The Real Thing

For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing;
to the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life And who is adequate for these things?
For we are not like many, peddling the word of God, but as from sincerity, but as from God, we speak in Christ in the sight of God.
2 Cor. 2:15-17

A beautiful morning led to an inspiration…fire up the smoker! There is nothing sweeter to me than the smell of wet hickory chunks creating a wave of smoke that makes the neighbors envious. My weapon of choice on this day was lemon pepper and Cajun chicken wings, pork tenderloin and venison.

As you can see, it was downright irresistible to my dogs. Millie and Belle spent the afternoon camped out by the smoker. It reminded me of the scripture above… I will comment on that later.

Recently, I re-established contact with my first pastor and his wife (Major T and Jeanie) by email. They were the people who laid the spiritual foundation for my life. My wife Annie and I met in their small church. I actually decided on a career after spending time in their group home back in the late 70’s. They took in homeless kids in addition to their own 5 children. Many of us who had come to know the Lord in the Enterprise, Alabama area practically lived in their home. In one of my emails recently, I told them that I regretted ‘invading’ so much of their family time back then, but they never saw it that way.

Over thirty years later, they continue to serve the Lord in ways that only He knows. They established a small church on an Indian Reservation in Alaska, enduring years of primitive conditions. They didn’t have running water for a long time. Over the years, they adopted three indigenous boys from the local reservation.

Over time, I have seen much in the American church culture that doesn’t impress me. After going off to college, I became associated with a group whose founder seemed fixated on the ‘sharp people’ of this world, thinking their attractiveness would draw people to Christ. It reeked of the smell of death, if I can be so blunt.

I have concluded, that like my dogs and the sweet smell of hickory, people are drawn to the simple sincerity of the Gospel. My dear friends Major T and Jeanie were folks who were drenched with hickory, and still are. The sincerity of the Gospel is an overwhelming scent. It is what Jesus called abundant life.

The Kingdom of God runs in conflict to our human thinking many times. Jesus made this statement: "So the last shall be first, and the first last." My friends seek no recognition from man, but will be moved to the front of the line, I think. Many of the TV preachers/peddlers have had their reward in full.

One thing I noticed as I sat on the back patio taking in the hickory chips. I came in the kitchen and Annie said, “Wow, you smell good!” I was close to the smoke. The smoke permeated my clothes.

My prayer is that I smell good in the nostrils of God. But I can only get that way by getting close to Him. I am sure my dear friends in Alaska give the scent of a slow cooked lemon pepper chicken wing…

Mark

The Sound of Snow

Come now, let us reason together,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow…” Is: 1:18

Our weather man here in Alabama's Capital has a nickname. We all call him Chicken Little. He gets so excited about weather events that my dad phones me to let me know that the sky is falling…again. He gets a charge out of the guy. The local news brought on the SNOW frenzy for Sunday, the first day of March. Annie and I looked at each other and nonverbally communicated: “Yea, right….” After 30 years of marriage you can communicate this way. I hope she can’t read my mind too much however.

Like a kid, I still got up with the chickens at 5 AM Sunday morning to see if the snow had started. To my surprise, the fat flakes were coming down like parachutes over Normandy. Belle has seen snow on rare occasions in her 12 years and made an obligatory snap at a few falling flakes. Millie on the other hand, tore donuts in the backyard and snapped like a cornered turtle at the flakes as they fell.
“Get up, it’s snowing!” I exclaimed to Annie and her best buddy Blue, the cat.

"Make some coffee and I might….” she replied sleepily.
I then opened Stephen’s door, kicking baseball cleats and sweats out of the way and told him if he wanted to see some snow, he'd better get up.

The dogs and I returned to the backyard to play. I threw the Flippy-Flopper a few times and noticed Annie and Stephen standing at the French doors watching us frolic, smiling. Another one of those moments to cherish.

For any of you Yankees, by this of the year, you are sick of snow. Your prayer is for God to remove this dreadful stuff from the streets and sidewalks. But for your average southerner, it is high cotton. Of course, the first thing we men-folk do is ‘start our engines’ and see if we can spin our tires. My dad, the Pittsburgh-yankee-convert-to-Alabama-redneck knows not to get on the road in Alabama during snow events. I ignored this well founded warning and threw caution to the wind. I took to the highway in my trusty steed and just enjoyed the ride.

There is one thing I have noticed about snow when it is falling. It has a sound yet you don’t ‘hear’ it. The delicate descent pierces the ear with sound of purity. Have you ever gone off by yourself and ‘listened’ to the snow? It jars you with peace, surrounds you with a deep sigh, it sounds…. beautiful… resplendent.

Many believers have heard the scripture above since childhood. “White as snow” is synonymous, now a common and colloquial saying that serves as a figurative substitute for purity. I ‘hear’ it now as much as I see it and feel it. The peaceful sound of forgiveness, of knowing that our Father sees us not with the shame of a scarlet letter, but as a happy, peaceful, early March day filled with the whispers of snow. His presence touches all of our senses...

Mark

(Tomorrow the forecast is for sunny skies and 70 degrees.)

The Last Hunt

(No Deer assumed room temperature in the writing of this blog, ladies.)

After some days Paul said to Barnabas, "Let us return and visit the brethren in every city in which we proclaimed the word of the Lord, and see how they are."
Barnabas wanted to take John, called Mark, along with them also.
But Paul kept insisting that they should not take him along who had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not gone with them to the work.
And there occurred such a sharp disagreement that they separated from one another, and Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus. Acts 15:36-39

I have always been fascinated, concerned, perplexed, curious, (the list goes on and on) about missed opportunities. You know, was there something I did not do that altered my life significantly, put me out of God’s will, changed the world as we know it? (OK, a little hyperbole never hurts.) As I age, however, I don’t think about opportunities as ‘missed’, but I simply look at it as finding an alternate route in life. It is not always easy for me to think like this. I am a cause and effect person, and had years of what I call faulty theology that puts the believer at the helm; his every word, negative or positive, may change the very outcome of the universe. Sounds pretty arrogant to me now.

Jan. 31, 2009, the last day of deer season in Alabama. I didn’t hunt much this year so I figured I better log a little time in the stand so I would at least be able to tell a few lies to my macho friends. I decided to hunt in the stand just beyond the pond as it had been a fruitful location for others this season. I barely wheeled my truck through the barn gate near the gathering of cows young and old, when I spied a huge deer in the small pasture just beyond my folk’s home.

“I am just not seeing this, wow, what an opportunity," I thought. There would be no way I could slink out of my truck, load my trusty Marlin 30/30 and get off a shot. But that didn’t stop me from trying. I could not believe my luck, as I accomplished everything I needed to do, even to the point of propping my rifle on the door of my mud covered pickup.

“This is just too easy," I thought as I let out that final long breath before a trigger pull. I was right about that. The view in the crosshairs of my scope changed in the blink of an eye and I saw a white tail waving like a flag, bounding through the pasture into the hardwoods and pines.

What an opportunity alright, a missed one. I suppose it is a matter of perspective though: missed for me, great for the deer. Years ago I would have fretted over this for the rest of the day. On this day, I simply grinned, unloaded my gun, put in a few hours at the deer stand (with no luck) and began to think about the magnetic pull of our pond, as fishing has always been my passion.

It was a warm day for the end of January, and I knew the month of February brings out the big bass, gorging themselves before the spring spawn. I traded my rifle for a rod, was tempted by the hammock, but continued on my quest of conquering some form of wildlife.

