It Has Happened (not in the "voices" series)

I didn't want to go. Pam pretty much made me, as much as a 5'3'' sprite of a woman can 'make' a man do anything. They have their ways. Anyway, the conclusion of a great day off, which is any day off with my grandson, Kaden, Pam makes me go to the mall to look at some pant sale they are having. I thought she said "plant." I'm not sure at what point I realize it's men pants we will looking at but a sweaty fear caused my brow to begin beading. Several fears roll in to one. The fear of malls, shopping, spending money, spending too much money, getting lost in the store, having perfume sprayed on me by a female wearing three pounds of mascera and having to try on clothes in any place other than my home led to a spike in blood pressure and a slight fainting spell. To no avail, Pam had me in the store quickly. She parked me in front of the sale rack of men's pants. This may not be too bad. The prices were closeouts on old stuff marked down from $65\$75 to $20\25. "I can handle this," my shopping naivete reasoned. They had my size. I could pick one and be gone. About that time Pam showed up. Before I knew what happened, I had three in my hand and was told to "try them on." Then the real fear set in. I've tried to study why men fear this trek to the dressing rooms. It's not as bad in really expensive stores or the rooms where you try on suits. But in the average middle-of-the-store dressing room, it's horrifying. There's the fear of thieft. There is the fear of discovery. There is the fear of locks not working. Mostly, I think men fear getting jock itch or an std from some dude who previously tried the same pair of pants. I was petrified but I tried not to show it. So I took three pair of pants into the dressing room, locked the door, checked it again, looked for hidden cameras, looked for pins on the floor that could contain the aids virus and then began the humiliation. It was at this point I discovered it and was none too happy. Most folks are glad when their pant size goes down. I'd been in the same two sizes of pants for most of twenty-five years. It was always one or the other. In times of health, diet, exercise, and the summer it was one. In times of stress, after moves, after Christmas it was the other. In twenty-five years it only had a blip over or under for a couple of months a couple of times. I tried on another pair. Same thing. The third pair brought the inescapable conclusion: My pant size had dropped into another range and brought with it the range of emotions that could barely be contained in dressing room D. I dried my tears, put on my 'game face' and went out (did I put my other pants back on?!? Who cares anymore) and annouced to Pam what had happened. I had to get a smaller size. The import of the occasioned seemed not to affect her as it had me. She immediately went back to the rack and retrieved three more pair. The process repeated and yes, these did fit better although a size in between what I was and the smaller number I now submit to would have been best. But those sizes aren't to be found on the sale rack in the middle of the store, only even numbers here. Still dazed, I could not even muster much of a fight when she made me buy all three pair. I think on another day I could have fought off one, maybe even two extra pair of pants. I was not in the frame of mind to do so. I admit to her wisdom when the price tags of $20\$25 were reduced at the check-out by another 70% and I paid $39 for all three pair. Still, they were smaller. I'm not as big a man a I always have been. I tried to be Biblical, "He must increase, but I must decrease.'' But I knew John the B wasn't talking about pant sizes. I'm just smaller. I felt less vibrant, less vital, a "no, not tonight, Honey" mood. It was bad. Today I have some more perspective. The sun did come up. Life goes on and I must adjust to the fact that my pant size is smaller because I am smaller. I have shrunk! My inseam had decreased. My runt-of-my family status at 6'2'' had worsened. I must be somewhere down around 6' and 3\4" to 6'1.'' There I said it! It's out. It's over. I'm shorter. There comes into all life and every life the fact that one day we will be something and do something for the very last time. We usually don't know it when it happens. On occasion we know some last times. We know the last time we go to the office before we retire or drive that old car we're trading in. But the last wave to an old friend, the last kiss from a sweatheart, the last card of thanks we send or receive or the last time you'll see a love one alive, well a lot of "last times" just sneak up on us. They pass as any other moment and we realize later, often too late, that was it. Charles Poole, Southern pastor, says that to try to live each day as if it were the last will drive you crazy. It's best to live each day as if some day, one day will be the last. He is right I believe. I suppose one can't help but grow shorter in leg, but our faith can contiune to grow longer, stronger, and deeper. And this thought also crosses my mind: There is coming a day when shrinking hopes, dimenished dreams, and last times will give way to hope fulfilled, dreams expanded, and each day as new as Genesis' dawns. It's not a day marked by tape measures, spending, savings, or trips around the sun. It will be marked by trips with the Son and his eternity of ever growing joy and love. So keep stretching. Terry

