Thursday Thought

Have I told you about my robot buddy?

We met at the Jacksonville, Florida airport. Thoroughly bored while waiting for a flight, I decided to get some steps in. That’s when I saw it—or him.

A rolling canister of stainless steel whisked by, the gentle sound of its rotating bristles scrubbing the floor. But this cleaning robot was no dummy. It skillfully negotiated turns around food vendor carts, merchandise displays, and oblivious passengers.

If necessary, the robot reversed. If boxed in, it made U-turns or circled back. The thing was nothing short of amazing. It should be, as I later learned, it sells for between thirty and forty thousand dollars (depending on what options you select).

The longer I stared, the greater my intrigue. We even made a selfie together, that robot and me. But then, I decided to test it.

I walked right in the path of that mechanical marvel and stood there to see what it would do. It paused, then pivoted in another direction. I immediately hopped in front of it again, blocking the way. My robot friend backed up and chose a different course. I jumped in its way for a third time. Then a fourth.

As the stymied robot stood there for a brief, boxed-in moment, it finally spoke: “Excuse me. I’m going this way. Please step aside.” The voice was polite but firm. Completely unintimidated. At that, I gave way. Feeling sheepish for my juvenile behavior (perhaps an onboard camera snapped a picture, and I’m now on some “no walk” list at the terminal), I pondered what had just happened.

A determined “servant” (mechanical though he be) was simply trying to follow his course, and I repeatedly stood in his way. Rather than sound an alarm or flash a light, the calm voice said, “Excuse me. I’m going this way. Please step aside.”

In times like ours, people and policies increasingly stand in the way of any believer seeking to follow the course of Christ. It’s tempting to respond with one of two extremes—snarky comments or personal pity.

But what if, rather than posting nasty comments or placing angry phone calls, we stood our ground humbly and kindly? What if we spoke to our detractors respectfully—yet firmly–and said, “Excuse me. I’m going this way. Please step aside”?  

The days ahead will require discernment and courage—in generous supply. Following Jesus is just not going to get any easier. But maybe—just maybe—we can learn a thing or two from that robot.

Trying to connect with your neighbors is harder than connecting with the eggshell you dropped into your cake mix.

Absorbed in their digital domains, most folks have little time for old-fashioned face time. But my friend, Tim, is determined to build bridges into the lives of his unsaved neighbors. He’s stumbled onto an unusual strategy.

At his church, they serve unsold treats from a local bakery after Sunday morning services. Tim’s buddy, Russ, helps sort out those pastries, and he tries to set aside a beautiful collection of huge cookies for Tim.

With those baked goods in hand, Tim spends part of his Sunday afternoons knocking on his neighbors’ doors. And those neighbors are glad for the visit.

“There’s a happiness vibe you pick up on quickly,” observes Tim. “People seem genuinely surprised that you would think of them. But I’m convinced it’s bigger than just the enjoyment of a few cookies they didn’t have to pay for. The sense of being thought about, cared for, and visited is a rare thing.”

Rare enough that some of these neighbors invite Tim into their homes. They talk. They laugh. They share life. Tim and his wife have even had dinner with some of them. This past Sunday, Tim was out sharing cookies. And he hopes to do the same this Sunday…and the next…and the next.

Is giving an unsaved neighbor a cookie the same as sharing John 3:16? Obviously not. But conversations have to begin somewhere. And eventually, one of those conversations might well present an opportunity to share Jesus. So, why not start by sharing something nice with your neighbors?

As Tim puts it, “A cookie in the hand is a foot in the door!”

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

-Ephesians 2:10

I had a train to catch.

On top of that, I hoped to get to the station in time to grab lunch for the ride home. So, I was hoofing it pretty good. On that 7th day of April, it was 37 degrees—chilly weather even for Chicago. But the cool air felt refreshing, since I was almost jogging.

With little margin to spare, I trotted past the back entrance to Chicago’s famous Merchandise Mart. When it opened in 1930, it was the largest building in the world.

That’s when I saw him.

He was sprawled out on the cement. Fully conscious, he did not appear fully coherent. A Dayglo orange hospital band encircled his wrist, and a shoe slipper rested lazily five feet away from his crusty black sock.

I scooted the shoe toward the man, asking, “Are you okay, sir?” He mumbled something unconvincingly. Do you need help?” I asked? He finally said, “I’m okay.”

“Right answer!” I thought to myself. After all, I had a train to catch, so I moved on.

