealing with a very patient person is a real jolt.

In 1991, I mailed them back to Craig with a note.

For my birthday in 1993 he mailed them back to me with a can of Cheeze Whiz.

In May of 1996 I sent them back to him with a note, “Roses are red, old buckets are rusty, after 13 years, these crackers are crusty”.

I got them back in the mail in 2000 as a belated birthday present.

While preparing a sermon on friendship in September of 2004 I realized I had the crackers in my closet. I thought it would be an appropriate occasion to send them back to him.

These crackers or, more accurately, cracker dust, gets mailed back and forth every 2 to 4 years. Always after the other guy has forgotten all about them. And always with a note stapled on top of all the other notes we’ve written. It’s been going on for almost 25 years. Being the good friend that I am, Craig knows that if he dies before I do and the cracker dust is in my possession, I will find a way to get it inside his casket. Being the good friend that he is, I know he will do the same for me.

To anyone else that bag of Ritz cracker dust is worthy of a trash can. For Craig and I it’s part of the legacy that is our friendship. This running joke is evidence of a friendship that goes much deeper. Craig is one of the most loyal friends I’ve ever had. He has been there for me during the most difficult times in my life. He is an encourager with a caring heart and one of the most dependable people I’ve ever known. The kind of guy you can call in an emergency on zero notice to drive two and a half hours to pick you up at the Omaha airport from a midnight flight and then drive you another two hours to Sioux Falls, South Dakota where your Dad is in the hospital after a stroke.

In his song “The Times of Our Lives“ Paul Anka wrote that, “Memories are times that we borrow to spend when we get to tomorrow.” Before memories can be spent, they must be made. How are you doing making memories with your friends? Are you making memories on purpose? Or by chance? Are you taking the camera with you when you go out to dinner? Are you playing the practical jokes that make for good stories later? Are you taking road trips? Going to concerts together? All these experiences now become valuable pieces of the “I remember when…” game later. They are all part of the legacy of friendship.

Here’s hoping you are blessed with friends near and far. And that wherever you’re living, you’re investing in friendships that will transcend time and distance.

If you’re not making friends, you might want to start. Your life will be richer for it.

And speaking from experience…

…if God decides to move you, it’s nice to have help loading the U-Haul.

- Todd A. Thompson

www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

My first experience with Rudy’s was in Austin, Texas while visiting with our friends Andy and Lynn Neillie and Ron Sciarro. At Rudy’s, your plate is a sheet of waxed paper spread out on a picnic table. Brisket, ribs, sausage, smoked turkey, all smothered in Rudy’s BBQ Sause (sic). Or for those who can’t handle the regulation flavor, some Rudy’s Sissy Sause.

The philosphy at Rudy’s is summed up in the phrase printed on the back of the employee’s T-shirts. “I didn’t claw my way up the food chain to eat vegetables.”

Is Rudy’s good BBQ? Let’s just say that when I relocated here and saw the Rudy’s sign off Loop 289 I grabbed my cell phone, called Ron back in Phoenix and said, “There is a God in heaven and He loves me.”

As you wind through the line at Rudy’s you walk along big rectangle metal tubs full of ice, packed with sodas and beer. Annie and Emma like to pull out bottles of IBC Root Beer and Cream Soda. The first time they did that and it came time to open them, I walked them over to the opener that was screwed into the wall, right above the mounted box that catches the bottle caps.

“Daddy, what’s this?”

I grew up with openers on the wall and snapping the caps off Coke bottles. It didn’t occur to me that something so old would be so brand new to Annie and Emma.

It set me to thinking about other experiences that my kids will never or likely never have. They will never watch TV around midnight, hear the national anthem played before the screen goes fuzzy white and off the air until morning. They won’t know what it’s like to have to get off the couch to change the channel. And they will never know the anticipation of viewing “A Charlie Brown Christmas” on network television with the understanding that you wouldn’t see it again for a whole year.

They won’t know what it was like to ride in cars that didn’t have seat belts. The first thing they hear from me is, “Buckle up!” When I was their age my sister and I were free to roam the back seat like goats in a pasture. And unless we’re ever passing through Orange City, Iowa and stop at Mulder’s Phillips 66, they won’t ever know what “Full Service” at a gas station means.

The only way Annie and Emma will be aware of what life was like back in the day is if I tell them. Which I do. Bedtime stories always start with Emma saying, “Daddy, tell us about when you were little. Tell us the WHOLE story.” They pull the covers up to their chin and snuggle in, eyes bright with anticipation. And we begin.

“When Daddy was a boy…”

The story is old to me.

Brand new to them.

In the Old Testament book of Judges, we find several brief verses that detail one of the saddest and most tragic downward spirals in all the Bible.

“After Joshua had dismissed the Israelites, they went to take possession of the land, each to his own inheritance. The people served the Lord throughout the lifetime of Joshua and of the elders who outlived him and who had seen all the great things the Lord had done for Israel. Joshua the son of Nun, the servant of the Lord, died at the age of 110. And they buried him in the land of his inheritance, at Timnath Heres in the hill country of Ephraim, north of Mount Gaash.

After that whole generation had been gathered to their fathers, another generation grew up, who knew neither the Lord nor what He had done for Israel. Then the Israelites did evil in the sight of the Lord and served the Baals. They forsook the Lord, the God of their Fathers, who had brought them out of Egypt.”

- Judges 2:6-12

This generation, the ones who didn’t “know the Lord or what He had done for Israel” were the grandchildren of those people God delivered out of 400 years of bondage in Egypt; those who were eyewitness to God parting the Red Sea, providing manna in the wilderness, water from a rock, and whose presence was represented in the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night.

What happened? These people who knew the Lord and saw with their own eyes the miraculous protection and provision of God didn’t tell the whole story. All it takes is one generation to drop the ball, to be silent, and the next generation will know nothing of the Lord and what He has done for us.

Tell the story. Tell it to your kids. Tell it to your friends. Tell it to strangers. Tell the story. Every day. In some form or fashion, tell the story of what God has done in your life. How He has protected and provided. How He has guided and directed. How He has forgiven and forgotten. How He has brought beauty from the ashes. How He has shown Himself faithful when there seemed no hope. How He has done miracles in your life. Most of all, tell the whole story of how He saved you from your death penalty of sin and made you a brand new creation.

