Author: Jon Gauger

Do you enjoy routine maintenance?
 
I don’t, for two reasons: “routine” and “maintenance.” There is nothing fun about either one.
 
In my experience—and perhaps yours as well— routine maintenance is rarely routine. Drive your car in for a "routine" oil change, and they invariably present you with an $850 list of "critical" issues you "absolutely must address!" Stroll into the dentist's office for a "routine" check-up, and you walk out with a $1,500 quote for a crown.
 
Last weekend, we decided we'd be good homeowners and clean out our dryer vent—routine maintenance recommended at least annually. But the cleaning brush never made it out to the vent, no matter what I did. Creeping across our cobweb-covered crawlspace, my worst suspicions were confirmed. The dryer duct lay on the cement—connected to absolutely nothing. Was it ever fastened to the outside vent?  Maybe. But shoddy workmanship had created a new headache.
 
Two hours—and one trip to Home Depot—later, the dryer duct disaster was finally over. Routine maintenance—yeah, right.
 
I suppose that same avoidance attitude might well hamper me when it comes to spiritual maintenance. For those of us who went to the school of If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It, the Bible has instructions otherwise. What if we emulated David's schedule for heart maintenance? In Psalms 139:23-24, he prayed, "Search me, God, and know my heart; put me to the test and know my anxious thoughts; and see if there is any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way.”
 
That doesn’t sound like a five-minute task, does it? Inviting God to do His routine maintenance—to search my heart—could get very messy very quickly. I'm smart enough to know there's stuff there that shouldn't be there, but not smart enough to know the full extent to which I'm offending the Almighty.
 
Like I say, routine maintenance is rarely routine. But what’s the alternative, spiritually speaking?

• A heart of stone.
• A soul adrift.
• A wasted life.

 
Routine spiritual maintenance may not be fun. But neither was Calvary.
 
Got any spiritual maintenance scheduled?

How big does something have to be for you to consider it giant-sized?  For cereal makers, the answer appears to be “not very big.”

Consider two boxes of cereal in my hands (see photo below). On my left is what Quaker calls a “giant” sized box of Life cereal. In my right hand is what Kellogg’s considers a “mega” sized box of Frosted Shredded Wheat (don’t judge our cereal choices, please—that might be another blog).

I’d say that one box is certainly full-sized—-maybe even large. But mega? No way! The “giant” box of Life cereal weighs in at 24.8 ounces. Yet a quick bit of research shows the average cereal box weighs 25 ounces  In other words, Quaker is trying to tell me its slightly smaller-than-average cereal box is giant!

But if something is “giant size” or “Mega size,” shouldn’t that be obvious? Do we need a label to tell us? Beware bold and braggadocios claims.

That same warning holds for our spiritual lives. I confess I’m guilty of labeling my smallest sacrifices, my tiniest obediences, as giant size. Even if I never verbalize these thoughts, they exist nonetheless, somewhere not too far off in my unholy subconscious. Those inflated claims of our spirituality permeate most everything, don’t they?

Wonder how often my words are bigger than my testimony. The love I have for Jesus, I assert, is King size.  But is it? Or is it something smaller—something way less?

The real measurement of my spirituality is not the distance between my waving arms during Sunday worship but how close my steps are to Jesus on Monday. And Tuesday. And beyond. The greater the distance between our steps, the smaller the true size of my love for Christ.

 

Lord, help the labels I put on my life match the love I’ve placed at your feet.

Flipping through The Ultimate Book of Randomly Awesome Facts, I stumbled upon the following statistic:

The total amount of money in the world adds up to 60 trillion dollars.  That’s a 60 with a whole lot of zeroes!

John D. Rockefeller was the world's first billionaire and, at one point, the world's richest man. Since he was a billionaire in the early 1900s (when a billion was actually worth something), he is still regarded as the wealthiest person in modern history. When a reporter asked him how much money it takes to make a man happy, Rockefeller famously replied, "Just one more dollar."

