Every Child Should Have A Mom Like This

This is a Facebook post from a college friend, Ethel.  I wish I could take credit.  Short, sweet, and chocked full of Awesomeness!

"My promise to my children:I am your parent 1st, your friend 2nd. I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture you, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare & hunt you down like a bloodhound when needed because I LOVE YOU! When you understand that, I will know you are a responsible adult. You will NEVER find someone who loves, prays, cares, & worries about you more than I do! If you don't hate me at least once in your life, I am not doing my job properly."

Amen.

Zen and Yard Work

Attention women: For all the women who are tempted to click away from this post, put the mouse down. NOW.  I promise, this has a happy ending for you. Please continue reading.

Being a guy has it's advantages.  I mean where do I start? Allow me to give you my top ten eight (only partially true, sort of the same way Howie Mandel is partially bald, and extremely biased) list.

1. We typically age better than women and if we don't, we don't care, gray is fine if you're a guy.

2. Cooler toys.  Let's not even argue this point, you'll only embarrass yourselves.

3. We can drive with the windows rolled down and NOT worry about our hair.

4.  No lines at stadium restrooms.

5. We can do stupid things, like mow the lawn barefoot, poke sticks into hornet's nests, or jump railroad track "ramps" with our trucks...and it's just "boys being boys."  Have you ever heard of a girl walk outside wearing her underwear on the outside of her pants and someone retort, "Oh, that's just a girl being a girl."  Of course you haven't, because it does not exist.  It's like a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card for being an idiot.  For men only.

6. No drama. 

7. A meaningful conversation can have less than 25 words.

8. 15 minutes with a gas-powered leaf blower is better than an hour on a psychologists couch.  And cheaper.

It's this last point I want to highlight.  I don't know how to explain it properly, and I can't prove it, but every guy needs a little "quiet" time behind a power tool once in a while.  For me personally I prefer my gas-powered Poulan leaf blower.  First off, it's a tool, and one of my favorites for the sole reason that within seconds of firing her up I see results.  Instant gratification, baby!

Secondly, there's something to be said about the lone chore of blowing leaves. No one to talk to you, no TV, phone, or internet to distract you. Just you, your blower, and nature. Give me some ear muffs, safety glasses, and a yard full of leaves, and I have just found an oasis from the tensions of life, that outside of a football game, Swedish massage, or sunny beach is without peer.
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Give me some ear muffs, safety glasses, and a yard full of leaves, and I have just found an oasis from the tensions of life

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The gentle hum of the engine, the dizzying march of the leaves off my now clean driveway, is an escape.  From life. From the argument I just had with my wife, my boy's leaving little pieces of duct tape on the carpet, work with all its stress, not to mention in-laws, and lost bills, the annoying neighbors, politicians, natural disasters, and the hornets nest...all just float away in a cloud of leaves.  Fifteen minutes later.  A new man emerges.  

Ladies, you heard it first here.  Buy your man a leaf blower.  Administer once or twice weekly.  No exceptions (except in the winter of course, but then there's football).  Earmuffs required.

 

Natural Disaster Week Delay

Between the earthquake, an angry 450-mile wide not-very-feminine hurricane name Irene, [Which leads me to a gripe, why are most of the really bad hurricanes named after women?  Think about it..Isabel, Katrina, my mother's generation got Hazel back in the '50's...I know there has to be some Freudian government conspiracy here...] which left the branch of an 80-foot tall Oak  (which is almost a tree in and of itself) dangling over my front yard very threatening-like,

not to mention this run-on sentence, which is more of a literary disaster, I have declared this week Mid-Atlantic Natural Disaster week.  And have not written any blogs.  I have some ideas, but no blog.  So this is a blog about not having a blog. Sorry about that, but in case anybody was wondering, we're all OK. 

So, Lord willing, and the branch doesn't take me out, please check back tomorrow.  I have something brewing in my head.  It has to do with King David, Freudian psychology, and leaf blowers.  

Not My Grandmother's Christianity

I've been in the Deep South, read: Alabama, for the last two days and besides heat that I swear would give Death Valley a run (that's Death Vally, CA for all you Clemson or LSU fans...sorry), I also noticed that there were Bible verses everywhere.  On billboards and churches and the sides of restaurants and on license plates...I mean that as a good thing, of course.  But I began to notice that they were almost all in the King James version of the Bible.  With "Thee" and "Thou" and "Shalt."  I don't why I noticed (or even cared), I just did.   Don't get me wrong, I'm not cracking on the KJV.  If I did my wife would shut down this blog and perhaps leave me (in a pool of blood that is).  So no, I'm merely making the observation of an outsider.  Put your guns down. 