What I saw next conquered me. A slight breeze hovered over the pond, rippling the water ever so slightly. The globe we inhabit rotated into a position with our friend the sun to provide a dazzling light show that no Independence Day celebration could match…as this one took place under the midday solar warmth of our mild winters in Alabama. Flickering, blazing, coins of silver skipped in synchronized beauty with the arid breeze and the olive ripples of the pond. No fish on this day... I dropped my rod, sat down on the dam and enjoyed the fireworks show. I pondered the days of my youth, days of woodsy solitude, days of simple reflection. Thankfulness to God for this present moment of peace. Opportunity found.

Is there a lesson here? I don’t know, maybe. It seems to me that Paul and Barnabas had a pure human cat fight in Acts 15. Some may say the selfishness of their own wills got involved here, causing them to miss an opportunity. Funny thing happened though. The book of Acts continues with some of the most fascinating stories of the adventures of the greatest apostle. Perhaps the lesson is that in things small and large, from a simple day in the country, to laying the groundwork for believers for centuries to come, God is always bigger than our ‘missed opportunities’. Mark, pictured with his hero, Blessings to all.

(For a companion story, read "Jeep Trails" Aug 6, 2006)

Marvel-ous

"After forty years had passed, an angel appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai, in the flame of the burning thorn bush. "When Moses saw it, he marveled at the sight; and as he approached to look more closely, there came the voice of the Lord.

Acts 7:30-32

It was nice having a week off at Christmas. I had a few projects to do around the house, a few 'honey-do's and simply spent some time relaxing. My little puppy 'turned the corner' over the holidays and I feel rather ashamed for calling her the dumbest Golden we have ever had. In actuality, she is doing things now that none of our Goldens ever accomplished at such an early age (about 4 months).

She does have a tendency to get me up early, and I mean early. Over the holidays, the three of us, (me, Belle, and Millie) generally started our day at about 5:30 AM. The other humaniods and the feline didn't stir for several more hours. It actually was a nice time to putter around the kitchen, get the coffee going and start teaching Millie a new task that will make things a little easier for me each morning.

The command: 'gitdapaper'.

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Our old girl, Belle, knows exactly what it means, although it is a task she never quite mastered. Our first Golden, Bonnie would hear the command 'gitdapaper' and immediately she was in the foyer, bounding through the first crack of daylight in the open door, running down the driveway, scooping up the paper and was back at the front door in a New York nanosecond. She knew that a Milkbone treat awaited after each successful mission.

.Belle loves going down the driveway, but just will not pick up the paper. So I give the command anyway and she and I have for years walked down the drive so I can be the retriever. I give her a treat just out of habit.

Millie, on the other hand, has the bloodlines of Bonnie. She attacks it with ferosity, even dragging the Sunday paper with all its ads back to the front door. Belle watches her too, and still expects her Milkbone. And it didn't take Millie long to put the paper-Milkbone-connection together.
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I recall one morning over the holidays. We were making our trek and as Millie scooped the paper and turned back to the house, I peered through the darkness at something I see everyday. It wasn't a burning bush, or the voice of the Lord. It was simply...my home.

I don't live in a McMansion, but we have a pretty nice ranch style home. I stopped dead in my tracks and smiled. I simply thanked God for the warm abode He has provided for my family, a place of refuge, a den of safety. I guess you could say I marveled.

There are things that I encounter everyday that are marvelous. But I usually don't marvel. I wonder if I spend too much time waiting to marvel at the burning bush but forget about the burning hickory in a warm fireplace.

I sometimes think that God gets great pleasure in knowing that His children marvel at the mundane. By that I mean the things we just take for granted each day. Perhaps Paul summed up it up best when he wrote to the Thessalonians:

Rejoice evermore.
Pray without ceasing.

In every thing give thanks:

for this is the will of God

in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Mark

The Shepherds

In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields and keeping watch over their flock by night.
And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened.
But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people;
for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
"This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased."
When the angels had gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds began saying to one another, "Let us go straight to Bethlehem then, and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has made known to us."
So they came in a hurry and found their way to Mary and Joseph, and the baby as He lay in the manger.
When they had seen this, they made known the statement which had been told them about this Child.
And all who heard it wondered at the things which were told them by the shepherds.

Luke 2:8-18

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Growing up, I always looked forward to a certain Christmas decoration that my mom set out. By today’s standards, it would be considered a rather inexpensive manger scene (similar to the one in the picture) but my brother and I liked to play with it, rearranging the pieces much like we did with our plastic army men. I studied the characters closely. The Holy Family was handled with care. I liked the animals, I thought the kings were pretty cool, but I liked the shepherds most of all.

We treated the tiny figurienes with respect unlike the torture we raked on our diminutive plastic green warriors. A kid could buy a whole bag of these guys for less than a buck. Boredom set in after strategically placing them in battle position and then flicking them over with index finger and thumb, eliminating the battalion as a plastic fighting force. Setting them back up was tedious work.

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Fire soon became the weapon of choice with our little battle ready buddies. Matches. Gasoline and matches. Firecrackers. How we didn’t set the neighborhood on fire is beyond me. We did cause a minor grass fire once lighting up a full sized, petrol soaked GI Joe in the backyard. And there was that melted candle wax that went up in flames on the kitchen stove...Gosh, all the helicopter kids of today (kids whose parents hover over them constantly) haven’t got a clue the fun they missed. Sitting on their fannies with a Wii. Please. But I digress….

Recently, my pastor, Jay Wolfe, spoke about the Nativity scene. Something he said about the shepherds struck me. “Shepherds were social and religious outcasts. They were never able to enjoy the religious festivals and weddings of the day because the flock always had to be attended. But they left the flock that night with a sense of urgency.”

I have a friend, John, who I correspond via email. On a forum that we frequent, John coincidentally penned a poingnant reference to the shepherds that caught my attention recently:

One of the curious events of the Nativity of Jesus is in the night in which He was born angels appeared not to potentates but shepherds. Not to the patriarchs, or high priests, not the most enlightened or those in a position to do something positive about His birth but to the lowest of the social strata. That the shepherds were frightened would be like saying "oil rig workers were timid" it takes something to frighten a shepherd…
…the shepherds must have had some credibility with someone literate to have made the pages of scripture. Possibly because of their lack of guile and genuine astonishment at their revelation they were believable. God it seems has a habit of concealing Himself, and of revealing Himself in obscure ways.

One of the plastic shepherds in our little Nativity was carrying a lamb like the one in this picture. But I remember one particular shepherd distinctly. He was kneeling and offering something to the infant in the manger. My young mind could never figure out what the gift was, but I remember feeling sorry for him because it was obviously not some expensive present like the Magi brought.

And from the manger to His ministry, three decades later, Jesus... sat down opposite the treasury, and began observing how the people were putting money into the treasury; and many rich people were putting in large sums.
A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which amount to a cent.
Calling His disciples to Him, He said to them, "Truly I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the contributors to the treasury;
for they all put in out of their surplus, but she, out of her poverty, put in all she owned, all she had to live on."

Mark 12:41-44
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I really couldn’t understand my fascination with the little plastic shepherd figures then. I understand it now, more admiration than fascination, no pity but total respect. The shepherds came out of pure sacrifice, knowing that they may lose what little they had in the world. In a way, Jesus pays tribute not just to the poor widow, but to the shepherds who came to see Him out of their own sense of poverty.

The Gift of God was (and is) for all men. Not just rich kings from some far away place I have never heard of. God’s gift of love is available for Tommy in Holtville, Jake in Wetumpka, Tamisha in Montgomery, Pablo in Union Springs….
Luke 2:17-18 indicates that the shepherds had a sense of urgency... to drop what they were doing to seek Him and tell others. At times, I don’t think I have that urgency. I don't give enough. I don't sacrifice enough.
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I pray for the necessity and exigency of Him in my life.

