Author: Jon Gauger

As the wrangler pried open the 250 pound alligator's mouth, I was creeped out by the sight of so many teeth.  But that sensation paled compared to the visceral sound of its jaws snapping shut.

Imagine slamming an empty gallon-sized can as hard as you can on a cement driveway.  That's sort of the sound we heard at the Everglades Holiday Park in South Florida. 

Scientists tell us a human being can munch on a steak exerting between 150 and 200 pounds of pressure per square inch.  Animals such as hyenas, lions and tigers bite with a force of around 1,000 psi.

By contrast, scientists have measured alligators chomping force at well over 2000 pounds per square inch.  You heard me right.  Alligators have ten times the crunching power of people (and growing up, you thought getting bit by your baby brother was bad!). 

Despite its massive mandible, the alligator has a weakness.  This was carefully exploited by the reptile expert hosting the show.  As we watched, he easily (warily) kept the alligator's mouth closed with just one hand.  All that force, all that potential for destruction was kept in check by the hand of one man.

Impressive as all that number crunching really is (forgive the bad pun), the immense power of an alligator's mouth is nothing compared to yours.  Or mine. I do not refer here to pounds of pressure per square inch.  A better unit of measurement might be pounds of pain per square inch.  Or pounds of hurt per destructive word.

Such potential for evil as ours ought never to be left unattended. Perhaps our daily prayer should be that of David's in Psalms 141:3:  “Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth.  Keep watch over the door of my lips.”

Only in living life this way can we safely say to the deadly beast within us, "See you later, alligator!"

The twin props of the air boat screamed as the wind whipped our hair violently.  I cannot say how fast our aluminum hull sliced through the Everglades channel.  I can only tell you it felt fast. 

As if adrenaline hadn’t already kicked in, Captain “Swampy Jay” from the Everglades Holiday Park somehow shoved our boat sideways into a dense pile of thick vegetation.  My wife and I half expected a thunderous impact, as the clump of greenery had all the appearance of something no boat could expect to plow through without destruction.  Turns out, it wasn't harmful.  Among other things, we plowed through a patch of Spatterdock (think lily pads with a bulbous yellow flower).

Leaning out into the water–something I would not have done, given our sighting of a large alligator moments earlier–Captain Swampy Jay yanked off the stalk of one of these Spatterdock plants.  He informed us that this ubiquitous leafy plant was actually home to the Bonnet worm, the larvae of a Floridian moth.

To prove the point, he split open the stalk and—lo and behold—there was a wriggling white wormy thing.   Swampy Jay informed us this wiggling wonder could be eaten in an emergency and was actually a great source of protein for anyone stranded in the everglades. 

Rolling the worm into a ball, Swampy offered any of us landlubbers a chance to taste for ourselves.  At this point, I blurted out with a hint of dare, “Why don't you show us how?”

Swampy Jay lived up to his name as he quietly sucked the worm it into his mouth and chomped it down.  Bold move?  No doubt.

But who knew that a Bonnet worm even existed?

Who knew that it lived inside a thing that looks like a lily pad?

Who knew that one day, those little white worms become moths soaring high above the Everglades?

God did.   That's who.

Isn't God amazing?

The odds say we should never have met him.

But we did.

My son and I were trying to leave the Chicago Auto Show and find the bus exit that would take us to the train station…and home.

But which exit?  We weren’t sure.   So we asked a trio of Chicago Police officers.

Ironically, one of them I’d met before.  He was the officer who ticketed me two years previously for a railroad crossing violation.   I recall him being very polite and most respectful.  Yet, the law required him to ticket me.

After paying the fine and doing community service, I showed up in court—and there he was.  This time, I shook his hand and thanked him for reminding me—in a painful way—to be more careful. 

But there he was again—at the auto show!  What are the odds that of the 12,000 police officers patrolling the streets of Chicago I would meet him there? 

