Category: Thursday Thought

How much do you think about heaven?

As much as a four-year-old?

Sadie—middle name, Virginia—is named for her great grandmother, Virginia.  Though Great Grandma passed away a couple of years ago, Sadie still remembers her. Nor is this four-year-old content to let those memories fade. On a recent walk with her mom, Lynnette, Sadie asked some pointed questions:

SADIE: Mom, I saw in a book once there will be beautiful water fountains in heaven. Is it true?

MOM:    Not sure, Sadie. But the Bible tells us it will be beautiful, so I wouldn’t be surprised.

SADIE: Are we gonna have houses there?

MOM:    Yes. For sure. The Bible tells us Jesus is getting our house ready.

SADIE   So… it's like a campground? We all have a place, but we are also all together?

MOM:    Sounds pretty close.

SADIE: I know what I’m checking out first.

MOM:    Oh yeah? What?

Sadie:    Great-grandma Virginia's. She is going to have cookies, and the Virginias will finally get to be together!

 

Finally. When it comes to heaven, that’s a pretty great word. I Thessalonians 4:17 promises, “so we will always be with the Lord”—in other words, finally. Meanwhile, we wait. No cookies—yet.

For now, your Savior and your loved ones—your Virginias—aren’t together. But they will be—someday. 

Soon. 

Looking forward to heaven?

In the third grade, Mrs. Virginia Patterson dared to invite her entire Sunday School class to her home for hot dogs and hamburgers. We played games, had a great time—and I’ve never forgotten that kindness.

Struggling to complete my Awana Scripture memory books, I was blessed with a leader named Leroy Arrasmith. He came over almost every week for a year to help me get those verses memorized. How could you forget that kindness?

Just before computers became popular, I’d developed a passion for writing. When my friend, Ron Taylor, found out, he gave me his electric typewriter—a beautiful and expensive machine. Unthinkable!

When our little girl, Lynnette, wanted to visit me at work (in an era when this was frowned upon), she scrawled a note in her best handwriting to my boss, the Vice President of Moody Radio. Bob Neff immediately took little Lynnette’s note and printed his reply: “Yes, Lynnette. Please come and visit!” How kind.

But there’s a timeless dimension to kindness that it is easy to overlook: kindness lasts forever. In Matthew 10:42, Jesus tells the crowd, “And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.”

A reward that cannot be lost—for merely giving a cup of cold water? That's what Jesus says. Makes you wonder why we're often so stingy with our kindness.

I can think of a thousand kindnesses shown me by my wife, Diana. And even if life hasn’t turned out quite the way you’d hoped, I bet you’re the recipient of more kindness than you know, too.

But if kindness has a dark side, it's this: it's a limited-time deal. You and I have only what the Bible calls a "mere handbreadth" of space to give it away. In Psalms 39:4, David prays, “O LORD, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am!”

I’m neither a psychologist nor a sociologist. But it sure seems to me our country could use a little kindness. Kindness in our politics.  Kindness in our COVID conversations. Kindness in our churches!

We are drowning in the bile of our bitter arguments—Christians, too! But imagine the statement you could make—we could make—if we showed kindness.

It lasts forever, you know. But our time to share it doesn’t.

 

 

 

Photo by Ron Lach from Pexels

 

Have you ever been terrified while reading Scripture? Numbers chapter 20 gave me quite a zap. In the middle of the desert, the Israelites were without water—or faith.  Their grumbling against Moses quickly morphs into the ridiculous: “Why have you brought the assembly of the LORD into this wilderness, that we should die here, both we and our cattle? And why have you made us come up out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place?” (vv. 4,5). 

God’s response to Moses: “Tell the rock before their eyes to yield its water. So you shall bring water out of the rock for them and give drink to the congregation and their cattle.”

Instead, Moses first reams the people out, arrogantly challenging, "Hear now, you rebels: shall we bring water for you out of this rock?” (As if he and Aaron personally possessed the power to do so). Then, instead of speaking to the rock per God’s instructions, Moses struck the rock twice with his staff. Disobedience!