We can’t afford to be the generation that drops the ball. The story might be old to us. But it’s brand new to them.

Tell the story.

And as Emma would say, “Make sure it’s the WHOLE story.”

“Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.”

- Deuteronomy 4:9

- Todd Thompson, A Slice Of Life To Go

Every Thursday I pick up Annie and Emma from school and we drive here to see our elderly friends. It’s our favorite part of the week, something we look forward to. The girls help me put fresh roses on the dining tables and then we go room to room, pausing to visit as we replace last week’s rose with a new one for their vase.

There are 20 patients on this end of the floor. Making the rounds on this day, we’re sad and happy. Sad that we don’t get to see Mr. Billy. Happy because after six months he finally got to go home. The first few times I stopped by his room, he seemed like a tough nut to crack. A big burly man with a flat top haircut who wasn’t much for talking. Then several weeks ago I noticed a small Marine Corps sticker on his bulletin board. “Are you a Marine, Billy?” It was like I’d discovered the magic key that opened the door of conversation. For ten minutes he told me about what it was like to join the Marines at age 17. About fighting in the Pacific Theater during World War II. About being on Iwo Jima. He spoke of his two Purple Hearts and the shrapnel he still carries in his body. He held up the palm of his thick hand and I saw a scar from his thumb to his wrist. “That’s where I grabbed a bayonet that was coming at me. Almost cut my whole thumb off. That guy didn’t live long.” He said it not with braggadocio, but with the somber tone of a man who put his life on the line for freedom.

There is a suitcase on Kathleen’s bed. After being here for several months, she gets to leave tomorrow. She’s only half excited because though she’s leaving, she can’t go home. An intermediate step of an assisted-living apartment is required. In reference to dealing with the disappointment of not being able to go home she says from her chair, “I’ve got some adjustments to make in my attitude. I’ve got some growing up to do.” To hear this retired school teacher speak openly of our never ending need to grow and learn inspires me.

We go to the General’s room and find it empty. The light is on. Perhaps he’s down in the therapy room. Annie and Emma are concerned. They love the General. The first time we saw the name on his door, we thought “General” was a nickname. Then I saw the 8×10 photograph of General with Edwin Meese from President Reagan’s administration and realized the General is a real General. Air Force, two stars. 91 years young and a wealth of life experience. Last week I brought him a copy of his career biography that I printed from the Internet. He hadn’t seen it before. I watched him look it over and tried to imagine what it would be like to read the story of your life on two pages. Emma leaves a chocolate bar on his bed and returns several times to see if he’s back.

Wanda thinks she’ll be going home in a couple weeks. She’s trying to get strength back after a stroke. Word puzzle exercise sheets and color by number projects are on her table, part of her therapy to regain fine motor control in her right hand. She told me how good God has been to her, even in the details of her stroke. “Just a few days before I was thinking about how I don’t know how to use the speed dial on my cell phone. So I figured out how to put my son’s number in there. When I got dizzy and collapsed all I had strength to do was push that one button. Thankfully, he was only five minutes down the road.”

When I saw a new name on the door a couple weeks ago I figured Herbie would be a guy. But Herbie is an elegant professional woman, patiently enduring treatment so she can go home and get back to her real estate business. God willing I make it to 83, I hope I’m still hard at work like Herbie.

Phyllis paces back and forth down the hall with her walker. I feel for her. How frustrating when you can’t make the connection between your brain and your speech. She tries and I patiently listen. Inevitably she sadly sighs and shakes her head, wanting desperately to form the words. Then Annie and Emma come through the door and her face lights up like a billboard in Times Square. Just their presence seems to comfort her. She smiles and breathes easier and I stand there, dumb and humbled by the frailty of our humanity and the blessing of children.

From her bed, Gladys says,”I just love to see those little girls. And those roses are so pretty! You know that big pink one at my table in the dining room is still beautiful after a whole week.” Gladys loves roses. She has a big oil painting on the wall, a still life of roses in a vase. She leans forward a bit and extends her arthritic hand. “You know, I take care of that one out there. I put ice cubes in there every meal so they melt and keep the water full. And I think that’s why it’s doing better than all the rest.”

The hope of returning home. The desire to return to work. Striving to regain physical and mental abilities. We all need something to look forward to. A purpose that makes us feel significant. Today my friends at the care center, each in their own way, reminded me that there is no such thing as insignificant purpose.  

This week as I work and pray over my life struggles, wondering and worrying how it’s all going to turn out, Gladys is faithfully feeding ice cubes to the pink rose at her table, doing her best to keep it beautiful until next Thursday.

I can’t think of anything I’m doing this week more important than that.

- Todd Thompson

www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

One thing I show customers is what it can do with a stalk of celery. Everyone’s least favorite part of celery is the string. It’s difficult to digest and it’s also the bitter part of the vegetable. Yet run it through the Saladmaster machine and voila! It cleanly pulls off the sweet part of the celery that you’d want in your chicken salad while leaving the strings behind. Sometimes I crack the bad joke, “With Saladmaster, there’s no strings attached.”

Last week as I was cooking for some people, running a couple stalks of celery through the machine, it occurred to me that I wish forgiveness was as easy as this. A quick spin of the handle, leaving sweetness in one hand and bitter strings in the other. An easy way to separate the good from the bad. One to keep, one to throw away.

Genuine forgiveness is harder than that.

More often than not we forgive with strings attached. I will forgive…

…if

…when

…after

…until

…only

It’s curious in a sad sort of way, this business of forgiving with strings attached. Outwardly, we extend our “forgiveness” because it makes us feel better and look better to other people. We’re taking the high road, being the bigger person. Sometimes we even build imaginary martyr statues of ourselves; a tribute to our benevolent nature and a place where we mentally kneel and pay homage to the nobility of our pain.

Not only are the strings attached, we’re the one holding on to them. Which is to say we have a firm grip on our bitterness. There is something within that is loath to let go of a wrong done to us. We want the control. We want to reserve the right to pull back the forgiveness if and when it is no longer merited. We want to reserve the right to vindicate ourselves. We want to reserve the right to mete out judgment should God or the reproofs of life fail to punish our offender to a degree that satisfies our sense of fairness.