Once again I thanked him, reminding him of my expensive safety lesson.  As we parted, he reached out to shake my hand, a friendship—of a sort.

That police officer represented authority. In a similar way, Jesus is Authority to us. Ultimate Authority.

In a thousand different ways He shows Himself to every one of us in life.  In a thousand different ways He lets us know we’ve broken the law, that there’s a penalty—Hell.  Yet He Himself has paid the penalty.  In a thousand different ways He invites us to acknowledge Him as the Authority of our lives, the One who paid the penalty for us.

For now, you can disregard Him. Ignore Him. Disbelieve Him.  Even disrespect Him.

But someday, you will meet Him again.

And if you have not previously acknowledged Him as Lord…you certainly will then as Judge.   Romans 14:11,12:

As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to Me,

And every tongue shall give praise to God.”

                  So then each one of us will give an account of himself to God.

One of the cool things about having children around is you're in touch with all the current “hot toys.”  You know, the must-have gifts at birthdays and Christmas.

What’s old is apparently new–and very popular in toys these days.  I refer to “Little People,” a toy series introduced by Fisher Price in the 1960s.  These diminutive plastic figures come in a wide variety of characters.

Farmers, animals, boys and girls.  You'll find “Little People” versions of these.  But you can also find licensed versions of movie figures, like popular Disney characters. They are all now under the Mattel name, since they bought out Fisher Price.

According to “This Old Toy’s” Little People History, Mattel claims that since the brand's launch, over 2-billion "Little People" figures have been sold in over 60 countries.

Our two year old granddaughter Lucy—a little person herself—is fascinated with "Little People."  We got her a set for Christmas and she keeps them faithfully in a cardboard “chest of gold.”  She refers to this collection of "Little People" as her “treasure.”

And they certainly appear to be—at least to her.  Faithfully collected every night, Lucy guards them from intrusion or loss or harm or brotherly theft.  Such tender care. 

What if we treated the souls in our lives with the same care Lucy extends toward her “Little People?”  What if we had a place of protection for their feelings, their dreams, their hurts, their secret burdens?  What if we were just as intentional about giving the people in our lives—little people AND big people—the same kind of care?

Come to think of it, this is exactly how our heavenly Father treats us.

 “He tends His flock like a shepherd.  He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart.  He gently leads those that have young” (Isaiah 40:11).

Got any little people in your life?  Do you treat them like treasures?

Do you prefer your coffee black?
Do you like the taste of bitter herbs?
Then—caution!  You might be a psychopath!

A recent study published in the journal, Appetite!, suggests that a fondness for bitter food and drink may well indicate a connection with what psychologists define as “malevolent personality traits.”

You heard me correctly. Your enjoyment of a raw endive salad or—for that matter—most any bitter food or drink has been shown to correlate with psychotic behavior.

Those who took part in the study were asked to identify how much they liked food ranging from bitter to salty to sweet.   Turns out those who demonstrated a preference for bitter food ranked high in aggression, sadism, and narcissism.  Those who tended to crave sweets were the most agreeable.  There you have it—scientific evidence that you are what you eat! 

With due respect to what I am sure is solid research, I would suggest there is more to the story than what meets the taste buds.

In Mathew 15:11, Jesus made it clear, “It's not what enters into the mouth that defiles the man, but what proceeds out of the mouth, this defiles the man.”

I don't discount the research that links bitter foods to bitter attitudes.  But clearly, there is more to the issue.  And as always, Jesus throws a spotlight on the hard truth. 

That uncomfortably bright light is seen in Luke 6:45: “The good man, out of the good treasure of his heart, brings forth what is good.  And the evil man, out of the evil treasure, brings forth what is evil.  For his mouth speaks from that which fills his heart.”

In the end, it's a whole lot more about what we put in our heart, than what we put in our stomach. 

Maybe it's time we re-trained our taste buds.  So what are you craving?

 

 

Source: Hemispheres Magazine, January 2016

In the market for a new home?