If it were me, I might have shut off the faucet of my generosity.  Not God. Verse 11 says, “water came out abundantly, and the congregation drank, and their livestock.”  All was well, right?

Wrong. Ultimately, Moses’ anger and arrogance cost him more than he could have imagined. God said, “Because you did not believe in me, to uphold me as holy in the eyes of the people of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land that I have given them” (Numbers 20:12).

Get that?  After facing Pharaoh, announcing the plagues, exiting Egypt, crossing the Red Sea, receiving the Ten Commandments, surviving the wilderness, Moses would never place so much as a toe on the promised land. Two spine-chilling takeaways for you and me:

First, God might well appear to bless our ministry, despite our sin. Observe that the water gushed out! But success does not equal holiness. (Remind you of any recent leadership failures?)

Second, note that we can live lives of great faithfulness, doing great things for God over a great span, and yet sin in a way that results in great disappointment. Like Moses.

Are you terrified yet?

Lord God,

Keep us from arrogance and pride. Keep us from keeping ourselves from entering whatever Promised Land you have intended for us.

Amen!

 

 

Have you ever seen so much frustration in America? Forget the “melting pot,” America is a boiling pot! Between the tragedy in Afghanistan, the venom over voting, and the gender revolution, we’ve become a cauldron of the caustic. Federal mandates versus states’ rights, masks versus anti-maskers, vaxers versus no-vaxers—everybody’s angry over something. And that includes Christians.

Of course, everyone is entitled to an opinion. Disagreement is the stuff of democracy. Unquestionably, believers should vote for candidates and policies that honor Christ. But I fear many of us—myself included—may have forgotten something Jesus said when on trial.

Addressing Pilate, Christ said, “My kingdom is not of this world.” And neither is yours. That’s not to say we’re not allowed an opinion. It’s not to say evil should be called anything other than evil. Nor does it mean we wanly smile at godless politics or policies pretending all is well.

We're concerned—and not without reason. But we seem to be more concerned with our concerns than with the one objective Christ left us: “Go and make disciples.”

Our priority is not saving America but saving American souls (and, of course, lost people everywhere). Our kingdom is not of this world!

My Christian friend, Jay, has a gay neighbor named Shawn who endorses nearly every value the Bible opposes (talk about a potential battleground!). But Shawn is without Christ, and Jay has decided he needs to be more concerned about Shawn's eternal life than his lifestyle.

Recently, Shawn's feet have given him awful pain, to the point he can barely walk. Doctors and prescriptions have been only marginally successful, so Shawn has mainly been immobile. In the process, his lawn has grown shaggy.

Unannounced, Jay showed up one afternoon and plowed through the long green mess. It cost him some sweat—and about an hour. But I suspect it bought him a future hearing with his neighbor.

After Jesus told Pilate, “My kingdom is not of this world,” He went out and died for it. For lost people! It’s time you and I kept the main thing the main thing.

 

 

 

 

Spiky branches thwacked at the edges of our trail as we rolled deeper into the thicket. An emerald canopy overhead created a cooling air pocket as the tractor-pulled wagon groaned at every jolt on the rooted path.

It might have been a safari. Except this was northern Illinois. Nevertheless, two-year-old Emma kept her eyes open for any possible animal sightings. Upon her return from the would-be rain forest, where she missed nothing, she announced, "I saw squirrels and turkeys. But no giraffe." She seemed genuinely disappointed.

Given the density of the woods and Emma’s less-than-1000-days-of-life perspective, it’s not unreasonable that she expected to see a real jungle animal. Alas, apart from a few zoos, there are no giraffes in Illinois.

But what would you think if, instead of Emma, it was me looking for giraffes? If I persisted at such silliness, you’d question my competence.