The very fact that we attach a condition to our forgiveness proves that we believe, consciously or otherwise, that we are in a superior position to judge the failures of another person.

Can I say it? When we hold on to the strings, it means we are not in touch with our own sinfulness.

It is inherent within our sin nature not to allow us to view ourselves with complete objectivity. Put another way, it is our fallen nature that prevents us from seeing how fallen we truly are. Our sin nature doesn’t want to admit that the hand holding the strings is unqualified to do so. Instead, it resorts to a sliding scale of holiness. As long as we feel we’re better than the person who hurt us, then we justify having the right to set the conditions for forgiveness to happen.

The problem with this mentality is that holiness is not a sliding scale. God says that His glory, His perfection is the standard. He put it this way, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23) In the original Greek text, the word “all” means…(are you ready for this?)…all. You. Me. All of us. We all fall short. Which means none of us are qualified to hold the strings of unforgiveness.

God goes on to say something else. Something wonderful. He says that He “showed His great love to us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8) If anyone has a right to hold on to the strings of unforgiveness, it’s God. Yet He willingly chose to forgive us, even while we were still sinning.

Lewis Smedes defined it best. “Forgiveness is giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.” Giving up my right. Letting go of the strings of bitterness. Trusting God for His perfect justice as we thank Him for not holding the strings of unforgiveness when we sinned against Him.

God forgives us with no strings attached.

He wants us to do the same.

“Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

 - Ephesians 4:31-32

A scene early in the film shows the drivers getting into their vehicles to start the race. Franco, the Italian race driver (played by Raul Julia), jumps into his Ferrari. He reaches up, grabs the rear view mirror and breaks it off the windshield. Tossing it aside, he says with great conviction,

“The first rule of Italian driving is a what’s a behind me is a not important.”

What’s behind me is not important. It makes sense if you’re a race driver. Beyond that, it’s still worth thinking about.

As we sit in the driver’s seat, all of us have three parts to our life experience:

Our past - Where we’ve been. The stuff we see in our rear view mirror.

Our present - Where we are today. The view through the windshield in this moment.

Our future - What lies ahead down the road. The unseen future God has for us.

Today we sit in the driver’s seat facing the future and we wonder what to do with what we see in our life’s rear view mirror. It’s a mix of successes and failures. Victories and defeats. Honors and embarrassments.

For most of us, it’s not the good parts of our past that hold us back. I doubt many people go to their therapists and say, “I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. I just can’t seem to get past being elected Homecoming queen.” No, it’s the bad and sad we tend to fixate on. The wrongs done to us and the wrongs we did to others.

How much time do you spend thinking about the imposed and self-inflicted pains from your past? Are they passing thoughts? Rare thoughts? Or are they thoughts that preoccupy you? Thoughts that consume you?

If you get in your car tomorrow morning, pull out on the freeway and drive looking only at the rear view mirror, how far do you think you’d get? Who likes to start their day with the sounds of shattering glass and crunching metal?

God understands that we all have a past. But I wonder… does He spend as much time thinking about it as we do?

And if He doesn’t, why do we?

God says that if and when we confess our sins, “He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9) He also promises that we are a “new creature in Christ” (2 Corinthians 5:17). By God’s definition, we are forgiven.

The problem of staring at the rear view mirror after God forgives us is that we begin to confuse our past with our present identity. We still see the image of who we used to be. The screw up. The rebel. The liar. The cheat. We feel the weight of our sin and in our soul pressed moments begin to doubt and wonder if God has really forgiven us. When our image of who we are comes from the rear view mirror, we can’t see through the windshield to our present reality and the future God has for us. The famous psychiatrist Karl Menninnger once said that if he could convince the patients in psychiatric hospitals that their sins were forgiven, 75% of them could walk out the next day.

Make no mistake. Satan doesn’t want you looking through the windshield. He wants your eyes glued to the rear view mirror. He’s not about to remind you that you are forgiven. He wants you to see yourself as the person you used to be, not the new creation you are. Satan can’t stop you from accepting God’s forgiveness. But he will work like hell to see that you don’t accept God’s acceptance. If he can keep your eyes on everything ugly in your rear view mirror, you won’t live like a forgiven person.

There’s a reason the rear view mirror is this big and the windshield is THIS BIG. Rear view mirrors are for glancing at, not staring at. Rear view mirrors are for perspective. A quick look once in awhile to remember from a grateful heart what God has saved you from. A peek to remember that by God’s grace, you aren’t the person you used to be. You are a new creation.

Time to stop staring at the rear view mirror of yesterday and start looking through the windshield of today. That’s where you’ll see all the people that need to hear the good news that God is here to love and forgive and accept them. Unconditionally.

Eyes forward.

“This one thing I do: Forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” - Philippians 3:13-14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexander Whyte said…

“The victorious Christian life is a series of new beginnings.”

That is certainly true when it comes to our devotional relationship with God, otherwise known as “quiet time”. It has to be one of the Christian’s most popular New Year’s resolutions, “To read my Bible through and spend more time with God.” So we try. We fail. We try again. This time with stronger resolve. But our resolve, while sincere, is weak. The excitement that carried us through Genesis wanes in Exodus and dies a slow painful death in Leviticus.

Oh well, there’s always next year.

Many of us approach our quiet time with a mechanical formula and a prescribed idea of what a proper quiet time should look like. We may try to emulate the patterns of famous saints of one or two or four hundred years ago; men and women who rose at 4 AM and prayed for three hours everyday without considering that they lived in a world one or two or four hundred times slower than ours. Honestly, if you had no TV, radio, e-mails, telephones, or automobiles in your life you’d have more time to think deep thoughts.

That’s not an excuse for avoiding quiet times. Simply an acknowledgment that we have to work harder at it. I suspect that given their passion for writing, John Calvin and Martin Luther would have been computer freaks had Apple and Microsoft been in Geneva and Germany. Imagine Luther nailing his papers to the door in a color laser printed 15-point font and Calvin putting his Institutes on the web? 

