Author: Jon Gauger

I won the lottery! 

Well…not really.

It only felt that way, when on a recent flight to Pennsylvania, I was seated in an exit row.  For those who don’t travel much, sitting in an exit row seat means you don’t have to hunch, lurch, twist and otherwise contort your body to fit into what the airlines claim is a seat.  The amount of legroom is almost humane.

But the gift of this non-smooshed seat comes with a catch. A flight attendant actually “interviews” you just before take-off.  You must confirm that you…

A. Will read and comply with the emergency instructions.

B. Are strong and able enough to assist others.

C. Promise to assist others getting off the plane, should a disaster strike.

I was intrigued by the language of the exit row safety card.  It said that we exit row passengers must be able to:

• Reach upward, sideways and downward to the location of emergency exit operating mechanisms.
• Grasp, pull, push and turn or otherwise manipulate those mechanisms.
• Push, shove, pull, or otherwise open emergency exits.
• Lift out, hold and deposit the hatch, weighing up to 42 pounds, out of the exit door opening. 
• Maintain balance while removing obstructions.
• Assess, select and follow a safe path away from the emergency exit.

Because air safety is a life-and-death issue, it got me to thinking about eternal life and death issues. What if we took spiritual rescue just as seriously?

Wouldn't we “read and comply” with God’s emergency instructions?  Wouldn’t we make sure we were spiritually strong enough to assist our lost neighbors, friends, and coworkers?  Shouldn’t the fact that we’ve been “rescued” by Christ motivate us to help others escape the flames of judgment to come?

I noticed a lot of intense verbs in the flight card instructions: pull, push, shove, hold, turn, reach, lift out. But how active am I in the spiritual rescue of others?  Do I go down on my knees for them in intercessory prayer?  Do I shoulder their burdens?  Do I hold out Christ’s words of life—or am I embarrassed to do so?

Paul wrote in Colossians 1:29, “To this end, I strenuously contend with all the energy Christ so powerfully works in me.”

Time to get serious about spiritual rescue.  Time to learn from that flight safety card so we can help others “assess, select, and follow a safe pathway”—Jesus!

 

She was just seven years old.  But Lynnette had clearly crossed a line. It was an offense that called for an apology.   I went to her room wanting to teach her that an apology is more than a quickly mumbled, “Sorry.” It means naming your offense, acknowledge that it was wrong, and then asking for forgiveness. With a bit of prompting, Lynnette came through with a very nice apology.

As she uttered the words, “Will you forgive me?” I looked her squarely in the eyes (I was down on one knee).  I said, “Of course I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, Lynnette.”

But just two weeks later, the offense was mine, and Diana let me know it was my turn to apologize to our daughter. I found Lynnette in her bedroom.  Having named my offense and apologized for hurting her, I then asked, “Will you please forgive me?” As I look back, I’m not sure what I expected.  Maybe a mumbled, “okay” or something like that.

Lynnette replied sweetly and without hesitation, “Of course I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, Daddy.”  It was almost as if  a recorder was playing back my exact words from two weeks prior.  

Not one teeny smidge of hesitation in her voice.  There was only kindness and generosity.  

Does this sound familiar? Can you think of someone else who freely assures His children, “Of course I’ll forgive you. I’ll always forgive you”?

 

1 John 1:9  is such a familiar verse that it may well have become mundane to some of us. Hear it again: “If we confess our sins (agree with God, admit our wrong), he is faithful (utterly reliable and 100 percent dependable) and just (the wrong we’ve done is paid for by Jesus Himself to meet the requirements of a holy God) to forgive us our sins (drop all charges and give us the full standing of legal justification) and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (a slate wiped fully clean!).

It’s not just the “little” sins He cleans up. It’s all of them. The big sins. The premeditated sins. The you-wouldn’t-speak- to-me-again-if-you-knew-I’d-done-that kind of sins. He cleanses us from every last streak and stain, every dark mark against our souls. Astounding!

 

It happened to the woman caught in adultery.

It happened with the prodigal son in Jesus’ story. 

It happened with David, who committed the double crimes of adultery and murder. 

 

Person after person . . . sin after sin . . . crime after crime . . . ask for forgiveness and it is yours!

Remember this the next time the voice in your head whispers, You’ve confessed this sin so many times, how can you even think about asking for forgiveness! Or maybe you’ll hear this old accusation: A true Christian wouldn’t have done what you’ve just done! You will never beat this sin!