The reason I think I noticed, is because it's not that way here in Richmond.  You tend to see Scripture, but in multiple versions, I think the NIV (not New Improved Version...you were thinking that weren't you!) is predominant, but you see The Message and NAS and RSV.  So that got me thinking about my late grandmother.  Because she was a died-in -the-wool Baptist and she favored the King James Bible. In fact, there were a lot of things Grandma favored.  And a lot she didn't.  And beware getting caught up in the latter by her.  Because if she did catch you…there was going to be some major ear grabbing. You know, that acceptable form of assault which is in the same category as kicking someone under the table, smacking someone in the back of the head, and just about every form of physical abuse my wife or kids hit me with.  (Quick aside:  Don’t grandmothers and other nefarious sorts around the world know that Thomas Edison became deaf from an eargrabber…just saying)

Then I thought about growing up going to church with my Grandma.  Church back then was synonymous with dressing up, hymn-singing to a pipe organ, and sitting on hard wooden pews listening politely to the sermon.  It was, at least for a little boy, quite a formal affair. Now, fast forward 30 some odd years later to the present...to where my family goes to church.  While we have people who prefer to dress up, it is by no means a requirement. On Sunday, people wear jeans (shorts in the summer), shirts are untucked (including the pastor), a few of the ladies walk around barefoot, and we have cushioned seats (the shame!).  Heck, we actually have a Goth woman at our church..leather, nose ring, and combat boots…and she fits in with us like an old shoe (that means good).  I don't believe Grandma would approve.  We even have a Christian rock band with guitars and a drum?? Whaaaaattt?? I think someone is in danger of getting their ear grabbed. 

Now Grandma was certainly set in her ways, but her heart was for God.  And, while I believe she would be shocked at some of the trends in the church today -at the breezy, relaxed atmosphere at many church services, at the de-emphasis in Christian music of the traditional hymn in favor of the contemporary worship melody with its rhythmic, chorus-laden beat, at the familiarity with which people talk of (and to) the Lord. (Guilty). I think eventually, she would get it.  She would see that the important things - the Triune nature of the Godhead, the Gospel of Christ, the inerrancy of Scripture, to name a few, were still intact.  I think that would overshadow the superfluous like what version of the Bible you prefer. And then maybe she'd let go of my ear.    

Earthquake Story

Hey there, I just added my Twitter feed...over there to the left.  Not sure if I'll keep it, but I like trying out different things, maybe you've noticed.  Also, I am using a new comment widget supposed to be more user friendly, so maybe more of you will be unable to resist showering me with comments.  Honestly, you could insult me and I'd be happy. So please comment and let me know if something blesses you, makes you laugh, or throw up.  Whatever. I'm on the road right now so this one is short.  Any of you in Alabama? I'm in Mobile, here's a shout out to your awesome state. Except for the insane heat and humidity. No shout out for that.

Just in case any of you (that aren't my personal friends or people I pay to read my blog-joke-don't everybody start asking for $$) remembered that I'm in Virginia...and were wondering...Yes, I felt the earthquake.  I was in my office building when it happened.  At first we just thought Big Jake had...well...you know...sprung a gas leak.  But when walls started to move we realized that this was a bigger deal than a poorly digested burrito. So we did what all chivalrous, seasoned, men of the world do in the face of danger.  We ran.  With dignity. To the stairs and then outside. (Don't worry we held the door for the women...I said we were chivalrous didn't I?).

Because buildings didn't collapse and nobody died we were all joking about it, albeit, nervously. But events like this still have a way of reminding us of our mortality.  Which is a good thing.  Because realizing we could have died makes us think about death more and what happens when we die.  It makes us think about God. And anything that makes hard-hearted people, or all people, think of spiritual things...that can't be bad. Now, if this had been worse, that sentiment would come across as morbid and in poor taste, but it would still be true.  But it wasn't thank the Lord. So, I'm praying for an opportunity at work to sow some seeds. 

So how about you.  Anybody out there feel the 'quake?  Any cool stories?

Gideon Riding A Dinosaur - Cooler Than Fleece

One of the most oft-prayed requests we make (don't any of you even try to wiggle out of this either.  Busted!) is "God, help me do X" or "Lord, help me accomplish Y."  And I'm sure there is a "Please" thrown in there too (especially by us Southerners - we want to pray politely now, don't  we).  "So, what's wrong with that?", you must be asking yourself.  We'll I'll tell you what's "wrong wit' dat".  But allow me first to completely twist around an old Bible story to fit the topic of this admonition.  The story of Gideon.