Voices We Need to Hear -- Nature

Of all the voices vying for your heart's and mind's fealty my I suggest you grant the voice of nature a larger degree of consideration. May I say from the start that any pantheistic or animistic tendencies should be dismissed as the soul-thwarting heresies they are. God is the Creator and is above and separate from His creation. One does not worship the true God by worshipping nature and His Holy Spirit fills not the trees, leaves, waters, and animals but the hearts of men made in His image and surrendered to His will. Yet, He has filled His world with joys, wonders, fears, powers, and mysteries that grant us glimpses into His very own nature. In watching, experiencing and "hearing" the voice of nature we will find ourselves more in tune and better able to hear even greater manifestations of the Voice of God through scripture. Why is this so? First, the very act of hearing the voice of nature requires a "coming out from" the ordinary routines and sounds that fill our modern world. To hear the voice of nature requires some degree of separation from the ordinary, at least from what has become the ordinary in our fast-paced, technological, digital, and connected world. Those of us living at White Bluff have a distinct advantage over our counterparts inside the loops of concrete ribbons. Yet, even in the city there remain parks, trails, golf courses, and backyards filled with the sights and sounds of God's wonders. But whether on limestone bluffs or in concrete canyons an effort is required to touch, to experience and hear the voice of Creation. To step outside of the ordinary, to observe with anticipation, to still the heart and truly listen for the unfamiliar with the hope of it becoming more familiar is the first act of worship. While we seek not to worship the voice of creation we can employ some of the same disciplines used to get in touch with nature that also help us in reaching out to the Creator to whom all worship is due. Another 'why' this is so is found in creation itself. We are part and parcel of it. The God who created us on the sixth day was busy the days before. Our role is given to rule and subdue, which has been misinterpreted to our disadvantage too often. God intended mankind to use nature wisely as faithful stewards to better all of creation. When done properly it has produced medicines for health, abundance for life and wealth, and beauty for enrichment. When abused and neglected nature has its own built-in consequences of death, disease, destruction and soul-withering disorder. The Old Testament is replete with references to the God of Creation for this very reason. If somehow, we can see, experience and hear the voice of nature we then have a strong hand pointing to the God who brought nature into being. In that hearing of the voice of nature we can experience power, beauty, majesty, imagination, joy, playfulness, abundance, even destruction and mystery which should all point us to God. So the Psalmist uses nature over and over again to make his points about God. The writer of Proverbs appropriates the natural world to illustrate truth. The answer Job receives from God is not a direct response to his questions of unfairness, pain and suffering but a consideration of the behemoth, leviathan, the storehouses of snow, the names of stars, and the way to throw a lightning bolt. Our Lord taught us to "consider the lilies of the field..." and the assurances of victory in Revelation come with the images of raging rivers, powerful stallions, gold, pearls, healing leaves, and peaceful waters making glad the city of God. How is this so? I'm incapable of saying with all authority. Yet this much I know: when I stand on the tee box of the sixth hole on the new course at White Bluff, golf can become secondary. Around the tee are a few pine trees. The sound of wind through the pines cannot adequately be explained, at least for what it does to the heart. The wind through the pines magnifies and muffles the wind at the same time. The New Testament word for Spirit is peuma. It means wind or breath. Is the strong, yet subtle sound of wind through the pines an accurate reminder of the voice of the Spirit? I can't say for sure but I like to think so. All I know is that on the sixth tee I am always remarkably calm for someone about to baptize my golf ball. How is this so? Nature somehow, if you take the time to notice, experience, and hear it will grab your heart. A few weeks ago I stood in my backyard, which is all concrete. But my backyard is literally on eye level with a dozen trees of thirty or more feet in height. It has started to rain--just barely. It was more than a mist or even a drizzle but much less than a downpour. I stood in it to enjoy the rain a minute and began to notice something I hadn't experienced for ten or twelve years. I couldn't even identify it at first. I walked over to the edge of the drop off of my yard and listened. Then I figured it out. The sound of light rain gently falling on tree leaves in the the tree and at ear level was mesmerizing. It was distinct, and yet oh so subtle, not unlike the way God speaks even in the midst of our rainy days. How is this so that when we hear the voice of nature we can better hear the voice of God? I don't know for sure but when I hear thunder that shakes and frightens and my rational mind thinks, "it's just sound waves"--can we not dismiss the voice of God that easily and miss the point? The sunsets enjoyed from the bluffs overlooking Lake Whitney are spectacular. Yet the ever changing colors, hues, and combinations are driven by at thirty miles per hour and forgotten too easily. The ever present God who shows His grace in multi-colored hues in life is driven by us at seventy miles per hours and is He any less forgotten? One solution, hear the voice of nature. Listen carefully and the voice will direct to a greater Voice that is more beautiful and as mysterious as any lover. Terry