Michael Norton, a Harvard Business School professor who has studied the connections between happiness and wealth, published the results of an intriguing study. He and his collaborators asked more than 2,000 people who have a net worth of at least $1 million (including many whose wealth far exceeded that threshold) how happy they were on a scale of one to ten, and then how much more money they would need to get to ten.

Norton commented, "Basically, everyone says they'd need two or three times as much to be perfectly happy."  Really?  A millionaire needs two or three to be perfectly happy?  Someone with 10 million “needs” twenty or thirty million?

Philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer was right when he said wealth is “like seawater: the more you drink, the thirstier you become.”

But lest we sneer at Rockefeller's ingratitude, we'd best inventory our own hearts.  Greed and ingratitude are twin sins that find shelter in nearly every crack and crevice of our twisted souls.

In 1Timothy 6:6,7, Paul reminds us, "But godliness actually is a means of great gain when accompanied by contentment. For we have brought nothing into the world, so we cannot take anything out of it, either.”

How much money does it take to make you happy?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The phone screen says the same thing every morning. As I swipe to look at yesterday's step count, it speaks of the new day just begun, "No data." Meaning, I haven’t taken a single step (okay, not technically true—it’s about 50 steps from my bed to the phone in the office). The point is, there’s nothing to report. Hence the statement, “No data.” But that doesn’t last for long.

Like many folks, I’m hounded by the daily drive to get those magical ten-thousand steps in. So when working at home, having finished early morning devotions, I’m off for a 40-minute walk.

That’s a great start. But it doesn’t get me to my goal by any stretch. So, like you—though maybe you use a Fitbit—I’m constantly checking in to monitor my step count.

If you were to accuse me of being a bit obsessive on the step count thing, there would be little in my defense (did I mention I manually add those 50 steps from the bed to the phone—to make sure they’re tallied?).

In the world of heart health, counting your steps is huge. But when it comes to spiritual heart health, the metrics are different. The question is not how many, but what kind.

Look at your life—today's schedule, for example. Where will those steps take you—toward serving self or serving your Savior? As you look back on yesterday, did your steps lead you to “the least of these” or “more for you”?

Jesus is not looking at the quantity of our steps, but He is very concerned about the quality. Ultimately, the issue is one of destiny. Am I walking toward the kingdom of God, or walking toward the kingdom of me?

Back to the phone (or your Fitbit) for one last thought. Once I turn out the light and fall into bed, that day’s steps are “done.” No chance to add more. The record is there.  A thousand days—or a thousand years—from now, the steps I take today will be what they are. Same is true spiritually. Better walk wisely!

 

Keep steady my steps according to your promise, and let no iniquity get dominion over me.

-Psalms 119:33

Call it a case of nostalgia.  Or maybe it’s proof of our advancing age.  Many of us miss the America that was kinder and gentler toward folks who revere the Bible and its Author.  We miss the old country.

That’s well and good to a point.  The problem is, I want that country too much.  Maybe you, too?  We’re not the first. 

I'm pretty sure believers in the first century longed for the "old country" of safety once persecution broke out. But that didn't stop them from taking a stand for Christ. Noting their legacy of endurance, Hebrews 11:16 says of them, “they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.”

I suspect that for many of us, the real problem is, we want heaven down here—not up there.  Of course, as Christians called to be salt and light, we should do whatever we can to preserve what is right and good about America. But not to the extent we forget this earth is just a stopping place, a campsite for a season.

Sadly, many of us seek the continuance of our comfort and the certainty of our safety more than the hope of heaven. We want our old country more than the new country, heaven. We must set our sights higher!

The antidote is to read about heaven, ponder heaven, talk about heaven, invest in heaven, look for heaven—and live for heaven.  That’s the new country—where your forgiveness, your salvation, your rewards, and your Savior can never be canceled!

Where is your heart set—the old country or the new?

 

But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them.   —Hebrews 11:16

Who would believe it was even there?

In the first week of March?

Under a pile of melting snow?

A weed!

Not just any garden variety nuisance, this was a tuft of the dreaded Creeping Charlie, the wicked weed that battles us for lawn supremacy every summer.