Gideon, if you recall, was the smallest man, in the smallest family, in the smallest tribe of Israel (which was possibly the smallest country in ancient times - but I really don't know for sure). God sent an angel to Gideon to tell him he was about to have a huge career change.  Farmer to Army general.  (And I can't even get promoted to Assistant to the Manager!)  So Gideon, who is very suspicious of this enormous promotion...and clearly is not afraid enough of this angel, decides to get cute. And test God by asking Him to make some fleece wet (If more angels looked like this there would be way less fleece-wetting...maybe more pants-wetting...actually, I think angels probably DO resemble this.)

Now, let me just say, that for the record, Gideon could have done a lot better in the "Test God" department.  Really, you want God to wet some fleece.  This is what it will take to convince you to leave your farm and go fight an enormous army of Midianites with 300 men.  Lovely.  This is God of all Creation, right? The Beginning and the End, right?  What about ripping a hole in the time-space continuum, send me back through time and let me ride a Tyrannosaurus Rex whilst screaming like a wild Israelite barbarian. Maybe throw in a wild barbarian babe (who would of course be my wife) to ogle my huge muscles as I rip through the Cretaceous rain forest on my crazy man-eating T-Rex. Then maybe let that dinosaur come back with me (the girl has to stay, because I'm already married on this side of the time warp) and I'll ride that reptilian beast all over some stinkin' Midianites.  I bet they don't got no dinosaur!  Now, THAT would convince me to fight an army with 300 men. Well, at least it would have been more interesting.  But fleece it is. 

So, the story goes that God whittles Gideon's army from about 30,000 to a lean 300.  And off they go.  With trumpets and lanterns.  And of course they defeat the Midianites.  I say "of course" because it was not Gideon and his men that did it.  It was God.  It was God's fight.  God's war. It was God that defeated the army.  To be quite honest, God really didn't need Gideon or his 300 men.  But you already knew that. And it's the same way with us.

When we ask God to help us accomplish His will, I wonder if he snickers or gets offended or maybe He is so surprised He spews His water all over heaven.  Maybe what we should be asking is for Him to include us in accomplishing His will.  You know He wants to. He loves us. He loved Gideon. He wants to include us in his plans. His adventures. His accomplishments. His battles.  And we get to be part of something much larger than ourselves, something greater then we could ever ask or imagine.  (Maybe even riding a dinosaur? Probably not).  

So instead of deluding ourselves into thinking that we are so important to the kingdom of God and that the work we do is so high and mighty and holy, let's humble ourselves before our King.  And remember that, in the words of the song by John Mark McMillan and covered by the David Crowder band, [God]" loves like a hurricane and I am the tree. Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy."  Let's never forget how small we really are in His amazing Presence.  And be honored that He actually desires us to help Him.

God is Stomping On My Dreams

The world can be divided up into two types of people.  Those who are dreamers and those who like to snatch those dreams, throw them into the dirt and jump up and down on them in the name of pragmatism.  I guess you figured out which half I am. ;>) (And I married the other half...although the stomping on my dreams thing was a slight exaggeration).  To borrow a phrase from Asian philosophy, she is the Yin to my Yang.  The Laurel to My Hardy.  The gravy on my biscuits (Ok...that one was weird).  But in the grand scheme of life her ilk, the pragmatists, have it easy.  Here's why. (But first pause to enjoy this mildly related cartoon)

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Most pragmatists are even-keeled, steady Eddies who seem to take all that life throws at them in stride. They are typically content, even-tempered, and achieve many of their goals.  (and Yes...most of us dreamers wish we were more like them, but will never admit it).  As for us dreamers, disappointment and frustration are a constant companion.  Our life is ridden on the roller coaster ride of hope and despair where crushed and broken dreams are a fact of life.  Period. Because let's face it.  We live in a sinful world that has failed the hopeful since the Garden.  When the infant artistry of Creation became thorns, and thistles, and work.  When all was lost for several thousand years.  Am I painting a bleak picture?  Are you thinking to yourself, "What a miserable, glass-half-empty, cynic this guy is." If you are, you'd be right. (If you aren't then you must not be paying attention)  I have been called that more than once in my life.

Not that I don't have every reason to be cynical.  I have dreamed more dreams in my life only to see them fizzle, fade, or be utterly annihilated. And I'm not talking about self-serving, it's-all-about-me, show me the money, American Idol fantasies. No, I'm talking about things that I know God placed on my heart.  Psalm 37 states, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires [dreams] of your heart."  I chase after the Lord and He gives me dreams to follow.  And follow I do.  With passion and zeal and reckless abandon.  Then God snatches them away.  He breaks my heart.

