Follow Me

“For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death.”

“We’ve all made our mistakes, and dwelling in the past can destroy us. The solution is to make the most of the time we have left on this earth.” Francis Chan

For the Christian, how should that look? What does making the most of the time mean in the context of what Jesus requires of us? David Platt answers these questions by holding a light up to what the Bible (and Jesus) actually say. Sometimes it is painful to stare hard into the light of the truth of Scripture. It’s much easier to accept what many of our modern churches tell us.

“All you have to do is repeat this prayer after me.”

Jesus said we needed to lose our life in order to save it.

“Just believe in your heart, and you will be saved.”

Jesus said we needed to pick up our cross and follow him.

I checked this book out at the library, but I am turning it in and buying a copy on Amazon instead. I am already wanting to get out my highlighter and mark it up. And I am only on page 18.

That’s about all I have to say today, but I am sure as I delve into this book I will have much more…….

It all comes down to Jesus

It all comes down to Jesus.

When we got home from visiting Elaine’s Mom yesterday, I called my own Mom. It was her voice I was hearing when I thought, “It all comes down to Jesus.”

It’s not easy to go there. To visit the places where they check in but they don’t check out, except through death. It’s easy to put thoughts of mortality on the back burner when you are feeling good, doing something you love to do but as soon as you walk through those doors, it all comes front and center.

I call care homes the great equalizers. We may not all end up there, but we are all heading that direction. Justin Bieber will be there someday and so will Tom Cruise. Hard to imagine, unless you see it often. When you see people whose minds have slipped away you think, “There but for the grace of God go any of us.”

Yesterday, the whole time we were there, one lady carried her bedding from door to door, trying to get out, to go home. We were there for an hour and she never stopped. And at night, the staff said, it gets even worse.

One lady is not that old at all, but she suffered a stroke, and her words come out all scattered, like if you took a complete sentence and scrambled up the words that’s how it would come out. Like, “You…..know…..she…..think……my…..son…..train…..second…..year. She always looks stylish and classy and she always smiles when she sees us and points to Elaine’s Mom. I wonder what she would tell us if she could only string those words together?

Another lady has Alzheimer’s and yet they say when she sits down at the organ she can play any hymn you can name. Still another asks me how many kids I have every time I go in there. I think maybe I will give her a different answer every time, or maybe just tell her I have ten.

Whenever I leave there, it seems the birds sound sweeter, the sky seems bluer, life becomes something I want to inhale deeply. When it all comes down to it, we will sell everything we have now and all we will have left will be Jesus. Or not.

I always remember my sister-in-law, who found out how real Jesus was before she passed away at 43 of ovarian cancer. At the end, one of the songs she wanted at her service was, “Just Give Me Jesus.” She learned that as long as she had Him, she had everything.

If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News, you will save it. And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?Is anything worth more than your soul?

No Lord, not one, single solitary thing.

How we carry the church wherever we go

The One who breaks open the way will go up before them;
they will break through the gate and go out.
Their King will pass through before them,
the Lord at their head.” Micah 2:13

I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t going to buy yet another book that chronicled the failings of the American church. Maybe I am tired of being scolded. On my shelf I have Crazy Love by Francis Chan, Confronting Casual Christianity by Charles Stanley, Radical by David Platt, Hole in the Gospel by Richard Stearns, and Classic Christianity by Bob George. The ones I read had some very good points which I couldn’t argue with. Sometimes the truth hurts.

I recently picked up Follow Me, another by David Platt. I have yet to crack the cover, but I am going to do so this week.

There is a reason these books resonate, have rocketed to the best seller charts. In every generation, God brings voices out of the wilderness. To challenge. To wake up. To engage. I have been reading Amos and Micah and I have been moved with their words, their anguish for a lost people. We need people to help us find our way back. There is a reason African missionaries are training to come over here.

Whom God loves, he chastens. God loves His church because He loves us.

The church is not a building. The church is living and breathing in you and me and everywhere we go we carry it with us. Yesterday we went to downtown Phoenix and on the way, on the lightrail, we went through areas where the poorest of the poor live. I pointed out the window and told Elaine, “That’s where the church should be, that’s where Jesus would be if he were here.”

Outside the window there was a man wearing a very offensive T-shirt. I said, “Isn’t that against some kind of law?” She said, “No, not anymore.” I won’t even repeat what it said. It was disgusting. And then I said, “God loves him too.” A part of me, a really big part of me, wanted a huge guy to approach him and confront him about his shirt, put him in his place. Tell him that he shouldn’t wear that around women and children. It’s hard to love people like that. But love is what we are called to do.

I will crack the cover of this book and I will be open to the message, be open to the truth, even if it hurts because it is probably something I need to hear.

All over the world and right here in America too, the Holy Spirit is moving. The church is moving, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it. God said that.