Yet isn’t that the mistake so many of us make as we process personal trials and troubles? We’re looking for a life filled with cuddly long-lashed giraffes.  We anticipate Disney World rather than the real world. But just as Illinois isn't a jungle, this earth isn't heaven!

Job declared, “For man is born for trouble, as the sparks fly upward.” Paul’s sober promise is that “All who want to live in a godly way in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” Jesus assured us, "In the world, you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.”

That’s not to say that our Christian lives will be nothing more than a bleak canvas filled with hopeless hues of gray. There is joy in serving Jesus!  We’re to encourage one another with the expectation of Christ’s return.

As for trouble on the trail? Let’s keep it all in perspective.  And—don’t expect any giraffes.

Cheese fries, funnel cakes, and elephant ears.  The air was heavy with the smog of greasy grills and heart-unhealthy taste treats. But what a fabulous fragrance it was smothering the grounds of the Bureau County Fair. Fleeing these temptations—and the sun's unrelenting heat—we dove into buildings where colorful ribbons declared the winners of creative competitions: largest pumpkin, tastiest apple pie, best pen and ink drawing, etc.

In one building, we saw folks handing out safety brochures, nail files, cup holders, and ten-thousand other logo-emblazoned products: many of them solutions in search of a problem.

Then there was the unassuming table where two unassuming men smiled at each person who walked by, offering them a Bible. Politely and winsomely, they asked, “Would you like a Testament?” Nothing huckster about them or their offer. Just plain folks with a plain invitation.

I watched as the steady trickle of humanity flowed past, the majority declining the New Testament. For a brief moment, it seemed that God might be pulling back the layers of time, showing me the scene from an eternal perspective.

These were not merely folks at a fair.  They were souls trudging toward eternity. Most of them—biblically speaking—were headed for hell itself, the Abyss. Yet overwhelmingly, they declined the Bible as casually as they might a branded pen or politician’s pamphlet.

Facing certain death, a horrific eternity in hell, they walked away from a little book that offers escape and abundant life. What foolishness!

Still, some—a few—were intrigued. Some took that Book—the only book that offers Life. And some will no doubt find it.

Humbly accept the Word God has planted in your hearts. For it has the power to save your souls.

-James 1:21

I should never have clicked the link that came with the headline.

I’m talking about the images of Zaki Anwari the 17-year-old soccer player determined to leave Afghanistan hanging on to a C-17. Capable of flying two M1A2 Abrams battle tanks, or 16 Humvees, the plane's belly swelled with passengers desperate to evacuate. You’ve seen the photos.

Zaki clutched at the landing gear with a gritty resolve as the transport accelerated to 50, then 100, then 120 miles per hour. Just a few hundred feet into the air, Zaki lost his grip. Nor was he the only one to die this way.

As awful as that is, I’m wondering if many of us who call ourselves Christ-followers are guilty of a very personal war crime. We’re able to feel sympathy for that boy—and others like him. But we are strangely unable or unwilling to go much further and engage this tragedy on a spiritual level.

We care—but not that much.

• Not enough to hold personal—let alone—national prayer gatherings.
• Not enough to ask what relief efforts might need our financial support.
• Not enough to resist seeing this as a geopolitical crisis that “was bound to happen at some point.”

That is a crime.

If you’ve seen the video sequence of Zaki’s fall, you’ll note that “all” we see is a black speck tumbling to earth. But Zaki wasn’t a speck. He had a soul. As do every single one of Afghanistan’s people. Shouldn’t that somehow soften our hard hearts?

Let’s stop seeing this as mere fodder for office banter. Let’s stop seeing politics and start seeing people.

When He gasped for breath hanging on those splintered beams, Jesus had the faces of Afghans in mind. How do I know? "God so loved the world."

Why shouldn’t we?

Taking offense.

In the last two or three years, it has replaced baseball as America’s pastime. These days, it seems everyone is offended and going to bat about something. There is nothing, it seems, over which we will not be offended.