When God commanded Abraham to slay his son Isaac, Abraham obeyed.  God gave him his dream, he was now taking it back.  But it doesn't say he was happy about it. I wonder how long Abraham held his son just to feel him in his arms alive one last time- the motion of his breaths, the feel of his dusty hair brushing on his father's sunburned face,  Isaac's arms clasped tightly around his fathers shoulders tighter and tighter as he begins to understand. I bet he wanted to hold him for days and days.  His only son.  I wonder what the raw, hideous emotion of that moment was like as Abraham was raising the sacrificial dagger to do what only the pagans did (sacrifice their sons to their gods). I can picture Isaac wailing, screaming, with tears and sweat soaking him and the stone altar he's on for fear of his life, terrorized as he watches his father about to plunge the knife into him. I see Abraham, sobbing uncontrollably, confused, and angry, and with nothing but the fear of God left to move him, he commits himself to God.  Of course we know how the story ends.    

If that is the ultimate test of my devotion to my Saviour, I predict more testing and dream crushing in my future.  But in my 23 years of walking (sometimes scraping along on my belly or dragging on my hindparts) with Jesus, I am learning more and more that the ultimate dream is what's on the other side of that torn curtain.  It is He Himself.  Am I yearning for my dream or dreaming of Him?  How often do I cling to the dream and take my gaze off the Dream Giver?  For me, a little less now (I hope) than 23 long years ago.  How about you?

 

I Dare You To Pray This

This is an amazing and scary challenge from Francis Chan (spontaneously while he's  on a plane).  But in my humble opinion, if you're too afraid to pray things that scare the living daylights out of you for fear that God may actually answer then why on earth did you become a believer in Jesus in the first place.  This is a scary prayer, but I say let's go for broke, let's take the leap.  God's abundant life is not boring, you can be sure.  It has challenged me and my wife greatly.  I prayed...and am now very much afraid.  Go ahead.  I dare you.

How Many Christians Does It take To Change A Lightbulb?

Quick blog business before the actual stuff.  To all who look for my posts via Facebook, I am going to stop sending to FB.  There are still multiple ways to satisfy your craving for the perfect marriage of sarcasm and reverence...OK...I was talking about me...never mind.  This is something I stumbled on...I don't know who to give credit for this, but it is not mine.  But still funny.  Enjoy

~ Keith  

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Charismatic: Only one. Hands already in the air.

Pentecostals: Ten. One to change the bulb and nine to pray against the spirit of darkness.

Presbyterians: None. Lights will go off and on at predestined times.

Roman Catholic: None. Candles only.

Baptists: At least 15. One to change the light bulb and three committees to approve the change and decide who brings the potato salad.

Episcopalians: Three. One to call the electrician, one to mix the drinks and one to talk about how much better the old bulb was.

Mormons: Five. One man to change the bulb and four wives to tell him how to do it.

Unitarians: We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your own journey you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your light bulb for the next Sunday service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions including incandescent, fluorescent, three-way, long-life and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

Methodists: Undetermined. Whether your light bulb is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved. You can be a light bulb, turnip bulb or tulip bulb. A church-wide lighting service is planned for Sunday. Bring a bulb of your choice and a covered dish.

Nazarene: Six. One woman to replace the bulb while five men review the church lighting policy.

Lutherans: None. Lutherans don’t believe in change.

Amish: What’s a light bulb?

The Awkward Ex-Church Member Reunion

Have you ever run into someone from a former church in the store and the Awkward-O'-Meter goes through the roof?  Yeah, well that just happened to me and of course I was mostly to blame. More on that in a minute.

As much as I'm not proud of this fact - it's true. In the 11 years that my wife and I have lived in Richmond, we've gone to 3 churches and have been at our current (3rd) church for 5 years.  So go ahead...I know that you are right this second as you read this relegating me to an infamous sub-faction of Christianity…the church-hopper.  But you'd be wrong.  So allow me to defend myself my spiritual brethren and sistren (??)  I think I just made up a word. 