I saw some interesting listings in the Wall Street Journal.

Trump Park Avenue, a 32 story condo development by presidential candidate Donald Trump, is offering a penthouse unit for $35 million.  That's more than twice the price of a 4,200 square foot 27^th floor apartment that features oak floors, handcrafted Italian brass doorknobs, and views of Park Avenue.  

Perhaps you hanker for a quieter life and a warmer clime.  Then consider another $35 million dollar listing, this one from Christie's International, in Paradise Valley, Arizona.  

The five bedroom “main house” offers more than 30,000 feet of living space and includes a movie theater and indoor basketball court (complete with score board and sky box seats).  Did I mention the master bedroom features a hair salon, a kitchenette, an office—along with the usual sitting room and his and her closets?  The 12 acre property boasts a swimming pool with his-and-her pool houses and a guesthouse with its own infinity pool (I mean, who could live without one?).  

You say you really are a city girl…a city guy at heart?  Have I got a deal for you in Manhattan!  Take a (really big) bite of the Big Apple when you buy a penthouse under construction at 160 Leroy Street. You'll cough up between 75 and 80 million for a 12,200 square foot “shack.”

The unit will have three kitchens– a “social kitchen” to entertain, an adjacent “chef's kitchen”–the true grub hub, plus a third kitchen in a private rooftop terrace.  

And then….there’s Jesus who said, “The foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.”

Nothing wrong with having a nice home. 

Nothing better, though, than living for our eternal home. 

Which home are you living for? 

Frankly, I felt ambushed.

I was minding my own business attending church in Arizona with my wife and our friends, Charlie and Kathy, when of all things, we were led in singing an old Sunday School chorus, “Jesus Loves Even Me.”

Words splashed on the screen, but few in the crowd needed them:

            I am so glad that our Father in Heav’n
            Tells of His love in the Book He has giv’n;
            Wonderful things in the Bible I see,
            This is the dearest, that Jesus loves me.”

The chorus goes on to testify:

            I am so glad that Jesus loves me, Jesus love me, Jesus loves me.

            I am so glad that Jesus loves me—Jesus loves even me.

A lump formed in my throat, amazed afresh at my own redemption: Jesus loves even me.   But how could I—how could we—ever lose this sense of astonishment?  Somehow, we do.

Like a fried egg gone cold, we get crusty around the edges.   Over time, we convince ourselves that there probably is something of worth about the air-brushed lives we lead, after all.  “Why of course Jesus loves me!” is our secret stance.  “After all, I'm a reasonably decent person.”

Gone is the image of spittle on the face of Christ, and my phlegm the source of that humiliation.  Gone the oozing bald patch on Christ's face, and mine the hand gripping His ripped out beard.  Gone the spikes that pin his flesh and mine the hand grasping the hammer. 

Worse, we engage in a spiritual cover-up, like a spiritual version of Photoshop.  We conjure up pixels of self-righteousness and presume ourselves presentable.  Yet Jesus sees it all, would forgive it all.  More than that, He wants to love us.  So He whispers His love again—sometimes in a simple kids' chorus.

          I am so glad that Jesus loves me.

          Jesus loves…even me. 

Demolition has gone high tech.  Gone are the days of the giant bowling ball swinging from a crane cable. Today's demolition teams are powered by hydraulic claws resembling a four-fingered fist that can clench, wrench and rip.  All of that controlled by a digital joystick. 

In downtown Chicago, I watched as the demolition operator yanked an impossibly thin piece of metal away from a building wall (like a robot with refined motor skills) before plowing into brick, steel and wood.  I've also gawked as these grippers pinched a massive chunk of cement, squeezing it into powder.  

As I stared from across the street, entire rooms were ripped open for the entire world to see.  Wall coverings, book shelves, window trim, ceiling tiles, furniture.  It was all there.  Along with mangled electrical and gas piping…doorways leading to nowhere. 