Just last night we sat at an outdoor cafe. There on the sidewalk about 10 yards away stood a young homeless man with his dog. He was dirty with matted hair, and skinny. As we ate our food he kept convicting us. I thought, how could someone so young end up like that? A woman pulled up in a car as we watched and began unloading things from her trunk. She gave the dog some food, and him a sandwich. Elaine said, “Bless her heart.” She got up and approached the woman with some money to help out. She said, “Give it to him.” So she did.

There might be a chance that they are a team, working together. Unfortunately there are many scams artists around. But it really doesn’t matter.

You give when the Spirit directs and after that, He does the blessing.

I will keep listening to Micah and Amos, because we still need their wisdom and warning. They voices work just as well today.

Not just for picnics

I’m a sucker for anything military. Let me hear a few strains of Stars and Stripes Forever played by a really good marching band and it’s an instant lump in my throat. Present the colors while playing taps and that’s it, kleenex time. The fact that someone would willingly put their life on the line for my freedom and not even hesitate to do so instills in me a sense of gratitude I can never properly express.

My Mom and Dad had a part that. She told me stories of when she was a young girl during WWII and my Uncle enlisted. She told me how they had always bickered and fought just like any siblings growing up, but when he got on the train to leave for boot camp and they thought they might never see him again it was a whole other story. Everyone was crying their eyes out. She never forgot that. Thankfully, he did come back.

She told me when the young soldiers came through town on the train, she and my Aunt would go out behind the shoe store where they worked and wave to all the boys. Their boss never minded. During shoe rationing time you could only get shoes on Thursdays. My Mom says every week they ran out of certain sizes and they had to dodge flying shoes from irate customers.

Elaine had an Uncle who was shot down and spent time in a concentration camp for years. When he came back, she said he could never seem to get enough food. To watch him eat was to watch someone with a true appreciation for it. He never forgot starving.

It is never very far from my mind that each day there are young men and women, vets who are coming home without arms, legs, hands, feet. For me and my freedom. And they do this without hesitation. How can I ever thank them enough for that?

Tomorrow the first part of my day will be spent in church, thanking God for His ultimate sacrifice, of another Son who went willingly to give His life for the freedom of my soul.

The second part will be spent at the Ballpark where I will help Elaine celebrate her Birthday watching the Diamondbacks play ball and eat a hotdog. I will take part in an American tradition that goes back a long ways. The flag will be waving, and someone will throw out the first pitch, and there may even be a fly over.

I will sing God Bless America and Take Me Out to the Ballgame, and I will feel like a true American. And I will tear up sometime during all that.

In my heart I will give thanks for those who serve in all areas, military, missions, outreach. Committing themselves to the cause of freedom while they lose theirs.

If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it. Matthew 10:39

How we can lose our fear

Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand. Isaiah 41:10

He didn’t know it, but when he said he was selling that first painting, I went and looked at my walls for a space. I loved the message…..”You are enough.” So simple and yet so powerful, as if God was speaking from Heaven drawing the eye toward that light, with a message for all the world. And then he said it was sold, but that he would paint one for me. I caught my breath. He did he know? Maybe it was all those “likes” on Facebook. I don’t remember saying I wanted one. But I did.

And it’s anointed, I know that. Because whenever God joins up with us to create something, the message always reaches more than who it’s originally intended for.

In between stammering and searching for words I told him that my Dad painted watercolor and how it was growing up with paints around. How he would put a black “X” through a painting we all thought was perfect but he didn’t.

I told him about how I have always battled fear, always been unsure of my own abilities, always looking for confirmation. But maybe I should be grateful, it’s the one thing that has kept me close to my Father’s side.

When we settled on the quote, I knew it was right. Isaiah is one of my favorite books in all the Bible.

Last night, Elaine stood in the kitchen overwhelmed because so much was over and she was afraid of relaxing; of not knowing where or when the emotion would finally release itself. I said, “At some point when you finally settle down and relax, you will wonder how you ever got through it all.” She said, “Yes, that’s what I’m worried about, that’s when it will hit.”

No more school, no more double duty rest home visits between runs. No more sleeping out on the porch listening to motorcycles cut through the night at all hours, screaming off to who knows where. No more sleeping with ice packs because it’s still 100 degrees and your Mom doesn’t even realize she is sleeping in your old room. No more battles over showers. No more watching her Dad lose his grip on this life and pass into the next.

No more. And it scares her to death. Because now it feels like she just dove off a cliff and forgot her parachute.

Yes, this message is for more than just me. It is for her too, as well as the artist who painted it. Really, it’s a message God wants all of us to get. It’s an open invitation to be inspired to leave our fears behind.

Inspiration, when it starts with God, spreads outward like ripples in a lake. When we create something with our own hands, it’s like He is inviting us into His personal sanctuary. To our surprise, we discover that the transubstantiation that takes place during the creative process actually has the power to give life. Whatever we make then becomes glory for Him.