But the more steps I took, the more guilt I felt. It was like I was starring in a remake of the Good Samaritan—playing the role of one of the guys who rushed by the ambushed traveler.

Quickly, my question, “Are you okay?” felt shallow and disingenuous.  Because there is nothing okay about a fellow human being sprawled on the cement.

In retrospect, a much better response would have been, “How can I help you?” But that would have almost certainly obligated me to do something. Something for which I “had no time.”

Such an excuse sounds logical, reasonable even. To us. But in the ears of the Almighty, it rings of a callousness betraying the name and nature of Christ.  

The only time we will ever have for sure is the present. “Later” is an unreliable appointment.

Over my shoulder, I saw another gentleman approach the guy on the cement.  In the growing distance, I heard him ask the exact same question: “Are you okay?” I didn’t stay.

I had a train to catch.

But whoever has worldly goods and sees his brother or sister in need, and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God remain in him? Little children, let’s not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth.  -1 John 3:17,18

Image by jorono from Pixabay

A half-day fishing charter in Florida waters—Friday mornings don’t get any better!

On the drive over to the boat dock, nine-year-old Sadie, who was determined to join us, launched an intense line of questions:

• How can you tell if someone is a Christian?
• Is it okay to just ask them?
• Does that work?

Sadie’s questions shot out like a machine gun, and with about as much penetrating power. As I listened, I wondered if, at some point later, I might be able to share Jesus with our captain.

Once that boat prop bit into the water, we were enchanted by the bounce of the waves, the smell of the air, and the tug on the line (not much of that in my case). We saw manatees, dolphins, a stingray—even bald eagles. My son-in-law, Josh, caught flounder, a bluefish, a stingray and crab. And Sadie hauled in her own share of fish, including a rare Snook.

Looking back, I admit to becoming so intoxicated with the business of fishing, I failed to fish—for souls. Never once did I mention the name of Jesus that morning. And the captain even cracked a conversational door open when he mentioned his traditional religious upbringing.

Mesmerized by the waves, wind, and wildlife, I sought nothing more than the pleasure of the moment, with no thought of the vastness of eternity—or the condition of the captain’s heart.

Jesus told the twelve—and us—He wants us to be fishers of souls. When He said, “I will make you fishers of men,” He intended that we would be more than pleasure-seeking passengers in this life. He intended that we constantly look for small opportunities to point to Him, and that we stop expecting lost people to come to us—but instead commit to going where they are. THAT’s real fishing.

It’s easy to get so distracted by this life that we fail to fish for souls. No wonder 2 Timothy 4:2 urges us, “Preach the word; be ready in season and out of season.”

Amen—and let’s fish!

A half-day fishing charter in Florida waters—Friday mornings don’t get any better!

On the drive over to the boat dock, nine-year-old Sadie, who was determined to join us, launched an intense line of questions:

• How can you tell if someone is a Christian?
• Is it okay to just ask them?
• Does that work?

Sadie’s questions shot out like a machine gun, and with about as much penetrating power. As I listened, I wondered if, at some point later, I might be able to share Jesus with our captain.

Once that boat prop bit into the water, we were enchanted by the bounce of the waves, the smell of the air, and the tug on the line (not much of that in my case). We saw manatees, dolphins, a stingray—even bald eagles. My son-in-law, Josh, caught flounder, a bluefish, a stingray and crab. And Sadie hauled in her own share of fish, including a rare Snook.

Looking back, I admit to becoming so intoxicated with the business of fishing, I failed to fish—for souls. Never once did I mention the name of Jesus that morning. And the captain even cracked a conversational door open when he mentioned his traditional religious upbringing.

Mesmerized by the waves, wind, and wildlife, I sought nothing more than the pleasure of the moment, with no thought of the vastness of eternity—or the condition of the captain’s heart.

Jesus told the twelve—and us—He wants us to be fishers of souls. When He said, “I will make you fishers of men,” He intended that we would be more than pleasure-seeking passengers in this life. He intended that we constantly look for small opportunities to point to Him, and that we stop expecting lost people to come to us—but instead commit to going where they are. THAT’s real fishing.

It’s easy to get so distracted by this life that we fail to fish for souls. No wonder 2 Timothy 4:2 urges us, “Preach the word; be ready in season and out of season.”

Amen—and let’s fish!

What if you could travel back in time to 1926? And what if you attempted to describe to them what life is like in 2026?

Imagine their shock and disbelief when you tell them we can order—and receive—all kinds of stuff. On the same day!