While humans have managed to irritate each other since Adam and Eve, today's cultural climate offers two distinct differences. First, social media has created a global platform to air those grievances.  And air them we do. Second, a sustained pattern of lawsuits has given birth to the notion that "If I am offended, so you must placate me."

The implication is that others must change for me—so I can feel "safe" or valued or equal.  Gone is the idea that reasonable people might share reasonable—even sharp—differences of opinion without demanding one side cave in.

We should be able to disagree and remain civil. Anything else is opposed to biblical virtues like kindness, gentleness, and "esteeming others better" than ourselves (Phil. 2:3). The Bible argues love "does not demand its own way" (1 Corinthians 13:5). Who should be more civil than Bible-believing Christians?

But increasingly, I see believers adopting the world’s self-centered mindset, slapping godly labels on godless attitudes. We’re offended—and by golly, this evil world had better know it!

Certainly, there is much in our culture that is opposed to our Christian faith.

Certainly, there is much over which we could be offended.

Certainly, we must never call evil good or good evil.

But with all that said, there is precious little over which Christians have a right to be offended. Consider Christ. He endured insults, slander, jeering—regularly.  Yet we see not one hint of offense taken on His part.

The old chorus had it right:

They’ll know we are Christians by our love.

Not our sense of offense.

A friend at work recently texted to thank me for praying about a family health situation. Good thing it was a text and not FaceTime. I’m sure there was a strained look on my face as I pondered whether, in fact, I had prayed. Perhaps I did pray initially, but not nearly as much as my friend credited me.

Can you relate to that? Someone asks you to pray, and you give hearty agreement to their request with every intention to follow through. And then, you don’t. Your friend is assuming you’re praying—counting on it. They've told others that you are praying, and people naturally think that you are. Only later do you find out that you've let them down. (Is that letting God down?).

My friend’s good medical report should have made me feel good. Instead, I felt guilt. Surely, I should have prayed more. But since God doesn't beat us up over these things, I concluded that perhaps my self-condemnation was a bit harsh. Maybe the worst of it—and this is no small thing—is that we miss out on the blessing that comes from being a committed prayer team member.  

Dr. Bob Moeller, a mentor of mine, once advised, “When someone asks you to pray for them, do it right there on the spot. Whether in person or on the phone—pray for them.” I haven’t always lived up to that advice, but I try.

Maybe that’s the best rendering of 1 Thessalonians 5:17, “Pray without ceasing.”

The very moment someone asks, or the very moment we remember we’re supposed to pray—we pray.

I dare you. Next time a friend or loved one asks you to pray about a situation, do it right then. In your office. In your house. As you’re together in church. As you’re out in public together.

The moment you hear the words, "Pray for me," go ahead and pray—out loud. The place doesn't matter, but the prayer does. So—pray!

Attempting to put sunscreen on a two-year-old is like trying to catch a greased pig. You can try, but it’s not going to be pretty.

Yet Emma wanted to play in the park and it was sunny outside and since she was in our care, we dug out the sunscreen. A dab on her nose and each cheek should have been easy to smooth out.

Should have.

Did I mention Emma is two? She looked this way and that and up and down and around. I tried rubbing that lotion in for all I was worth. And failed.

Her head was wiggling and wobbling and there was no way that sun screen was going to get smoothed out.

Finally, she’d had enough and—spoiler alert—she did not decide to sit still.  Instead, she muttered, “Come on!”  As if I was laying down on the job.

Emma could not know that A), I had her best interests at heart and that B), she herself was the cause of the delay. All I wanted was for her to sit still so I could finish my task.

I wonder how often our Heavenly Father feels the same way about us. He’s trying to protect us from something. And we’re wiggling and wobbling and increasingly frustrated that “nothing is happening.”  We even wonder (secretly of course) if He’s laying down on the job.

But the whole time He has our best interests at heart.  And—like Emma—we are often the cause of our own delays. None of which keeps us from muttering a frustrated prayer that sounds remarkably like Emma’s: “Come on!”

Maybe it’s time to just sit and let God be God.