Category: Thursday Thought

Somewhere after the 30th floor, our ears popped riding the elevator up to the observation deck of Chicago’s Hancock building. Traveling vertically at 20 miles an hour, the 1,030 foot trip took a mere 45 seconds. But if our ears popped a little, our eyes popped all the more once reaching the 94th floor. Peering out, it’s impossible not to take dozens and dozens of photos.  

To the east, Lake Michigan is equal parts turquoise and tranquility.   To the north, a curving shoreline invites imagination and envy (who are these people who can afford to live on the lake?).   Staring west,  the gray grid of urban life—bursting with self-importance at ground level—loses any sense of bombast from the heights of the Hancock.   

Only until you are standing on the 94h floor do you finally see what we saw that hot afternoon: empty pools.  The roof of many a Chicago high rise is graced with a swimming pool (imagine the cost!). And there are more than you might think.  They are beautiful.  They were also empty of any swimmers.

Puzzled, I zoomed in on several of the photos I snapped—no swimmers.  It was a hot day—a perfect day—to be in the pool with the kids or by yourself. What could be nicer on a Saturday afternoon?  Alas, there were pools—but no swimmers.  Why?

Might this be a metaphor of how you and I take advantage—or fail to take advantage—of grace?  Like those rooftop pools, grace is expensive, costing  Jesus His life. And—like the pools captured in my pictures—though plentiful, grace is often under utilized.

The grace of forgiveness, the grace of release, the grace of freedom, the grace of a fresh start, the grace to fail and try again—amazingly, these pools are often left untouched. 

The result of all that graceless living is cranky Christians.  Christians reluctant to forgive or be forgiven.  Christians content to measure themselves and others by a weary, works-oriented scale that condemns but never consoles.   

How long has it been since you took a swim in the pools of grace?  It's time to plunge in!  Time to go deep in the waves of God’s infinite lovingkindness.

 

And the grace of our Lord was more than abundant , with the faith and love which are found in Christ Jesus. —1 Timothy 1:14

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a busy day at O’hare.  I’m headed for the glorious city of Cincinnati, tourist capital of the world.  (Okay , not quite).  Hey—it is what it is.  One lady on my flight really is flying to a fabulous destination: the Bahamas.  She started in Minnesota and flew to Chicago.  From Chicago, she will fly to Cincinnati (my flight).  Then it’s Cincinnati to Miami.  From Miami she takes off and finally reaches the Bahamas.  Hate to guess what her total travel time is!

Out the window I spot the usual logos plastered on planes large and small.  United, Delta, American, Alaska and SkyWest are here.  As are four inordinately yellow Spirit jets.  There are international flights lining up this morning, too: Air India, ANA Airlines and Etihad to name a few.

Conclusion: There’s a whole lot of people going somewhere today.  And if you were to ask them, you’d discover these travelers are absolutely certain of their destination. 

Nobody gets on a plane not knowing where it’s going, right?  Every passenger has a boarding pass and every boarding pass has a destination. 

Yet it’s amazing how many of us are so casual about our eternal destination, the place where we’ll be after we die.  I’ve asked many people, “Are you going to heaven?”  The most common response is a smile, a shrug, and something like: “Well I want to go to heaven.  I hope I get there.”

You hope?  You don’t know?  Hokey shmokes!  How could you possibly live that way? I feel like shouting (which I don’t).  “Don’t you want to know—for sure—where your eternal destination is?  And don’t you want that destination to be heaven?”  The other option—hell—is horrific!

“But how can you really know for sure?” Some have asked.  Here’s how I know.  The Bible says in Romans 10:9, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (go to heaven).    No fine print there.  No quid pro quo.  In 1 John 5:13 we are told, “These are written to you who believe in the name of Jesus so that you may KNOW that you have eternal life.” (1 John 5:13). 

Just like every traveler at the airport, every human being has a boarding pass to eternity.  And you can know right now what yours says.  Revelation 20:15 reveals your destination:

And if anyone's name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.

Why leave things to chance?  Why let your destination be hell?  Choose to let Christ forgive you.  Heaven—or hell?  What does your boarding pass say?

 

 

 

Good thing you didn't drop by our house for a visit last month.  Or the previous month.  Or the month before that.  The place has been a wreck—literally.

We managed to drag out the installation of a new bathroom from March until mid-July.  And rather than enjoy it, we immediately (as in the very same day the toilet and faucets were finally connected) emptied our master bedroom to begin a major overhaul there as well.

The joints where the ceiling meets the walls were cracked. So we had to rip out most of the paper seams, replace them, and then mud and sand the whole area.  Working on the skylight was a particular joy (it’s a 14 foot-tall cathedral ceiling, so that meant many hours on a scaffold).

