Blog
image by Brothers of the Book
In the quiet before official worship began today, I intentionally opened my Bible to Psalms, randomly to 86. As a poet (no poems today, sorry!) I appreciated the variety of structures that enhanced the meaning. But verse 8 touched my soul on two requirements of growing in Christ. Both flow from how I see our typical and fallen human nature. Guess that makes sense, since God made us and best knows how we operate.
The first prayer by David to God is ...
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From Ted's Sports Center
A good friend and fellow teacher who struggles with anemia posted this on Facebook over the weekend, “Why am I so exhausted after only teaching two days? Oh boy.” 2 down, MANY to go, and tiredness has already hit. I understand; I teach also. But a more pervasive issue comes from the spiritual anemia that so infects American Christianity. We lack energy and motivation for the things of God. We care, but not deeply. We serve, but not joyfully. We give, but not sacrificially.
The antidote may be found in a fishing story, and not a tall tail. The above photo may be...
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Michaelangelo
Last week we explored how we need to intentionally evaluate each decision on the basis of being a follower of Jesus. Today, let’s flip the coin, courtesy of an experience with a good friend from years back, Wayne Ragland.
Wayne and I yearned to be the next photo/journalist stellar pair, and headed to Yosemite for material. He’d take the pics; I’d write the copy. You’ve heard of us, right? Yeah, thought so. On the long ride up, Wayne mentioned he saw every scene for its potential picture value. I thought that diminished one’s appreciation of creation’s beauty, so we chewed on it a bit. He didn’t convince me, until I started writing in earnest, decades later.
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Mark Twain, one of America’s wittiest authors, proclaimed that “The man who is a pessimist before 48 knows too much; if he is an optimist after it he knows too little.” Well, I’m over 48. Well over. Yet I find a blend of both pessimism and optimism within myself. Pessimism: about how America is abandoning widespread cultural values in place of subjective ethics; about the rise in violent crime, particularly in young adults; about growing alcohol and drug abuse. Optimism: about God working in the midst of a dark world and bringing eventual justice and victory.
Pontificating on the source of evil in the world tempts me...
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While my wife celebrated a few days away with a girlfriend, I figured to pop a surprise on her Mother’s Day return with the installation of a new faucet for the master bathroom. Several complications soon arose. The old house had some funky modifications over the years, and one was the drain trap, a strange conglomeration of plastic and brass and mismatched parts. The threads got stripped, and it took four trips to Home Depot to finally get the correct set up. Eventually I had to replace the entire trap: cutting the outlet pipe, putting in an extension, gluing it into place. That two hour project took nearly an entire day. But the faucet does look nice.
The second complication also came from age. My own.
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Heaven is for Real from Sony Pictures
Heaven’s a hot topic of late, with the movie Heaven is for Real and the still bestselling book 90 Minutes in Heaven. I like that. I believe in heaven, and want to spend more than 90 minutes there! But I sometimes suspect that focusing too much on eternal life in heaven can distract us from the eternal life of knowing Jesus now, and better later.
Here’s the back story.
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Sisters' Cafe
Today in worship I wondered about some clichés that need to be fresh. Sunday: the first day of the week. A chance to get lost in worship, to acknowledge our shortcomings, to gain forgiveness. To get a fresh start. So true it’s become a cliché. But Sunday’s not enough.
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I like old stuff. Always have. Dad’s aunt and uncle would escape the Utah winter and snow to stay in Santa Monica for several months each year, and I’d quietly listen to tales of much earlier frontier days. On the bike trips, old farms, barns, and houses entrance me. Two years ago we spent a few days in Deadwood, SD, where Wild Bill Hickok was killed, where Calamity Jane capered, and I was nearly in heaven. Last spring Sheila and I visited an old central California town. She headed for an antique store; I crossed the street to a hotel/bar about 120 years old.
So, when Roland Peachie, a friend from high school days, posted the pic above, the decaying barn first drew my attention.
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