This isn’t easy to do, but remember that when you’re in the Bible you’re in the real world. In fact, you’re never more in touch with reality than when you are reading, studying, and meditating on the Bible. The life we’re living on this planet, the daily frenzy that consumes us, is passing away (2 Corinthians 4:18). It isn’t going to last. It’s on borrowed time with no extensions. As real as it seems, life as we know it on planet earth isn’t going to last. God and His word are eternal. Don’t think of time alone with God’s Word as something to squeeze into your day. Think of it as a daily reality check reminding you of what’s forever and what is fleeting.

The Bible is a big book. Even more daunting (and comforting) is that it is an infinite text. You could study it exclusively and non-stop for a hundred years and you’d still discover new truths. It’s God’s word and God is infinite. The desire at the start of a new year is to read all of it. That’s certainly worthwhile. And you won’t be disappointed if you do. Yet if the only goal is to read through the Bible in a year it’s possible to arrive at December 31st having sped through the Bible; not unlike the Dad who brags to his family about how fast they made the drive from Iowa to California. “Didn’t stop to see anything but we sure made good time.”

How much better would it be to say, ”My focus in 2008 is to spend time everyday in the book of Ephesians.” A whole year to spend on 155 verses. Sound too narrow? Feel like you’re ignoring the rest of the Bible by spending a year in one book? What’s the goal of our growth anyway? Isn’t it to “be conformed to the image of His Son” (Romans 8:29)? Relaxed, thorough and joyful study of one book for a year will build infinitely more into your character than speeding through the entire Bible just to say you did. Because the chapters and verses will become part of who you are.

Spend the year, for example, in Ephesians and you’ll enter 2009 with a deeper understanding of how God chose you before the foundations of the world. You’ll marvel at the incredible miracle that you were saved by grace through faith. That you’re part of a bigger picture, a player in God’s divine drama to whom He has given gifts and talents with which to build up others. You’ll understand what it means to walk worthy and how to deal with your former life apart from Christ. You’ll have insights on how to be better husbands and wives and parents. And you’ll learn how to prepare for the spiritual battle that is waged.

A year spent understanding your vertical relationship with God and your horizontal relationships with others? How practical is that? How much more productive would our lives be a year from now for having spent a year in Ephesians?

In 2008 why not consider going deep with 1 book instead of wide with 66?           
   
As you read, relate. Talk with God. Not in some austere stained-glass voice that you never use any other time. Talk. Get real. Be real. Push past the accusations of Satan that say you’ve got no right bringing your sorry self in front of a holy God. That business is done. You’re not a child of wrath anymore. You’ve been redeemed, regenerated, reconciled and restored. God says we are to “come boldly before the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:16). So come boldly. And gratefully. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a child of God. God likes His kids to talk to Him. In fact, He delights in it. So talk!

Take time, too, to listen. Solitude and quietness are not our strong suit. Most of us live in perpetual noise. Some of us aren’t comfortable unless we have white noise in the background. (This is me, raising my hand.) Quiet is good for us. Once you get past the initial thoughts of “I really should be doing something” God can and will use the quiet to build your soul. Don’t be afraid of meeting God in the silence. He’s your friend. Time spent in silence with God will strengthen you for living in the noise of the day. 

Explore personal worship. Find a good CD of your favorite worship music, relax and listen. Load up your I-Tunes and your I-Pod with worship music. Focus on the words and allow the music to draw your attention to God. We don’t worship enough. When we take time to be influenced by godly lyrics and beautiful music we’re growing in Christ. What an enjoyable way to grow! Money spent on quality sound systems is money well spent.

Can I say it? Sometimes louder is better. My 7-year olds crank “Shout To The Lord”, Aaron Shust’s “My Savior My God” and Israel & New Breed’s arrangement of “Trading My Sorrow”. There are times to hear the music. And there are times to feel the music.

The victorious Christian life is a series of new beginnings. On the eve of the new year, let’s enjoy God’s grace in the fresh start.

Here’s to all of us making 2008 a year of experiencing the loyal love of God.

“Give thanks to the Lord, call on His name; make known among the nations what He has done. Sing to Him, sing praise to Him; tell of all his wonderful acts. glory in his holy name; let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice. Look to the Lord and His strength; seek His face always.” - Psalm 105:1-4 

“Tell us a story, Daddy! Tell us a real one about you when you were little,” says Annie.

Emma said, “I like the one about when you fell down and cracked your head because you didn’t mind the teacher.”

Annie and Emma particularly enjoy the stories where Daddy learned a lesson the hard way.

“Ok, girls. Let’s see…when I was your age we would spend Christmas in Texas with your Uncle Jack. He’s my cousin, you know.”

“One Christmas when we were about five years old he and I got the coolest present. It was a dart gun. But not just any dart gun. A double barrel shotgun dart gun. It came with a wind up mechanical rabbit that would scoot around on the floor. We’d shoot the rabbit with our dart guns and knock it over. It was so much fun.”

“But after a couple days of this, we got bored. So we started shooting the darts at other things.’

“Ooh, Daddy, that’s bad.”, says Emma with cautious tone.

“I know. Well, we started shooting them at the ceiling.”

“Daddy, you’re not supposed to do that.”, Annie reminds me.

“I know. But your Uncle Jack figured out that if you licked the dart first, it would stick on the kitchen ceiling tile. They’d stay up there for a while, then fall down.”

“Daddy, whose idea was it to lick the darts?” That Annie asks this question means I’m not spinning the story well enough.

“It was your Uncle Jack’s idea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Anyway, we were busy licking the darts and shooting them at the ceiling. What we didn’t realize is that when the darts fell down they left little rings on the ceiling tile.”

“Daddy! You are so in trouble!” Emma is sitting up now.

“We heard the car pull into the driveway. Our Moms had been down the street at the store.”

“Uh oh, Daddy! What did you do?”

“We dropped our guns and ran like the wind. We hid under the bed. Then the darts started unsticking and falling off the ceiling. That’s when your Aunt Evelyn yelled, “Where are those boys?!!!”

Annie and Emma are both sitting up now, more than ready to hear what form of retribution would befall me.

“I told your Uncle Jack we should go out there but he said “no way”. We’d get a spanking for sure. We could see their feet walking down the hall while they looked for us. Just like the Tom & Jerry cartoons when Jerry is looking out from his mouse hole.”

