"Bittersweet........................................"

Sunday morning, as Beth and I drove out to church, we passed through the intersection where two people, a young couple in their late twenties, lost their life Friday afternoon in a collision, no error on their part, just in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Now, with the sun not quite yet risen enough over the hills to claim our neck of the words, there was a car parked, just around the corner and to the side, an older man leaning against the guard rail, his arms folded across his chest, the flowers and memorials gathered there no doubt providing some sort of last desperate attempt to hold on to what so quickly was taken from him. In his eyes was a grief that came up out of his belly, an immovable knife in his gut, a realization that there was no going back, no way to change anything, no tomorrow that made sense…. I sat Sunday evening in a worship service, one that ministered to me, personally, with not much more “feeling” than what was gained earlier. It is not a mental attitude, at least not at this stage of the journey. There’s an understanding in me that time, itself, accounts for a natural sort of evolution, the generational shift giving birth to different tastes, different views; and it makes me happy to see my daughters and my grandchildren not just attending, but also involved in ministries. Still, what I seek to know in the midst of any interaction with fellow believers is much akin to what I saw there in the countenance of that father described above, not just an emotional state of mind, but an internal connection with reality. It may sound a bit strange, but sorrow, real sorrow, and joy, peace, praise and prayer – all come up out of that well deep within us, an oasis we fall into, rather than a flow we, ourselves, try to produce. You learn that along the way. Communion was special for me last night……

"Oxygen..........................."

“What makes you exist rather than not exist?”… In going back to re-visit a book before loaning it to a friend, I found myself gripped by this question, the author posing it not so much in terms of physically maintaining life, but rather of possessing “spiritual sustenance”, something which enables us to endure and to overcome all those negative things that come to us, just “part of the package”. My mother often lamented about having once asked my father if he thought he could live without her, he pausing before answering and explaining he had been thinking it over. It was he, actually, who died not too long afterwards and she who would go on to outlast two out of three other husbands; but whether or not those additional decades she achieved brought her any real joy, any “fullness” of having enjoyed such time is another matter. She labeled herself a “survivor” and indeed seemed at war with most everyone around her even unto the end… None of us knows what each day might bring. My oldest daughter’s nephew, yesterday evening, was returning home from dinner with his parents and, however it happened, at an intersection not far from my house, broadsided a passenger vehicle with his truck, killing the two people inside before they even knew what hit them. I can guarantee that there are at least two households this morning that know grief, people who woke up with their entire future shifted in perspective, a “knife in their gut” unable to be removed, reality unchangeable, the moment that was is as it is… Only a faith anchored in Him, in a resurrection made available unto us, provides a place of refuge, an oasis of assurance, a source of truth when nothing at all makes any sense. His breath renews us; His word steadies us; His commitment goes with us through the storm, even when it comes of our own making. He is; therefore I am……

"Asphyxia.............................."

Thursday, for me, was four hours “off-the-clock” time volunteered toward reassembling our Special-Ed unit back into something close to its same appearance held before summer break. Even though the economy has this state’s educational budget quite restricted in its expenses, the carpet in our room, needing to have been exterminated long ago, was finally tossed and replaced with tile flooring while we were off. Now the “fun”. All furniture, shelving, desks, tables removed in June, had to be restored to their former positions. Box after box of books, worksheets, art supplies and sensory materials needed to be unpacked and returned to their assigned locations. This job certainly has its benefits. Under the shiny veneer, however, the days pass like any other place of employment. People remain people. Business is business. Life is a lesson learned as you go… After an afternoon mostly involving boredom, I opted once again to observe all the enthusiasm being generated at this year’s version of VBS out at the church. Calamity Kate robbed the bank Wednesday evening and was now supposed to repent of the matter, having since been introduced to Christ. Friday’s climax is unknown to me, but what is quite apparent is the large number of teenagers and adults required to put it all together. Scenery, costumes, actors, teachers, crafts, refreshments – and the list doesn’t end there. Members give their time, their money, and their heart into making this work. In truth, I sometimes ponder why. Do any of these children really experience conversions? Do they grasp the Gospel in any depths as to its message unto us or do they walk away with no more than “seed sown”, potential buried in their mind to meet them at some future point of wondering if there is, indeed, any sense to it all? Habit, routine, questions, one foot after the other, the pace the same, but the reality being: history, somewhere in the journey, begins to outweigh whatever’s ahead. Yet, in the middle of it all, it seems to me, He is; and, without that anchor-line, even our “goodness” can taste flat……

"Prophesy......................................."

Some serious thunderstorms blew through our area early this morning, catching me in the middle of an errand for my wife, one requiring me, twice, to abandon my car for a few moments and simply endure the downpour. Back home again, I found the microwave, electric stove, and my computer all in need of a little readjusting due having suffered a temporary power loss; and it would be mid-afternoon before the grey, overcast skies parted to permit the sun any reign over the neighborhood. Lucky me: Puttering around with some of my plants just outside the front door, then, staking a few back into an upright position after the torrential rains had beaten them to the ground, I brought my hand near the opening of a gutter downspout and, with no warning, was suddenly attacked by wasps inhabiting such unthinkable domain. One hit my palm, his sting immediate and strong, but I did manage to outrun the others, escaping back into the house… Last night, during mid-week service, another “bolt from the blue” caught me by surprise. When you’re dealing with words, it’s quite easy for those receiving the message to hear it “in their own tongue”, to interpret it as they perceive it to be. In pointing us to Matthew and his having been called by Christ in spite of his vile status as a tax collector, the assistant pastor had me on the edge of my seat for most of his sermon. He went far beyond the truth of the Gospel being an offer unto whomsoever. He brought it forth in terms of the only difference between the alcoholic, the homosexual, the druggie, the prostitute, the guy-in-the-street and the believer being a “re-established connection” with the Creator, the addition not making US any more righteous, any holier, but the addition, itself, being a Reality who embodied such traits, a Grace whose manifestation through us would witness for itself. For a few minutes Wednesday evening, the clouds rolled away and God’s light shined in the darkness, or at least truth as I’ve long seen it to be……

"Captivated...................................."

