Author: Jon Gauger

The immersive green textures drenched us in beauty as the tractor hauled us deeper into the woods. I suggested to five-year-old Emma that we have a “looking party,” pausing to notice and thank God for all His creation. We did.

But why isn’t this a way of life for us grownups? I’m convinced there’s a price we pay for not really looking. First, we cease to be thankful. Second, we cease even to notice the magic. Doubt my claim?

When was the last time you looked up at the sliver-cratered moon of ours and whispered, “Praise God!”

Do we see those geese honking overhead during their formation flights? Even if they’re not honking, the sound of their wind-whipped wings is awesome.

When did we last inhale the fragrance that only autumn unbottles?

And how does God paint such bombastic shades of red on the tree leaves?

When was the last time you stood reverently in a field of corn and enjoyed the symphony of an early morning breeze making music in the drying stalks?

God’s creation offers a staggering amount of beauty—yet much of it passes by daily without our thanks. Worse, we fail even to notice it.

But what if we chose differently? What if we scheduled a daily “looking party” —a moment when we chose to notice—and thank God—for His creative touches?

Our cloud-crafting, moon-making, sky-painting, God generates an original never-to-be-repeated show every single day. And night. A “looking party” might be just what you need to notice—and thank Him for it!

It is I who made the earth and created mankind on it. My own hands stretched out the heavens; I marshaled their starry hosts.

-Isaiah 45:12

Are you a conversational narcissist?

Most of us are good talkers but lousy listeners. So, here’s how to know if your conversations are consistently more about you than anyone you’re talking with:

• You give little or no focus to what other people tell you.
• Your undying preoccupation is laser-locked on what you’re going to say next.
• You habitually hijack conversational subjects and steer them toward your own interests and experiences.
• Your stories are always “better” or “more important” than anyone else’s—therefore, more worthy of airtime.

Most of us love to talk more than listen. That’s garden variety selfishness. But conversational narcissists are me-monster addicts. They’ve never encountered a chat that couldn’t become all about them. Protest all you like, but if that’s really you, your friends and family already know.

I’m reading a book called How to Listen with Intention. Author Patrick King points out, “Conversational narcissism may look on its surface like a regular conversation, but on closer inspection, it actually resembles two people spouting monologues”—and they’re right next to each other!

The problem is as old and knotty as sin itself. The answer? Patrick King suggests, “Listening well requires that you suspend your own self-interest and ego and gracefully allow someone else to shine.” This sounds remarkably like Philippians 2:4–

Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.

Our conversations say everything about our interests in others, our Savior—and ourselves. Maybe a good next step for all of us is to simply say less—much less—and listen more. Much more!

Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry

– James 1:19

If you think of an Oscar Meyer hotdog as nothing less than an assault on good nutrition, you can skip this blog. But if you hold a soft spot in your heart, a place on your palate—and your plate—for hot dogs, prepare to be amused.

Those yellow-band packaged Oscar Mayer hotdogs go back to 1929. Sales grew steadily even throughout the depression, and Oscar Mayer became a household name.

With commercial success, brand recognition, and the 1936 introduction of the kitschy Weinermobile, the company lacked but one thing: a catchy jingle. So, in 1963, Oscar Meyer sponsored a national contest inviting anyone to submit their musical ideas.  

Ironically, Richard Trentlage only learned about the contest the night before the deadline. In about an hour, he scribbled out a melody and lyrics and recorded a demo with his 11-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter. The next day, he drove up to Wisconsin from his suburban Chicago home to drop off the entry—and then waited. And waited. More than one year (and many focus groups) later, Trentlage learned he had won.

Once released, that jingle went viral before things went viral. To the point where people started requesting it on the radio! You know the lyrics:

Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer Wiener,

That is what I’d truly like to be-ee-ee.

‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer Wiener,

Everyone would be in love with me.

The tune is perky, and the lyrics amuse.

But I’m stuck on that phrase: “If I were on Oscar Mayer Weiner, everyone would be in love with me.” The idea conveyed (all in good fun, of course) is that if you really want the love of others, you gotta do something. In this case, become a hot dog.

You say, Jon, you’re way overthinking this. It’s just a jingle! Maybe. But I’m convinced that many Christians—could it be most Christians—secretly believe that same hot dog theology. We “sing” messages to ourselves like:

• If I were a lot more holy…
• If I were me without my past…
• If I were able to get past my abuse, my divorce, my prison record… THEN God would be in love with me!

Nothing could be further from biblical truth. Ephesians 2:4,5 declares, “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace, you have been saved.”

If He loved before you loved Him, you can do nothing to earn more of that love. Nothing. You already have it! Almighty God is already in love with you!

That’s something to celebrate!

(With or without a hotdog).

P.S. Enjoy that photo of the Weinermobile—27 feet of pure fun!

It has the most powerful bite of any shark on the planet. At 1,300 pounds of bite force per square inch, the Bull shark is even more powerful than the Great White. By the way—puny humans like us have a bite force that maxes out at a mere 150psi.