You and I think nothing of:

• Same-day printing
• Same-day auto repairs
• Same-day dry cleaning
• Same-day teeth whitening
• Same-day house cleaning
• Same-day medical tests
• Same-day flowers

And of course, Amazon continues to flirt with same-day delivery on a growing number of products. But—back to our modern era.

In today’s economy, those two words, “Same-Day” are just about everybody’s favorites. As it turns out, God likes them, too.

In Genesis 17:10, God commands Abraham, “Every male among you shall be circumcised.”

Let’s not get too lost in the awkward medical side of things here. Instead, skip ahead to Abraham’s response recorded in verses 26 and 27:

That very day, Abraham and his son Ishmael were circumcised. And all the men of his house, those born in the house and those bought with money from a foreigner, were circumcised with him.

Abraham did not merely consider, deliberate, or delay. He obeyed. That very day.

This is the kind of man or woman God favors, chooses, and uses.

Read this brief account yourself. You’ll discover Abraham heard, believed, and obeyed God. Immediately!

Lord,

I want to be a “that-very-day” kind of follower. Because “someday,” “sometime” servants are of little use in your Kingdom work.

Help me to:

• hear…
• believe…
• obey…

…that very day.

Amen!

Raking the lawn. In March. Not exactly on my bucket list.

But there I was, scooping up twigs, leaves, branches, and pinecones— airborne flotsam from a recent windstorm. Dumping yet another load of yard waste into the trash can, I happened upon a neighbor’s yard.

He and his wife have a perfect lawn, and they’re genuinely nice neighbors. Over the years, we’ve gotten to know them. We’ve prayed for them and even treated them to dinner on a couple of occasions. For years, we’ve been praying that Christ would save them. Yet nothing seems to be happening, despite our efforts. And that’s frustrating.

As I raked up more debris, prickly pinecones poked my hands, while the thought of my neighbors poked my soul. The truth is, it feels like we always initiate almost any kind of conversation. Maybe they merely tolerate us. Maybe they wish we would back off. Perhaps we should. After all, my prayers seem to have about as much value as the riffraff on my lawn.

“It’s just not working, God,” I informed the Almighty. “I guess it’s time to give up.” At that precise moment, this neighbor of mine pulled into his driveway, shouting a greeting in my direction.

I did not walk—I ran over to the guy and shook his hand.

We were talking for less than one minute when my neighbor said, “You know, Jon, we should get together as couples. Maybe dinner or something?”

(And right about there, I felt less than one inch tall, spiritually). Time to confess my unbelief.  

So, what did we learn, class?  It’s easy—shockingly, horribly easy—to sell God short. Resist the temptation. God is on the job—even when we don’t see it.

Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.

—Matthew 7:7,8

Image by Liz W from Pixabay

He was just 29 years old when his experiment paid off. 

On March 10, 1876, Alexander Graham Bell spoke into a wooden box with a cone-shaped mouthpiece. His voice traveled over a wire to another room, just out of earshot from Thomas Watson, Bell’s assistant. Answering that very first phone call, Thomas heard, “Mr. Watson, come here. I want to see you!”

It all happened 150 years ago—this week.

When He thinks about you and me, pondering our “checklist” approach to prayer, I wonder if God is ever tempted to borrow Alexander Graham Bell’s famous line: “Come here. I want to see you!”

The truth is, He does want to see us, be with us, hear from us. There isn’t the tiniest detail of your life that doesn’t fascinate Him.

So, isn’t prayer supposed to be a conversation built on a relationship?  But what kind of worthwhile conversation is entirely one-sided? Can we really call it a relationship when our “intimacy with God” is as predictable as it is mechanical?

So often, we come to Him with only a list. But what God wants is our love. And love has always been spelled T-I-M-E. What if instead of asking for presents, we gave Him our presence?

I ask you—as I ask myself—when was the last time you came to see your Heavenly Father—just to visit? When did you last talk with Him because you could —not because you “had to.”  How long has it been since, instead of giving Him your shopping list, you gave Him your silence? Or praise. Or song.

Like everyone else, I’m a struggler. But I somehow find it easier to relax and talk with God—as a friend—when I’m out in nature. Choosing to just talk—and listen—becomes so much more natural when I’m deep in the woods. Maybe for you, that happens when you’re listening to praise music, or singing a hymn, or sketching a picture. The important thing is that we find what helps us move from formality to reality, from plastic to organic.

Listen closely. Do you hear something? It might well be the voice of God saying your name, followed by “Come here! I want to see you!”

You’re more impatient than you think you are.

