Author: Jon Gauger

As we sat under the porch of the Blue Gate restaurant, there was nothing blue at all about the evening sky.   It was as ink splotched and torn as our hearts were light and joyful.

Why not?  Diana and I had just spent a day relaxing in Amish country—Shipshewana, Indiana.   We sampled 20 kinds of cheeses, shopped at 20 different stores (well…maybe not quite that many), played with unusual musical instruments, devoured a glazed cinnamon pretzel, and watched an Amish craftsman make a new belt for me.  We packed a lot in—and all of it was grand.   Please don't tell anyone we bought a few “hand fried pies” to take back with us.

We had just finished an Amish dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes, and had plopped down into polymer brown rocking chairs on the covered porch of the Blue Gate to watch the rain.  The whole experience was a study in contrasts:

We had come from the urban crush of Chicago.

            But Shipshewana was nothing except rural peace and quiet.

We had left a place of nasty traffic and snagging congestion.

            But Shipshewana is a landscape untouched by overcrowding.

Where we live, gas stations are crammed and noisy.  

At the Marathon station across from the restaurant, we marveled at two horse-drawn buggies tied to a hitch, while others clip-clopped up and down the street, buggies in tow. . 

We had left a culture that celebrates paganism at every possible turn.

But at Shipshewana, wonderful old hymns were played over sound systems:   What a Friend We Have in Jesus, There is a Fountain Filled with Blood, and Wash Me and I Will Be Whiter than Snow.

Sitting on those comfortable rockers, sniffing the rain and listening to the hymns playing, it was tough not to let your mind play tricks on you.  With very little difficulty, you could imagine a slight spelling change in the name of the gas station.  “Marathon” becomes “Maranatha.”  Which means, “Come, Lord Jesus!”

Amen!  Come quickly, Lord!

• 1966. Philips created the “Radiorecorder”–better known as the boombox and Holland started to dance.
• 1975.  Boom boxes were booming in the U.S.–big time.    
• 1980.  The first personal computer was introduced.
• 1983.  Cassette tapes outsold vinyl records for the first time…and boomboxes were as big as suitcases.
• 1990.  Boomboxes lost serious ground to the Sony Walkman.
• 1993. The internet went public.
• 1996.  Dolby Digital and DTS surround sound were introduced to our home theaters.   Boomboxes were fading.
• 1997.  Windows first incorporated support for mp3 audio into their Media Player. 
• 2001.   The DVD was introduced. 
• 2006 Blu-ray players were introduced globally.
• 2014.  HDTV became the broadcast television standard…as 4k TVs started to roll out.
• 2016.  What's a boombox? 

Truthfully, I still have a boombox in my garage.  The radio still has a great sound—but I must confess the biggest reason I keep it is for sentimental value.  That's probably okay when it comes to a boombox.

But that's NOT okay when it comes to the way we think and do ministry.  Or personal evangelism. I wonder. Are we guilty of boombox living in a Bluetooth world?    Do we speak and preach and share Christ using the same moldy old methods?

Of course the gospel message cannot and must not change.  The Bible is still the Bible.  But are we just offering what we've always done in the ways that we've always done it?  

This is not your father's America.  If this very pagan nation will be reached, it will take much more than boombox living in a Bluetooth world.

Recently, I bought a collection of Louis L'Amour western novels on Ebay. Some of them had special book club offers tucked inside.  Reading them is a time capsule in direct marketing.

A 1971 edition of The Broken Gun pitched a Zane Grey Library—three books for one dollar (plus a few cents shipping charges). 

In a 1981 copy of The Skyliners, I was urged to examine a hardback edition of Silver Canyon.  Bundled with a 1981 calendar, (valued at $6.95) who could possibly resist?

Then, a 1993 print of The Trail to Seven Pines tried to rope me into—quote–”Claiming my reward!”    That reward turned out to be a hardback edition of a book titled, Sackett.

Yet, I was scarcely able to leave my six-shooters holstered when another book proposed a free Louis L'Amour Collectors deck of cards if I would simply examine another great western on a trial basis.