Bull sharks are found all over the world in saltwater oceans as well as freshwater lakes. They’ve even been found in Alton, Illinois—some 1800 miles up the Mississippi River! Not to creep you out, but almost no one in the water is safe from a Bull Shark.

They eat dolphins and turtles (hard shells easily cracked by the shark’s teeth). And Bull sharks will even attack hippos!

But here’s the creepiest fact of all. Bull shark babies, known as pups, usually live in mangrove swamps away from big nasty predators. But adult Bull sharks take advantage of this—eating the young of their own kind.

Disgusting? Absolutely. But what about us?

When we chew on juicy theories about why one of the church’s worship singers left her husband—aren’t we eating our own kind?

When we tear apart the pastor’s sermon—over lunch, no less—aren’t we eating our own kind?

When we hungrily swallow unflattering words about fellow believers, aren’t we guilty of eating our own kind?

That evil behavior comes so naturally is an ugly proof of Jeremiah 17:9, “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.”

Today, let’s choose to be gentle—extra gentle—on the people around us. Especially those that rub us the wrong way. Remember—we’re called to be harmless as doves, not ruthless as sharks.

But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

– Galatians 5:15

It might be the most abused word in the English language: Free.

Aware of our undying quest to get something for nothing, advertisers love to splash this word all over brochures, billboards, and websites. But that free word is almost always accompanied by an asterisk—essentially, a tiny technicality that allows greedy people and their companies to pose as if they are offering something they are not.

Nowhere is this more evident than on the web. Waiting for my flight at O’Hare, I was invited to click on “ORD_free_Wifi.”  But if you click it, you are taken to a website eager to take your money for pay-only access to O’Hare’s Wi-Fi.

Try doing a Google search for “Free Photos.” You’ll see any number of websites all claiming to offer free images. But when you click, you find a mixture of photos displayed, with the most prominent ones offered by fee-based companies like Shutterstock or iStock. Their images are positively not free!

So, why is this kind of misleading representation even allowed? Such a practice violates every notion of false advertising!

This is just one more contrast that makes Jesus so refreshing, so appealing compared to anything the world offers. When Christ says, “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden,” He doesn’t present a tantalizing fake offer with fine print.

When He offers to set you free from the power of sin, there’s no charge When He promises free forgiveness, it really is free.

When He offers free salvation, there’s no catch, no small print—and no fee!

Thanks be to God for His no-fine-print gift of Jesus, the Savior!

“Freely you received, freely give.”

–Matthew 10:8b

Emma’s face reddened with embarrassment.

In a large group setting, the five-year-old blurted out a response to a question that was merely rhetorical. Emotion took a few minutes to kick in, but then hot tears drizzled down Emma’s cherubic face.

I hugged, kissed, patted, and assured her there was nothing to worry about, nothing to be ashamed of. She quieted some, and Emma brightened at my invitation to play a game of Uno.

Important note: when you play Uno with a five-year-old, their little hands can’t hold all the cards. So, Emma and her sister Ava spread the cards out on the table. Even so, Emma almost always wins against us adults. She is that tough a player!

However, I was a bit confused when allowed to nick me with a “Draw Two” or “Draw Four” card—Emma chose a harmless alternative. I pointed this out to her, but she would not budge. Another chance came for Emma to zap me, and again she declined.

As she cuddled against me, I sensed that Emma just might be so grateful for an earlier gift of mercy, she would not be deterred from returning the kindness the only way she knew. Mercy felt that good.

It always does.

Like its cousin, forgiveness, mercy is the gift that everybody wants—but few give. It’s the Band-Aid craved by every bleeding soul.

How much does a hug cost? How pricey is a pat on the back? Would it bankrupt us to offer a word of encouragement? In the economy of Christ, mercy is the gold, and those who have given the most are the only truly wealthy ones.

Who needs your mercy?

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

—Jesus, Matthew 5:7

Our pergola’s beautiful new steel roof looks fantastic, and it’s so much cooler sitting outside now. But we scarcely had time to enjoy our now-shady space when I looked up to find a hole in one of the boards I didn’t recall drilling.

I chose to ignore it, hoping it was just my imagination. Except the next day, there was no imagining the bits of sawdust raining down on the covers of our outdoor furniture.

You guessed it—we had ourselves an infestation of carpenter bees. And did I mention that their toilet tank empties directly onto our deck chairs when they go to the bathroom? Rude!

Time to call an expert—which we did. He gave us the complete buzz on those bees. Told us how the bees drill into the wood just a little—then bore a 90-degree hole and set up a home for their growing family. They can quickly eat through enough lumber to damage or destroy most structures. Including my deck.

If you go online, you won’t lack ideas on how to treat carpenter bees. One person recommended spraying the holes with citrus spray. Or vinegar (yeah, that’s basically like fruit spray, right?) You can plug the holes with caulk. Or wood putty. Or—wait—the bees sometimes eat their way through that. So, try wadded-up tin foil. Or steel wool.

Me? I didn’t want to “try” anything. I wanted those bees gone. Immediately! That’s why we brought in an expert.