Next, it was time to paint.  And did I mention we decided to replace plastic floor trim and cheaper lauan door trim with real oak?  In tearing off some of the old trim, I chuckled at the discovery of two love notes I’d written to my wife on the back of the boards.  “Jon loves Diana” declared one of them in a red ink that was hardly faded even after 30 years.  Which reminds me that in previous remodeling projects, I’ve been known to paint messages to her right on the walls.

When it was time to roll up the old carpet I discovered another memory on the plywood floor: a distinctive splotch of dried blood—mine.  Three decades ago, in the process of cutting a small piece of drywall to screw into the ceiling, I ended up slicing off the very tip of my thumb. Ouch.  What a memory.

Love notes. Messages.  Memories.  There are stories on our walls—quite literally.  Those careful enough to look will likely find them at some future date.

The same is true with the walls of our souls.  They, too, bear messages, notes, and memories.  The question is, what do they say about us?  About our faith?  About the way we have loved God and others?

When we are dead and gone, what will people encounter when they read the stories on the walls?  We’re writing them now, you know.

• A day at a time.
• A deed at a time.

Stories.

What will yours say about you? 

 

 

Do you ever wonder why Christians watch about the same amount of R-rated films as the rest of society?   Do you ever ask why Christians look at almost as much pornography as the world?  Do you ever wonder why Christians divorce at nearly the same rate as the secular culture? 

I have a one-word theory: repentance.

Whatever happened to repentance—the biblical concept of having sorrow over our sin?  Repentance means changing your mind and changing your direction: away from sin and toward godliness.

In Matthew 3:8, Jesus commanded, “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” If you and I claim Christ as our Savior, there ought to be something good coming out of our lives: fruit that others can taste!  If you say you’re a Christian but your life is mostly unchanged—there’s little or no fruit—maybe it’s time for a spiritual inventory.  

God forbid I should make salvation seem one whit more complicated than “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.”   It really is just that simple.  Still, we cannot escape the biblical mandate to repent!  Hear me clearly. Repentance isn’t the price of our salvation.  Repentance is the proof of our salvation.

But many think they’re okay as long as they pray a prayer to receive Jesus as Savior.  Unbelievably, many keep on living about the same way they’ve always lived.  Same dirty jokes, same crummy movies, and the same idols of success, money, fame and sex.  They are satisfied with an eternal fire insurance plan.  Yet Jesus says, “Repent!  The kingdom of God is at hand!”

Please note: God isn’t in the insurance business!  He’s in the holiness business.   He didn't come to pass out spiritual Band-Aids!  He came to do heart transplants—permanent life-change from inside-out.  It’s not about showing up in church to “make God happy!”  It’s about God showing up in you to make you holy!

It’s time to repent—all of us—to have a godly sorrow for our sins that motivates us to turn from evil and turn to godliness.

• Repent!  Because judgement day is coming.
• Repent!  Because the loss of eternal rewards is at stake.
• Repent!  Because Jesus has commanded it. 

“Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand!”

You kinda have to see her face to really understand. 

Ava is 21 months old.  Her parents will tell you she is increasingly vested in the “terrible twos” stage, even if her arrival is a tad early. 

Like most kids her age Ava makes sounds, is saying words and even tiny sentences.  She knows her animals and her acute sense of hearing identifies even the slightest chirp, woof, meow or moo. 

A dog barks in the distance and Ava sticks out her index finger, seemingly beckoning the rest of us to listen.  A bird tweets in an overhead tree—her finger points as if in triumph.  Then you look directly into her eyes.

Ava’s are not just blue.  They are stunningly blue.  They remind me of those ads for tinted contact lenses.  But it’s not merely the color of her eyes that grab me.  It’s what she does with them.

When surprised or delighted, Ava’s eyebrows shoot up.  Her mouth puckers into the shape of someone saying “ooh”—but maybe working too hard at it. Her face is equal parts delight and wonder.  We call it her surprise face.

There’s no mistaking the look.  And at 21 months, she’s just cagey enough to know her surprise face brings attention and smiles.  Depending on her mood, she might just perform for you. 

That’s great for Ava.  What about you and me? 

Our world is not just sprinkled but doused—even drenched—in wonder and delight.  Yet scarce is the man or woman who has anything at all resembling a “surprise face.”   Most of us are fabulous with frowns, terrific with tension and awesome with arrogance.  But a surprise face?  A happy look of delight and discovery?  Well, you might say many of us could use a makeover. 

Pour yourself a tall glass of wonder today.  Drink deeply of God’s creation.  Then check out your surprise face in a mirror.  You might just be…surprised!

A glad heart makes a happy face; a broken heart crushes the spirit. 

–Proverbs 15:13

 

Early morning in downtown Chicago. I stepped into a cab almost immediately noticing Moody Radio was playing on the car speakers.  