Annie scolds me. “Daddy! You shouldn’t have listened to him!” I must be spinning the story better now.

“Then what happened?”

“Your Aunt Evelyn yelled something about going outside to cut a switch. I told your Uncle Jack we should surrender but he said he didn’t have a good feeling about that switch remark and that we should stay put.”

“Daddy, did they find you?”

“Oh, yes. They found us.”

Emma leaned forward, smiling and almost giddy. “Daddy, did you and Uncle Jack get a spankin’?”

“I think your Uncle Jack did.”

Annie is unconvinced. “Yes, but Daddy did you get a spankin’?”

“I can’t remember. My memory is fuzzy on that point.”

The girls laid back, pulled up the covers and looked at each other.

Says Emma, “He got a spankin’.”

Says Annie, “Yep. A big spankin’.”

Some 39 years later, Jack still has his wind-up mechanical rabbit. It sits on a shelf of memorabilia in his home, an all-time favorite Christmas present from childhood. 

The joy of Christmas is enthusiasm and anticipation to be sure. The joy of Christmas is also presents. Under the tree, hidden in attics and closets and on high up garage shelves, tied up with ribbon and beautiful paper. Presents are wonderful. Who doesn’t like to give and receive a present? Even Dr. Seuss’ cold-hearted Grinch eventually warmed to the spirit of giving. We all have memories of opening a Christmas present that made our face light up like the star on top the tree. Life around Christmas is presents and all that comes with them.

I hate to say it, but sometimes well-meaning Christians are a real downer this time of year. More concerned about what they see as commercialism run rampant, they approach this wonderful season with the freshness of last year’s fruitcake. Some of them, which is to say some of us, try to emphasize the true meaning of Christmas with phrases like “Remember the Reason for the Season” while decrying the buying and selling and the emphasis on gift giving.

When we communicate this either/or approach to Christmas, we give the impression that  genuinely remembering the reason for the season means being serious, somber and boring. We symbolically shake the snow dust from our boots as we pass the Super Wal-Mart and Toys-R-Us, as if celebration and partying have no part in the reason for the season.

Jesus Christ is the reason for the season. There is no better reason than Him to celebrate and party. God is the gift. We give because He gave. Let not your heart be troubled when you see malls full of stores making money hand over fist at Christmas. Nor should you waste your time crusading against commercialism. A moment spent decrying the holiday profit margin of The Gap is a moment not spent pondering the miracle of God with us.

If you want people to know the real reason for the season, let your celebration be worthy of the Gift you’ve been given. What’s the proper expression of celebration for being on the receiving end of forgiveness, unconditional love and eternal life?

Smile. Sing. Laugh. Party.

Be grateful. Give gifts.

Give of yourself. Volunteer.

Extend grace.

Be joyful.

Here’s hoping the memories you make this Christmas will become stories you tell to those you love for years to come.

Merry Christmas.

“For to us a Child is born, to us a Son is given, and the government will be upon His shoulders. And He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end.”

- Isaiah 9:6-7

Back in the day, a child’s Christmas wishing started in mid-October when the JC Penney and Sears Christmas catalogs hit the mailbox. I can still remember tearing off the brown paper sleeve, giddy to see the treasures inside. Kids could instinctively open it to the exact page where the toys started. Lots of time was spent anticipating and dreaming about the gift you wanted. You knew that the Hot Wheels Supercharger race track was on page 298, Item B. By day you dropped hints to Mom and Dad, the subtlety decreasing in proportion to the available shopping days till Christmas. By night you’d fall asleep thinking about what it would be like to see and hear those cars fly around the orange plastic track. Which car would be faster? The Lola GT-70 or the Beatnik Bandit?

And if you were lucky enough to tear off the snowflake wrapping paper and see the present you wished for? There’s no way to describe the joy of holding in your hand what you’ve hoped for in your heart.

Anticipation. We anticipate Christmas. The looking forward. The wondering and dreaming. That hopeful, can’t wait, edge of your seat, can’t sit still, counting the days feeling of expectation.

Christmas is about anticipation.

The anticipation of Christmas contains a blessing. The blessing is that it is a set date on the calendar. Every year, December 25th. Whether it’s 2007 or 2017, Christmas is always on December 25th. If it’s June, you know you have to wait another six months. If it’s December 15th, then it’s ten days away. Only so much time to finish one’s shopping. Only so many days to be certain the packages you mail arrive in time for the holiday. Part of what makes anticipating Christmas exciting, and tolerable, is that we have a definite day to celebrate. A definite day and date we can point to in the future and wave goodbye to on the 26th. Even in the anticipation, there is closure. Christmas will come and we know what day it will arrive.

But what if there was the promise of Christmas and no set date? What if there was the promise of Christmas but no December 25th? Just a “trust me, it’s coming. You don’t know when and you can’t make party plans or put it on your calendar or hang your stockings by the chimney with care…but trust me, Christmas is coming”. How would that change our thinking? How would we feel about Christmas if we had only the promise and no date to actually celebrate?

That was the reality of a man named Simeon. A promise from God that Christmas was coming, but no date on the calendar. A promise that he would live to see it happen, but no heads up as to when it would be. Simeon was a man standing in the shadows of Christmas, anticipating Christmas and quite possibly living everyday with that hopeful, can’t wait, edge of your seat, can’t sit still, counting the days feeling of expectation.

The Bible says that Simeon was promised by God that he “would not see death until he had seen the Lord’s Christ”. Luke 2 describes him as a “righteous and devout man who was looking for the consolation of Israel”. Which means he was looking for the Messiah.

Imagine the questions Simeon must have had. How will I recognize this Messiah? If I get to live until I see it does it mean I’ll die immediately when I do? Is there any chance I could miss it? Any chance I would not recognize Him? One thing was for certain. It would mean waiting. Maybe a long time of waiting.

Anticipation.

For all of us, life is full of waiting and wondering. We wait on job opportunities and wonder if and when they will become reality. We wait for a doctor’s diagnosis of our illness and wonder what the prognosis will be. We wait for grades to be posted and wonder if we passed the test. We wait as our children grow up and wonder if our parenting will help them become the responsible godly individuals we hope for.

