Category: Thursday Thought

Deep inside, I covet having a perfect lawn.  No bald spots…no weeds. Just lush greenness.  But I just don't work hard enough on the weeds. My wife does most of the weeding at our place.

Recently, I observed an outbreak of weeds in our hostas.  Unable to resist a pun,  I called it a “hosta” situation.  In a rare moment, I took the bold step of a weed intervention.

Level one found me yanking two foot thistles out of the ground.   Thanks to the rain, most all those weeds were easily extracted–roots and all.

Level two meant going on hands and knees in the hostas, snatching handfuls of Creeping Charlie.  The tough vines had entwined themselves around a thousand helpless victims.  Here again, I was grateful for the wet ground, as I was able to yank them out by the roots. I felt like a modern day Moses, freeing my people from slavery to the Weed Pharaoh. 

By the time I was done, much of our driveway was totally covered in weeds.   (Who says it's not easy being green?)    Rinsing the dirt from my hands, I was unable to rinse a thought from my mind:

You and I bemoan how easily weeds grow up.  Whether literal weeds, or the weeds of bad habits, they require little to take root. Yet as I pondered the rainy season that made yanking those weeds out by their roots so much easier, it made me wonder.  Is it possible that God blesses us with seasons in our lives when it's actually easier to root out bad habits, what David called “willful sins” in Psalm 19:13?   Is it possible that there are certain seasons He intends for us to do extra violence to our stubborn habits, our inward wickedness?

I am not a theologian and cannot quote chapter and verse here.  Nor would I—as my friend Michael Easley cautions–“push this too far.”

I can only say that in a soul like mine—and perhaps like yours—it might well be time for a weed intervention.

How do you celebrate a two-year-olds’ birthday?

For our family—with a grandson who loves trains—that meant a meal at Two Toots Restaurant.   The big draw at this unusual eatery is a model train that runs throughout the place. On the tracks, a locomotive pulls eight flatbed cars, each fitted with a basket that actually hauls your meal right to your booth.

So there’s Caleb watching this train hauling burgers and fries. Every single time that train went around the track, he got excited.  Every single time they sounded the horn, he bounced in his seat. Every single time the train disappeared from view, he waved and said, “Bye Bye…Bye bye.”

It was fun watching Caleb have fun.  But gradually, the rest of us “more sophisticated” adults moved on to other interests and conversation.  Once the food arrived, we were more into munching our burgers and dipping our onion rings than whatever was going on with the train.

Not Caleb.  He remained fascinated the whole evening long.

Caleb’s intrigue set my mind traveling down a different track. Much like the red baskets delivering meals to our table, we are daily—even hourly—delivered huge carloads of gifts from our generous God: forgiveness, provision…grace.

The train loads of His gifts come with such frequency, piled high with such generosity…we are at risk of appearing bored with His blessings.

Is it possible you and I are guilty of this sin: bored with our blessings?  We often don’t even think of them.  But there’s a cure.  It’s called thankfulness.

Let’s say thanks….every single time.  Every single blessing.  Every single gift.

Just like Caleb greeted that train with a smile and wave….let’s choose to greet the daily, hourly, minute-by-minute kindness of our God… with a thank you.

Bored with our blessings?

I hope not.

Our heavenly Father loves to give us good gifts—by the train load.

Let’s thank Him for every gift.  Every time.

Listen carefully.  I think there’s another train coming around the bend!

Heroes rarely get the press they deserve.  At least not in this life.

Take Samuel Whittemore, for example.

I'd never even heard of the man until I learned that he was one of the men most admired by a friend that I admire.

Samuel Whittemore was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts in 1696.  A farmer by trade, he was a patriot at heart. At the age of 78, Whittemore became the oldest known combatant in the War of Independence.   Here's how it happened.

British forces were returning to Boston, having just fought the battles of Lexington and Concord.  As you may recall from history class, those were the opening skirmishes of the war.

Whittemore was doing what farmers do—working in his fields—when he spied an approaching British brigade.   Imagine the ice water that chilled his veins.