All four of these offers were presented on tear-out postcards—which I tore out, filled out and put in the mail on Thursday, May 19.  Mind you, the oldest offer goes back to 1971….and the newest is still 16 years old. 

Then came the wait. 

Would even one of the four respond?

Would just one of these publishers be willing to honor their promise?

After nearly three months of waiting, I concluded I would be more likely to shoot the head off three rattle snakes with one bullet at a thousand paces….than get a reply from any of these old offers.

Contrast those cheesy marketing ploys with an offer from God that is as valid today as the day He issued it in His book, the Bible “Whoever will call upon the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:13).

Finally, an offer you can trust.   And frankly, the thought of heaven–it's beauty and certainty–makes this cowboy sit a little taller in the saddle.

Sixty years. 

That's how long my parents have now been married. 

From nearly any standpoint, that's just plain remarkable. Number 60 is called the Diamond Anniversary—that's how rare it is.

According to a U.S. Census Bureau report, only about 5% of married couples ever make it their 50^th anniversary.  So a celebration of 60 years together is no small achievement.

In so doing (saying I do and then sticking together) David and Virginia have definitely defied the odds—on many levels.  Yet their six decades together, I know for a fact, are not the product of sheer will power or a gritting of teeth (though I'm sure both have been required at times).  Nor is this milestone simply the byproduct of chance and good health.

In brief remarks at an extended family gathering both Dad and Mom credited the Lord Jesus Christ with saving them and keeping them (and their marriage) together.  Interestingly, each quoted from the Psalms.

Mom selected Psalm 100: 3,4:  “Know that the Lord Himself is God; It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves; We are His people and the sheep of His pasture. Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise. Give thanks to Him, bless His name.”

Dad spotlighted Psalm 13:6: “I will sing unto the Lord because He has dealt bountifully with me.”

Sitting there together—all six children and their spouses and their children at this anniversary celebration was a special moment.  Guess you could call it a “once in a lifetime” experience—and not be overstating things.

Of course, no parents are perfect (just ask MY kids).  Nor would my parents claim to have done everything right.  As Joe Stowell reminds us, “We are a fallen race in a fallen place.”  But what a huge advantage we give our children when we give ourselves first to Christ.

Thanks, Mom and Dad!  And congratulations!

Holiness has fallen on hard times. An ad campaign for a Las Vegas hotel promises, “Just the right amount of wrong.”  Yet holiness—or more specifically, its lack—is not just a problem out in the big bad world, but also in the hearts of those who claim to follow Christ. 

In church, we sing worship choruses with gusto, but are nearly mute on the habits of holiness. We dish up sermons by the pound on God's love.  We talk a ton about “felt needs.”  But mere ounces are devoted to holiness.

Holiness lacks flash and fun.  It has no drummer, no distortion guitar, and doesn't seem to fit with a fog machine.  There's no app for holiness. And how do you fit holiness into Snapchat—let alone Facebook?  Which means in a culture like ours, holiness is not just antique…it's a dinosaur.

At its core, holiness means set apart for God's service. 

Conformed in all things to God's will.

I dare you to make a pie chart of all your activities this past week. How many hours—or maybe, just minutes—would you describe as set apart exclusively for God and His service:

• Time spent reading, studying and meditating on God's Word.
• Time spent communication with God through prayer.
• Time spent actively pondering God.

The exercise might just make you a bit uncomfortable (it does me!).

The truth is, holiness requires time. 

Holiness requires soul silence. 

Holiness requires discipline. 

So, many of us just never get started.  Instead we reach for our smartphones, our tablets, our e-Readers and amuse ourselves to distraction.  Rich in toys and technology, we are—many of us—impoverished in holiness. 

But as the Scripture says, “Without holiness, no one will see the Lord” (Heb. 12:14). 

