Author: Jon Gauger

There's no way it should have been that difficult. All I was trying to do was replace our broken toilet seat. You remove two screws, pop off the old seat, and install the new one. A five-minute job—ten at the most.

The first bolt came right off. The other—not so much. Rusty! More than rusted, it appeared welded. No amount of torque from my wrench or spray from my WD-40 made it budge.

It was time to get serious. With a power tool, I could slice the bolt off and grind down some of the wing nut. Still no go! Finally, we ended up drilling out the brass screw. By the time we finally "won," the toilet's exterior oozed oil, rusted flakes, and metal powder. And did I mention my face wore the same concoction (you practically hug the toilet bowl to work on it)? It just shouldn't have been that difficult!!

Or should it have?

Charlie “Tremendous Jones” once quipped, “A lot of people are miserable because they expect everything to go right. They’re asking for misery!”

Exactly where do we get the notion that life should be easy? Or comfortable? Without a shred of experience or evidence to support it, we embrace this undying fiction of a smooth life here on earth. Heaven?  Yes! But here and now?  Bible teacher Michael Easley is fond of reminding us that "Life, at best, is a clean bus station."

In John 16:33, Jesus said, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

He didn’t say we might have trouble. He didn’t say there was a possibility of trouble. He said we would have trouble.

Thank God for Jesus—the Overcomer.

He overcame sin.

He overcame death.

He'll overcome anything in your life or mine.

It's the most impressive mountain range in the state of Illinois.

You say there are no mountain ranges in the Land of Lincoln? Okay. So maybe I've exaggerated the peaks of rust that jut skyward near Chicago's Kedzie Avenue. Upon closer examination, the man-made mounds of steel reveal surprisingly recognizable chunks of everyday stuff.

Crane-mounted magnets and hydraulic claws paw at the piles, sorting and stacking washing machines, cars, refrigerators, dryers, freezers, and more. Though I’m glad for the recycling, I’m a bit sad for myself—and you.

In those piles, I see the investment of so many false hopes, not to mention big dollars. We were just sure the rush of owning that new car would translate into a lasting satisfaction of knowing we’d finally joined the cool kids.  Somehow it didn’t. And that new refrigerator—the one with the TV monitor built into the door—was going to revolutionize our grocery shopping, saving us time and money. Somehow it didn’t.

There it all stands, a pricey pinnacle of unfulfilled expectations ready to be recycled.

These mountains of mangled machinery haunt me with a solitary question. Why do we place hope—any hope—in a man-made thing? In the long history of this world, has there ever been one single manufactured thing that brought lasting peace? Or enduring hope? Or endless joy? 

Possessions can certainly streamline our work, save time, or bring happy distractions and momentary pleasure. But as our things wear out or rust out, their exaggerated offers of fulfillment deteriorate, as well.

Jesus never said, "Come to your stuff, and you will find rest." But He did say, "Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden—and I will give you rest." 

Refreshing—but never recycled—Truth.  That’s Jesus, our only lasting satisfaction. 

Our two garden boxes are nothing to brag about. But come July or August, they will produce: beans, tomatoes, onions and peppers (sweet and spicy). We have every expectation of enjoying our own organic crops.  

The soil we used was pre-loaded with plant minerals. We’ve watered regularly and there’s been plenty of sun. I even yanked a couple of weeds earlier today. So there’s every reason to hope for a harvest. 

The other day, in a weird warped moment, I asked myself, how would I feel if after all the work (mostly my wife’s) of planting, watering, fertilizing and weeding we got nothing for our return. Not one tomato or pepper. Or maybe just a handful of string beans. What then?

Honestly, I’d feel ripped off. More than that, I think I’d feel a sense of righteous indignation: “How dare those plants take in water and nutrients and have every opportunity to thrive—but give back nothing! After all, they were planted to produce!”

My harvest harangue was quickly interrupted with the thought, “What about you, Jon? Doesn’t God have the right to expect a harvest from your life?” 

Consider the rich soil of my heritage—a godly family upbringing. Consider the fertilization and watering of my faith in an education at Moody Bible Institute…the mentorship of several strong believers…the faithful teaching of our pastor. 