Whittemore quickly took up a position behind a stone wall.  As the British approached, he unloaded his musket, killing one soldier.  But there was no time to reload the rifle, so he picked up his dueling pistols, took careful aim, and shot another, then mortally wounded a third.

But by now, Whittemore, who was fighting entirely alone, was completely surrounded by a British detachment.  He reached for his sword, only to be shot in the face.  Next, he was bayoneted numerous times.   Left for dead in a pool of blood, he was later discovered by colonial forces—alive—still trying to load his musket to fight again.

Whittemore was taken to a Doctor Cotton Tufts of Medford, who saw absolutely no hope for survival.   But Samuel Whittemore refused to die.  History records he not only recovered, but lived another full 18 years, dying of natural causes at the age of 96.

Samuel Whittemore embodied the spirit of Ecclesiastes 9:10: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.”  And with that, I raise a salute to my newest old hero–Samuel Whittemore.

When you run a business, the name of that business is…..well, big business!  Branding experts tell us we want crisp and cool.  Something with a little razzle dazzle.  Something that positions our product or service in a way that people will remember.

But in West Africa, they take a different approach.  Traveling through Ghana, the roads are lined with wooden stalls selling everything from fruit to phone cards to photocopies. Most of these so called shops are between three and six feet wide—that's it!  And most all of them are clearly marked with a business name hand painted on a tired gray board.

Some of the business names were humorous.  Among them:

• The “No Comment Hair Cut” shop.
• The “No Weapon Food Joint”
• Another restaurant alternative, the “Don't Mind Your Wife Chop Bar.”

But more than the occasional humorous names, I was struck by the strong references to Jesus and the biblical faith that I saw everywhere.

For example, every  taxi had a name.  Such as….

• God is One
• The Lord is My Shepherd
• To God be the Glory
• Jesus Family
• Fear Not—given my impression that there is plenty to be afraid of in Ghana traffic, I found that name somewhat assuring.

Then there's the cab titled, “By Grace.”  Imagine being asked, “How did you get here?”  You simply answer, “I've come this far…by grace.”

In our travels, we drove by…

• God First Upholstery Works
• The Blood of Jesus Christ tile store
• God Will Do—Welding and Fabrication Shop
• Christ Must Increase Restaurant
• Jesus is Lord Quality Frozen Foods
• Ask God Electricals
• King of the Universe—Dealers in Hardware

At first, I found all those signs mildly humorous.  Then they struck me as quaint. The more of them we saw, the more I became impressed with these shop keepers.

Would I be so bold as to put the name of Jesus before the name of my business?  Would I have the courage to put God first—not just in my dealing—but in the very sign that defines my occupation?

I now admire these people.  Their work ethic, their hope to achieve something more for their families in a tough economy.  But mostly, I admire the way they are unashamed to name the name of Jesus, who himself said, “Whoever acknowledges me before men, him will I acknowledge before my Father.”

If I ever do go into business, I hope I'll take a lesson from my friends in Ghana—and let JESUS get top billing.

Darkness has descended upon Ghana and we are stuck in a poky line of traffic streaming into the capital city, Accra.  The stop and go driving leaves me pondering two signs I saw earlier in our travels to the Cape Coast.

This morning, as we cruised along the George Walker Bush Highway (named for the U.S. President that brought financial aid to this West African nation) I saw a billboard that I really liked.  It said, “Behold, I am coming soon.”  And the quote, of course, is attributed to Jesus.

“What a great sign,” I thought, as we rumbled down the highway.

But less than one minute later, we encountered another billboard.  This one featured the large photo of a bearded man wearing a turban.  The caption identified him as “The Promised Messiah, Mahdi.”

While I support free speech, and the rights of other religions to express their views, I was angered in my spirit by the deception.  The true Messiah, Jesus, has already come.  Already given His very life for us paying for our ticket to heaven with the signature of His own blood.   Yet in the second billboard, Jesus was essentially being assaulted by a fake messiah.

God has given us the choice to believe whatever we want. We are welcome to worship whatever god we like. But we do NOT get to choose the consequences of our choices.

The Bible says, “He that believes on the Son has everlasting life: and he that does not believe the Son will not see life; but the wrath of God abides on him.”