My driver was from the Ivory Coast and so I told him about my previous trips to West Africa, tossing in a few French phrases as best I could. Then I did the obvious and asked him about the station he was listening to.

“It’s from the Moody Bible” he said.

“That’s great,” I replied, and informed him that I worked at Moody—more specifically for Moody Radio—and that we were headed for the campus.

“Small world,” he said, and then added, “So you must be very careful.”  I was intrigued with his comment and followed up with a question.

“So, you listen to the station that talks about Jesus.  But do you know the Jesus they are talking about?

“Actually, I am Muslim,” he quickly and politely pointed out.  “But I listen to the station every day to the morning show, then turn it off.”   He grew slightly pensive. “Sometimes I think the Muslim God and Christian God are the same.”

I was gentle, but bold, “I have heard this same thing as I’ve talked with other people of the Muslim faith.  But God had a Son named Jesus who claimed to be the Savior of the world.” 

“Yes,” he acknowledged politely, and then added, “My Muslim friends all the time ask me ‘Why do you have that station on?  Why?’  I tell them, ‘It is peaceful.  It gives me peace.’”

A pity that the ride was coming to an end.  I said to him, “Jesus said ‘Peace I give unto you.  My peace—not the peace of the world.’”  He responded with some other nice comments about the station.

As we turned the corner onto Chicago and LaSalle, I drew in a breath and reached back for my years of French language and said in his mother tongue, “Me, I believe Jesus is the King of kings.”  The cab now at the curb, I reached to shake his hand and encouraged him to keep listening to Moody Radio.  “God wants you in the Kingdom of heaven and this station can help you learn how to get there.”

You really never know who’s listening to you…or watching your life…or observing your testimony.

Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.  –1 Peter 3:15

 

 

 

She was the only kid in the McDonald’s Playland.

Apparently, it happens a lot.

Alexa is nine.  Her dad lives in one town, her mom in another,  17 miles away.  She was the only child in the McDonald’s Playland until we arrived with our two grandkids.   Though they are younger than Alexa, she chatted them up.  My wife and I, as well while we waited for our order.

By the time I arrived with our tray of food, Alexa had seated herself at our table and stayed there for the entire duration of our meal.  She seemed plenty hungry—but not for food.

“I’m a Video gamer,” blurted Alexa.  Her preference?  “Games where you shoot people.”  She does not tire of McDonald’s food, even though she spends many hours a week there.  “Yogurt is my favorite,” she informed.

Alexa wore a brightly colored shirt featuring a whimsical cat driving a yellow Volkswagen Beetle.  She pointed out her dad who was seated in a glassed off party room, some thirty feet away.  Dad was glued to his phone, which was glued to the wall, charging.

Following our meal, Alexa joined our two kids climbing the plastic structures and sliding through tubes.  When it was time to wrap up, Alexa had questions: “Are you leaving?  Why?  Are you coming back?”  We told her we’d come back, because we camp in the area.  “So you will come back?” she asked as much as stated.  And then it was time to leave.

My wife took our two grandkids to the bathroom as Alexa went to be with her dad.  She threaded her arm around his, as little girls do.  Leaned her head against his shoulder.  But she might as well have been invisible.  His phone was all he could see. 

I was now seated across from Alexa, 15 feet away holding the Happy Meal toys for our grandkids while they finished in the bathroom.  I waved at Alexa.  On the other side of the glass, she waved back.

Then it was my turn to visit the restroom.  When I came back, Alexa was no longer with her dad.  He was as I’d left him—glued to his phone.  She was now in the back of the place, in the play area.  Our eyes locked for just a moment, Alexa’s and mine.  I waved.  Her curled fingers waved back twice. 

Pretty sure she smiled. 

Pretty sure I teared up.

She was the only kid in the McDonald’s Playland.

Apparently, it happens a lot.

 

For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in.

–Psalms 27:10

History oozes out if its pores—literally.

On Chicago’s Michigan Avenue, the spire-topped Tribune Tower clutches at the sky. Every time I walk past, I can’t just walk past.  I linger.  Stare.  Ponder the wall of stories. 

Constructed in 1925, the imposing gothic icon is embedded with stone and brick fragments of impressive pedigree.  Built right into the walls of the Tribune Tower are actual pieces from…

• The Berlin Wall
• The Alamo
• Wartburg Castle

But that’s just the beginning.  Look further and you will find stones from:

• The White House
• Coliseum of Rome
• Temple in Jerusalem
• Great Pyramid of Giza

The question I have is the same one you have: How did they get these priceless artifacts?  Do you just write the Prime Minister of Italy and say, “Hey, we’re building something new on Michigan Avenue and we’d love to have a chunk of the Coliseum”?  Think about all the stories represented by those walls!