How could it be “normal” or “acceptable” for there to be little or no harvest from my life? Or yours?

We don’t all enjoy the same rich background, spiritually. But we’ve all been bought by Christ at a price. And He has expectations for every one of us. In John 15:8 Jesus asserts, “My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples.” Catch that? Bearing fruit is the proof of our discipleship.

Planted to produce. That’s you. That’s me.  Call it—God’s holy expectation. 

So how’s it growing?

Harriet Miller Ellwood passed away quietly on July 16, 1910.

You say you’re not familiar with Harriet? She married Isaac Ellwood, a fabulously wealthy businessman who earned his millions selling and distributing barbed wire.

Diana and I visited their estate in DeKalb, Illinois—a town known for corn more than wire.  Apart from the stately home the Ellwoods built, what caught my eye was an unusual collection of, well, stuff.

I refer to the lot of minerals, relics, and curiosities made by Mrs. Issac L. Elwood. Its treasures number in the hundreds and include:

• A flower from Lincoln’s coffin
• Lava from Mount Vesuvius
• Piece of petrified snake
• Petrified fish
• Petrified potato (what’s with the fixture on petrified things?)
• Stones from Washington’s monument
• Gold quarts from the Black Hills
• Pot from Old Ireland (cooking pot, not the stuff sold today on every street corner as CBD)
• Stones from the Island of Ischia (extra credit if you can find it on a map)
• Part of Washington’s flagstaff from Mount Vernon
• Wood from an old treasure chest owned by Washington’s grandfather
• Beans from the Sandwich Islands (huh?)
• Jawbones of sawfish
• Wood from the battlefield of Waterloo
• Turkish newspaper

Such an eclectic mix begs questions like: Why did Mrs. Elwood want these things in the first place? How much did she pay for all that stuff (the petrified fish, for starters)? Precisely what was the going price for a flower from Lincoln’s coffin—or a hunk of Washington’s flagstaff?

It's easy to paint Mrs. Elwood as a strange lady with even more eccentric tastes.  But we collect, too: stamps, coins, dolls—and remember Beanie Babies?  We’ll leave them all behind, of course, when death comes knocking. But I hope when that day comes, I am known less for the collection of my physical stuff (my garage is embarrassingly cluttered) and more for the invisible:

• A life of steady prayers
• A mind of favorite Scriptures
• A trail of faithful witness
• A heart of Jesus’ love

Now there’s a collection worth sharing.

“I'm an electrical engineer turned Bible teacher and theologian. I hope that's not shocking.”  Fred Dickason has a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.  He is 94 years young—and I do mean young.

He zips around his apartment complex, greeting just about everyone by name, then welcomes us into his home.  There, we record an interview for an upcoming Moody Radio broadcast.

Fred's answers and reflexes are lightning-fast. We are discussing his newest book, Dangers of the Spirit World.  Though several of Fred’s books are considered classroom standards in seminaries and Christian colleges, he’s lately given Amazon eBooks a whirl.

After the interview, we head down to the cafe for lunch. Fred opts for a Rueben sandwich and coffee. Here, we learn that during his college years, he helped develop infrared technology for Texas Instruments. But God had other plans for Dr. Dickason, who ultimately spent 34 years on the faculty of Moody Bible Institute, where my wife and I met him.

To say Fred is still active is to say Bill Gates is still rich.  “I have counseled over 650 people with demonic problems for over 46 years. I have seen the Lord Jesus free Christians from oppression and lead them into a life of fellowship and victory.”

Fred quotes Scripture easily—and confidently.  He misses his wife, loves his kids, and glows about his grandkids.  And—he’s working on another book project.

As our time runs out, he escorts us to the lobby, where we walk by a grand piano.  He offers to play a quick song as we depart. Fred is no wannabe.  He plays musically and meaningfully. 

In the sixties, the Beatles playfully asked, "Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm 64?"  At 94, Fred Dickason is still feeding others spiritually. 

You might say he’s in it—for the long haul.