Merry Christmas to all,

Mark

The Bonnie Slam

He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy
Job 8:21

This picture is enough to restore your mouth with laughter, but there is more, believe me. Wow, eighteen years ago, baby Stephen---just a few weeks "post slap" on the fanny, Bonnie---our first Golden, and me, Mr. Chicken Legs.

Bonnie was by far our most stubborn retriever. She insisted on leading the pack on walks and would pull the leash until her tongue turned blue. Nothing would make her heel. It is funny the things you remember over the years, the inside jokes that couples share. On one walk, Bonnie spied a squirrel and took off, until she got to the end of the leash. What happened next can only be compared to the fate that awaited Barnyard Dawg in the Foghorn Leghorn cartoons when he ran out of rope. The flip in the air, with the subsequent flop on her butt was forever coined ‘the Bonnie Slam’. Any dog since who can perform this graceful move will get a rating from Annie and me, but none can top that first Bonnie Slam. It was one of those moments when you looked at your wife, you knew that she had her hand covering her nose and tears coming from her eyes in laughter.

Stephen loved this Baby Jogger. Bonnie got to the point that I simply had to tie her to it and let her pull us like a Conestoga wagon. Another sight that I am sure produced chuckles in the neighborhood, but we didn’t care. I'd like to think that this activity started Stephen’s love for athletics and exercise. Annie and I used to run road races together, trading out the pushing duties.

So now, I am teaching our new pup ‘the ropes’. She loves walking beside Belle, holding the lead in her mouth as she trots.

“You gotta go on a walk with us and see how good Millie is doing!” I pleaded with Annie. (She is usually the one pleading with me to get out and get some exercise now. Still the avid runner, she logs 5 miles a day.)

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As someone who is always trying to jury-rig things, I found a large carabiner and hooked the two leashes to it. How proud I was of my invention, everything seemed to check out for a few walks and I was ready to unveil Millie’s progress on the world.

But the world is still new to Millie. I noticed a few weeks ago how cars wizzing by startled her, but within a few days, she ignored them. Oh, but a new challenge…a large Scag mower was on the horizon…Millie immediately backed up, straight between my legs. I lost the 'graceful' quick-pace of my gait and turned into a waddling duck….Belle, unfazed by the mower, continued forward at full stride. By this time, Millie was behind me and her leash was straddling the 'stride' of my sweats. I am holding the caribiner, with leashes going in opposite directions, waddling like a duck and I hear a snort.

Now because I have lived with this woman for over thirty years now, I didn’t have to turn around to see what she was doing, but I did. Hand to the nose, tears in her eyes, laughing. We have not named this move yet, but I am sure she will come up with something as creative as the Bonnie Slam.

The thing is, I didn’t mind her laughing at me one bit. In fact, it did my heart good. Stress of work and home sometimes trumps laughter and it was nice to see her let loose a good one. I just shook my head and feigned disgust with my new pupil.

I am convinced that laughter is good medicine. I have used the proverb “A merry heart doeth good like medicine” (Prov 17:22) many times in the past on my blog and I repeat it again for good measure.

The creator of Beetle Bailey, Mort Walker, once said: “Laughter is the brush that sweeps away the cobwebs of the heart.”
I read the comic strip every day, something I have done since I was a kid. I believe the man’s quote is just another way of stating the words I have highlighted in red.

God bless, and be sure to share a laugh with family and friends over the holidays!

Mark

Prov 17:22

'Goodwill' Towards Men

He who profits illicitly troubles his own house…Prov.15:27

Searching the tie rack…hmm…nothing new this week. Wait…wow, a Hilfiger! OK, do I have 2 bucks in my wallet?

I have been meeting with the staff at Goodwill Industries every Wednesday for years. My agency refers people to this organization in efforts to fulfill our mission of finding employment for the disabled population of Alabama. They do a great job in this area and I am proud to be associated with them.

One of my rituals is to stop in at the Goodwill Thrift Store before or after the meeting and check the tie rack. I rarely buy a tie retail any longer; the price at Goodwill is just too tempting (2 dollars) and often I find extremely good ties with little wear. Everyone at Goodwill uses me as the male model. Right.

This article caught my eye immediately, especially after the debacle of the WalMart shopping nightmare. If you don’t want read the link, basically a Goodwill worker in Illinois,Teodora Petrova, found $7500 in a shoebox while sorting clothes. She turned it in, because it simply didn’t belong to her. Goodwill found the owner. She got a reward, and then a few days later, Goodwill gets a check from a donor who wished to remain anonymous…for $7500 to assist with their job placement efforts.

It does show that spiritual principles work. I am not talking about the "name it claim it" religion that seems so pervasive in America...'if you do this, then God must do that'....The priciples that I speak of have more to do with someone's character. If one exhibits characteristics of honesty, he usually has characteristics of charity, stability, strong mindedness...he attracts friends like him, influences those who are not like him, has families of similar characteristics. Treating people with respect and kindness works. The Golden Rule works! The result is that this person sleeps well at night. I think Ms Petrova sleeps like a baby.

Conversely, the proverb above also rings true from a spiritual standpoint. Dishonesty is usually just one of the MANY character flaws that these folks exhibit, thus their lives and the people they influence are in a constant state of a big hot mess. The guy in this proverb sleeps with one eye open, as he has created a plethora of problems due to his sordid behaviors.

The story about Goodwill made the news because it simply had a nice twist to it. Believers should not expect some instant, outward result because they simply did the 'right' thing. However, exhibiting Godly character will render a lifetime of rewards, true inward peace on earth and good will towards men. That is the real sowing and reaping of which Christ spoke.
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Merry Christmas to my friends at Goodwill Industries of Central Alabama, a caring bunch of people with hearts of gold.
Mark

Attention Wal Mart Savages!

Wanting to release Jesus, Pilate appealed to them again. But they kept shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

Luke 23:20-21

It is not often that I rant on my blog. Yesterday’s incident at Wal-Mart in Long Island left me saddened and outraged as a man was trampled to death by a mob of greedy, selfish, savages who cared for nothing more than saving a few lousy bucks on a TV.

The callousness of the event astounded me; the utter disregard for this man after the event and the anger of the crowd when they were told that the store would be closing because of his death showed the depravity of man in all its glory.

The article highlights a Samsung 50-inch Plasma HDTV for $798 that seemed to be the big ticket item that everyone lusted after. Out of curiousity, I googled this item this morning. A few mouse clicks rendered prices at $797, $799, and $899 at different retailers. Let’s say the lower prices were sold out. Was saving a lousy Benji ($100) worth the price in exchange for this man’s life? A cop or a soldier wakes up each morning knowing it could be his last; it comes with the territory. But a part time Wal Mart employee?

We hear all the time that people are getting more hard hearted, more callous, more violent. Yet when I think about the Man whose birth we celebrate at this time of the year, I am reminded of the behavior of the mob surrounding His death. Even the ethically challenged Pilate tried to reason with the crowd, but they cried out, “Crucify Him!” As Jesus was asking His Father to “forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing”, the ones below the cross ignored him, casting lots for his clothes. Human depravity is not exclusive to 2008, the first Black Friday happened over two thousand years ago. Bargain shoppers at the foot of the cross.

The great debate over the nature of man has been going on for centuries. Secular Humanists tend to think that man is basically good, and people of faith believe that only God can save them from their depraved sinful state. I know some readers will disagree with me, but I line up with the latter. Horrific incidents from the crucifixion to a Wal-Mart in Long Island convince me of this.

I try to focus on inspir- ational topics, but I felt a need to vent a little. Here’s hoping that our holidays are sacred, and unlike Judas, we won’t sell Jesus out for thirty pieces of silver.

