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The heavens declare WHAT?  

At 25,000 feet, clouds look different.  They just do. From the window of a jet, the view is completely unobstructed.  No cluttered skylines, no haze, no polluted air, just crisp viewing. 

But the skyscape I like best is seen at much lower altitudes.  I love it when the plane lofts just high enough that is enshrouded in the misty vapor of the first cloud layer. Wispy trails rocket past the window reminding me of just how fast the hollow metal tube in which I’m seated is actually traveling.  

But once we reach cruising altitude—say 25,000 feet—the clouds look much more like a VBS craft project of cotton balls glued to blue construction paper. Right about then, Psalm 19 often sweeps over me:

“The heavens declare the glory of God.  The skies proclaim the work of His hands.  Day after day they pour fourth speech.  Night after night they display knowledge.”

On a recent flight it came to me that David wrote this Psalm likely never having climbed anything taller than Masada (1,440 feet above the desert floor).  We're not told if he ever climbed Mount Hermon (about 7,300 feet).  But with his gift for poetry, what lyrics would David have constructed had he sat in the window seat next to me?  What imagery would he have crafted staring out at the wing?  You can bet it would be memorable—and worth memorizing. 

Back to Psalm 19, though.  Verse one says the heavens “declare” and the skies “proclaim.”  The problem is, I’m rarely listening to what they’re declaring or proclaiming!  In fact, in my on-going distraction, I often don’t even notice the skies. It’s a shame.

 The heavens are declaring. 

They will declare tonight in the glitter of a hundred billion stars.  Or the sliver of a milk-white moon.  They’ll declare tomorrow when orange streaks swoosh across the early morning canvas. They’ll declare the next day and the next day and the next…all the way until the cataclysm of the last day!

The heavens—God’s heavens—are declaring His glory.  The only question is, are we hearing the “glory chorus?”

 

 

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Unhelpful Impressions  
Unrelenting action, high-tech weapons and exotic locations. Stingray had it all. At least it seemed to when I was five. The mid-1960s television drama featured high-functioning marionettes, not live actors, to portray a futuristic submarine fleet of crime fighters. Powered by imagination, laced with explosions, Stingray delivered a solid half-hour of undersea thrills.
I loved it then.  I love it now.  Enough that I bought the entire five-disc series on DVD and now share this magical underwater past of mine  with our grandkids.

You’d think that in an age of green screen, CGI and 3D animation Stingray would be sunk.  But the kids love Captain Troy Tempest and his sidekick, “Phones.”  Then there’s Marina and Atlanta, who share a competing love interest in Troy.

Firmly in charge of “Marineville” is the gristled gray haired Commander Shore.  The grandkids often mimic his recurring comment,“Stand by for action.  Anything can happen in the next half-hour!”

There's something else about Commander Shore the kids have unfortunately observed.  The boss smokes an occasional cigar (looks strangely believable in the mouth of a marionette).

Recently our daughter texted us a photo of her kids who were munching on apple sticks—long skinny treats that admittedly resemble…well, a cigar or cigarette.  Recalling their Stingray pal, they clenched the apple sticks between their teeth claiming, “Now, I'm Commander Shore!”

I chuckled. Then cringed.  And thought deeply.  We are picky about what videos we let our grandkids watch.  Stingray’s story lines champion courage, selflessness and goodness. Still, Commander Shore has apparently made a deep (unhelpful) impression on our little grandkids.

I wonder—how many other “unhelpful” impressions do we leave with our little ones?  What other useless or damaging habits, words and actions do we expose them to?  We tell them they cannot watch something on television but we ourselves are glued to that same forbidden show.  We tell them church attendance is vital, but we ourselves may have a spotty record.  We tell them they cannot have a glass of this or that, yet perhaps we indulge freely.

Proverbs 22:6 counsels, “Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.”  Notice that phrase, “the way they SHOULD go.”  If we I gnore this warning, despite our highest hopes, our parenting will almost certainly…get sunk.
 
 
The Great iPhone Disaster  

Smart folks do not let smartphones near water.

(And now the story).

Recently at our campground, eight-year-old Joslynn and I chugged around the lake in a paddle boat.  Fun!  Back on shore, Joslynn immediately asked if we could take the kayaks out for a spin.

Point of clarification: paddle boats have broad flat bottoms and are virtually impossible to capsize.  By contrast, kayaks are unstable, and easily dunked.  This insight came to me later, rather than earlier.

In approximately 18 inches of water, I managed to roll the kayak, thoroughly soaking myself—and the iPhone in my pocket. Rocketing out of the sandy muck, I dug for the phone, staggered out of the water, and rushed for a towel we did not have (we were boating, not swimming!). 

Like a stroke or heart attack, I knew time was not on my side.  Joslynn and I hurried back to the camper where I recalled that shoving a wet phone into a bag of rice might help it revive.  But who has rice at a campground?  Why…the next door neighbors, of course. The throes of death tentacled my device as the screen fogged, fuzzed, coughed and wheezed. I jammed it into the bag of rice and hoped for a miracle.  With the power finally switched off, I left the iPhone in a coma on life support.  And waited.

The next day, it would power up, but the screen was still somewhat trashed.  Yet it seemed to be receiving texts and emails.  My son, Tim, the acknowledged tech master of our family, crushed my fragile hopes with the assessment, “Bro, it’s over.”  I believed him.