 

Even to your old age I will be the same,
And even to your graying years I will bear you!
I have done it, and I will carry you;
And I will bear you and I will deliver you

– Isaiah 46:4

 

 

 

 

 

Can you name this author?  Two clues:

• Clue #1: He wrote nearly 10% of the most quoted lines ever written or spoken in the English language.
• Clue #2: Only one other English writer is quoted more often.

Who was he? William Shakespeare, of course (“a rose by any other name….parting is such sweet sorrow…”). He wrote 37 plays that total 884,429 words. By comparison, the King James Bible contains 783,137 words.

If the pen is mightier than the sword, Shakespeare was among the mightiest. That’s why I was so stunned when I saw the offer from Amazon Kindle.

I could buy the complete works of Shakespeare for the princely sum of…(cue the minstrel)…49 cents! Though I love a good bargain, this struck me as criminal. All that beautifully crafted dialogue, all those spectacular sonnets valued at less than half a buck?  It didn’t seem right.

And that takes me to the point of this blog. How much do we value—truly value—the Word of God? What if I shared some metrics that could prove how much you love (or merely like) the Word of God?

If we love the Word of God, we…

• Read it. All the time. No day is complete without time spent in the Word.
• Quote it.  As easily as we quote movie lines or ad slogans.
• Live it. It directs our daily thoughts and actions. It routinely corrects and guides us.

What do our lives say about how much we value the Bible? Is the Word always on our hearts and minds?  Can we quote from it as easily as we do the latest episode of the Mandalorian?  Or do we give it—say—49 cents worth of attention? 

How to ruin a perfectly sunny morning:

STEP 1: Find yourself snarled in stop-and-go traffic.

STEP 2: Come to a complete stop and wait until…

STEP 3: Another car bumps into yours.

That was us.  In God's kindness, the collision claimed no casualties. The airbags didn't go off, and when we surveyed the damage, it seemed apparent this was a rather minor accident. Thankfully, the other driver was insured, and the fender-bender left our car drivable. No drama, mama.

One month later, we were reminded that things are not always as they appear.  The voice on the other end of the line explained that the insurance company was going to total our nicely maintained minivan.

“No way!” we gasped. 

It turns out the car that hit us was just small enough that upon impact, it slid under our bumper and bent the frame.  The lay-flat seats in the back were not quite flat—because of the bend in the frame.  And the list of problems went on.

The thing is, if all you saw were the mashed tailgate and bumper, you would never believe the vehicle was that bad off. Did I mention it ruined a perfectly sunny morning?

Pondering the prospect of hunting for another car (used cars are now priced at a premium, and dealers have few new ones in stock), a new thought came to me about personal hurt and loss.

What we see in someone else's life as a mere fender bender may well be for them a devastating—even life-defining—moment. Things are not always as they appear. And pain is a mysterious—if not personal—thing.

Upon seeing the (apparent) fender bender a friend has gone through, it's human nature to suggest we genuinely know the pain they feel because—after all—who hasn't been through a fender bender? 

But maybe—just maybe—there’s more to it than meets the eye. Things, after all, are not always as they appear.

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.

—Colossians 3:12

Mutts Gone Nuts.

That's how they billed the evening.  Five dogs—all rescued from animal shelters and trained by Scott and Joan Houston and Sam Valle—delighted the audience with their antics and agility. 

We smiled as the dogs scampered on rotating barrels.

We chuckled as these furry friends danced on two legs. 

Then trainer Samantha Valle—who has appeared on Kelly and Ryan—introduced us to the greyhound that holds the record for the highest jump of any dog in the world.

But the thing that blew my mind was watching one of the dogs jump rope and then do Double Dutch jump roping!  I can't imagine how long that training took.  Amazing to think that these dogs have gone from shelter to show biz. 

Remarkable as the performance was, I couldn’t help but notice the immediate rewards doled out to each dog after every trick.  Tasty snacks of some kind. I'm sure the dogs are plenty good-natured (and certainly hard working). But, they did not do what they did out of a sense of animal altruism. They did it for the treats.