Back in 2560 B.C. when sweaty workers lugged the first stone of the Great Pyramid into place, nobody knew just how great the Great Pyramid would really be.

In 1067, when the last brick was troweled into Wartburg Castle, nobody knew that hundreds of years later within its walls, Martin Luther would translate the Bible into German.

Those stone workers who chiseled the foundation of the White House could never have foreseen the history that would unfold inside the structure they were building.

But here’s the most impressive truth of all. As a follower of Christ, nobody—absolutely nobody—can tell how grand a story God will write on the walls of your life.

You might not feel like much is going on right now as you try to serve Him faithfully. It might seem that there is little to nothing about your spiritual journey worth even noting.   But I’m sure the Eiffel Tower was not the least bit impressive in the early stages of its construction.  Ditto for the Tower of London.   And the Pentagon must have seemed downright odd until it was finished.

Rest assured, God is constructing a wall of stories in your life. Philippians 1:6 tells us precisely that:

“God is the one who began this good work in in you” (this good story!) “And I’m certain that He won’t stop before it is complete on the day that Christ Jesus returns” (CEV).

Next time you’re visiting the Windy City, make it a point to visit the Tribune Tower.  Don’t just walk by, either.  Touch the stones.  Feel the history.  And know that God is writing a story in the walls of your life, too!

What’s the best day you can recall? 

For me, it would be the day I married Diana. Unforgettable.  Our honeymoon trip to the tourist trap known as Wisconsin Dells is without doubt the most fun and the most fabulous memory I have.

(You who are more spiritually minded will have to forgive me for not mentioning the day I received Christ as my favorite day.  But I was such a little kid at the time, I sort of took it all in stride). 

For our daughter, Lynnette, her favorite day on the whole calendar is….can you guess?  Hint: It’s not Christmas,  Give up?  It’s the Fourth of July.  Her flags and bunting and red-white-and-blue decorations are up weeks before the big day.   She and her family wouldn’t dream of taking in just one fireworks show.  They go to several.

This year during Fourth of July celebrations, Lynnette commented happily, “This is the best day!”  With four little kids around, she never lacks for an audience.  Five-year-old Caleb heard his mom’s pronouncement and begged to differ.  In a respectful but forthright tone, he countered, “Actually, the best day is the day we get to heaven.” 

Ka-pow!    Score one point for the five-year-old. 

The very first second we are conscious in heaven, we will certainly conclude, “this is the best day.”  Perfect health. Perfect faith.  Perfect rest.  Best of all, we’ll enjoy a perfect Savior whom we’ll worship perfectly doing perfectly suited tasks in a perfect environment perfectly satisfied for ever and ever.   

Caleb reminds us of Paul’s happy assertion in  1 Corinthians 2:9: “This is what the Scriptures mean when they say, ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love Him.’”

No wonder Paul later declares in Philippians 1:23, “I'm torn between two desires” (going to heaven versus. remaining on earth). “I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me.”

Next time somebody asks you about your favorite day, I dare you to resist choosing any date from your past.  Instead, point to the future.  Point to heaven. 

The words came through but didn’t quite register.

At exactly 1:47 on Tuesday afternoon an email arrived announcing that my father had died—”please pray for the family.”  But before I ever saw the email, my son Tim called and asked if I’d heard the “news.” 

Something wasn’t adding up, so I placed a quick call to the email source (a wonderful family friend) and learned that they had made an error in identifying the deceased.  The lost loved one in question was actually my aunt.   A follow up email was immediately sent out to correct the error.

Obviously, we are sad for the family of Dad’s sister.  They have lost a caring mother and there is a hole in their family that will never again quite be filled.  And Dad, of course, has lost a sister.  The day previous we’d paid our respects at the funeral home. 

Still, it was strange to think that others were now thinking someone was dead who was actually fully alive (these things have a way of taking a while to get sorted out).   But Dad is hardly the first to be mistaken for dead.

In May of 1897, American humorist Mark Twain was traveling in London when someone started the rumor that he had become gravely ill and died.  When questioned by a reporter about the story, the much-mustached Mark Twain quipped, “The reports of my deaths are greatly exaggerated.”

I couldn’t resist texting my Dad, “How does it feel to have been declared dead—and come back to life on the same day?”  His response is choice.  He simply quoted Paul:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

The sobering truth is, whether our death announcement is premature—or on time—we shall all have one eventually.   But followers of Christ need not let this sobriety check send us into a dark funk.  Why?  Our lives here are but shadows.  We shall have all of heaven and all of Jesus for all of eternity!  Allow me to quote again from Paul who said,

For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.   —Romans 14:8,9

I belong to Christ.

Christ belongs to me.

Everything else—even death—is pocket change.