Day three, we transferred all the photos off the phone while there was still a pulse.  The screen was considerably improved.  “Don’t let it fool you,” Tim said.  “The battery probably won’t hold a charge.”  But it did.

Day four, I stepped out in faith and declared the iPhone resurrected—the screen fully restored.  But I knew that even if that were true, another water disaster would likely seep into my future.  So I immediately priced out a water tight case. I wanted the assurance that if ever again I capsized a kayak or canoe I wouldn’t be out hundreds of dollars.  That very morning I bought a “Lifeproof” case.

This is a rare happy story in a long line of wireless woes, but also something of a cautionary tale.  It is well and good to want to protect a smartphone from disaster. But do we extend the same concern in protecting ourselves from sin?

Your body (and mine) is a “temple of the Holy Spirit.”   How much care have I extended in fighting gluttonous impulses every time somebody at the office brings in doughnuts?  What kind of protections do we make to keep our online experiences free from sexual imagery?  What about our choices in movies, books and music?  Do we have a “lifeproof” case for that?  Or are we just sort of hoping we won’t get capsized by sin?

Having baptized other phones, my “Lifeproof” purchase shows it’s not a question of if—but when—I’m going to face a disaster.  How dare we be one whit less defensive when it comes to sin!

 

 

 
Remembering Elizabeth Philhower  
I will never forget the first time I met Elizabeth Philhower.  Pulling up to the farm with her daughter, Diana, I was struck immediately by how different a place this was from my home.

I grew up in the shadow of O’Hare airport surrounded by congestion, noise, crowds and planes.  But Calvin and Elizabeth’s place was peaceful, quiet and surrounded (it seemed to me) by corn—and cows.

To know Elizabeth Philhower was to know she always had a place for you at the table.  Last-minute dinner guest?  You were welcomed. You brought an extra friend with you?  Never a problem.  There was always a place for you—and your friend—at the table.

There was a place for you in her family room.  I remember the many conversations we had with Elizabeth and her husband Calvin. Whether it was just a few of us…or a ton of us…(like Christmas and Easter) there was always a place for you in her family room.

There was a place for you if you needed a room for the night!   She housed many an overnight for her kids’ friends.  There were overnights with missionaries, overnights with others in ministry. Or others—like me—interested in their daughter, Diana.

There was a place on Elizabeth’s lap for little children. She loved little babies and always made space for them.  She adored her grandkids and great grandkids.

Most importantly, there was a place in Elizabeth’s heart for Jesus.  Long ago, she reached the conclusion that Jesus is not a religious myth invented by weak people trying to make sense of life.

She came to realize that she—like every one of us—had sinned (fallen short of God’s perfect standard).  Elizabeth knew that she needed to be forgiven.  So she asked Christ to be the leader of her life, the forgiver of her sins.

Because of that critical life choice, the Bible assures is that Jesus now has a place for Elizabeth…. and for all who receive the forgiveness of Christ.

Elizabeth died last Wednesday afternoon at the age of 91.  Diana and I will miss her. But some day, by the authority of Scripture, we are promised we will see her again, because Jesus has made a place for Elizabeth, and us, and all who have made room for Him as Savior.

Have you made that choice?

Jesus said in John 14:1-3, “Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me.  In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you.  If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.”
 
What Billy Graham's Grandson Wants You to Know  

Recently, I had the honor of talking with Will Graham.  As the grandson of evangelist Billy Graham, Will carries the family name well.  Better than that, he carries the name of Jesus well.

In the course of more than three decades at Moody Radio, I’ve been blessed to meet and interview a number of Will’s family members: Anne Graham Lotz, Franklin Graham (Will’s Dad), Gigi Tchividjian, and Billy himself, whom his grandson refers to as “Daddy Bill.” 

Can I tell you a secret, something I’ve seen up close?  Apart from their love Jesus, the most important thing you need to know about the Graham family is that they are plain humble people, gracious and unassuming to a person.

They’ve been everywhere, done everything.  They have preached, published, and proclaimed the Word.  They have dined with presidents and princes.

In the course of our conversation, I thanked Will for the Graham family’s integrity over many years.  He reminded me that he is constantly aware of the potential to fall, jealous to guard the reputation of Christ. 

Will recalled traveling to Anaheim, California as a boy where his grandfather was speaking. Billy was spotted and people lined up for autographs—big time.

There were hundreds of people and the line wrapped around the entire block. “Daddy Bill patiently met with every single one of them,” Will reflected.

At one point, Will decided to walk across the street and talk to his Grandpa.  But a policeman, doing his level best to manage the crowd, kindly informed young Will he’d have to get in line.  Will remembers, “Just then Daddy Bill called out to me with his arms wide open.  ‘Will!’ I ran right over to him.”

Will now ponders that moment of so many years ago as a unique life lesson. “When you’re a grandson, you have access to your grandfather.  When you’re a child of God, you have access to your Heavenly Father.  Because we know Jesus, we have access to our Heavenly Father!”

Billy Graham is 98 and in declining health. Will told me, “Someday soon, he’ll go home to Jesus.  The world will lose ‘Evangelist Billy Graham.’  But I will lose Daddy Bill, my last living grandparent.” 

At this point, Will spoke softer, a lump clearly lodged in his throat. A slight pause followed as He found himself wiping a tear.  I found myself looking away.   Apparently, it was contagious. 

 
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Jon GaugerJon Gauger

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