“Do not fear, for I am with you.” Like a voice in the wilderness it beckons.

Thank you Duane for using your talent for His glory, and thank you Jessica for encouraging this, a little bird told me you did.

A little slice of peace, please.

Every day on my way to work there is a small patch of water right in the middle of all the commercial buildings, and the busy road. And just about everyday you will see him fishing there. Just one lone man standing on the bank with a pole.

I can’t imagine there are any fish in that hole filled with water, but I guess there must be. Maybe it is just the hope of fish that matters.

Maybe it’s not really about the fishing at all.

I know one thing, he has made time to hollow out a sacred space in his day.

Maybe he even prays, maybe just standing there gazing into the water is a prayer all by itself.

I keep wanting to pull over and talk to him.

I love the idea that he just goes. I love the idea that he has found a measure of peace amidst the backdrop of our traffic stampede.

While we are all racing by trying to beat each other to work and get that coveted spot, he just fishes. I envy him a little.

I’m thinkin’ he has found the secret. That guy has found his little slice of Heaven right in the middle of town. I don’t know anything about his life or what he does or if he works, and it doesn’t really matter.

He is an opportunist. He makes time.

For peace.

Good news for the common man

Then Amaziah the priest of Bethel sent a message to Jeroboam king of Israel: “Amos is raising a conspiracy against you in the very heart of Israel. The land cannot bear all his words. For this is what Amos is saying:

“‘Jeroboam will die by the sword,
and Israel will surely go into exile,
away from their native land.’”

Then Amaziah said to Amos, “Get out, you seer! Go back to the land of Judah. Earn your bread there and do your prophesying there. Don’t prophesy anymore at Bethel, because this is the king’s sanctuary and the temple of the kingdom.”

Amos answered Amaziah, “I was neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, but I was a shepherd, and I also took care of sycamore-fig trees. But the Lord took me from tending the flock and said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’

Israel basically told Amos to get outta dodge. To go back where he came from and continue herding sheep and growing fig trees. They were bloated on their power, in love with their wealth and comforts, and they were talking advantage of the poor and needy. That never sits very well with God.

At first Amos held the spotlight on Israel’s neighbors and that was all good with them. But when Amos started listing all their sins on the town marquee it got ugly. They wanted him out of there.

I like the fact that God roots for the underdogs of the world. It is easy to convince myself that I am one. But the lessons of the Israelites can be equally applied to me. And it stings. In reading these Chapters I need to ask myself the hard questions.

Am I getting complacent? Am I quick to point fingers of blame at someone else, when I need to be looking inwardly at myself? Am I getting lazy? Am I putting myself above others when I don’t reach out because it’s too uncomfortable?

Amos reminds me that though God loves the underdog, the common working class, he also loves the people drunk on their own self-importance who don’t think they need him at all. He loves them enough to warn them.

I remember all the times in my life when he gave me second and third chances. I am bowled over by his compassion, by his mercy that never seems to run dry.

There are so many things in this life that scream for justice, and it seems to be getting worse. It’s so easy for me to jump up and down and scream, “Yeah God, get them, get them!”

Get those people who are doing unspeakable things to children.

Get the those politicians in Washington who couldn’t care less about us hard-working folks, who have their pensions and their pockets stuffed with bribes.

Get the addicted mother who has 6 kids she doesn’t even care about running wild raising themselves, while she sits on the couch sucking on cigarettes as well as the system. (I know this to be true)

But God never told me to be concerned with them, but with my own heart.

I am thinking of a scene, that breakfast meeting on the beach where Jesus met the disciples after his resurrection. Peter asked him a question concerning John. I love what Jesus says, and I can imagine him saying it with a measure of remonstration in his voice and love radiating out of his eyes at the same time.

Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

Yes, Lord. I get it. Point taken.

How we can…..praise through the storms.

I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

Casting Crowns, Praise you in this Storm

I wasn’t going to pray this morning, but as the awful images rolled across my screen of the terrible storm that ripped through the Midwest yesterday I thought, “How can I not?” I thought of the different kinds of storms that are hitting all around me like lightning strikes. And they just keep hitting. How would it feel to have everything you own ripped away? I can’t even imagine it. As I look at on my patio today there are all kinds of boxes from a storage unit just cleared out. All stuff. But all stuff that can be replaced.

I think of the other kinds of storms, the tornadoes and floods of life that have nothing whatever to do with the weather.

How will Bill go on without Nancy? A man in our park recently died. His wife Nancy is left behind. Every day she and Bill would ride around together on their bikes. We all nicknamed them “The Sanford’s” because they would ride around on garbage day and look at what everyone set out to see if there was anything they might take home. Nancy will have to ride alone now, and my heart hurts for her.