Like I say, it was interesting, but it felt almost voyeuristic: the soul of a building entirely exposed. The experience left me a bit sad and a lot sobered.

Someday our lives will similarly be opened…exposed.  Not for the purpose of destruction—but for judgment.   Romans 14:12 assures us, “So then, each of us shall give account of himself to God.”

The question, of course, is what will Christ discover in me….in you?  Will He find a soul constructed of noble thoughts, pure motives and a golden heart?  Or will He encounter the foundational rot of greed, a secret closet of immoral thoughts and the stench of selfish living?

1 Corinthians 3:12:  “Now if anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each one's work will become clear.” 

We may well look pretty good on the outside—like many a condemned building—but all that is inside will soon be revealed for what it is.

Sobering, isn't it?

The chair is hers.

But she no longer occupies it.

The cash register that was hers still takes money.

But death has taken Eloise.

 

For decades, Eloise worked in Food Service at Moody Bible Institute.   She was one of a kind.   When you showed up with your $4.50 sandwich, she would announce the price to you as “Four hundred and fifty dollars.”

When our son was very young, he helped himself to a few candies without paying.   Upon discovering his heist, we made him stand in line, apologize to Eloise and hand her the money owed. 

Eloise looked after me.  Looked after all of us.  An embarrassing number of times, I would leave glasses or notebooks or calendars behind…only to get a kind phone call from Eloise a bit later.

Eloise had a great heart for urban ministry, prisoners in specific.  She was part of a ministry that cooked a Thanksgiving dinner for every inmate in Cook County Jail.  She gave her money, her vacation time and her energy to this ministry—and invited the rest of us to do the same.

I remember showing up at the County Jail to help out, working side by side with Eloise and a few inmates…making macaroni, and then learning to knead dough for the homemade yeast rolls.  I was reprimanded by one of the sisters for working the dough too hard—though they still gave me an entire pan of those tasty hot rolls at day's end.

But Eloise's grandest legacy, perhaps, is her prayer life.  Few have prayed—or believed—with her conviction.   That’s why this past November, when I was particularly burdened about an international trip, I went straight to Eloise.

Her life was so much bigger than her work as a cashier with Food Service.  She who spent so many years ringing up breakfasts and lunches…will now dine at the wedding supper of the Lamb.

Suddenly, I'm hungry for heaven. 

My “Happy New Year” frame of mind was jolted to a depressing reality when I read a  column in The Week—a favorite news magazine.  An article in the “Poll Watch” section reveals the following:

69% of Americans are convinced that America is heading in the wrong direction.  A whopping 72% now believe our country is not as great as it once was (Bloomberg Politics).  59% believe the economy is doing poorly (CNN/ORC) with 47% saying their family is scraping by, making only enough to pay the bills and other obligations.  19% say they cannot afford some basic expenses (NBC News).  61% believe the American dream is broken and that only the wealthiest can now get ahead (The New York Times/CBS News) and 56% believe most children in the U.S. will grow up to be worse off than their parents (NBC News). 

A record 50% disapprove of the Supreme Court’s recent actions and 86% say they have an unfavorable opinion of Congress (Gallup).  Notably, 55% believe “ordinary Americans” could do a better job of dealing with the nation’s woes than our current elected officials (Pew Research).  And get this—50% of Pennsylvanians would rather be represented by the groundhog Punxsutawney Phil than by their current members of congress (Public Policy Polling). 

83% of voters fear there’ll be a large-scale terrorist attack in the U.S. in the near future.   (Washington Post/ABC News) and 60% think it’s likely that terrorists are living in their hometown (Fox News).  45% fear that the federal government could use a military exercise to covertly seize control of some states. 44% think machines with artificial intelligence could wipe out the human race (Monmouth University Poll). 

What a passel of pessimism!  Not exactly a great launch for the New Year.  But followers of Christ ought never to look for comfort from their culture.  Indeed, Jesus said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

 

Source: The Week, December 25, 2015