Diana and I were raking off the flower beds in our front yard when we spied the modest growth. With no small sense of grim and grit, I pried the thing out of the soil. Satisfaction was mine!

Until I found another. And another. Yanked those out, too. The war against Creeping Charlie is not to be taken lightly. Yet, I am firmly resolved, totally dedicated. Let the turf wars begin!

I wish my sense of battle were as strong when it comes to our struggle with sin. But we are not alone. Puritan John Owen wrote an entire book on "The Mortification (killing) of Sin." He asks,

Do you mortify? Do you make it your daily work? Be always at it while you live;

cease not a day from this work; be killing sin or it will be killing you.

Like the Creeping Charlie I think I’ve eradicated from the flower bed, sin comes back. It always does. There is never a day when you or I can rest from the task of “killing sin.” But to cease the fight is to lose the fight.

Former Moody Radio Pastor Donald Cole once told me, “the fact that you struggle with sin is not a thing for discouragement—it’s evidence you’re on the right track. It’s when you stop fighting that you have a problem.”

John Owen’s words are worth repeating: Be killing sin—or it will be killing you.”

Let the turf wars begin!

 

“For if you are living in accord with the flesh, you are going to die; but if by the Spirit you are putting to death the deeds of the body, you will live.”   -Romans 8:13

It juts 165 feet into the sky and has lit the coastline since 1874.

The St. Augustine lighthouse is more than just a landmark. It is a tower of living history (its light is still in use today!).

One bizarre chapter of that history unfolded in 1986.  Bullets fired from a .30-06 rifle aimed directly at the light. Those shots ended up shattering 19 prisms in the Fresnel lens. Hank Mears, who served as the caretaker of the light from 1968 to 1989, immediately called the FBI.

After carefully combing the area, agents discovered powder burns on a nearby palm tree.  Eventually, they traced the shooting to a fourteen-year-old kid. The lens needed repair, which required two years of painstaking work.

You have to wonder, who would want to shoot at a lighthouse? Turns out, people have been taking shots at the light for a long time.

Consider the prophet Jeremiah, whose unflinching prophecy got him tossed into a cistern, where Scripture says he sank into the mud. Daniel spent a night with lions. Stephen was stoned outside the city.  For his unwavering beam of light, John had his head cut off. Consider all the shots that Jesus took throughout his three-year ministry—all before being crucified between two thieves. 

People have been taking shots at the light for a long time. And the darker it gets (and the brighter we shine), we can expect to take our share of shots, as well.

But lights were made for nothing other than the darkness!

No point in having a lighthouse for mere decoration. 

I’m not suggesting a hideous fate awaits every one of us. But a proper reading of Scripture demands a certain sobriety. 

Consider Christ’s assessment: “And this is the judgment, that the Light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the Light; for their deeds were evil” (John 3:19).

What now? Shall we dig a hole somewhere and hunker down? Here again, the words of Jesus are compelling: "Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 4:16).

It’s time to shine!

It’s called Theraputty.

To four-year-old Ava, it was "firm play dough." My wife somehow acquired a plastic tub of the green stuff used in exercise regimens to strengthen muscles and joints. At $27 per pound on Amazon, it’s not cheap. But it is fun.

Sitting at the kitchen table, we spent hours crafting shapes and critters of all sizes. I attempted a cat, but Ava wondered where the front legs were. Appropriately chastised, I made a horse that did have four legs. This Ava immediately trotted off to her personal pasture.

My next attempt was a cube, which she plucked up for her own purposes.

Finally, I attempted a pyramid (which turned out to be surprisingly challenging). Not ten seconds after completion, this was repurposed into an appendage of some kind on Ava’s ghost.

None of this reallocation of putty resources was mean-spirited. Ava was just having fun—at my expense.

Still, I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit it was a bit disconcerting. I was proud of what I had made. I kinda wanted those things to stay around—for at least 30 seconds. Those were my creations made with my playdough. Or Theraputty. Or whatever (and here, I sound like a four-year-old).

We smile. But that playful protest of mine is not so different than our response to God. When He takes our grandiose plans and dreams and shapes them into something entirely different than we've envisioned, our first response is usually to complain rather than comply.