If the voice sounds like a hiss, it is so only because it belongs to a serpent. You know his name. You know his destination. So resist him. Claim the name of the King who defeated him on a hill outside Jerusalem two thousand years ago.

As you claim the lovely name of Jesus, hear those lovely words one more time: “Of course I forgive you! I’ll always forgive you!”

 

 

 

 Jon's new book, Kids Say the Wisest Things–is available at https://www.moodypublishers.com/ or Amazon.  Download a free sample chapter and watch a video clip at: http://kidssaythewisestthings.com/

 

Deep inside I’ve always wished I was more macho.  The barrel-chested “Mr. Brawny” brand of guy. Alas, I’m a smidge over five foot eight and decidedly “un-brawny.”  So why the fixation?

A macho guy wouldn’t have given a second thought to flying with a World Vision team to Senegal.  But I did.   A macho guy would scarcely have noticed the beetles crawling under the door of our hotel, or the lizard that seemed to chuckle at me as he skittered across the window curtain.   Me?  I was a bit squeamish, especially as I eyeballed a spider on the wall that the lizard was supposed to have eaten–but didn’t.

Mr. Macho would have been fine with the mud huts we saw everywhere in the Tattaguine region of Senegal.  He could easily have peered into the dirty wells we saw in village after village and dismissed from his mind the reality that tots and teens and grandmas and grandpas all drink this dirty stuff they claimed as water.  And sometimes get sick from it. 

I was downright shocked when our World Vision host recounted his experience of giving kids bottles of pure water, only to watch them dump out the water—not trusting it because they had never seen anything that clear or clean.  (The plastic bottles, however, were highly prized). 

Mr. Macho wouldn’t have squirmed at all listening to World Vision project director Michel describing the “food insecurity” that so many of the rural Senegalese people face.  But I’m sure I flinched as Michel described “coping strategies”–the way these people are forced to sell off the one goat they might own…or maybe send their twelve year old daughter into the city to get a job to pay for food.  So many of the girls come back robbed, either of their possessions or their virtue, and they often contract AIDS. 

Macho Man could have taken all this in and never once have wiped away a tear or stifled a low moan in the soul.  Me?  I cried.  I am not macho.  

And if being macho is a core value for you, then stay as far away as possible from World Vision.  Never dare to travel with them.  Or sponsor a child.  To do so might wrench a tear from your eye…or a sob from your soul.  Caring—at the heart level—has always cost this much.  To see the World Vision team gladly paying this price in Senegal (as these reckless lovers of Jesus do in nearly 100 countries around the world) is beyond macho.  It is magnificent. 

My name is Jon.

I am not macho.

As carefully as I could, I maneuvered backward a bit…then a bit more.  Just a t-e-e-n-y bit more.  (I was peering through a camera monitor).

The idea was to capture a video clip of my friend, Dr. Charlie Dyer, promoting an upcoming trip to Israel.  Standing on the Mount of Olives, the view of the Old City of Jerusalem offered the quintessential backdrop.

Framing the shot, I needed to step back to make sure enough of the fabulous city walls were in view.  Easier said than done, because of all the tourists.

And then it happened.  Something very sharp and very painful jabbed at my elbow.  It was a thorn.  But not like the thorns I knew as a kid. 

In the backyard of our home grew a rose bush which seemed to me far more adept at snatching our baseballs then sprouting blooms. The length of a rose bush thorn is about a quarter of an inch, not much more. And for years, that’s how I envisioned Christ’s crown.

But the thorn that I backed into on the Mount of Olives was easily two inches long.  It was tough—like a nail.  I know, because I nearly stabbed myself trying to pluck it off the stem and take it home as a souvenir.

When the Bible speaks of a crown of thorns, it almost certainly refers to the thing that jabbed me. Meaning, that crown would have felt more like nails than thorns. 

Archaeological finds at ancient Roman crucifixion sites now prove the point. Recovered skulls show extensive fractures from the very type of thorns that jabbed my elbow. 

My purpose here is not to disgust you, but to engage you. Because the Easter story is so familiar to many of us, it can feel more like a faded postcard than a real-life drama.

But it was real.  The chains, the whip, the nails, the cross—and that hideous crown—all real.   The only question is whether or not our gratitude is real. 

It's easy to let the Easter story remain a flat and faded relic of history.  But we must not.  We dare not.   God forbid our sense of gratitude be one whit less than the pain Christ felt at the point of the thorns and nails!