[Serious aside] Contrary to what you are thinking (at least what I think you're thinking) I am a huge advocate of NOT choosing a church the way you choose a gym or a club or your favorite restaurant.  No, I believe that the church is a living thing, a holy thing, and while we should seek God in all our decisions, I believe He cares deeply about where we choose to fellowship.  Because church is more than just a place to break bread, it is a place where we become a part of the Body, the Body of Christ.  We get it. So believe me when I tell you that we did not take our decision lightly when we decided to leave our first church. Suffice it to say we feel now that we are right where God wants us. OK...now to back to awkward reunions. [End of serious aside]

So, I run into this old former church acquaintance and it's been 5 years so I figure the conversation will be easy, cordial banter and then back to shopping for baseball helmets.  Until he pops the question.  You know the one.  THE BIG QUESTION.  "So Keith...what happened?" (clearly referring to me tearing out his heart and stomping on it).  WHAT HAPPENED???!!!  Really?  You want to go there?  OK, I was not prepared for this, sort of in the same way you aren't prepared for that huge piece of truck re-tread in the middle of the highway because you're jamming to some David Crowder song...by the time you see it, it's too late.  You just brace yourself....and BAM!!...hit it and pray a tire doesn't fall off.  

So, figuratively speaking, I had just hit the re-tread.  Well, not only did the tire come off...the window cracked, my fan belt broke..it got ugly quick.  To my horror, I heard myself begin to utter things like "didn't agree with the theology" and "failed leadership"..."not happy with the Sunday School program".  I could not make myself shut up. And to make matters worse (yes, it gets worse) after my monologue of death his response was "Well, I still go there..."  Wonderful.  Amazing.  Fabulous.  I am officially the worst ex-church member ever.

The last thing I remember I was staggering away, my confidence in my own humanity a little tarnished…a little humbled.  On to the baseball helmets.   

Has a similar awkward experience ever happened to any of you?  Any funny stories to share? 

How Annoying Things Remind Me of God (Sorry, Lord )

Note regarding my last post.  Due to the apparent disinterest in Demotivational posters based on the fact that only 10% of you cared to read, I promise to never do that again unless at least 10 people beg me to...and I still might say "No."  I'll just post them on the timeout wall to torture my kids. 
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If you could look in the back of my '99 Nissan SUV (pushing 200,000 miles thank you very much) you would see an assortment of items ranging from a battered box of tissues, a child's car seat with no less than 6 months of cookie crumbs in the crease, gum wrappers (those that haven't been sucked out the window- I do feel bad for that), my Ipod (which is not the real Apple product, but a suitable knockoff) because I'd rather listen to it, then have to endure my CD's skipping to the beat of the potholes on Rt 288, sunglasses, of course, and a pile of receipts that I really don't know why I haven't thrown away.  And that's just the backseat.

In the very back is the good stuff.  Tools, chairs, (trash...but not much), a football, a box of shirts, a Frisbee, and baseball equipment.  And this leads us to the subject of my gripe. Bats. Not the little flying ones, the long ones made out of metal that hate me.  That roll around incessantly while I'm in stop-and-go traffic all the way home.  The ones that roll back and forth and back and forth and BACK AND FORTH, like a  clanking, crashing, wave, of screaming metal trying to make...me....lose...my...MIND!  Until I finally get home and throw them in the trash can.  Then take them out because my kids are crying (OK...I just made up that part, they're still [secured nicely] in the back of my SUV.)

OK, so how does this remind me of God?  How can this make me a better Christian? Because all the way home with every bang of the bat against my wheel well, for some odd reason, instead of getting angry, it made me think of how God, like those bats, is trying to get my attention, over and over, using any method at his disposal (and let's face it - He's Almighty God - He has a lot of methods), saying look at me, pay attention to me, I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!!!!  Until I finally get it. And realize that I was made to love Him back.  For some of us it takes God's clanking bats throughout our life to keep us from forgetting Him.  His insane, perfect, crazy, Jesus-died-on-the-cross-for-me, love. The love that would go to bat for you (sorry I know that was lame), that promised to never leave you, or abandon you, or betray you, or gossip about you, or call you stupid, or lie to you...I just hope God doesn't have to hit me with that bat.  That would really hurt. 

De-Motivational Posters Rock

OK...my day job puts me in the path of a lot of people and interesting places, most normal, but some...not so much.  So I am beginning to create some (De) Motivational posters in honor of some of the weirdness and hilarity I encounter while at work.  Enjoy. Courtesy laughs welcome. (These are my first try at these so be gracious).

The Ice Cream Truck Is Voodoo

In our world where so much has become plastic and predictable, where the amazing leaps in technology make our lives easy, filled with entertainment, and, well, not very much like the world most of us knew when we were kids, it gives me pause. To reflect.  The (once yearly now monthly) advances in our world are a blessing no doubt...but as I revel in this computerized, Fantasia-like debauchery in all this "new" stuff, I find myself missing the "old" stuff just a little.  Simplicity had it's advantages.