VOICES WE NEED TO HEAR- A Series

There was a time if you heard voices you'd be considered crazy, touched-in-the-head, or at the least quirky. Now, if you are not hearing voices you are out-of-touch, uninformed, disconnected, and so twentieth-century. With our technologies reaching out and touching us with iphones, myphones, IMs, wireless networks, cable, satellite TV and radio, broadband, GPSs, and even old-fashioned cell phones with personalized ring tones, you could be hearing voices nearly 24-7. And if you're not, why not, what's wrong with you? Silence has become an enemy to be banished from your kingdom forever. Careful, silence may one of the sounds we need to hear. The good news is that you can keep in touch and be touched; the bad news is that you can keep in touch and be touched. With so many voices clamoring for your attention, how do you filter all the noise and voices? To whom do you choose to listen and let fill your heart and mind with their offerings? So many of the voices and noises promise to fill our lives in so many ways-to fill our garages, our closets, our pantries, our homes, our stomachs, our bank accounts, our young days, middle days, and our waning days. If there are so many voices trying to fill us up, why then are we so empty of heart and soul? Dr. William Hendricks once prayed before his seminary class, "...Father, forgive us for building men with the bodies of whales and the minds of minnows." Ouch! I suppose we need a good editor, a filter, to help us tune into to those voices that can fill us with the true manna of spiritual growth and service. So I will suggest a few voices we may need to hear more from in the days ahead. These voices may be hard to hear. Their volume is small but their impact can be magnificent. You won't like all the voices. I didn't say you needed to like all the voices I suggest. But I believe you may need to hear them. Hopefully, they will help us think, feel, and process differently. Maybe they will stretch us where we need stretching and sooth us where we need soothing. Hopefully, we can learn to hear differently and listen in places we never thought we might hear the truth we need to hear. And I pray that even in the times of silence, we will not fear the silence but learn to discern the still small voice of the One who still beckons us to come; to come to His side and live in His kingdom. So listen, listen, listen....

A New Day

I grew up as the only white guy in my class at high school. Now there were only fifteen of us total and until my ninth grade year there was only one black girl. Janie got a "soul-mate" about that time when Regina moved in. Being the only white guy, I guess gave me a unique perspective in the turbulent 60's. I made friends with the black guys. It wasn't always easy. There were definite differences of perspective and culture between us. Sports, homework, field trips, and just the living of the days together brought some barriers down. Those common ventures of life, as Trueblood called them, like death, illness, marriage, births that all humans share also gave rise to better understanding. When you see a someone lose a big brother in Vietnam or see a guy you cheered in basketball come back from Nam without his legs, well, the color thing fades. I still consider Otis one of my true friends. I've been horrible about keeping in touch with him through the years. I deeply regret that and hope to correct this wrong in my life soon. Things were different from the time I was a little boy in Milford. Everything was separate. Toilets were segregated. Drinking fountains were separate. To a little kid in the late 50's the biggest difference I remember was at the doctor's office. The little clinic in Milford had a sidewalk that separated like a "Y" out in front of the building. The whites went to the left and "Negros," or "coloreds" as they were called then, ( I haven't heart those terms in decades) went to the waiting room on the right. Same doctor, same nurse Amy with the long needles, same X-ray machine, and same prescriptions handed out but white folks couldn't sit with the blacks in a waiting room. That all seems so silly, stupid and sinful now. How could we act that way? But we did and did much worse in fact. But today is a new day. Today the first black man elected president is being sworn in to the office of the presidency of the United States of America. We've long since left behind the prejudices of separate waiting rooms, toilets and drinking fountains. Politics aside, it's a great day for America on many levels for which we should be thankful. We should rejoice with the blacks as this signifies another mountaintop that has been too long in being reached. Grateful we must be for the safety our outgoing President has insured on our own shores. The transition of power in this nation takes place in such order and peace that is known a only a few nations. And in the climate of economic fear and the burden of war being shouldered, the hope that the new administration brings is refreshing. Tomorrow the real work begins. Today, rejoice for the privileges our nation affords us and the hope that new leadership brings. Tomorrow, President Obama's race will not matter. His strength, courage and wisdom will be tested and we can only hope that God will bless his presidency and our nation. The choices he makes and that we make with reference to God's blessing must be linked to God's will. Greed, arrogance, lust for power or selfish pleasure, and injustice will not preserve nor protect this nation. So pray for him as instructed in I Tim 2-1-3. Pray for our nation and pray for yourself that the righteousness that exalts a nation (Proverbs 14:34) will be found not just in the White House, but in your house and mine. Terry