Does your church offer theatre seating, big screens and lighting effects? Sam’s does.  He’s eight. 

What is not typical for Sam is the Presbyterian church where his grandfather, Toby, serves as pastor. No fog machines or strobes. What Sam saw and heard there was more muted and less produced. Call it high liturgy.

Pastor Toby recalls, “Twenty minutes into the service, the congregation fell silent. Sam did not understand the ritual called Confession of Sins.”

Sam wondered. Was he supposed to be doing something? And how was he even supposed to know? Sam was definitely out of his element. As a worship leader in front led this part of the service, Pastor Toby nestled up against young Sam, who whispered, “Papa, what’s happening?”

Toby recalls, “I said to Sam, ‘This is the time we confess our sins, silently.’” His eyes suggested he was trying to comprehend the enormity of this task. He thought for a moment, then finally whispered, “Hmm, this could take a while.” With that, he bowed his head to get started on the grocery list of his sins.

There’s something refreshing about Sam’s response, “This could take a while.”  Hear his humility?

A footnote on forgiveness: we should not judge young Sam or anyone else if their list seems longer than ours. If we could see the whole of our sin as God does, we would finally know how dark the darkness inside us really is.

But I wonder if some of us are resistant to the discipline of confession because we presume that our admission of guilt will invite the Almighty to unleash a tongue lashing. Criticism, condemnation, anger. That’s what we, in our warped thinking, perhaps expect.

Not so. Not at all. The Bible says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). Notice the absence of any condemnation! On the contrary, as the prophet Micah says, He delights “to show mercy” (7:18).

Is it possible that you and I have been listening for years or even decades to a lie? Could it be we’ve labored under a load of guilt we’ve created in our minds? This idea that God is angry with us or disappointed in us or running out of patience with us as we confess sin—it’s not true! This is the whisper of an ancient serpent.

It’s time to tell the serpent, “It is written . . .”

It’s time to tell Jesus “the list.” All of it. Every fault. Every failing. Even if it “takes a while!”

 

Morning. Early morning. Everyone else was still politely snoring in the cabin nestled in the north woods of Wisconsin. Not Emmalyn.  She had just turned two. And two-year-olds have an amazing capacity for getting up at the crack of dawn—or before.

Emmy’s mom, though, was also up that morning.  She’d just made a cup of hazelnut-chocolate coffee and was sitting on the deck overlooking West Spider Lake. The fragrance of pine trees and the freshly ground flavored beverage hung heavy on the scene.

Emmalyn helped herself up into her mother’s lap. Cocooned in blankets, the two pondered the sounds of chatty birds busy in the thick spread of trees. After a few moments of silence, Emmy had a question. “Mamma, did God make these trees?” Her mom, Rachel, replied, “He sure did!” Silence. A pause.

Then Emmy looked down at the blue waters of West Spider Lake. “Did God make that lake down there?” Again came Rachel’s reply. “He sure did!” More silence. Another sip of hazelnut-chocolate coffee for Rachel. At this point, Emmalyn looked down at the ground, mostly a mix of sand and grass–the "sandbox" she plays with by the hour.

“Mamma, the sand here is so fun to play with. Did God make the sandbox for me?”

“He sure did!” There followed still another pause, then came a look on Emmalyn’s face that suggested she was in the middle of deep thought. Snuggling tighter, she finally commented, “Wow, Mom, God sure is one cool dude!”

“He sure is!” agreed Rachel. For refreshing candor and honesty, you can’t do much better than a two-year-old!  But her story triggers a caution for us grown-ups.

Some of us never truly learn to see the grandeur of God.  We’ll occasionally notice an unusual sunrise or sunset.  But most of the wonder of our awesome God is simply left unseen, unnoticed.

• We call a dandelion a weed and fail to find wonder at the way its cottony seeds are blown and scattered.

• We plant daylilies for ground cover and rarely pause to look deep inside their richly hued blooms or consider the architecture of these magnificent flowers.

• We can hear a woodpecker and never bother to wonder why, with all that beak blasting, its brain doesn’t get addled.

See what I mean?  We need to learn to see the grandeur of God. Many of us limit our definition of God’s grandeur to the “big” things: seashores, deserts, full moons. But the majesty and glory of God are as evident on the back of a ladybug, or a helicopter maple seed as they are in a climb up Mount Everest, a hike through the Redwoods, or a dive into the Great Barrier Reef.