And my Dad is losing his eyes. Macular degeneration and cataracts are making it hard for him to do the things he has to do and the things he loves to do. He has to have shots in his eyes. Why should he have to go through that? I don’t think it’s fair. My own eyes squeeze tears back when I think of him not being able to read. We have always discussed books together. I wonder why God didn’t heal his eyes like I asked.

A dear friend just lost her husband at 58.

The substance abuse problem that lays like a big fat sleeping dragon that I wish I could slay for someone else.

Too many storms to count here, and it doesn’t seem they will be leaving anytime soon. In light of all this, how in the world could I think I could pass on prayer?

As I sit down to write all this, I can say in my heart of hearts, that I can still praise God in light of who He is. Because He is worthy. And because in each and every storm that’s rolled across the plain of my life, He has been with me.

Astonishingly, I find that along with Casting Crowns, I can actually mean those words, even live those words if I have too, however painful it is.

Please join me today in prayer for all those affected by those terrible storms yesterday. My heart aches for my friends in the midwest. And my heart aches for the other kinds of storms I listed too. As I heard Duane Scott say this morning on Facebook, “Insurance agency will replace everything in the basement so we’re gonna take showers now, get the sewer water washed off, and drive into town for breakfast.” I smiled when I read what he said next in light of all that is happening. Everywhere.

“Sometimes all you can do is just eat pancakes.”

Thank you Duane, I see the beauty and wisdom in that, and bless you for saying it and living it. I am not having pancakes, but later today I will pour myself an icy cold drink and I will go out and float in my kiddie pool for a while.

Because God hasn’t left. He’s still here with us. Especially in the storms.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

All imagines from MSN and Bing AP news

Psalm Sunday

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voicegoes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.

In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun. It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, like a champion rejoicing to run his course. It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other; nothing is deprived of its warmth.

The law of the Lord is perfect, refreshing the soul. The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy, making wise the simple. The precepts of the Lord are right, giving joy to the heart. The commands of the Lord are radiant, giving light to the eyes.

The fear of the Lord is pure enduring forever. The decrees of the Lord are firm and all of them are righteous.

Psalm 19:1-9

A Story……

My Granddaddy on my Daddy’s side was a preacher. He wasn’t a preacher in the traditional sense, like in a proper church. He did his “testifyin” as he called it in a barn and his congregation were the migrant workers. I remember seeing a hat full of money, more money than I had ever seen in one place, full and overflowing. Sometimes they even passed it twice.

They loved him, that much was clear, that barn would be full to overflowing. I don’t know if they understood every word he said, but they understood passion. That’s understood in any language.

He used to warn my cousin and I against climbing up on the roof and yet sometimes I wonder if he didn’t leave that ladder out on purpose. As soon as he left, we’d slap that ladder against the side of that old house and scramble up there and tap-dance to our heart’s content. The music the heels of our Mary Jane’s made against that tin roof was something that was worth getting in trouble over.

Grandma was the one we were concerned with. She was bigger and had a bit of a mean streak. My brother and I used to watch her kill rattlesnakes from up there with one snap of her mighty wrists. She was strong enough to kill turkeys that way too. A turkey attacked me one day, bit me under the arm. We had that turkey for dinner that night. She didn’t mess around.

If my memories of those West Texas summers were woven into anything it would come out looking like a patchwork crazy quilt. Some parts terrifying some parts wonder. The time my Grandma locked me in the dark closet with the glow in the dark Jesus would fall under the terrifying category. I don’t know if Jesus was meant to comfort me or scare me but in the end fear won out.

The other thing that would fall in that category was when Grandma told about how she danced with the devil. She said he came into her bedroom wearing a dark suit and was the most handsome man she had ever seen. They waltzed.

She and my Grandpa had their own unique blend of religion. They believed in reincarnation but also went to the tabernacle for meetings where people who were slain in the spirit would do some very unnatural things like roll around on the floor and make weird noises. To us it was part of the entertainment. We thought they looked more possessed by the devil than anything else.

The wonder part of the memories were made at Grandpa’s baseball park where I was allowed to help out in the concession stand and make snow-cones. There were hot summer nights when chiggers bit ferocious, when the air was so full of damp my hair would mildew on the pillow overnight.

And there were those afternoons when the sky was cast in yellow and the air was eerily still and we waited for the sound of the tornado siren. Times where we all hustled down to the cool of the storm cellar, and other times where we watched those monsters roar in, wide-eyed and rooted where we stood.

That old farmhouse is long gone, taking with it a way of life that will never come again. Sometimes when I least expect it, some little thing will remind me.

The crack of a bat, the smell of hay, a dapper old man with a jaunty walk.

Otherwise they are tucked away in my heart for safe keeping. We fan those flames of memory and bring them back to life with our laughter and our stories.

Once again, I’m tap-dancing on a tin-roof.

images from google

Lori's Prayer Closet

"And when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done is secret, will reward you……"Matthew 6:6