Mark

A Rabbi's Take on Forgiveness

Do not say, "I'll do to him as he has done to me; I'll pay that man back for what he did."
Proverbs 24:29

That dang cell phone. It was Veteran’s Day and I was doing what I wanted to do, painting the foul poles at the baseball field at Stephen’s school. I wanted to make sure that Blue (nickname for umpire) could make the right call this spring. If he misses the call now, we will all holler our favorite umpire insult line, “You’re missing a good game out there, Blue!”

It was Stephen.
“Dad, Mom wants to know if you are going to be home in time to take her to the Shakespeare thing tonight.”
I had forgotten…my mind was on nothing more than painting the foul poles. Men have a way of doing this. If my mind is cluttered, stressed, etc, I can simply go do some kind of project and think about nothing else but the project.
“Yea, tell her I will be home in time….”

“The Shakespeare thing” was not a play, but a lecture by Rabbi Kushner, the man who wrote the bestseller, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People." As we were leaving, Stephen was laughing at me behind Mom's back, "Have a GREAAAT time, at the 'lecture', Dad!" Little did he realize I was looking forward to it.

Rabbi Harold Kushner impressed me immediately. At 73 years old, he spoke as a conversationalist. We Protestants are not used to this. We actually are used to something that should be considered rather strange. Protestant ministers go from normal conversation to air gulping, vein bulging, rooster strutting, bloviators in a nanosecond. I am not a big fan of it any longer. Our pastor speaks like a normal person, like the Rabbi. It is refreshing .

Rabbi Kushner's most passionate moment came when he told a story on forgiveness. He spoke of a woman who had a great chance to advance her studies, but would need a letter from her professor. The professor stated that he would write the letter for sexual favors. She refused, and instead of a letter of recommendation, he wrote a letter stating that she was unqualified for admission for this advanced degree.

Many years later, she told Rabbi Kushner, "I have hated this man for years for what he did to me and I cannot forgive him!" Rabbi Kushner stated quite plainly, "Do you think that this man really cares that you haven't forgiven him? After all of this time, he doesn't remember you and doesn't care; I can say this with all certainty because of the poor character he exhibited in your younger years. Furthermore, you have allowed something destructive and harmful to make abode in your mind and soul. It does not belong there and only you can clean house by granting forgiveness and moving on with your life."

In my years as a Christian, I have witnessed emotional displays at the alter, thinking this will deal with unforgiveness in one's life. Many times, I have seen others'---and my own---bitternesses simply spring back to life after the emotion wears off. Rabbi Kushner said that we hold on to things because of a sense of entitlement---this person hurt me and I am entitled to feel this way, doggone it!

I was immediately reminded of an incident years ago at work with a coworker, one that created very bad feelings, at least on my end. I actually daydreamed of taking this guy behind the building to the drainage ditch and squaring off. OK, so I have seen too many Lethal Weapon movies. Years later, he and I had lunch together with some other people. He acted like nothing ever happened, probably because in his mind, it hadn't. I was the fool who wasted my energy on all this poisonous pondering. After that day, this man and I had many more years of good fellowship until he retired.

Rabbi Kushner presented such a logical and conclusive argument for forgiveness. What I heard that night really spoke truth to me. Why would I want to keep something that makes me miserable in my home? What would be the purpose of keeping a rabid skunk for a pet? Sometimes unforgiveness is a simple decision. Get rid of it.


Hatter's Proverb:

The joy of getting older
is that you cannot
remember to hold grudges.

Mark
(Millie is finally rating a little
higher than a rabid skunk, so
I think we will keep her.)

Lil' Sis the Blogger

http://abakkiriza.blogspot.com/

I wanted to give a plug for my sister's blog. LeeAnn spent most of this past summer in Africa on a mission trip and has written a diary account of her experiences. I know it was a life changing time and I am proud of her for taking time out to share the love of God with others.

Trust

Now there was a man of the Pharisees named

Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish ruling council. He came to Jesus at night...John 3:1-2

The first time that I noticed my night visitor was a hole in the dog food bag that I had left out overnight. On a whim, I snuck a handful of dry morsels and placed them on the carport wall. They were gone the next morning...

I wonder why Nicodemus came to Jesus at night. Was it a matter of trust? A member of the ruling council probably had to watch his back when meeting with this spiritual enigma of the day. Or maybe he just didn't trust Jesus and needed some personal time with him to pick his brain. What develops from this night encounter is some of the most quoted words of Christ in the Bible. Almost everyone can recite John 3:16.

I caught a glimpse of my night visitor. A Tuxedo colored cat, he (I have no idea if it is a 'he' or a 'she' so I will just call it a 'he) fled at my sight. I found an

old plastic bowl and began to put out a handful of dry dog food, and found it empty each morning. One evening, I was caught red handed by Annie with the kibbles in my hand.
"What are you doing?"
"Um, I am teaching Belle a new trick out on the patio."

Annie lifted that one eyebrow she is so famous for when she knows I am stretching it.

Take a look at Belle. Do you think this old dog is ready for a new trick? I can't even lie creatively.

"Feeding that stray cat, aren't you?

Busted. She KNEW about him!

"I felt sorry for him, don't worry, I am not trying to tame him, Tux is a feral, I just don't want him to starve."

"Tux!? You have named him already? Just be sure you keep him away from MY cat!" Almost no chance the two ever crossing paths and she knew it. Blue, our indoor feline, follows Annie around the house like a newborn duckling. So I knew that I 'had her permission' to keep feeding Tux. Sorta.

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The next time Nicodemus shows up is in John 7. He defends Jesus in the midst of the Pharisees and chief priests:

"Does our law condemn anyone without first hearing him to find out what he is doing?" (v.50)

Their reply is rather sarcastic in tone and it is easily inferred that they were not pleased with his rejoinder. Perhaps the patience of Christ, a deeply personal night visit, a challenging spiritual discourse...perhaps these things established a trust in Nicodemus...

The next logical move was to purchase some cheap cat food for Tux. Couldn't have him eating dog food. A trip to the local grocery store rendered a bag of food that only an alley cat would eat. It was called 'Alley Cat Crunchies'. Tux didn't mind. The bowl was always empty. He began to sit on the wall and stare at me. My goal at this point was to gain his trust. I knew it was going to take time. No telling what kind of life he had endured. Tux began to come in the yard, and seemed to have no fear of Belle, and Belle simply ignored him as she has been around cats for a while now.

We did have one dog-cat incident, but it involved our newest member, Millie. Golden Retriever number three over the years... and so far, the dumbest one we have ever owned. If what they say is true about Goldens, they end up the color of their ears. In Millie's case, it appears that she will look like a fine Kentucky bourbon. She seems to already be under the influence.

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Regarding the incident...You know, puppies have tons of trust. She will run headlong at the sight of Blue, who simply ignores her, turns her backside to her and trots off. The little brain that rattles in Millie's head figured that she could do the same thing with Tux. 'Tire screeching' comes to mind when Tux slapped Millie across the nose. She no longer trusts Tux. That is a good thing.

We see Nicodemus one more time in the book of John. The last part of chapter 19, he and a man named Joseph of Arimathea, ask Pilate a favor. They ask for the body of Jesus. Nicodemus was not only willing to identify with Christ among his own religious collegues, but was not ashamed to be associated with Him before the judge of Jesus' trial...perhaps the trust had become solidified.

Tux began to show up like clockwork. His 'meow' is one of the sweetest I have ever heard. He has graduated to Meow Mix, and Purina ONE is probably next. He began to sit on the wall and allow me to pour the food in his bowl, but made no attempt to eat it until I backed away.