And it’s the wondering that makes the waiting difficult. Because we’re wondering about what we don’t yet know. We’re wondering about that which has yet to be revealed. What we want is to hear the doctor say, “Recovery will take 6 weeks, but you’re going to be fine.” We want to hear, “You still have to finish the last four months of school, but your GPA is good enough to get you into college.” We want to hear, “You’ve got 10 more years of challenging child raising years to go, but your kids are going to turn out great.” It’s easier to wait when you know the end result.

Yet the Bible says we walk by faith, not by sight. The fact is you and I stand in the shadows much of our lives. We walk by faith while we wait and wonder. Even Simeon, with God’s promise in his back pocket, had to had to walk by faith while he waited and wondered.

What are you waiting and wondering about?

Like the excited child wound tighter than the stripes on a candy cane, we think we can’t stand another moment of anticipation. Christmas just has to get here!

And it does.

In a moment of awe and surprise, Simeon’s waiting and wondering go out with a bang. The Messiah is…a baby. Mary and Joseph, teenage parents with reindeer in the headlights looks, hand their baby over to Simeon for what should have been a routine circumcision. But nothing has been routine for this Mom and Dad. Angelic visitations, getting pregnant without having sex, giving birth in a stable, shepherds with stories of angel armies singing about their Son. And now this old man of a priest looking to the heavens saying, “Now, Lord, let your servant die in peace. For mine eyes have seen Your salvation which has been prepared in the presence of all people.”

Something happens when you hold a baby. You realize that life is not all about you. At no time in history was this truth more evident than when Simeon held the baby Jesus. Holding the Savior of the world in your arms will put life in perspective. The waiting and wondering for Simeon is over. For Mary and Joseph, the wondering has just begun.

Whatever it is you’re waiting for and wondering about, keep anticipating. Your wait may be long. Or it may be brief. But God always delivers on His promises. Christmas came for Simeon. It will come for you, too.

And when it does…

There’s no way to describe the joy of holding in your hand what you’ve hoped for in your heart.

“Simeon took the Child in his arms, blessed God and said, “Now Lord, let your bondservant depart in peace. For my eyes have seen Your salvation which has been prepared in the presence of all people. A light of revelation to the Gentiles and the glory of Your people Israel.” - Luke 2:28-32 

“Hi there, Todd! How’s it going?”

“Great! How’s it going for you?”

“Fantastic! I’m 87 years old and I love my job!”

“Your job?”

“Yep. I’m 87, I’m a commercial realtor and I love my job! Can’t wait for Monday to get here. I feel sorry for people who hate what they do.”

“But you know, Todd, I’m 87. So I started thinking maybe I should retire. So I said to the wife, “You know, I’m 87. Maybe I should retire.” Know what she said to me?”

“What?”

“If you do, I’m gettin’ a job.”

Enthusiasm. The optimistic, forward looking attitude that can’t wait for Monday to arrive and open itself like a present. We like being around enthusiastic people. People who are passionate about what they do and what’s important to them. I wasn’t in the market for a commercial building, but if I was I’d call the 87 year-old who couldn’t wait for Monday. Enthusiasm draws us.   

Enthusiasm. It literally means “God within”. And while it’s certainly easier to be enthusiastic if life is going smoothly, enthusiasm by definition has nothing to do with one’s circumstances.

Enthusiasm is about Who resides within.

Tucked away in the latter verses of Luke 2 we find an enthusiastic elderly woman named Anna. All we know of Anna is that she was married for seven years before her husband died and then lived as a widow to the age of 84. The text says she never left the temple. 

Given the fact that women then married young, Anna lived the majority of her life as a widow. Women had few rights in this culture. They depended greatly on the marriage relationship and extended family for support. It was especially difficult to be a widow with no family. While we don’t know for certain, that may have been the reason Anna never left the temple. It could be she had nowhere else to go.

Yet more important than her marital and social status is what we read about her heart. She “served continuously with fastings and prayers” and she was “looking for the redemption of Jerusalem”. Anna was anticipating God’s salvation. The text says that at the very moment she saw the baby Jesus, she “ran up and began giving thanks to God and continued to speak of the child to everyone who was looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:38)

Anna was 84 and advanced in years. Yet she’s not acting or thinking “old”. It’s true, isn’t it? We grow older but we don’t have to grow old. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Anna is vibrant in her faith and life because she focused on worship and prayer. She’s centered herself on God’s purpose. In her worship and prayer, Anna acknowledges that there is something bigger than her age and her marital status. It’s all about her God she faithfully serves. She’s so tuned in to God that she recognizes what is happening before her eyes.

Her enthusiasm turns to active joy. She continues to speak of the child Jesus to everyone who’s looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. Which in her Jewish world was just about everyone. Can you imagine her in the temple? “Did you hear about the Jesus baby? He’s the Messiah, you know. Just ask Simeon. He got to hold him! It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened. Really, go talk to Simeon. But you better talk to him pretty soon. He could die any day now, you know.” 

Enthusiasm. God within. Genuine enthusiasm isn’t self-generated. And isn’t that a relief? It’s not some manufactured self-help technique. Enthusiasm in our life flows from God residing within us. The same God who said, “Fear not, for I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Enthusiasm.

God within.

Don’t be afraid.

“Now there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years having lived seven years with a husband and then as a widow to the age of 84. She never left the temple, serving continuously with fastings and prayers. At that very moment she ran up and began giving thanks to God and continued to speak of the child to everyone who was looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.” - Luke 2:36-38

I asked the dog’s name and my neighbor told the story.

“A friend of mine told me about this dog. It wasn’t in a very good home. The family that had it didn’t treat it well. They also had little kids who kept carrying the dog around by its ears. They couldn’t get the kids to stop so the dog had to go.”

“When I agreed to take the dog, I asked what its name was. My friend wouldn’t tell me. “They called it a nasty name”, she said. I asked her to tell me anyway and she refused.”

“It was obvious the dog had been abused because it acted afraid and just cowered all the time. So here I am bringing home a dog who’s scared, who I need to get to trust me and I don’t even know his name.”

“I felt silly and not very nice doing it, but I started saying all the bad words I could think of to see if the dog responded. Nothing.”