Notice one of the places where Emmalyn found it: something as common as sand. Could it be that you—like me—need to learn to see the glory of God in common things?

May the glory of the Lord endure forever; may the Lord rejoice in his works, who looks on the earth and it trembles, who touches the mountains and they smoke!   -Psalm 104:31–32

 

This is just one of the 26 stories featured in the book, Kids Say the Wisest Things. Would be honored to have you check it out here: http://kidssaythewisestthings.com/

Four-year-old Caleb charmingly engaged his three-year-old sister Lucy in a knock-knock joke:

Caleb: Knock-knock!  Lucy: Who’s there?

Caleb: Knock-knock!  Lucy: Who’s there?

Caleb: Knock-knock!  Lucy: Who’s there?

Caleb’s mother, Lynnette, informed us that this repetition went on approximately twenty-five times. At the twenty-sixth iteration of Caleb’s knock-knock, Lucy stared him in the eye and declared, “No more chances!” With that, she spun on her heel and left Caleb sputtering.

Have you ever done that? I’m not talking about the knock-knock joke that goes on forever. I’m asking if you’ve ever told someone else, “No more chances!”

Maybe she failed you too many times. Maybe he forgot you too many times. Whatever it is, you feel that a reasonable limit was “offered” and now you have decided to pull the plug.

Hear me carefully. I’m not suggesting that if you’re in an emotionally or physically abusive relationship you should continue being a punching bag. I’m talking here about the more routine issues of offense that we all encounter (and cause ourselves).

Do we go down the path that Lucy took and declare, “No more chances”?

Remember when Peter approached Jesus and said, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” He may have been startled at Jesus’ response. “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times” (Matt. 18:21, 22). Some versions translate the phrase as “seventy times seven.” Clearly, Jesus is driving us to the truth that there is no limit, no statute of limitations on forgiveness.

So when it comes to forgiveness, are you generous or stingy? Do you prefer Peter’s limited number of seven “forgivenesses”? Or do you easily migrate toward Jesus’ generous idea of unlimited forgiveness?

You never run out of chances with Jesus. He’s asked us to forgive the way He forgives. Do we?

Notice the language of the familiar1 John 1:9 (esv) promise: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

Please observe that there are no exceptions, no exemptions in this verse. There is no fine print. No statute of limitations. Nothing there at all about “no more chances.”

Knock-knock.

Who’s there?

Jesus.

Jesus who?

Jesus Christ, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He who assures us, “I—yes, I alone—will blot out your sins for my own sake and will never think of them again” (see Heb. 13:8; Isa. 43:25 nlt).

Behold, I stand at the door and knock.

 

 

 

If you enjoyed this story, check out Jon’s new book, Kids Say the Wisest Things. It’s filled with great stories of kids who have something to teach us adults. Preorder now at Amazon, Moody Publishers, CBD, Barnes and Noble, etc.

 

 

 

Now that Spring has sprung, prepare ye for the onslaught of insects, critters and other pests.  Which calls to mind a recent visit to the hardware store.  For no reason in particular, I waddled down an aisle featuring products promising a virtual assault on every creeping thing in the yard. 

My favorite is the prize-winning spider killer known as Miss Mufffet’s Revenge (I’m not kidding).  This arachnid antagonist promises to kill spiders inside and keep spiders outside. 

If your pest problem is of the bunny business, consider stocking up on Critter Ridder, a rabbit repellant that Mr. MacGregor would surely endorse. The Ortho company offers Deer B Gon, as well as Dog and Cat B Gon.  Weary of fighting moles and gophers?  Bring home, The Giant Destroyer—garlic tunnel tubes that last 10-12 months.

Now let’s say you’re dealing with a larger animal issue—like deer eating your garden.  Then, by all means, get your hands on Shake Away brand “Coyote Urine Granules.”   Or, grab a supply of Booneeez B-Gone.  This real fox red scent promises to “put nature’s own invisible stop sign to work for you.”

But if you’re serious about getting rid of snakes, the choice for you might be either Snake Stopper or Dr. T’s Snake-a-Way.  Use with confidence, as these ready-to-use granules have been university tested.

I can’t speak for any of these products’ effectiveness.  But my tour down the aisle of Death-to-Critters got me to wishing there was something like a repellant we could buy that would keep us from sin itself.  Nothing is more persistent, pervasive and potentially destructive than sin.  So wouldn’t it be great if we could simply sprinkle a little powder—or give our souls a light dusting of something that would keep sin away?