One morning, as I was pouring the food with my right hand, on a whim I gently stroked his back with my left. He arched with each stroke live a wave, as many cats do, indicating that it felt good. I also noticed a conflicted countenance; he did not know whether to bolt like a rocket or stay and enjoy the attention. He finally resolved it by retreating a few feet. I knew I had won his trust. But I also knew that I didn't need to push him any further. He was a survivor and needed a good dose of caution (the kind Millie now has around him) to continue his challenging existence.

Later that day, I came to another conclusion. Even if he would have clawed or bit me, I would still continue to fed him. I was not looking for obedience or love in return. I realized that if a flawed man with a built in cynical gyroscope could think this way, so much more is the love and patience of God in dealing with his children who may go through times of mistrust or confusion in their spiritual walk.

.Nicodemus and Joseph carefully wrapped the body of Jesus with strips of linen and spices, as was the custom of the Jewish burial process. John writes that Nicodemus brought 75 pounds of spices, a very large amount, traditionally used in royal burials. I believe Nicodemus had come to trust the King of Kings....

I try to find personal spiritual lessons even in the most mundane events of life, such as a stray cat showing up at our doorstep. We as a family are in a transitional time; our son Stephen will be making decisions about college soon and Annie and I will start those empty nest years. We are trusting God. I can't say that I have always acted in faith in the last few years but I do know one thing...God is patient with His children.

.Time and patience establishes trust. A feral cat trusting a less than perfect man. A religious leader trusting a Savior. God will surely be patient with me as I continue to learn to trust Him.

Mark

Excuse the long absence. Hope to be around a little more.

The Gospel According to Lewis

For I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified... I Cor. 2:2

The fall of the year in the deep south is a special time. There is still a warmth in the air from the dog days of summer, but the humidity dissipates and the air becomes breathable again. I enjoyed the crispness of the day as I rode my bike home from school on those familiar streets in the little community of Edgewood in Columbus, Ga in 1963. First and second graders got of school thirty minutes early and the streets were always free of the traffic jam of bikes that faced me each morning. I arrived home and noticed my mom hovering over the Zenith black and white TV.
"What happened?" I asked.
The look on her face matched the answer...it was the first chink out of soft limestone of that statue of the innocence of childhood...

I recently had an opportunity to visit this little community; my son was playing a baseball game in Columbus, Ga and I slipped out of work early to make the hour trip across the Chattahoochie River to watch them play. I arrived early and decided to take a drive through my old neighborhood. I really didn’t know what to expect; it had been 44 years since I lived in this community. I figured time had taken its toll on the place, as the homes were modest in 1963 and I wondered if the whole suburb might have even been torn down and rebuilt.
I made a quick right turn off the now busy Macon Highway and eased down my old street, Juniper Avenue. Our old home was still there. And I was pleasantly surprised that the homes had been kept up quite nicely, an obvious blue collar enclave now, but one where folks seemed to take pride in the little homes. (The home below is an example of the style of homes in the neighborhood.)

Everything was smaller now. I retraced my trip to Edgewood Elementary. It definitely wasn’t ‘five miles in the snow’ but a short journey of meander- ing, narrow streets with fresh asphalt-filled potholes. My mind drifted back to my friends Lewis and Rusty Edge, our next door neighbors. (The opening picture shows Lewis next to the boy with the blue shirt, Rusty is the little guy, and I am the guy with the hip hop underwear showing. Biggy, as we called my brother, is in the red shirt.) Lewis was always on the go. In fact, his mantra then is still used as a family joke. When we had saddled up the bikes, Lewis would holler, "Let’s go-ooo!!!" The word ‘go’ was always elongated like a coyote howl. To this day when the family gathers, my brother or I will let out a "Let’ go-ooo!" when we finally are ready to hit the road for a family outing. (My brother sent a copy of the Sunday Parade magazine to me several years back. The cover article was on the Changing Face of the American Trucker. There was Lewis Edge, yuppie truck driver. I suppose his mantra made a career for him.)

As I arrived at Edgewood Elementary, I became that second grader again...the covered bike rack was still there. The little shopping center across the street where I got my ‘close on the sides, short on the top" haircut. The City Service gas station, long gone, but one of Lewis’ and my desti- nations. We used to like to drink out of the "Colored Only" water fountain because we thought the water was colored.

And then my mind drifted to my bike trip in November of 1963. It is true what folks who were alive then say, everyone remembers where they were when President Kennedy was killed. When my mom broke the news to me on that day, I felt it was my duty to get back to school and tell the third through sixth graders coming home. The looks on their faces as I met them on the road told me that they had already heard the awful news.

Yes, the innocence of my childhood took a beating that day. It would be about a year later when we were huddled around Zenith TV again, wondering then if my dad had lost his life in Vietnam.
(My first blog entry July 25, 2006. See the archives)

I wonder sometimes if the followers of Jesus had the crucifixion so etched in their souls that it caused them to have this similar experience, one that they knew exactly where they were, how they reacted, what they felt. Prior to that dark day, the disciples had heard words of faith, witnessed miracles, and felt the life changing power of Jesus. It all disappeared into a helplessness, one that even caused Peter to curse and deny that he ever knew Him.

Yet the darkest hour became the brightest moment in time. As Christians, we seem to have some need to have a ‘deeper revelation’ than this, to be on the cutting edge of what God is "doing"; we create new buzz words that are used to impress others of our great spirituality. But the work of the cross...it is the very essence of our faith; it is the very thing we need to always have etched in our souls, an event that simply grounds us deeply in our faith.

I loved the fact that Paul said that he knew nothing except Jesus and Him crucified. It must have been that meeting on the road that convinced him, an experience he never forgot. It still happens today, the simplicity of the gospel, the meeting on the road....the thing that causes us to call out with excitement to God for a remarkable journey...."Let’s go-ooo!"

Mark

Like a Duck to Water

As a deer pants for the water brooks,

So my soul pants for Thee, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;

When shall I come and appear before God?

Ps 47:1-2

We are suffering through a terrible drought in the deep south. Alabama has been hit particularly hard; my dad has been buying hay to feed his cattle well into the time of year when the pastures should be full of Bahiagrass. I took this picture of a fence line recently just show the magnitude of the parched earth in our corner of the country. Please pray for rain. We have had precious little this summer as this picture speaks for itself.

One thing I refuse to do, however, is let my plants suffer. I am not a water-waster, but I have a few spots of beauty, at least to me, in my yard that give me pleasure to look upon, and I will put the sprinkler on these areas a couple times a week. The crape myrtles and the lantana flowers in what I call the ‘island’ of my front yard are doing great, as is the little birdbath garden. My three birdbaths are gulped dry on a daily basis, by the way.

Recently, I was watering the ‘island’ and a rustle from behind startled me. I turned around and much to my delight was a couple of Mallards, a male and a female. Someone had told me recently that the Mallards in the area are drawn to the sprinklers like a ....duck to water. (Sorry)
About a week later, my neighbor was watering his yard, and a copious amount of water fell on my driveway near the birdbath garden. I was gratified to see the couple return, and they spent a good hour under the refreshing shower.

The scripture from Psalms has always been one of my favorites. It is a wonderful simile that reminds us as deer and ducks are drawn to water naturally for the very sustenance of life, we should be drawn to the living waters of Christ to keep us alive spiritually.

It is odd to me that over the course of my life as a Christian, I have sometimes done the opposite. When things get parched spiritually, instead of seeking out spiritual waters, I just let the crevice in the dry ground get larger. When the instincts of God’s creatures give me a perfect example in the natural, it should be a no brainer to apply it to my spiritual life.

Still, as I have aged as a believer, I have learned to go drink from the living water, regardless of the circumstances. In it I find life, and that life in Christ is more than emotion, shallow comfort, or temporary pain.