So imagine my delight when, the other day, I heard the faint sound of the ice cream truck.  That jing-a-ling, nursery rhyme musical loop that is welcomed by every kid who is forced to play outside in the wet heat by weary moms or babysitters all across the country.  This, I thought, is one piece of my childhood that Bill Gates, Google, or even Obama has not yet changed.  So, I listened and remembered.  Until a terrible thought crossed my mind.  My mind does this to me all the time. Stupid mind.

What do we really know about the ice cream truck or the goodly 'ol driver in the ice cream truck?  I have some questions that need answers...like, Where does the ice cream truck come from?  Have you ever been on the highway and passed an ice cream truck?  Have you ever stopped at a stoplight and looked out your window and noticed you were idling beside an ice cream truck? No and no!  The ice cream truck just magically appears in a neighborhood filled with little kids.  Another word for magic is voodoo! Got your attention now, don't I?

And how do they know there are kids in these neighborhoods?  And how can we be sure that they don't have an evil ulterior motive (we've all watched in horror the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, right?)...just saying.

Do these kindly, well-intentioned drivers have background checks?  I mean who in their right mind would want to listen to "Pop Goes The Weasel" all...day...long.  A felon parolee who has no other job options, that's who! Or perhaps the CHILD CATCHER!!!  AUGHHHHH!

Well there goes another piece of childhood nostalgia, ruined by a paranoid, overactive mind and a children's movie.

Jesus and Baseball

I was playing baseball with my 3 boys today.  For me this is one of the joys of being a father of boys. We got dusty, we got hit by balls, we spit, we yelled.  We played baseball.  Maybe not well, but a little better than last time.  I am truly living the dream.    I wonder if Jesus played baseball (or whatever sport they played in ancient Israel) with his father.  Did he yell and scream? Did he spit?  Did he try to show off for the girls that were watching?  It reminded me of a great song by the late Rich Mullins.  Lyrics included.  Enjoy.

The Nightmare of Communism in North Korea

Hey, If you care at all about what is happening in N. Korea I encourage you to read this admonishment by John Piper.  The Nightmare of Communism in North Korea Then pray for N. Korea.  Then go out and buy a copy of Operation World.  You will thus be helping the church take a huge step towards fulfilling this verse in Revelation:

⁹ After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. ¹⁰ And they cried out in a loud voice:
   “Salvation belongs to our God,

who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb."

What Would Jesus Tweet?

Throughout the Gospels people are continuously chasing after Jesus.  They loved Him.  Couldn't get enough of Him. In one Gospel account He gets in a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee and the crowd literally walks around the sea to meet Jesus on the other side. Say Whhaaa??!  They walked around a SEA!! Another place, He's walking down the road on His way to Jericho and he has a parade of people following him.  Apparently, Jesus had a posse...one that would make even Leonardo DiCaprio jealous..Hold on a second!!  The only instance of similar fanatical popularity in our lifetime is the paparazzi chasing after celebrities, athletes, and billionaire geeks.  When was the last time the paparazzi waited outside of your home just because you were a Christian? 

When was the last time the paparazzi waited outside of

your home just because you were a Christian?

[On a completely unrelated note, I really love to say the word "Paparazzi" with an Italian accent.  It just rolls off the tongue so nicely...go ahead and say it...you know you want to].  

OK...so Jesus was a celebrity.  He was famous. I mean if He were alive today his limo driver (probably one of the lesser disciples like Bartholomew) would be in a constant race against dudes on motorcycles with waving cameras swerving in and out of traffic just to get a picture of this superstar Jesus!  And could you imagine how many people would be following Jesus on Twitter?  Surely in the millions. I can see His tweet now, "Just brought another guy back from the dead.  See, I am the Messiah, yo! Believe in me."  

How many people would be following Jesus on Twitter?

And let's not even talk about Facebook.  I wonder how many FB Friends Jesus would have. (I know someone out there just thought "not more than 144,000"...you Bible literalists.  OK, I did too).  A ridiculous amount clearly.  I think I have 143.  Maybe I shouldn't be making that public information.

So, the point is, if Jesus was sooooo popular with the people (everyone, that is, but the lawyers. But who wants to be friends with lawyers anyway) and we are supposed to be just like Him...why aren't people today following Christians around, walking around lakes to hear us preach the Gospel or following us in long parades on our way to work?  Now, I realize that I'm making this way too simple, and the answer is more complex.  But since this is mostly a rhetorical question, I'm allowed to make certain logical assumptions and presuppositions...right?  