It’s so easy to get spun up. But what’s God’s perspective?

We get more than a hint in Romans 9:20-21, “Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use? But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, ;Why have you made me like this?’ Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use?”

Are you willing to be putty for Jesus?

Willing to let Him remold your agenda?

Willing to release your grip on what is in glad exchange for what might be?

Next time you feel like God has rolled you up and then stretched you out— and your life looks very little like your dreams, come back to earth. Come back to humility. We are, after all, just clay.

But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter;

we are all the work of your hand.

-Isaiah 64:8

 

Free speech is muzzled.

Christian viewpoints are silenced.

Cancel culture is a seemingly unstoppable stampede.

Have you ever asked yourself how we got to this place?  There is no single answer.  But let me tell you what I think is at the core of much of it: a hijacking of language.

This hijacking took place when Christians—and others—who disagreed with the alternative lifestyles many embraced were told our opposition was “hateful.” 

Mind you, I disagree all the time with my wife—and she with me.  That doesn’t mean we hate each other. Any parent of a teen disagrees with their kid’s lifestyle choices—and often!  But that doesn’t mean they hate!  Good friends are good friends precisely because they can disagree—and still love each other.

Nevertheless, the hate label took off.  And that rush to calling any opposing opinion hateful was timed with the emergence of hate speech sympathies in our culture and legal system.

Hate speech laws can now make almost anything illegal.  In this new twisted logic, to disagree is to hate—and to hate is illegal.  Therefore, disagreeing is illegal! It’s crazy.  Maddening.  And more.  

I hate no man.  I hate no woman. Because I serve a God who “so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him will not die, but have eternal life.”

If any speech can be called hate speech, then there is no such thing as free speech.

 

Let no unwholesome word come out of your mouth, but if there is any good word for edification according to the need of the moment, say that, so that it will give grace to those who hear.

-Ephesians 4:29

 

What is it with some of us guys?

Our eyes can process that there’s a problem—staring us in the face. But our fears keep us from taking action. Example—my garage.

As arctic conditions continue, the utility door (just learned that’s what they call the small one on the side of the garage) is failing to latch.  The tongue doesn't seem to be long enough to catch the strike plate. 

This is not the first time the problem has surfaced.  Not the second, either.  Or the third. (And, um, there's the problem).

At first, I chalked it up to old age. (Not mine!)   See, our unattached garage is sixty-three year old and—believe it or not—has been moved on rollers twice to allow for room additions off the back of the house.

So my solution has been to add washers to the screws that hold the strike plate.  It seems to work for a year or so.  And then the door flops open, welcoming neighborhood rodents and beasts.

The other day I ventured out into single-digit temperatures and added yet another washer.  There are now (drumroll, please) eight of them on each screw.  Ridiculous?  Of course!

Honestly, it's not a conscious effort to ignore the issue or fantasize the problem will somehow go away.  It's more a feeling of "Oh no!  This could be really big/bad/expensive, and I have no idea how I'm going to fix it—or pay someone else to fix it.”  That’s why there are eight washers on a door catch that is still not truly repaired.   

Responding to my wife’s gentle reminder that the problem was not going to fix itself and I really should assess what’s happening, I crunched through the snow and took a good look. Turns out my fears are not ungrounded.  Turns out the front corner of the garage (where the utility door is anchored) is actually sliding outward off the concrete pad.  Lovely.  The problem has dollar signs written all over it.  So I’ve called a friend.  In the springtime, he’ll help me fix it.  He always does.

It’s one thing to ignore that your garage is sliding off its foundation. It’s quite another to ignore that your soul might be sliding off its foundation. Is it?

Is it possible there’s a gap between you and Jesus that persists—and grows—just like the gap in my utility door?  Is it possible you’ve either pretended there isn’t a problem—or just hoped it would go away? It won’t.

Learn from my foolishness! Take an honest look at your spiritual foundation.

Ask God to forgive you and help you address whatever “it” is.

He’ll help you fix it.

He always does.

“Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.”

–James 4:8