Once, there was a little boy named Tim who loved to fish.  At a favorite campground, Tim had plenty of opportunity in a small lake that yielded lots of action.  What the water lacked in trophy-sized fish, it made up for in volume.  A worm on a hook meant a fish on the line. Yet often, Tim's dad forgot bait.  Or hooks.  Or bobbers.

Enter a quiet couple in the trailer next door—George and Julie.  It was uncanny the way George always seemed to be ready with an extra hook or bobber.  And well stocked with bait—night crawlers he shared generously with Tim, weekend after weekend.

Neither Tim, his mom, or his dad had any idea how all these mysterious “coincidences” occurred until many years later.  That's when George's wife let it out that there was no mystery at all. George and Julie actually planned for our camping weekends.  They stocked up just for us—for Tim.  They looked out their window to be sure he had everything needed.  And when he didn't, their door—and their hearts–swung wide open. 

That little boy, Tim, is now grown up and married.  He still goes fishing in that same lake, armed with considerable experience and a fisherman’s resolve to go for the bigger catch. His dad still goes with him sometimes, but usually it's his beautiful wife, Beth, at his side.

Recently, I watched as he hauled in a 23 inch catfish.  Beth was right there with a net to scoop the thing up.  Me?  I snapped pictures.   

Now, the story of a fish that large made its way quickly around a campground accustomed to sunfish and small bass.  Tim was promptly urged to share his fish photo with our old friend, George, which he did, via a cell phone.  George's text reply: “Beautiful fish.  Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.”

All these years later, George is still looking out for Tim.

They say life's most valuable lessons are caught, not taught—kinda like a fish.  That said, who are you watching out for?

For Moody Radio, I'm Tim's dad…and those are my thoughts. 

He’s the first grown man I ever saw cry.  To me, he is a living legend.

Art Rorheim is 98 and has traveled to more than 50 countries, met several Presidents and continues to memorize large quantities of Scripture as he approaches the century mark.   

As a boy of nine at Camp Awana, I remember Art telling about his older brother, Roy, who was 13 and dangerously ill.  Spinal meningitis was a rare and new disease in 1928, and young Roy understood the odds.  A new Christian, he pleaded with his parents from his hospital bed on behalf of his younger brother: “Dad, you are a Christian, Mom, you are a Christian, but Art is not a Christian and we have got to win him for the Lord.”

Roy succumbed to his illness, but Art soon trusted in the finished work of Christ.  Recounting this scene, tears formed in Art's eyes.  But I've since watched him cry many times—and always over the same thing: people who don’t know Jesus, people headed for Hell.  

Art Rorheim went on to co-found Awana International, a Bible memorization ministry now active in more than 100 nations. Each week, more than 2 million children and youth, 330,000 volunteers and 260 field staff take part in Awana in 30,000 churches around the world.

Months ago, he lost his wife of more than 70 years, Winnie. Yet Art soldiers on.  He witnesses. Shares gospel tracts. And still memorizes entire books from the Bible!

Though emotion ought never to be manufactured, I’m convinced there’s something highly instructional—and incredibly right—about a heart that weeps for lost people. A heart like Art’s.  Being with him this weekend has forced an inventory of my own heart.  When was the last time I have been so concerned about another’s soul that it made me cry?  I’m ashamed to say it’s been awhile.

What about you?

What do you enjoy reading?  Mysteries….devotionals…Christian biographies?  

When people ask me, I tell them, “Just about everything.”

People fascinated with food are known as foodies.  They'll try just about anything and like most everything.   Well, I'm a bookie—not with bets—but with books.  I'll read just about anything and like almost everything.

I love Dickens and Tolstoy, Arthur Conan Doyle, Louis L'Amour, John Grisham, Clive Cussler and Dorothy Sayers.  In the Christian world, I'm a fan of William Gurnall, J.C. Ryle, Calvin Miller, Tim Keller, Lee Strobel, and—of course—C.S. Lewis. 

These days, I find myself drawn to the Puritans.

They are very much out of favor in our culture.  The very word, “puritanical,” has sadly become twisted to mean nothing more than ridiculously prudish and out of touch. 