His sprinkler is on for all of us, get out the Slip ‘N Slide and enjoy the days of your youth, coupled with a deep satisfaction to your soul.

Please say a prayer for our state and our region, that the drought would end soon and our land will once again be teaming with life.

Mark

The Biscuit

For if a man comes into your assembly with a gold ring and dressed in fine clothes, and there also comes in a poor man in dirty clothes,
and you pay special attention to the one who is wearing the fine clothes, and say, "You sit here in a good place," and you say to the poor man, "You stand over there, or sit down by my footstool,"
I have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil motives? James 2:2-4

It happened so fast that all I could say was “HOLD ON!” Yet almost in slow motion, I spied the old Dodge pickup in the rearview mirror barreling towards us with no intention of stopping as we were patiently waiting for the red light to turn.

We were on our way to Nashville to attend my niece’s high school graduation and stopped in Cullman, Alabama for lunch. The sickening sound of the front end of his dilapidated Dodge eating up the back quarter panel of my wife’s car was followed by a stream of clear-red plastic flying by the driver’s side window, which indicated to me immediately that the tail light assembly was history. So was the back quarter panel, I soon discovered.

Now Cullman is an interesting place. Mont- gomery is a very diverse city, almost 50/50 white and black. Cullman, not so diverse. Well, if you consider the fact that some of the Appalachian folks have bib overalls and some wear Wrangler boot cut jeans, you might be able to say that there is a little diversity.

Our Cullmanite was wearing overalls, and this crazy lady (my wife) was already in the 80 year old guy’s face. With the determination that only a mother can have, she was out of the car in a nanosecond, swishing her tail feathers and her finger at the same time, with a “MY SON IS IN THAT CAR! HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE THE RED LIGHT?” Her ‘son’ is a 190 lb. cinder block who was already talking to a witness and yaking on his cell phone.

And then there was me. The wheels were turning already…I was inspecting the damage, “Looks like there is about an inch of clearance between the tire and the wheel well, maybe it is drivable…I'll bet this ignorant hillbilly doesn’t have any insurance, oh well, 500 bucks on my deductible…blast it anyway, get these old geezers off the road..."

I was in no mood for this; I was already borrowing trouble, knowing that the next month or so was going to be one big hassle. There was never a thought to thank God that we were not injured, at least not then.

“I am so sorry Ma’am,” the old man drawled, “Ya see, I was comin’ out of KFC with my lunch and I done dropped my biscuit on the floorboard and I was tryin’ to git it.”

Steam was coming out of the Allie Cat’s ears. I was still lying back, bemoaning the fact that this bumpkin had ruined our weekend. Finally I spoke, “I hope you have insurance!”

“Oh, yessir, I got Nationwide, and my agent’s office is jest over the hill,” he replied. What a surprise, and a pleasant one. One of my best buddies in Montgomery is a Nationwide adjuster. I was on the phone with him as soon as the police finished up.

Our car was drivable, after the cop and I took out our knives and cut away some of the polymer bumper cover. “I’ll bet you never heard of someone rear ending another car because he dropped his biscuit on the floorboard,” I said sarcastically to the cop.

“Well, not today”, he answered with a wry grin and a deadpan delivery.

His truck was a tad newer than this one, but it looked like he lived in it. I had to take a peek inside the cab, out of curiosity to see if I could spy the errant biscuit.

The floorboard of the old farmer’s truck was, in a word, nasty. Why anyone would even want to eat a biscuit that was now covered with dirt and coondog hair was beyond me. Name the fast foods joint, and you would have noticed a crumpled up bag in the passenger's side floorboard.

A few miles down the road, after I had notified my family and friend Max, we took a breath. My wife said how thankful she was that we weren’t hurt. She had apologized to the poor old guy as we were departing, and he very humbly asked us to forgive him and was “thankful to the good Lord that y’all weren’t hurt.”

My next few weeks were rather effortless. My buddy Max was a lifesaver, he did the estimate in my driveway, arranged for a rental car, and a wonderful body shop restored my wife’s car to its former beauty. (Max told me that by swiping the back quarter panel, the man had missed the main structural bumper by mere inchs. Had he hit it, the car would have probably been totaled and we may have suffered some neck and back injuries.)

What I learned about myself was that I am not such a good guy. My own prejudices kicked in at a time of minor crises. I categorized a man who was a humble, God fearing person immediately as an old hick with no insurance who had no business on the road. He called me after we returned from Nashville to let me know that he had already filed a claim and that Nationwide would be covering all repairs for us. And he wanted me to know how sorry he was once again and was (I repeat) “thankful to the good Lord that y’all weren’t hurt.” Heap a few more coals on my head Lord, I need it.

I drove Annie’s car to work one day prior to getting it in the shop, as I didn’t want her driving around town minus left side brake lights and turn signals. A few folks noticed the car and of course I went into extraordinary detail about the biscuit on the floorboard, using my best Alabama southern drawl.

The next morning, our Assistant Commis- sioner dropped by with a greasy bag and told me to enjoy my breakfast: a good ol' southern biscuit. He had heard the story too.

Long scratched off my heart healthy diet, I decided to eat it with zealous delight, chuckled and thanked God for putting people in my life with a nifty sense of humor.

Mark
Prov 17:22

Shells

Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.

Matt 7:24-25
You have a God who hears you, the power of love behind you, the Holy Spirit within you, and all of heaven ahead of you. If you have the Shepherd, you have grace for every sin, direction for every turn, a candle for every corner, and an anchor for every storm. You have everything you need.
Max Lucado
http://www.maxlucado.com/
(Check out Max Lucado’s website, he has a simple and powerful message of hope and grace for the church today.)

I brought home some shells from our last beach trip, something I would not normally do. I felt like a kid exploring the sands of my youth, looking for a jewel of color and symmetry. Frankly, they were hard to find. I noticed something almost immediately when collecting these shells; the smaller, plainer ones were always intact, while the larger, more colorful ones were frequently broken. I began to examine the texture of these different sized shells. I found that I could easily break the larger ones with my hands as they were brittle and thin. But the small ones…wow! I could not even chip them. They were thick, hard, and tough as nails.

I gazed at the breakers, especially in spots where a large deposit of shells had gathered on the beach. I could actually see the larger more fragile shells tumbling in the foamy mixture, riding violently to the beach sand. There was no way they were going to make it to the shore intact, the churning waves saw to that. The smaller ones, almost impossible to see in the turbid tide, magically appeared on the sand, intact, none worse for the wear.

In my years as a believer, I have seen plenty of the big beautiful shells, those people who make sure the attention is drawn to themselves…but who just seem to have big chunks cracked off from a character standpoint. Yet, church folks seem to not only tolerate some of these so called leaders, they treat them like rock stars, embracing any ‘revelation’ that comes forth from their mouths. The crowd actually feeds those character flaws. I have said this before, when I see a ‘ministry’ that is named after the particular leader of that organization, I have a tendency to stay away. There is usually some chunk missing. Not always, but most of the time.

In my later years as a Christian, I have noticed many more of the smaller shells with the tough hides. They are the people who magically appear in my life. They are the saints who have weathered the waves over the years. They are those, who like the small shells, are hard to identify in the breakers. And frankly, they don’t want to be recognized. They are the people who I have written about frequently in my blog; all one has to do is take a quick review of my pasts musings to see that the small shells with the tough hides are the ones that have meant the most to me.

And I have found characters in the Bible who jump out at me but are generally overlooked. For instance, Ananias, in Acts 9, is a great man of faith, and doesn’t get a lot of airplay.

Think about it. God tells him to go to a specific street, and lay hands on one of the worst persecutors of the faith so he will receive his sight, and be filled with the Holy Spirit.