Banking giant Fifth Third has the proof. They commissioned a survey and discovered that nearly 80 percent of respondents rated themselves as being patient, but in reality:

• 96 percent of those surveyed will knowingly consume scorching food or drink that burns their mouth; 63 percent do so frequently.
• More than half hang up the phone after being on hold for 1 minute or less.
• 76 percent regularly drive faster than the speed limit to get to their destinations faster.
• When waiting for a table at a restaurant, nearly a quarter of respondents ages 18-24 wait less than one minute before approaching the host again.

If you’re an impatient person (and most of us are), you’re not looking for another lecture or well-meaning friend to tell you to stop doing what comes naturally. What you need is a burst of something supernatural. And that’s precisely what David offers us in Psalm 27:14.

SOURCE: https://www.dnj.com/story/money/business/2015/02/23/survey-says-patience-longer-reality/23903981/#

It’s the self-talk he needed for the many unresolved conflicts in his life: “Wait for the LORD; Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the LORD.”

It feels counterintuitive, doesn’t it? “Just be patient and wait.” Isn’t that what you were told as a kid? Well, your mom and dad were right. After all, you get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it open.

“But isn’t there something I can do?” we ask. Actually, it’s not one thing but two.

After re-committing yourself to waiting, David says we should first “Be strong.” The Hebrew words for “Be strong” here and elsewhere in Scripture direct us to carry out repairs, become mighty, and collect strength.

If you believe the Bible is true, you have to believe that we are engaged in constant spiritual battles—and war always creates damage. Any chance some of your relationships are a bit frayed—damaged even? There’s some repair work that needs to be done.

What about your daily quiet time with God? You say, “I’ve been too busy lately,”—or “I haven’t gotten much out of it.” Time to make some repairs! 

Why not choose to “collect strength” by memorizing this very verse? If you learn it now, you’ll have it for later—when your self-talk foments and shouts at you to “Do something!”  Imagine calmly but forcefully speaking this wisdom to the screaming doubts that assail you. That’s what it means to “let your heart take courage!

For whatever reason, it’s much more helpful for me to say this verse out loud than to just read it silently. It’s like I’m verbally opposing the negative self-talk coursing through my brain. And so we must!

Fredrick William Faber says, “We must wait for God, long, meekly, in the wind and wet, in the thunder and lightning, in the cold and the dark. Wait, and he will come. He never comes to those who do not wait.”

Why not give it a try?

Next time your first instinct is to ram ahead and “do something,” reach for Psalm 27:14. Don’t hate to wait! Instead, be strong and let your heart take courage by waiting on the Lord.

Today’s blog is a sample from Powerful Self-Talk from the Psalms. Let this resource help you replace negative self-talk with Scripture.

Have you noticed the trend toward snazzier, jacked-up weather words? This week, we were told a “bomb cyclone” hit New York City with the most snow it’s had in more than five years.

Not to minimize the troubles of our East Coast brothers and sisters, but think about it. We’re only talking five years here, not ten or twenty or fifty. Nevertheless, we were informed—with utter certainty—this (snow storm) was a “bomb cyclone.”

In 2019, experts labeled the extreme cold we experienced in the Midwest a “Polar Vortex.” But in decades past, we simply called this a “cold snap.”

In the emerging world of weird weather words, you’ll also encounter reports of a “Flash drought” or “Heatpocalypse.” Other relative newcomers include “Firenado,” “Derecho,” or “Heat Dome.”

While it’s true that today’s meteorologists have a larger suite of tools and a more refined capacity to analyze and label data, it’s tough to deny the penchant for newer, glitzier terms.

But there’s a problem with using inflated language. When we inject common words with the steroid of excess, a predictable addiction is sure to follow. Eventually, these hyped-up terms are no longer sufficiently hyped. And the language junkies of our culture will require something weirder and wilder.

Unsurprisingly, the Word of God has something to say about inflated speech. In Matthew 5:37, Jesus warned, “But make sure your statement is, ‘Yes, yes’ or ‘No, no’; anything beyond these is of evil origin.”

Maybe it’s time we did a self-assessment of our speech patterns. Are we guilty of exaggeration, manipulation or inflation? Do we inject oversized adjectives and adverbs in our conversations to create emotional responses that outscale the truth?

Hear Jesus again: “Make sure your statement is, ‘Yes, yes’ or ‘No, no’; anything beyond these is of evil origin.”

Honest words may not be snazzy, but there’s something remarkably refreshing about them in an age of linguistic distortion: truth.