The truth is the penalty for rejecting Jesus is Hell.

So when I see a billboard promising a different Messiah than Jesus, it makes me feel the same as if I saw a doctor prescribing chocolate to cure cancer.

Our enemy loves nothing better than to quickly counter truth and beauty with lies and ugliness.   Let's not be fooled.

What does true greatness look like?

I think I saw a glimpse this week.

Imagine a training conference for Christian media professionals from all across West Africa. Envision197 participants from 15 countries all gathering in Accra, Ghana to learn practical techniques in radio, video, leadership, and social media.  Moody Radio calls it the “Global Partners Training.” 

The conference featured energetic presenters, powerful worship, great preaching at night…not to mention delicious meals.  Over the course of the conference, I figured they served a total of 2000 meals to our group.

Unlike typical American conference centers, there were no “built in” facilities here.  We all ate outside underneath three large white tents.   Two serving lines formed outside the tents for every meal.

Every plate, fork and water bottle had to be carted by hand out to the tents.  Every grain of rice, every bite of fish was hauled over in coolers, or on large trays.

But there was one meal I will remember for a long time.   It was lunch time and the dark clouds overhead made good on their threat with a rainstorm the likes of which I have never encountered.

Bathtubs of rain dumped all over the conference grounds, just as the lunch was being served.  The conference participants were largely spared the soaking, protected under the tents.

But the servers just outside the covering of the tents were entirely exposed. In seconds, their white blouses and shirts were drenched. As I took cover, I watched rain dribble down noble faces. I was in the presence of greatness.

Jesus said, “Whoever would be the greatest among you must be the servant of all.”

The greatest of all at the Global Partners training were not the presenters or the preacher or the worship leaders.  But the great ones were easy to spot. They were the ones serving.  Dripping in the rain.

They say that we either waste time, use time, or invest time.

Several weeks ago, my wife and I enjoyed the weekend company of five year old Joslynn, our granddaughters. The little blonde kindergartner is reluctant to leave our house on Saturday.  Doesn’t even like to get changed out of her pajamas.

But she loves to make paper airplanes, which we take great pains to color before folding and flying.   Joslynn is not content until we’ve created not just one or two planes, but a fleet sufficient in number to replace an entire wing of the United States Air force. 

But Joslynn had recently seen the Pixar movie, Monsters, Inc.  She asked me draw the outlines of the main characters so she could color them. The truth is I can't draw for diddly.   Never could.

But Josie absolutely positively had to have those characters drawn, so I gave it my best shot. Grabbed my tablet and did an online search for images that I did a poor job of copying onto her paper.  But Josie never once complained or criticized.  She colored.

There was the big and fluffy Sully, Mike—the happy go lucky green guy whose one eye represents the full orb of his diminutive body. We drew Randall, the mean hearted purple lizard, and Boo—cute as a button—smiling and waving.

The day flew by and by nightfall, Josie was back home.   Getting ready for bed, I grabbed my tablet.  But before powering it down, I checked the most recent image on the screen. It was Boo.  The cute little girl from Monsters, Inc.  Still smiling.  Still waving.  Only now, it felt like a wave goodbye. I was not prepared for the lump in my throat.  

Left to myself, I probably would not have suggested we take a whole day and sit around in pajamas with crayons in our hands. But now that it's come and gone, I feel schooled.  Humbled.

I’m not sure that Saturday of coloring connects directly with Proverbs 22:6—"Train up a child in the way he should go…"  But I’m thinkin’ somehow….it just might.

Toxic baloney.  When it comes to worldwide media coverage of Israel, that’s increasingly the diet we’re being fed.   And that toxic baloney is slowly poisoning the hearts and minds of millions.

Example #1: The Land

Listening to today’s media, one gets the notion that Israel is a greedy land grabber, reluctant to share with anyone else.

The fact is, the Arab world is nearly 800 times the size of Israel. Not eight or even eighty.  But eight HUNDRED times as large.   So why is Israel being pressured to give up the tiny slice it has to the many who have much more?