So Ananias, after a healthy bit of skepticism, says, "Yes Sir, I will go."

When he encounters Paul, he does something amazing. He addresses him as ‘brother’. (Paul later mentions him in his great defense and testimony in Acts 22 as a devout man who was well spoken of by all who lived in Damascus.) This guy was a small shell. One who magically appeared at the right time, obeyed God, fed and strengthened his new brother, and just as quickly disappeared back into the sand.

He probably had more satisfaction in being someone who was well spoken of by his neighbors, than wanting to be known as the man who healed Paul from his blindness. He was a small shell with his Godly character intact, no chunks missing in this guy!

I thank you Lord, for the 'small shells' in my life who have done big things.

Mark

A Deep and Gentle Sigh

Godliness with content- ment is great gain.
1 Timothy 6:6

Continuing with the same thought…contentment. Knowing that our lives are good, pleasing to Him. Not striving, wondering, am I holy enough? Am I doing enough?Am I good enough?

At some point in life, one has to come to the conclusion that His grace is sufficient. I can do nothing to make myself presentable to God, except by clothing myself with His redemptive robes of grace.

And yes, it produces contentment. This is a word that may conjure up a meek, tame, definition, yet, personally from a spiritual perspective, it is more powerful than words like “overcomer, more than conquerors, victorious over sin”. I realize that these too are Biblical terms, but to me, these are action words, and sometimes we have a tendency to take those action words and make them into “works”.

I opened my Everyday Blessings devotional by Max Lucado today and he had this to say:

When we surrender to God the cumbersome sack of discontentment, we don’t just give up something; we gain something. God replaces it with a lightweight, tailor made, sorrow resistant attache’ of gratitude.
What will you gain with contentment? You may gain your marriage. You may gain precious hours with your children. You may gain joy.

Contentment yields a certain ease of mind, a gentle sigh, a resignation to the fact that God is the One who has done the work through the cross for us. It has taken me a while to get to the point of contentment in my life. It is a feeling of : “Here I am Lord, and this is who I am. And You still love me? Yes! You do! And I love You back.”

And that is more powerful than any realization of 'working for a living' in the Kingdom of God. I have tried that before; it was no fun. But now, sharing His grace with others is natural, peaceful, with no hint of punching that religious clock or putting on some religious hat.

Contentment. A deep and gentle sigh. It sounds pretty simple, yet for me it is very substantive and very profound.

The Hatter

How Big is Your World?

...and you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be My witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth.

Acts 1:8

I was visiting with old some friends recently and we were reminiscing about our college days. A certain minister came up and we remembered one of his pet sermonettes, which was meant to appeal to our youthful idealism and mobility. Looking at it now, it appears highly manipulative.

He used to say, “How many of you just want to get married, get some job, have kids, settle down in some little town like your parents and have no impact on the world for the Kingdom of God!?”

“No!” he would bellow, “God has much more for you! You are the head and not the tail! You will be overcomers all over this world!”

It was funny, thinking back on how different people reacted. Some longed for the small time life and an existence away from the frenetic college world. Others bought into the manipulation, and have told me that they have lived for years in, what would be considered by this man, a mundane existence always wondering if they had fulfilled their ‘destiny’.

Another more subtle lie was planted in the minds of young folks in my demographic, those from two parent families, Mom cooking every night, Pop working hard to provide for his family, setting the example for the kids...somehow this was second class in this man’s eyes. More than a subtle lie, it was a damnable lie.

Many years have passed since those idealistic days, and I have come to my own conclusions about my world around me. Bottom line, it is pretty small. And I like it that way. Hear me out.

A friend and I were talking recently and I asked him if he knew how much ‘geo- graphy’ Jesus covered while He was on earth. My friend told me that, taking away the trips to Egypt , it has been said that Jesus covered about a much territory as a New England state.

It is astonishing, given what we take for granted with technology and the information highway, that our Savior’s message spread from a relatively small mound of earth that became the spiritual epicenter of the Good News of the Gospel of Christ to the world!

It is a pattern that I really think we should imitate, one that is really liberating, because in actuality, many of us do leave college, find jobs, marry, have children and live in some locale.

Our ‘worlds’ may not be much larger than the one Jesus trod upon. But His influence, our influence...it is not limited in terms of geography. When Jesus said that His kingdom was not of this world, I don’t think many understood then or now.

I wonder...when Jesus told the apostles to be a witness for Him in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and even the remotest part of the earth...could it mean that our influence may need to start in our own “Jerusalem”? Mine would simply be my home. My family. My friends. My job. Have we missed opportunities to share the love and grace of Christ because some manipulative preacher has planted a false idea about what is good, what is right, what is pure?

Give me my world any day. I embrace the ‘mundane existence’; I embrace it for its diminutive simplicity, as it also encompasses something of unbounded infinity, the Kingdom of God.

Finally, for anyone still reading my blog, you have noticed that my entries have become fewer and further between. With summer approaching, I may have more time to write, then again, there were a bunch of stories that I wanted to tell, and I told them. So check in from time to time. Only time will tell if I keep tapping the keyboard or move on to building ships in a bottle. Thanks so much for reading!

Mark
Prov. 17:22
Keep that heart merry!

I Was Right On Time

Not that I speak from want; for I have learned to be content in whatever circum- stances I am.( Phil 4:11)

I am reading a book entitled I Was Right On Time by Buck O’Neil, a baseball player in America during the days of segregation. Before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier, baseball was divided into two distinct groups, the Major League as we know it today and the Negro Leagues, where Buck and his friends spent most of their careers.

It is an interesting read, full of colorful characters, poignant moments, and lessons of life for all. Some of the greatest ball players ever to play the game hit, fielded, and ran the bases on segregated diamonds. One of the best hitting catchers to ever grace home plate was Josh Gibson, of the mighty Homestead Grays. My dad tells me that his dad, my grandfather, watched Gibson and the Grays ( a team in the Pittsburgh area) a number of times. The guy reminds me so much of Bo Jackson, one of my Auburn alums. Buck O’Neil states that he heard a distinctive crash from a baseball bat hitting a ball only three times in his life, from the bats of Babe Ruth, Josh Gibson, and Bo Jackson. He described that sound like a small stick of dynamite going off.

I loved the comradery that the players had in those days; I am sure it was so necessary to lean on one another to make it in a segregated world. Buck speaks of his old friends like schoolyard chums, and the nicknames! A true term of endearment when someone gives you a nickname! Turkey, Mule, Fox, Ox, Piggy, Bunny, Possum, Groundhog, Rats, Frog, Burro, Early Bird and Goose. And most had some logic behind the name, Turkey, for instance, was a player named Norman Stearns who flapped his arms when he ran. What’s worse is that one nickname wasn’t enough, the 'nickname' for a turkey is a gobbler, so they called him Gobbler too!

I must go on, the names are just too good: Sea Boy, Gunboat, Skin Down, Popsicle, Suitcase and of course Satchel. Biz, Bullet Joe, Smokey Joe, Jewbaby, Copperknee, Ankleball, and my favorite, Cool Papa Bell.

Buck, as well, is a nickname for the writer himself, John Jordan O’Neil Jr., a man who lived in relative obscurity until Ken Burns developed the nine part epic masterpiece, Baseball, for PBS. Buck emerged as a ‘graceful, charming, fatherly voice of America’s national pastime, a living link from the early days of segregated baseball to the game we know today." (From the book sleeve). Buck dedicated his book to his wife of fifty years, "a cheerful and easy-to-love lady".