But in reading puritan John Owen, I was jolted by his warning, “Be killing sin—or sin will be killing you.”

Through Richard Baxter, I discovered a hundred reasons for thinking daily about heaven—The Saints' Everlasting Rest.

Many Christians know John Bunyan for his Pilgrim's Progress, believed to be the second most printed book of all time, beside the Bible.  Yet in his work, A Few Sighs from Hell, Bunyan 's portrayal of the horror of hell leaves you panting for a swallow of water, and gasping for a breath of cool air.

It’s true the Puritans didn’t get every single point right.  Who has?  Yet they lived boldly, thought deeply and wrote richly. 

Summer is here.  Time to enjoy some good reading.  What better time to discover the Puritans?   Sure their language and writing style can be a challenge at first.  But the view with any satisfying hike or climb usually comes with a challenge.

Given the wealth of their legacy, I say the Puritans are worth reading.  Now more than ever. 

They needed a place to hide.  And fast.

Hearts heaving, horses foaming with sweat, Jesse and his friends dove deep into the cave—along with their loot from the a heist.  For three days a posse hunted these hidden fugitives throughout the cave's many tunnels… unsuccessfully. 

Having just visited Meremac Cavern, in Stanton, Missouri, I now understand how Jesse James and his gang eluded the law.  The place they hid is huge—taller than a 7-story building inside! 

The grand finale (if cave tours have such a thing) is a seating in a vaulted room that features what they call, “The Stage Curtain.”  A video begins to play.  At first, I thought it might be kitschy.  Then came the soundtrack: God Bless America, sung by Celine Dion–and scenes painted themselves on the 70 foot tall walls of mineral deposit.

Imagine my surprise at seeing the text of 2 Chronicles 7:14 blazing brightly,: “If my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”

In the darkness of the cave, I thought of the horror of the recent night club shooting in Orlando, the vitriol masquerading as election year politics, the angst I feel as my country disintegrates .  But above it all, I heard that that sweet simple prayer, “God bless America, my home sweet home.”

Now I get the fact that biblically, we cannot wrap our Christianity in the American flag.  The Almighty is surely under no obligation to restore whatever Christianity might have once defined our Republic. 

And yet….it was hard not to squelch a tear sitting in the blackness of Meremac Cavern—especially as the video ended with Psalms 33:12: “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord.”

A verse like that…in a public place like this?

I was blown away.   And to think it all happened in a cave. 

Now that summer is upon us, it's best we made peace with the insects around us.   Why, you ask?  Because….well…resistance is futile.  I was reminded of this when reading Anne Rooney’s book, You Wouldn’t Want to Live without Insects.  In it, she offers insect insight. 

Across our globe, there are six to ten million species of insects, although scientists have only named about 900,000 of those species. Insects are found everywhere in the world—even in frozen Antarctica!

And boy, are we outnumbered. There are 200 million insects for every person on earth.  About 90% of all life-forms on earth (not including bacteria) are insects. 

Wrap your brain around this: the mass of all the ants in the world is greater than the mass of all the people.  Still not creeped out?  Then process this: In a rain forest, insects weigh more than the all the animals with backbones put together!

Of course you knew that one bat can eat up to 3000 insects a night, right?  A single swarm of locusts can cover 460 square miles, destroying crops and causing famine.  Each locust eats its own weight in food every day.   Cockroaches can live for six weeks without any food—and four weeks without a head!  Wasps can survive 180 times more radiation than humans.

After the explosion in Ukraine's Chernobyl nuclear power plant, insects survived better than other animals.  Insects are often the first creatures to move back into a disaster zone. 

Nehemiah 9:6: "You alone are the LORD. You have made the heavens, The heaven of heavens with all their host, The earth and all that is on it.”  To which I add—even insects.

And now you know why I say, it’s better to learn to live with insects than to expect to exist without them. 

For Moody Radio, I’m Jon Gauger, and those are my thoughts.

Now…where’s my fly swatter?!