Example #2 Regional Conflict

It is increasingly suggested that Israel is the source of most trouble in the Middle East.  But what about the horrific war in Syria—which has nothing to do with Israel?  What about the massive unrest and murderous demonstrations in Egypt?  From the instability of the Iranian nuclear program, to Sunnis killing Shiites in Iraq, the Middle East has never lacked for trouble—quite apart from Israel.

Example #3 The Security Fence Along the West Bank

Prior to the violence of the second intifada, there was no wall, and suicide bombers walked right into Israel and detonated deadly explosions.  Since the construction of that barrier, the bombings have almost entirely stopped.  There are dozens of countries that have fences or walls at their borders including the U.S., Turkey, Northern Ireland, India, Spain, Thailand, the Netherlands, Finland and Yemen.  Does Israel not have a right to protect itself against suicide bombers? 

You don’t get this kind of perspective from the mainstream media.
Instead, we are fed a toxic baloney.

I’m not saying Israel is perfect. No country is, including ours. But I am saying that many of the charges being made are distorted and one-sided…to keep us from knowing “the whole truth.”

The ultimate truth to keep in mind–the age old promise of Genesis 12:3 regarding Israel:  I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you."

 

Gizmos and gadgets.

You'll see a ton of them if you go camping.

Over Memorial Day, I couldn't help but notice the massive amounts of stuff people trotted out to their campsites.

There were all kinds of ingenious quick-shade gizmos.  Few who lugged them out and set them up could resist the urge to hang from them cute little lights of various themes..

Then there were more traditional dining canopies—their netted walls and zippered doors defying the most eager of flies a share in a meal in the great outdoors.

I saw all kinds of cooking implements.  Things for which I have no name.  Things for which I could not even guess a purpose. Many felt the need for a full-sized gas grill.  So naturally, those were packed up, set up and fired up.

There were elaborate outdoor rugs and lawn coverings.  I saw a thousand different lawn chair designs, each more fancy than the last.  (Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration…but it sure felt that way).

All of this, mind you, for a three day weekend.  That's the thought that hit me as I saw the sweat that went into taking down and packing up all this…..stuff.  For some folks, this process took several hours!

When the Bible calls us “strangers and aliens on this earth,” shouldn't that give us pause to evaluate the gizmos and gadgets that fill our homes?

Jesus said, “Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of man has no place to rest His head.”

James 4:14 cautions us, “What is your life?  You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”

I would never presume to be your judge.   I'm struggling, like you, to understand what it means to follow Christ in the area of stuff.

I'm not sure of all the answers.

But I think for me, part of the answer has to be less gizmos and gadgets.

Time capsules—we've all seen these eclectic collections stuffed into cornerstones of new buildings in an attempt to give future generations a cultural snapshot of a previous era. 

My wife and I discovered that we actually own a time capsule—our pop-up camper, also known as a tent trailer.  For the uninitiated, it's a metal box with a roof that cranks up, revealing canvas sides and a set of beds on each end.   It's like a tent—only much nicer.

But more than a decade ago, we upgraded to a hard side trailer known as a fifth wheel.  It's nicer yet.  Thus, for nearly fifteen years, the tent trailer has convalesced behind our garage in what used to be our garden—now a retirement property for aging campers.

This weekend, we got it out, cranked it up, and discovered it was exactly how we'd left it.  Yet oddly enough, it appeared to us both like a time capsule of sorts.

Sifting through the contents, we confirmed that sheets and blankets, zipped up in protective plastic cases, were free of mice or insect infiltration.  Unopened packages of paper plates, cups, and plastic eating utensils were nicely stacked in one cabinet.  In another, a fire starter—affectionately known in our family as a "clicker"—that still sparked to life with flame.

Yet there were also signs of decay.  The latches that hold down the collapsible roof have grown stiff.   The decals on the sides continue to fade with years of exposure to the sun. And looking underneath, there's the ominous presence of rust. 

Ol' Bessie cleaned up nicely, but she's showing signs of age. Like you—and me.

Which takes me to 2 Corinthians 5:1. "Our bodies are like tents that we live in here on earth. But when these tents are destroyed, we know that God will give each of us a place to live. These homes will not be buildings that someone has made, but they are in heaven and will last forever."

Aren't you glad there's a “forever?”