What was it that made Jesus so attractive?

I just want to know what was it that made Jesus so attractive to the people in his culture?  And what is it about us Christians today that make us so unattractive to ours?   And what can I do to make people more attracted to me....attracted to JESUS IN ME.   Somehow, I think I know the answer,  and I think it starts with loving God and loving people...although I was really hoping for more of a "do good deeds and throw some money into the offering plate" solution...it's way easier.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.  The Greatest Commandment. Jesus did it all perfectly...us not so much.  So that's where we start.  Also reading more about Jesus in the Gospels, what He did and didn't do, what He said and didn't say...is probably a good choice too.P96HVST74RPS

Living Out of the Deep Part of Your Heart

OK...last re-post (at least for a while), but I think this is a good one, and if it makes a difference I have been struggling with this very thing - listening to God when it horrifies me.  If any one reads this and feels led to pray for me I'd appreciate it.   New post tomorrow. 

~ Keith

 

I remember the first time I played in front of a filled church.  I sweat so hard that my hands became sticky and could not slide up and down the fret board freely.  The lights in my eyes, the symphony of all the instruments playing differently, but somehow coming together like a tapestry, hearing my guitar...MY GUITAR...as I was playing, pouring forth from the monitor. It was quite surreal and I really could not believe that I was actually playing for the worship team...at long last playing for the Lord. It was only a month prior that for some inane reason I walked up to the front of the church after the service and asked the director of music, Tim, if he needed a rhythm guitarist  as a substitute when the main guy was not available.  (I almost snickered that I could seriously be doing this).  He could not have known how nervous I was and merely said to show up Wednesday night to try out. And amazingly, I did.  That was it.  For the first time I had heard a whisper from the deep part of my heart - and did not shrink back.

    "Live out of the deep part of your heart." This is not an exact quote, but I owe the sentiment to John Eldridge of Wild At Heart fame.  From Genesis to Revelation are countless stories of men and women doing insane things that make no sense, conform to no standard of logical thought,  that invite jeering by friends and family for doing the thing and in todays world would possibly even be illegal.  It can be discouraging and exhilarating and in my experience-terrifying. You see I love to play guitar and worship God, but am deathly afraid of playing in front of people...did I mention that it terrifies me?

 

Living by faith and not by sight can be a terrifying thing.  

      It’s having to say  simply, “Because God told me to”, when cornered by friends and family who demand to know “WHY…WHY would you do such a foolish, reckless thing”.  You are told to think of your family, think of your future, think of your career, think of your reputation.  The only defense you have is that “God told me to”.  Abraham left his homeland anyway...would we?  But God does not yell, scream, try to win you over with feverish persuasion…He merely whispers…His vision…to the deep part of your heart.  You will get no reminder, no strategic plan, no proof…just a whisper.  (Just ask Elijah in I Kings 19.)  And you will get a choice.   

You will get no reminder, no strategic plan, no proof…just a whisper...then a choice

     So what choice will we make? Will you listen to that faintness in your heart?  You will know it’s real the moment you even begin to consider it because the whisper will grow louder, you will begin to feel excitement welling up from within you, you will feel scared, alive even.  And you will say “Yes”.  And right after you say “Yes” to God…you will think to yourself “WHAT AM I DOING?!”…You are now in unfamiliar territory, uncharted waters.  It is both exhilarating and horrifying at the same time.  Welcome to the wonderful world of walking by faith and not by sight.  You are now on your way to living out of the deep part of your heart like God designed you and the full life which He has prepared you for.

      ...and as for my guitar playing.  I still get nervous, but a wise man once told me to always play for an audience of One. And that has made all the difference.

The Terminator and Scripture

I'm traveling right now and have not had much time to blog.  I'm not privy to "blog protocol" and they (not even sure who "they" are) don't send you the Blogger Book 'O Etiquette, so I'm going into uncharted waters.  I'm re-posting an old blog.  From January. More new stuff to come in a day or two.  Thanks for reading and God bless. ~Keith

 Just recently, I started getting my 8 year old twin boys up at 6:45 to introduce them to the concept of meeting with God in the morning.  (like David (Psalm 5:3) and Jesus (Mark 1:35).....) Well, since they are 1) boys and have the attention span of a Jack Russell hopped up on espresso (yes, I know dogs don't drink coffee...but, work with me people!) and 2) they are 8 years old...and have the attention span...OK, you get it. Anyway, I have limited their time to 15 minutes.  I have them read a couple of verses that I choose then we turn out the lights and I have them be quiet for a minute or two and ask God to teach them something about what they just read.  