Those “little holes” in the wood remind me of the “little sins” you and I allow into our lives. Small as they are starting out, they can lead to the eating away of our souls to the point of complete spiritual destruction.

We need an expert exterminator, you and me, and thankfully we have one. In Proverbs 28:13, God warns,

Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.

Colossians 3:5 urges,

Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.

Those bees of mine are now dead. But what about my sins—and yours? Any chance you might need an appointment with the Exterminator? Don’t wait!

The landscaping is as manicured as any garden at Kensington Palace. Inside, the walls are adorned with soothing art. A sunroom lined with rocking chairs beckons us to pause and unwind. But we are not here to relax. We are here to say goodbye.

As we inch down the halls, I struggle to harmonize the solitude I see with my eyes and the storm I feel in my gut. We are here to visit my brother and his dying wife. She has courageously fought three types of cancer over three decades, and her journey now takes her to a hospice center.

Here, the staff is pleasant, the carpeting is pleasant, the lighting is pleasant—but the visit is not. Even for believers committed to the resurrection, we cannot wallpaper over the sadness of death. And for a moment, the cynic in me asks if all this pleasantness is pointless.

Two realities then thump my soul. First, the beauty and serenity of this place are as much for the living as for the dying. Hospice care represents the last of the long goodbyes. Why shouldn’t the surroundings be as beautiful and comfortable as possible?

The second reality: we’re all terminal. I’m terminal. You’re terminal. Because of sin, every person you will ever meet is terminal.

The young dudes at your health club—the ones that eat clean and drink all the right juice extracts—they are terminal. The people you game with online, the barista who makes your coffee, the office lady in the adjacent cubicle, and the neighbors next door all have an eternal soul. And they are all terminal.

When someone we care about is in hospice, we go to great lengths to call, visit, and encourage them before they pass away. But dare we show any less concern for our “healthy” friends and neighbors who are without Jesus—and (ultimately) terminal?

If we know Jesus—and they don’t—how can we be comfortable not sharing something of Christ? A kind act, an offer to pray, an invitation to your church or outreach event—it’s time to make a statement for Jesus. Because—we’re all terminal.

“…Each person is destined to die once, and after that comes judgment,”

–Hebrews 9:27

Photo by Bret Kavanaugh on Unsplash

It’s a teenager’s worst nightmare: waking up with a giant red pimple in the middle of their forehead. In the world of dermatology, it’s just a blemish, but to a teen, it’s life and death.

But for followers of Christ, there’s a much worse blemish: an attitude of grumbling.

My wife, Diana, has observed that I can easily whine—which is Grumble’s twin. Diana’s right (she usually is!). So, I’ve had to confess this sin.

For some of us, grumbling is a visit. For others, it’s a destination. And some of us don’t appear happy—unless we’re grumbling. But if you and I are going to shine as lights in the world, we must ruthlessly eliminate the spirit of grumbling.

Philippians 2:15 reminds us we live amid “a crooked and twisted generation.” That’s the dark truth. Yet the verse also shares the bright hope: that Christians would be “blameless and innocent children of God without blemish…in a generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world.”

The path to victory? Verse 14 says, “Do all things without grumbling or questioning.”

• Grumbling is a blemish on the face of our faith.
• Grumbling is what the crooked and twisted do.
• Grumbling makes us less like God and more like the world.
• Grumbling dims our gospel light!

It’s time to confess our grumbling—all of it: the silent grumbles no one hears, the mumbled grumbles we secretly wish they would hear, and the noisy grumbles we voice to our friends and family.

There are no grumblers in heaven.

Why should we be grumblers on earth?

‘nough said.

What if the only people allowed to sing worship songs this Sunday were those who had worshipped God by sharing the gospel with someone? What if the only worship leaders who could stand up on stage this weekend were those who’d offered a verbal witness for Christ within the last twelve months?

How loud would the music be in our churches? I suspect “not very.”

Has any generation in the history of Christianity had more worship songs than ours? We love inspiring worship music (I do!). But is it possible we love to sing more than to obey?

Many believers use the words worship and music interchangeably, as if worship equals music. In fact, we can’t imagine worship without music. But God sees worship as much larger than that. His definition centers on the concept of obedience.

In John 14:15, Jesus said, “If you love me, you will obey what I command.” And what was the very last command He left us with? “Go into all the world and preach the gospel” (Mark 16:15).

Sharing Jesus verbally is not optional. Jesus didn’t say we could opt out if we are introverts or skip this part if it makes us nervous. The only question is, are we obeying?

In Matthew 15:8, Jesus said of the Pharisees, ‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” Could that also describe us?

We sing all those great worship songs with our lips. But if we don’t honestly care about lost people or regularly share Christ verbally, our hearts are far from Him!

He came to seek and to save the lost!

He transferred that assignment to us (though only Christ can ultimately save). 

Is that our passion?

Someday soon, Jesus is coming back. What will He find then—great bands doing worship music—or great bands of worshippers sharing the gospel, who then sing about it on Sundays?

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay