Be careful how you conduct yourself. Others are watching.

As a seventeen-year-old kid, I had never lived away from home. But there I was, nervously pacing back and forth in the freshman registration line at Moody Bible Institute. Finances for that fall semester in order (thanks, Dad and Mom), I loaded my few belongings into the Culbertson Hall elevator and punched the tenth-floor button.

That’s when I met my roommate, Dave. In some ways, we were total opposites. He was a car junkie—but I didn’t even own a junker. He loved auto racing while I played the French Horn. He loved rock and roll, and I despised it. Nevertheless, we got along famously. Except when we didn’t. (It was usually me being a bit self-righteous).

Occasionally, we found ourselves taking the same class, like Personal Evangelism. Without hesitation, it was the single most formative class in my entire education at Moody. No other experience did more to launch me into orbit sharing Jesus.

Though I had many great classes with many great profs, no one did more to shape my character and walk with Jesus than my roommate. Like many dorm rooms, ours featured a desk and tall bookshelf that divided the place in half, creating a quasi-sense of privacy. Still, it wasn’t exactly one of the walls of Jericho.

Over time (okay, by sneaking a peek), I observed that no matter how long his homework took or how late the night, Dave got out his Bible and read. After that, he prayed—on his knees. Every. Single. Night.

I thought to myself, "If he can do that, so can I!" His example fueled a lifetime of daily meetings with God. Long ago, I moved my devotional time to an early morning slot. But the commitment—specifically, this idea of praying on my knees—has never left.

A few days ago, Dave returned to the Moody campus, and we picked up our conversation as if no time had passed. Good friends are like that. But great friends—they turn you to Jesus. Like Dave did.

My point? Be careful how you conduct yourself. Others are watching.

In everything set them an example by doing what is good. In your teaching show integrity, seriousness.   -Titus 2:7

That's Dave on the right: teacher, model, and friend!

Exactly 80 years ago, the newly constructed USS Orleck first splashed into the water. Too late to see action in World War II, the 390-foot-long destroyer played critical roles in the conflicts that followed.

In the Korean War, the Orleck made history by engaging a North Korean train laden with supplies intended to destroy our soldiers. Under total silence at night and without lights, the Orleck stealthily crept within firing range. Cloaked in darkness, the unsuspecting train chugged down the track only to be decimated by the U.S.S. Orleck's guns—earning the vessel a charter membership in the "Royal Order of Train Smashers." And this train attack was just one of many.

In the Vietnam War, Orleck's many missions earned her the title "Gray Ghost of the Vietnam Coast." The stories here are also colorful.

Recently, we walked the decks of the U.S.S. Orleck, now docked at the banks of Jacksonville, Florida’s St. John’s River. Only by crouching inside the massive gun mounts, running your finger along the cold fin of a torpedo, and peering out the bridge’s windows while clutching the ship’s wheel do you taste war.

But oddly, it wasn't the weapons that left the deepest impression—not the guns—but the beds.

Stepping through one of the many water-tight doors, we came to a bunk room. No one expects a destroyer to be posh, yet this was jarring. Stacked three high, the beds were jammed together so closely that you could roll across the entire room. That would be sixty uncomfortable beds parked under a garish fluorescent light.

Observing the spartan set-up, twelve-year-old Caleb commented, "Their feet would be touching the next guy's head!" His mother replied, "That's why it's called serving your country, not taking a cruise."

The same is true for those of us who claim to follow Christ. We live in a war zone, not a play zone. Our kingdom is not of this earth. Amazingly, many of us expect to be comfortable at all times, even though Scripture promises no such thing.

Quite the opposite! In 2 Timothy 2:3,4, Paul commands us, "Suffer hardship with me, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No soldier in active service entangles himself in the affairs of everyday life so that he may please the one who enlisted him."

Personally, I like comfort, warmth, safety, and security (not to mention a nice bed) as much as the next guy. But I must not prioritize these above my first calling—to serve. Indeed, we dare not forget that we are in the middle of a war, appointed for service in the army of a Captain who gave His life for us.

For now, you and I have been assigned a bunk.

The crown comes later.

The battle is now.

The wheels in her mind were whirling so intently you could almost hear the clicking of the gears. Emma's eyes fixated on a panel of faces at our local Wal-Mart.

“Who are these people?” the five-year-old questioned, jabbing a finger at the wall. My wife, Diana, explained that these were children who were missing from home.

"But why?" came the inevitable follow-up. "Why aren't they at home? What happened?" As we nudged our cart past the wall, Diana did her best to clarify the situation. "Some of these children ran away, but many of them were taken by someone else."

“They were?”  Emma’s face darkened, transitioning from curiosity to concern. “Who would take them? Why did they do that?” she demanded with fiery indignation as Diana nosed the cart toward the exit.

Explaining kidnapping to a five-year-old is a delicate task, but Diana did her best. Yet, as the wheels of the shopping cart clattered over the exit threshold, there were wrinkles on Emma's forehead. "I feel sad for those missing children," she told me. "Anything could happen to them. They’re just…out there!”  Her eyebrows scrunched gravely, her little hands animated with angst.

Emma’s concern was great—but mine was small. And that's when I knew a five-year-old had schooled me.

What’s wrong with me? What is so wrong with my heart that I can pass by those same faces—yet not see them? How can I walk by a wall of images of real kids with real stories and real families experiencing real agony—and feel so little?

Lord, deliver me—deliver all of us—from a hard heart. And would you please bring those lost children home?

Vindicate the weak and fatherless. Do justice to the afflicted and destitute. Rescue the weak and needy. Save them from the hand of the wicked.

Psalms 82:3,4

P.S. Learn more at The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

https://www.missingkids.org/footer/about

Image by Лечение наркомании from Pixabay

Even if you love winter, it comes at a high price. Living in one of the cold states, you see the color palette narrow dramatically to a few shades of tan or brown and not much else.

Now, I can live without the bombastic reds, yellows, and pinks that come with spring and summer. But the near-total disappearance of green is a loss I do not take lightly.

So, imagine my delight when a recent morning walk on a favorite trail revealed an unexpected tuft of green. Green, in the middle of winter!

Did you know that the human eye can detect more shades of green than any other color? Going for a walk in the green has been proven to reduce stress, improve mood, increase creativity, and enhance cognitive functioning. No wonder my wife and I love camping!

Against all odds, lacking any typical explanation, the little tuft on the trail is alive, thriving, and—best of all—green. Determined and defiant, its presence makes a joyful statement in an otherwise silent landscape.

It got me thinking. Isn't this the kind of Christian you want to be—alive, growing, and green—even in winter?

If you Google “Why do green plants turn brown?” some top answers include a lack of water and nutrient deficiency. That has to be true spiritually, as well. You’ll notice Psalm 23 assures us the Good Shepherd makes us lie down in green pastures, not brown ones. But staying green spiritually--that's up to us.

David reveals the secret in Psalm 1:2. The evergreen believer delights “in the Law of the LORD, and on His Law he meditates day and night.”

The pay-off for that right kind of delighting? Verse 3 promises, “He will be like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither; and in whatever he does, he prospers.”

We can’t prevent winter. But we can prevent withering. It begins with a choice to fill your day with moments of simple meditation on the Word of God.

Hope your day’s a green one!

I despise parking meters.

It’s bad enough that you must sometimes “fight” to find a parking spot. But to then be forced to pay for it? That's like chewing chalk.

Not only do you have to pay to park at the train station in our town, but the meters are also often broken! A trio of them stand in tight formation, metallic sentries outside the station’s doors. Yet if soldiers, they are a wounded platoon.

One often struggles to take dollar bills. Another’s credit card reader is usually inoperative. And typically, at least one of them will not take quarters. Today, the machine took my dollars but refused to print a receipt.

Attempting to be a responsible citizen, I have politely reported these outages to our city. Many times. Yet it makes no difference. During a recent phone call, I was passed back and forth between our police department and City Hall administrators—each claiming the other was responsible.

When I finally spoke to someone willing to write down the details, I mentioned the many times I’d called and the complete lack of response I’d experienced. May I further confess that my tone was less than kind or gracious? Before the phone call ended, I felt the pointed prompt of the Holy Spirit and ended up apologizing.

My conduct was far from the Psalm 34:1 sermon I'd recently preached: "I will bless the Lord at all times. His praise shall continually be in my mouth." There was no praise at all—only whining and condemnation.

The conversation reminded me of James 3:10: "From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so."

Now, I didn't curse. There was no profanity or shouting or anything that ugly. Still, my attitude and tone were wrong. And “these things ought not to be so.”

How much better to quietly acknowledge that we are broken people living in a broken world and that the only wholeness we can expect is in our connectedness to Christ?

I don’t know what’s broken in your world, but I guarantee there’s something. It turns and churns and burns your peace. But I’m hoping you’ll choose better than I did.

I dare you to "bless the Lord at all times." Let His praise be continually in your mouth. Doing so won't fix broken parking meters. But it will prevent broken relationships—and broken praise!