My granddaughter is staying with us for a few days, enjoying Mamaw and Papaw’s company before school reduces it to an occasional weekend. Beth was occupied this morning, however, chauffeuring a handicapped sister-in-law to a doctor’s appointment and leaving the two of us, McKenna and me, to enjoy a trip to the cinema. Choices were few. We had agreed on Winnie the Pooh, then her little friend at VBS last night who wanted to go with us talked her into the other one about the Smurfs. Suddenly not only was it not a “date”, we had company along for the journey and, instead of Tigger, Piglet, and Roo, we were watching some story about little blue creatures living in a male-dominated society that shows some nearby evil wizard he isn’t the only one with an ability to cast spells. This old man, though, has always been known to be acquiescent to his woman’s heart. It wasn’t “Braveheart”, not even anything close to cowboys or science-fiction. Then, again… Plopping down with the girls into some seats three tiers back in the upper level, armed with a tub of popcorn and enough soda for us to wash it down, I was hooked from the very beginning. Chased by the bad guy and his goofy cat, the heroes in this tale are sucked through a dimensional time-tunnel of sorts only to find themselves stranded in downtown New York, but still pursued by their enemy. The experience shared with a young, married couple living there as they work out the details for their return home had me amused and well-entertained for over an hour. If some believers find it dangerous, sacrilegious even, to “take a walk on the dark side”, eschewing Harry Potter and the likes, I’m of the opinion: to each their own. The girls and I emerged unscathed, still “in Christ”, free of demonic influence and having no inner desire to study the occult. Faith wins again; but I do admit to a temptation to go back and check out what’s going on with the gang at Pooh Corner……

"Education............................."

Last night was the first of a week-long series of productions that the church world refers to as “Vacation Bible School”. Forty years ago that little old-time holiness bunch, an average crowd gathering for most any service numbering maybe seventy-five people, finances allowing little outreach, little anything other than needs for maintaining that small building that housed them, one summer started such a program, the present pastor but a teenager back then with a dream in his heart. Today it’s a huge event, this particular one an old west cowboy spectacular with the gymnasium restructured into a prospector’s mine, a sheriff’s office, hay, chuck-wagon, cactus, decorations everywhere, workers all garbed in bonnets and straw Stetsons. Crafts, food, fun, Bible lessons, and two bicycles awarded to whomsoever, at the end, has gained the most gold coins along the way…

Seed sown, I suppose, but one has to wonder how much chance it has to survive, to sprout and bring forth fruit in such soil as it has fallen… I sat in a six-hour class yesterday designed to teach me, along with different self-defense techniques and various manners of applicable restraints, the psychology of dealing with today’s children, a generation traversing a Hollywood, television, computer game driven amoral society, and I silently gave thanks for my own grandchildren being tutored in the church school. Not that such environment provides me with any guarantee of their “sanctification”. Forty years of Christianity has taught me well that humanity remains humanity, even armed with chapter and verse, even baptized, born-again, “dunked in the Holy Ghost”. The best odds we have is a lot of love, earnest prayer, and hearts surrendered unto Him……

"Bridges......................."

My return to the old assembly after a ten-year attendance elsewhere was accomplished out of a desire to be with my daughters and grandchildren, especially since we learned of the oldest girl’s recent diagnosis of cancer, a threat hopefully caught early enough to be conquered with medication. The transition finds me yet contented to simply “fill a pew”, with no wish at all to involve myself in any of their outreaches, and detached from most of the congregation, this past decade giving birth to, not only to a sea of faces unfamiliar to me, but also an agenda, a format that is nothing like the “family” I stepped into so long ago. Nonetheless, in spite of all that, if this old man is patient, somewhere during most any service, the Spirit finds me, fills me with His presence, and ministers to the needs in my life. Sunday’s sermons this week were on “Our Journey Through Time” and “I Drew Them”, the latter dealing with what the pastor called “God’s scarlet cord of redemption, what I have long referred to as His “anchor-line”. Evening worship began with two songs possessing great lyrics, but put forth at a tempo so fast it was hard to fall into the flow, a chariot race rather than a connection at the oasis. When the speed was adjusted, however, suddenly the sanctuary was one, a moment when you knew He was now in our midst and the reins were in His hands, not ours. People began to pray for each other, testified of past deliverance, of healings known. Tears gathered in my eyes, a release of tongues poured up out of my belly, and communication with my Maker was a reality, not just a religious faith. If much within the sanctuary has changed along the way, if doctrinally we have drifted, to some degree, in two different directions, yet there is unity between us in Him……