Well, so far it has been fairly uneventful, although I think they are relishing this new benefit of "becoming all growed up" like Dad.  It truly has been fun so far, seeing their tired enthusiasm.  They are troopers.  Not a single complaint yet about waking up early.

Well that all changed this morning...not the complaining part, the uneventful part.  I forgot to find a verse for them to read, so I had them read a favorite Psalm of mine...Psalm 63. I mean I figured it was safe. It really is a beautiful picture of God's love and our need of His love.  Of course, as we Christians are wont to do, we remember the glorious parts, but conveniently forget about the parts that make us squirm....so of course I forgot about those two pesky verses near the end about God destroying Davids enemies...you see where this is going.

So, the boys are done and I ask them to share what God taught them from this Psalm.  Of course, I expected to hear something about God's love, or our soul clinging to Him, or some high epiphany in the realm of them being moved by this Psalm so much that they want to go to the Middle East or Africa to share Christ with the huddled masses.  But what came falling out of their 8 year old mouths was, more like a scene out of Terminator (I can even hear Ahnuld's voice)...and I quote: Coleman: "God will throw his enemies into the depths of the earth", and Caleb (giggling) "Jackals will eat God's enemies eyeballs". Sighhhhh!   

I wonder if the 12 year old Jesus was in the Temple reminding the priests and lawyers about those pesky verses.

Something Worth Dying For (Tribute To Fallen Soldiers)

In my own small way, I am mourning the loss of the Navy Seals this past weekend.  The true weight of the tragedy; however, is borne by the widows and children of those that perished.  They are, as the enemy might put it, collateral damage.  When I imagine my wife and children getting the news that Daddy is not ever coming home again, my heart sinks.  I freeze in my own skin, left breathless. The men that died were in a line of work that predisposed them to danger, to the possibility of capture, torture, maiming...and death.  They knew this and counted the cost to them and to their loved ones.  But they still considered this country and all the American flag stands for, something worth dying for. I am sure that if given the choice, they would do it all again. Few have their courage, their honor, and such a sense of duty. Thank God for them. May He have mercy on them and their families in this time unspeakable.

And to honor them, may we who bear the cross of Christ, He whose blood was shed for our eternal freedom, in a tribute to those who shed their blood for our freedom as Americans...may we live our lives to the fullest- and by so doing show the world that they did not die in vain.

Can I Get An ETA On That Promise, Lord?

In Scripture, we are given a myriad of amazing promises from God.  He promises to provide all our needs (remember the verse about us being worth more than the birds and flowers...so not to worry?),  God promises us life filled with purpose and meaning (John 10:10), We are promised authority to overcome the power of Satan (Luke 10:19),  He promises never to leave us or forsake us, promises that we can get close to Him, promises to do more than we can "ask or imagine" ( ...and I can imagine a lot!).  He even comments on the promises themselves in 2 Peter 1:4, saying that by his "great and precious" promises we can participate in the divine nature (!!).  That sounds pretty awesome.

And when God makes a promise, it is money.  Done deal. As good as gold. God takes his word very seriously.  And he (rightly) should expect us to trust that when He makes a promise it will come to pass. 'Cus bad things can happen if we don't trust God that He will keep his promise.  

  God never says WHEN he will fulfill His promises

There's only one small problem.  He never says WHEN he will fulfill His promises. And according to Psalm 90:4, a thousand years are like a day to God.  So we are in for some waiting...and, I hate waiting.  So unfortunately for me and you we are trapped by the clock.  In a way, this really penalizes believers these days, because everything we do comes with an Estimated Time of Arrival (ETA) meter.  We have calendars and clocks and timers on our watches, apps on our phones, we have an apple in New York so we even know the precise second the New Year has started.  Even when we download something on the computer we get the little bar that shows our progress.  Our flight might be delayed, but at least we know.  We aren't in the dark.

So, I was thinking...what if God's promises came with some sort of supernatural ETA meter.  We pray for something, or a promise kicks in, and POOF...instantly a "countdown to when the promise is fulfilled" appears.  I don't need anything fancy, it would just be nice to know that the trial I'm in is going to end in 18 days, 3 hours, and 15 seconds.  Yeah, that would be sweet to know.  Or that the full life...it won't start for at least another 7 years. Good to know. Thanks for the ETA, Lord.  And as long as I'm dreaming here I guess could ask for a time machine, a freeze-frame function for my kids (so I could actually get some things done), and about 4 more inches in height.  Yeah, I told you I can imagine a lot!