“Then a couple nights ago I was watching a TV show. One of the characters was named “Tucker.” The first time an actor in the show said, “Tucker”, the dog’s ears perked up and he ran to the TV, jumping up and down. Every time someone said, “Tucker” he just danced.”

“I looked at the dog and said, “Well, I guess we figured out what bad name they’ve been calling you. But since “Tucker” seems to work for you, that’s good enough for me.”

She picked him up and rubbed his head. “Now that he has a name, he’s a different dog.”

As if on cue, Tucker growled and barked at a German Shepard across the street.

It’s been said that the sweetest sound a person can hear is the sound of their own name.  Setting aside those nauseating narcissists who glory in their vanity and flatterers who use people’s names to get what they want, I think the statement is true. There’s something about the sound of a name, especially when we hear our own.

I volunteer at my daughters’ first grade classes on Friday mornings. It’s been important for me to learn the names of their classmates. Sometimes sitting with them at lunch I’ll “test” myself in front of them, even though I know their names.

“Let’s see, I hope I can remember…Melissa, M.J., Savannah, Wyatt, Belle, Alize, Justin, Emily G., Adara, and let’s see, what was your name again? Was it Fred? Billy? Mike? No, it’s Jonah!”

And Jonah laughs and smiles because he knows I know his name and he’s so pleased that I remember.

When I play the name game with them I’m always fascinated by the expression on their face right before I say their name. Even though we’ve played the game tens of times, there’s a look of anxious anticipation, and in their eyes a hopeful question mark. “He will remember, won’t he? I hope he remembers.”

And when I do and they hear the magic syllables that set them apart from everyone else; they exhale the breath they’ve been holding and smile big missing front teeth smiles. Because they’ve been identified. Their name means something and in the saying of it I have validated them. “You are Melissa.” “You are Jonah.”

It’s the same reason Tucker danced in front of the TV when he heard what he thought was his name. We all want to be validated. That we are real. That we exist. That we are important.

It seems that names are significant to God as well. He named His creation. “God hung the stars in the sky and calls them all by name” (Isaiah 40:26) One would have to be creative to name untold trillions of stars. God gave Adam the responsibility of naming the animals in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:19-20). He calls His people Israel by name and by His own name (Isaiah 43:1-7).

Jesus said that He calls His sheep, those who belong to Him, by name (John 10:3). And when He does He leads them out, going ahead of them. And those who are His follow Him because they know His voice.

Lots of people know my name. Yours, too. Family, friends, co-workers, even direct mail companies who program their pitch letters to insert your name automatically throughout the text to make you feel like they know you.

But the fact God knows our name should make us feel like Tucker in front of the TV. We are real to God. We exist. Created in His image, male and female, we are valuable and important in His sight. God validates us when He says, “I know your name. You are mine.”

Today don’t just say “hi” to the teller at the bank, the cashier at the grocery store or the server at the restaurant. Take note of the badge pinned to their shirt and say the name. And when you do, remember God knows their name, too.

And if the name on the badge happens to be “Tucker”, tell the story about my neighbor’s dog. It just might make them smile.

“He calls His own sheep by name and leads them out. When He has brought out all His own, He goes on ahead of them, and His sheep follow Him because they know His voice.” - John 10:3-4

One day I commented on this. “I’ve noticed how friendly you are to everyone. Even the people who aren’t very nice.”

His answer was insightful. With a big smile and a delightful British-Caribbean accent he said, “When you live on an island, you quickly learn that everyone “recycles”. Sooner or later, you’ll see them all again. So it makes sense to be kind.”

How would we treat people if we knew we would see them all again? If we knew that everyone would eventually “recycle”?”

Sometimes the best way to think about a question is to flip it upside down. What if we knew no one would recycle? How would we treat people if we knew we’d never see them again? 

Would we use our “once and done” point of contact as an opportunity for selfish expression? Would we allow our tongue to lash? Would we step on them to elevate ourselves?

Or would we consider it a once in a lifetime chance to impress a kindness? To build up a stranger? To deliver a single act of goodness?  

Would we take the moment for ourselves?

Or would we give the moment to others?

Certainly the presumption of future anonymity has been a catalyst to human behavior ranging from harmless practical jokes to great evil. To be sure, acts of generosity have been extended to strangers one never expects to see again. Yet ever since Adam and Eve’s failure in the Garden of Eden, our human nature is weighted toward the dark side. Our desire for recognition craves the spotlight and left to itself, our sin nature thrives in anonymity. If to the general population we put the question, “what if you knew you’d never see that person again?”, it’s a sad but safe bet the answers would be more selfish than sacrificial.

How do we treat people when we think we’ll never see them again?

Then again, I wonder…how would our attitudes toward others change if we knew that, as my island friend assumed, we’d see them all again sometime?

What if we knew the 20-something kid behind the counter at the convenience store, the one with the rivets in her ears and angry tattoos on her arms, would recycle back into our life at some point? Would we look past the body art and into her eyes?

What if we knew the hyperactive kid, the one who acts like a bouncy ball loose at Wal-Mart, was guaranteed to fly across our path again? Would we make an effort to grab his shirt tail long enough to let him know we care about more than just trying to slow him down?

What if we knew the invisible street person sitting on the downtown city sidewalk would someday enter our field of vision again? Would we stop to see them, and treat them, as one created in the image of God?

All things considered, it makes sense to live as though everyone we meet will eventually “recycle”. Even if they won’t. Acts of kindness are not forgotten. They may never know your name and even forget your face. But they will not forget the good you did. Should that person recycle back into your life, what better starting point for relationship than a kindness remembered?

Starting now, live as though everyone will “recycle”. With every person you encounter, assume you will see them again someday.

Then ask yourself this question:

“When they see me again, how do I want them to remember me?”

It just makes sense to be kind.

“I expect to pass through life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow human being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” - William Penn

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

Crack a joke.

Help the carry out person wrangle a couple stray carts. Write a real paper and pen note to a former teacher telling them what you learned from them. Call your parents and tell them you noticed how much smarter they got after you went to college.

Hold the door for someone.

Let the person behind you go ahead of you in line…even if they have more items than you do. Volunteer to take someone to the airport – and pick them up when they return. Don’t go through the shirt pile at Target like a hog rooting for truffles…find your size and stack the rest neatly back. Pay attention to body language – if the words say “I’m fine” and the face says, “I’m not fine”, ask what’s wrong. Then listen.