As those mutts finished their performance, I felt a gnawing in my soul (and no, it wasn’t a dog!).  Exactly how much like those dogs are you and I? I’m not speaking of our agility—I’ve never been good at jump rope!  I’m asking—do we do what we do for God only because of the “treats” we expect Him to give us?

Do we spin and jump through hoops only for the hope of an immediate reward, a spiritual buzz of some sort?  Or worse, do we secretly do what we do merely to keep up appearances?  Are we trying to impress fellow Christians (in a “golly-it-wasn’t-much”) fake humility?

There is nothing wrong with the hope of eternal rewards. We should be thinking about them, even motivated by them.

But there is everything wrong with a soul that demands instant pay-outs, instant affirmation, instant treats.  God forbid we try to hammer grace into gratification on the anvil of our need.

 

Lord, help me do what I do because I love you.

Not so that you’ll give me something more.

Amen!

 

You probably never met Manish Sukhadev.  He recently succumbed to the Coronavirus wave sweeping over India. But before he died, Manish lived.  Really lived.

He was an Awana missionary in central India, and that’s where I met him back in 2011.  Born a Dalit—India’s lowest caste—he was a short guy with a big smile and an impish laugh.

Manish was one of those guys who was “on” 24 hours a day.  He was never not a missionary. Flipping through our India photos, one of my favorites is a shot of Manish parked on the cement floor with someone he had just met—and was trying to witness to. Because this guy sat on the floor, Manish sat on the floor.  Anything to show kindness and the love of his Jesus.

Manish was as tireless as he was fearless.  He thought nothing of riding crowded trains for hours or days to “sketchy” locations to teach or preach or lead Awana meetings. And he was bold to ask for prayer. Here are a couple of reports he shared on Messenger:

• This week we had an amazing time ministering to Children in two different churches of Indore.  During VBS, God gave us an opportunity to lead ten children and seven youths to Jesus. What a joy in heaven when we see those souls follow you!

• This week our ministry is in an orphanage with children affected by leprosy.

• Had the privilege of meeting a servant of God who was put in jail for the cause of the Gospel. In a couple of hours, our family will be traveling to Neemuch to minister to girls rescued from prostitution. May I request you to keep us in prayer? Thanks.

• Had an amazing meeting with first-generation Christians who are also church planters.  They have never been to Sunday School. When they heard about it, they got so excited about it. They have a plan to do Awana and Sunday School teachers training in the next couple of months.

Given a chance to sum up his life, I think he might use the exact words he shared in a report to his prayer partners:

• Was a joy to share the Gospel which changes the life of many.

Don’t you want to grow up to be like Manish?

I do!

Did you watch the American Country Music Awards last weekend?

Despite having fewer viewers than last year, the ACM awards show still drew a larger audience than its network competitors combined.

Though I like a lot of modern country music, award shows are not my thing.  But I’m so glad Diana was watching. I was working on a sermon in my office when the sounds of Amazing Grace echoed down the hall.

Sauntering into the family room, I watched Carrie Underwood proclaiming, "was blind, but now I see!" Then gospel music legend CeCe Winans joined her for a stunning rendition of Great is Thy Faithfulness. As the hymn medley continued, a choir joined in on The Old Rugged Cross, which transitioned into a spectacular performance of How Great Thou Art.

Was this really happening?  A playlist of choice hymns sung on the CBS network—not some Christian cable channel?  It was hard to believe. 

Against the powerful current of a culture that (to my ear) seems to be shouting its rejection of Christianity, here was this island moment of worshipful hymns.

It’s easy to grumble about the direction in which our country is headed.  Easy to be a pessimist.

There is much which ought to alarm us about our culture. Still…still…for five minutes, the nation watched (more than six million of us) and listened to a message that stands timeless against all the hate and violence of our day.

Yes, America is broken.

Yes, we’re on a dark path.

But somehow, we ought not to let things like this pass us by.

Let’s not forget to celebrate the good things.

This good thing.

Me?  I stand with Carrie Understood and sing to our God, “How great thou art!”