Come to think of it, we have such a resource!  It’s not a spray or a scent or a bucket of granules.  It’s a lifestyle adjustment. Galatians 5:6 tell us how to “apply” this sin killer:

But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh.

Don't know about you, but I need to watch my walk!

 

 

 

 

 

 

We clean the bowl…but do we clean our soul?

Last week I made the somewhat crude assessment that we give attention to dirty toilet bowls…but sometimes insufficient attention to our dirty souls. In the spirit of two-way conversation, I invited your feedback and now share some of the comments you submitted.

Edna wrote, “Tidy Bowl…Tidy Soul.  I like your thought…but I do not like cleaning bathrooms!”  Then she added, “Keep up the good scrubbing work—it will never be a drain on you!” (Thanks for the puns, Edna!).   And your point is  spot-on: soul cleaning is something we really DO have to “keep up.”

Cindy shared the following: “I used to hate it when I went to God to confess the same sin again and again.  I would rather wait until I had a different sin to confess, figuring He is probably tired of hearing the same thing again, anyway.  But God is not like that at all.  He is just waiting to hear from me.  It got me thinking that perhaps I should start going to Him before I commit that same sin again. The more I talk to Him like a daddy, the more I realize that I do not want to do that same sin. Instead, I just want to talk to Him.”

Wow!  Profound stuff, Cindy.  Thanks for your insights.

Russ gave this issue of soul-cleaning a creative touch composing the following poem he’s titled Soul Cleaning.  It’s a fitting way to close out this blog.

I woke early, got out of bed

Shaking a bit to clear my head

Look, oh no, dirty toilet bowl

Did I think about my dirty soul?

 

I went to the kitchen for some food

To start the day in a good mood

I ate, I washed the cereal bowl

Did I think to stop and wash my soul?

 

By noon, I’m ready for more food

I want to continue my cheery mood

I ate, I washed my salad bowl

Did I consider my dirty soul?

 

Late afternoon, time for more food

To set up for the evening mood

I ate, I washed my pasta bowl

I confess, I forgot my dirty soul.

 

Evenings here, time for snack food

To go to bed in a good mood

I snacked, I washed my snacking bowl

I must take time to wash my soul.

    —Russ Caforio

 

 

 

 

It was quite the trend.

 

For a short time, it became standard operating procedure in restroom maintenance.  The doors of most restaurant and office bathrooms posted a card that noted exact dates and times when the place was cleaned—in many cases, several times a day. All those times and dates were to be carefully initialed by the cleaner.  

Remember those cards?  Well, you’ve probably noticed that most of them have gone the way of flip phones and dial-up internet.  Why?

Know what I think?  I think workers didn’t like the work!  And managers didn't like the cost.  And nobody liked the accountability the system created. Lots of unsigned spaces on those cards just didn’t look good for anybody.  And, after all, there’s no profit in a privy—just money down the ol’…ur…toilet.   But when those cards went away, in many cases, so did cleaner washrooms. 

Lest you think I’m wagging a finger at restroom cleaners, I'm not.  At our home, washroom maintenance is my domain.  I freely confess that intervals between my cleanings are often excessive.

But bathrooms are inherently dirty things.  Beyond flushable unmentionables, bathrooms seem to attract filth and trash and gum and garbage.  

The first “real” job I had after doing a paper route was to clean toilets at an office building.  I’ve learned there is no such thing as a shortcut to a clean bathroom.  What is required are regular—and frequent—cleanings. 

Forgive the crudeness of my thinking here, but what if we treated the cleaning of our souls with the same commitment that the best bathroom cleaners exhibit?

What if we had an agreement with ourselves and God that we would commit to regular, set, times each day—just like those cards we used to see on the back of bathroom doors—for “heart cleanings.”  Times allotted exclusively for the confession of ours sins, the cleaning of our souls.  Don't you think that would have to make some sort of difference?

Daniel set aside a slot for for prayer three times a day.  I bet he had something to confess all three times. What if we reserved three brief time slots for confession each day?

Well…I'm going to give this a try—and let you know how it goes.  I’d love to get your feedback on this, too.  What are YOUR thoughts on confession—soul cleaning?  Email me at Jon@jongauger.com.  We might feature your comments in a future blog! 

Meanwhile, here’s to more regular soul cleaning!