Develop eyes for the “invisible people”…they are created in the image of God.

Hold someone’s hand.

Send someone in need an anonymous gift card with a note, “God will never let you down.” Don’t go slow in the fast lane. Help someone change a tire. Pull your kids close, look them in the eye and say, “I wouldn’t trade you for the world. I am so proud to be your Dad/Mom.” Go to the nursing home and give Gladys and Lily a makeover while you ask them about the good old days.

Tell your neighbor not to buy a new lawnmower…he can use yours anytime he wants.

Love your wife. Respect your husband. Cherish your children. Offer your God-given talents to the church and community. Make the cashier at WalMart laugh. Hug. Visit someone in the hospital. Clean up your mess.

Own your mistakes. Say “I’m sorry.”

Forgive.

Invite someone to church. Pass along the magazine article that made you smile. Gather your friends in crisis and host a “Life is Hard But God is Good” party – 30 minutes of crying and complaining followed by two hours of laughing and reminding one another that the joy of the Lord is your strength. Smile and say “thank you” and make eye contact when you do.

Ask someone, “How can I pray for you?”

Then pray.

Share a beautiful photo. Give an I-Tunes gift card with a note, “Buy the music that speaks to your heart.” Stop being grouchy. Compliment other people’s kids. Show up at someone’s door with a decadent chocolate cheesecake. (And don’t forget the coffee.) Read to your children. Give someone a roll of quarters for the car wash. Be a surrogate Mom/Dad, Grandpa/Grandma to a college student from out of state. Take out the trash without being asked. Post your child’s artwork on the refrigerator.

Leave a big tip.

Be patient with your kids.

Buy a bag of groceries for someone, put them on the step and do a “ring and run” (it’ll be a rush and you’ll feel like a kid again.) Rake leaves for an elderly person who wishes they could but can’t. Give a single parent a break by entertaining their kids for an evening. Pay compliments to those who least expect it…”Something I always notice when I come here is how clean it is. Thanks for scrubbing those restrooms. You do a great job.”

Make those who feel insignificant feel significant. Make those who feel unloved feel loved. Call out the obvious talent you see in someone and spur them to develop it.

Stop being prideful. Apologize.

Call a long lost friend in another state, tell them to go outside and look at the same moon while you talk about old times.

Play a practical joke. Make a memory.

Be thankful.

Be grateful.

Live your life as a gift to God.

Point people to Jesus.

“This is the message you heard from the beginning: We should love one another.” - 1 John 3:11

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

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

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

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

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

And tragic.

And life draining.

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

Songwriter Bob Bennett put it best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

True.

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

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

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

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

And that’s just the short list.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When I grow up I am going to be the world’s greatest hockey player. Then I will be a famous scientist, marry a perfect wife and have 5 kids. In the end, I will die.”

Being a strong believer in the value of a liberal arts education, I appreciated his understanding that he can indeed excel in both hockey and science. With the right approach he can transition his career from slap shots and body checks to titrations and electron microscopes. And I loved his innocent naiveté in believing that there exists such a creature as a “perfect wife” (or husband). A precocious kid like Ryan may be well on his way to accomplishing everything on his list, though someday that “have 5 kids” thing will require some serious co-operation from his perfect wife.

However it turns out for him, he nailed one truth to the wall.

“In the end, I will die.”

I can’t help but think if Ryan keeps that fresh in his head, everything that comes before the end will be rich for him.

When we acknowledge each day that there is an end to life on earth, it helps us live with a sense of purpose.

According to the actuarial table used by the United States Social Security Administration, my life expectancy extends another 33.28 years.

http://www.ssa.gov/OACT/STATS/table4c6.html

I can probably add several years for not being a smoker, a drinker or recreational drug user. And the family genetics indicate that 80 plus years is a good possibility. But my cholesterol and blood pressure are a little on the high side, I tend to worry too much and wherever I go I seem to be surrounded by crazy drivers. So it’s probably a wash. All things considered, if I escaped city traffic and moved to North Dakota, I could probably fire up a Cohiba, start drinking Guinness and still come out ahead. But I’m an average guy and the average 44-year old guy lives another 33.28 years.

I’ve never been good at math. But I can see the obvious. Statistically speaking, my life is more than half over. That in itself is sobering. Not that 44 is old. But it isn’t 34. Or 24. Or 12. It’s 44. I’m closer to the end than I am the beginning.

We’ve all heard or been posed the hypothetical question, “If you knew you only had a year to live, what would you do?” Such a question sends us rushing to prioritize. What’s worth my time? What’s not? What would I do more of? What would I do less of? What would I not do at all?

Of course, the follow up question is, “If there’s things you’d do more and less of if you knew you only had a year to live, why aren’t you living that way now?” Junk mail is junk mail, right? Opening it is a waste of time whether we have terminal cancer or have another 50 years on the planet. That the people in your life know you care about them is important all the time. So why wait for a tragedy to say “I love you”? Especially when telling them now will enrich the relationship for whatever time you have left?

The “what would you do if you knew you had a year to live” question is a healthy exercise if it reminds us to live with purpose. The danger lies in thinking the question is hypothetical. Because whatever the Social Security Administration’s actuarial table says about our life expectancy, there’s a more important statistic to keep in front of us.

1 out of 1…dies.

It’s just a matter of when.

There’s a difference between living with a sense of panic and living with a sense of urgency. The former is based in fear. The latter flows from confident purpose. God desires that we live with a sense of urgency because He created us for a purpose.

In Psalm 139 God tells us that He “had all our days written down in His book before there was yet one of them.” And in Ephesians 2:10 God says that “we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works that He has prepared in advance that we should walk in them.” Simply put, we can live out each day knowing that God has our life in His hand. He has a plan for us. A life of good works that He has prepared for us to do. If we live fully each day, how much time we have left becomes irrelevant. Because all we can do is make the most of the time God grants us.

And He grants us one day at a time.

So whatever you’d do more of and less of, start doing it and not doing it. Live with a sense of urgency.

Thank God for writing all your days down in His book.

Then ask Him to help you make the most of this one called “today”.