I think the reason I have so much respect for this great man is in the title of his book. From page 2:
The best thing about the film, (Baseball) though, was that it gave me a chance to tell folks about th Negro leagues, about what a glorious enterprise black baseball was, and about what a wonderful thing baseball is . Back in 1981, at a reunion of us Negro league players in Ashland KY, a young fellow from Sports Illustrated asked me if I had any regrets, coming along as I did before Jackie Robinson integrated the major leagues. And this is what I told him and what I’m telling you now:

There is nothing greater for a human being than to get his body to react to all the things one does on a ballfield. It’s as good as sex; it’s as good as music. It fills you up. Waste no tears for me. I didn’t come along too early–I was right on time.

I found this to be such a tremendous statement—I was right on time. It reminded me so much of the converted Saul, or Paul as he became known. A man who learned to be content in whatever circumstances. And I, too, have concluded that the past is gone, the future is unknown, and the here and now just cannot be wasted thinking about what could have been or what might be!

The writer of the Hebrews tells us: But encourage one another day after day, as long as it is still called "Today", lest any one of you be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. (Heb: 3:13)

If you have heard Buck O’Neil before, you know he is a man who hasn’t been hardened. It is a biblical principle he lives by, one that I think is a good one.

My life–I was right on time.... How about yours?

Steveo plants two tombstones at the plate, in one game!

Blessings,
Mark

Easter Parade

And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But 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 in secret, will reward you. Matt 6:5-6

So sensible, the things Jesus preached. Like today, it seems like the pious folks of his day loved the adulation and attention of the street corner. Modern street corners are our television sets, filled with garish men and women of shallow religiousity getting their reward in full. Jesus made it clear that this type of thing was unimpressive to His Father.

I have shared this before, one of my ‘inner rooms’ is the cab of my truck. I leave for work early to beat the traffic and use this time for prayer, meditation and to hear what God is trying to get through my thick skull. There are times when I just have to find some excuse, like this morning, to just take a ride. I needed to pick up some medicine for our dog at our Vet out in the country, about a 20 minute ride. Perfect. Even burning gas at $2.69 a gallon, it is still a secret place that I cherish; Al Gore you'll just have to excuse me. It gives me time to be alone and meditate on His word, repent for my own selfishness, and reconnect with Him. I'll bet you have a strange prayer closet; I think most people do. I guess mine isn't much of a secret anymore... maybe if you will keep it between us and the Lord...

This morning I began to think and pray about how thankful I was for the life that He has given me through Christ; the sad dichotomy of it all is that it is coupled by a flawed mentality that gets embroiled in the mundane and unimportant, those things that I think are so real and crucial. I call it ground clutter. A false echo. It takes a "road trip’ to straighten me out sometimes. The scripture that seems to speak to me in such a personal way in times like this is when Jesus simply asked his disciples: "But who do you say that I am?" (Matt 16:15) It ran through my mind this morning, the same question addressed to me, "Mark, who do you say that I am?" My answer for over 30 years has been like Peter's, "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the Living God." When I come face to face with that question, things begin to change...rapidly.

I noticed some wild dogwoods lining the interstate and my mind drifted to a time in 1988, a few years after we moved to Montgomery. We had finally saved enough money for a down payment on that first home. We did it through much prayer, and also a lot of hard work. Annie and I found a neat little home nestled in one of the older neighborhoods of Montgomery, one noted for the azaleas and dogwoods.

Even though the neighbor- hood is about 10 miles away, I rarely go over there, as it is off the beaten path. But I do make an annual pilgrimage during spring to remember. The azaleas remind me of the faithfulness of God, the constant in His universe, that almost to the day every year the beautiful explosion of color breaks forth in the Dalraida neighborhood of Montgomery, AL. It is my version of the Easter Parade.

These pictures are not the best in the world, as I was driving and snapping simultaneously, but it gives you some indication of what the old stomping grounds look like. Great neighborhood to this day. The place where my son was born, the backyard that we wore out hitting and fielding grounders. Great memories.

Back to the truck...it was then that I began to realize how thankful I was for the life He had given me. But how easily I lose that focus! To get wrapped up in the minutiae and lose site of the Master. It is an intriguing mystery that you can be extremely grateful and filled with humility and introspection at the same time. I somehow think, however, that it may be the ballast that keeps my ship on even keel. And my truck between the lines.

Happy Easter to all from the Mad Hatter.

My Friends across the border in Georgia know how to do it right! Check out the photo page from Callaway Gardens .

Sand Script

For the love of Christ controls us-- 2 Cor 5:14A

Ah, our yearly pilgrimage to Gulf Shores, AL for the Spring Break Baseball Tournament. And what a nice way to keep an eye on your teenage boy! My wife ‘ran into’ my son walking down the beach with his girlfriend, and in his eyes, the only thing worse would have been to run into me with my shirt off. Don't worry, ain't gonna happen-- I will leave that stunt up to some pasty guy from Minnesota with black socks and velcro strapped Pumas.

I love the beach, and wrote a blog about the beauty of what we call the Emerald Coast back in Sept. entitled Water Colors (click here and scroll down to Sept 5, 2006). People are also of great interest to me at the beach, as humans seem to drift away into a Jimmy Buffet mentality and become so approachable and friendly.

I spent a couple of mornings with some ‘snow birds’, those smart Yankees who follow the same migratory pattern annually and leave Canada, Michigan, Wisconsin, and all of those other Great Lakes states and spend their winter months and their retirement dollars in Alabama. We southerners have come a long way since the Civil War; we love Yankees…with money. Seriously, I found these folks to be intriguing and all you have to do is ask a leading question and they are more than happy to fill in the blanks. People love to talk about their lives and especially their families. And you can learn a lot about life, if you take the time to listen.

I met a mother and her two boys in the elevator one afternoon, and guessed they were from up north before they opened their mouths.
“How did ya know?” one of the boys asked.
“You guys have on wet swim suits; no respectable southerners are going in the Gulf this time of year!” I replied.
The mom laughed and said they were from St. Louis. The boys assured me that the water wasn’t that cold, at least after 20 minutes. But it’s those 20 minutes…..whew! In August, the Gulf is like a nice warm bath. In March, we leave it to the Yankees.

My mornings were consumed with long walks along the beach listening to songs on my IPOD like “Drift Away” by Dobie Gray , “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers, and “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay" by Otis Redding. It was pure heaven watching the sunrise create those golden crinkles on the turquoise water.

One morning, I came upon some writing in the sand that caused me to stop. For some reason, I snapped a picture of what I saw carved in the sand: “Hunter Wilson Alabama 2007”. I pondered for a moment, and decided that Hunter was probably a lot like the pre teen boys from St. Louis I had met in the elevator: A young kid so impressed with his first trip to the beach that he just had to leave his mark.

It made me think. We all want to count, we all want to leave our mark, it seems to be part of our nature as humans. A kid scratching his name in the sand. A snow bird telling me about her grand kids. I have said many times “I don’t care what others think of me” but it is simply not true. We do care, and Jesus knew it. He said that the second commandment is to love your neighbor as YOURSELF. We are supposed to love ourselves? Wait...didn't He tell us to deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Him?

For me, this quest for self worth, this leaving one’s mark, is answered through the preceding commandment, the greatest of all, when Jesus told the scribe: And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. (Mk 12:30) It is in the security that, as I turn my heart towards Him, I count for something because HE makes it so. His follow up to denying yourself was that if you lose your life in Him, you will find it. For in the finding, you will leave your mark, for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure. (Phil 2:13).

I am still meditating on the scripture in Acts I used in writing about my friend Steve:

In Him we live and move and have our being. Acts 17:28

He makes us count for something.

Hunter Wilson, here’s believing that, as you wrote your name in the wet sand in Gulf Shores Alabama, God will write His Word in your heart, and in His Book of Life.

Mark
Prov 17:23