About This Blogging Thing

You may not have noticed but I took about three weeks off from this blogging thing. I guess its time to get back with it. Actually, I'm somewhat old school about some things and prefer to call these offerings articles or essays. But we've gone from smoke signals, drums, letters, pigeons, telegraph, telephone, email and now blogs. Progress! Before you know it, we'll have a man on the moon. I heard a smart man speak regarding love and laughter,those magnetized twins (some times they attract, sometimes they repel), that if you have to explain either one then it's probably neither. That is true about many things so I shouldn't attempt to explain these articles. So I will. When I started at White Bluff I just started writing them. No explanation. They just showed up in your inbox one day. We don't send it via email anymore. You've got to want it enough to make a few clicks with the mouse and go get it. But why do them at all? What's the reason then? I can't answer that succinctly-hey I'm a preacher what did you expect? That actually is the key word-expect. I write in hopeful expectation. For what do I hope? I take my cue from Isaiah 61:1-3. (if this were a sermon this is where you read the passage-so look it up. Go ahead, the rest of the article will make more sense) This happens to be the passage Jesus cited when He began His ending phase of ministry that will change everything we know about heaven and earth, living and dying, God and Satan, and history itself. There are wonderful things in this passage and also some tough things. It's easy to want to proclaim God's favor, His grace, but in this passage are also words about God's vengeance. If one adopts this passage to guide you, you will find yourself up to your epistles in mourning and grieving people. This scripture deals with binding up broken hearts, comforting those who mourn, and crowning heads once heaped with the ashes of sorrow with tiaras of triumph. Beauty for ashes...nice trade don't you think? So I sit at a computer a few hours a week in hopeful expectation pecking out these little essays, articles, wonderments. I hope you find a bit of a rag in these words to help you dust off some ashes and see the glitter of a crown headed you way. Some days they may be funny, even if I didn't intend it that way. I hope most days they make you think. Occasionally, they may make you feel, deeply I hope. On rare days, I hope they make you mad. On all days I hope they help you hang on. I'll bring my thoughts, questions, experiences, and put them into these articles. I hope by voicing them maybe I can wander, stumble, walk, run or crawl toward Jesus.You bring your hopes and dreams, anger and hurts, questions and experiences, joy and victories. I'll write, you read, and if you and I meet Jesus somewhere in the middle of these essays, then it was time well wasted.

More Truth Than You Know

If you look closely you will be able to detect hints and whispers of the gospel's Christmas even in the classic shows that are broadcast on television. I doubt if it is done on purpose except possibly in the case of the Charlie Brown Christmas special. There seems to be a universal longing for the the good, better and best in people and situations that is sorely lacking. You see this lacking, this missing, this discontent, and the mournful in Christmas shows and cartoons. I know you aren't following me yet so consider the island of misfit toys from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the Christmas tree in Charlie Brown's special, the broken down old building and loan from It's a Wonderful Life, and the Grinch's heart in the Dr. Seuss re-telling of a Scrooge-type character. Now you're starting to see it. In every good Christmas story there is something wrong, broken, missing, abandoned or downright mean messing up an otherwise orderly life. Further, you could plug these stories into the gospel and end up in a good place or better, plug the gospel into these stories and end up in a better place. What if the Shepherds in the gospel of Luke were played by the toys from the island of misfit toys in Rudolph the RNR? The shepherds were regarded as misfits. So the Charlie-in-the-Box, Hermey the Misfit Elf (remember, he wanted to be a dentist), the spotted elephant, bird-fish(the bird who swam)and Cowboy(he had to ride an ostrich) could find their place in the gospel story. Which means, of course, that all of us who have misfit ways, different dreams, and move through life never at the pace the world thinks we should move, find our rhythm in worshipping Jesus. Following this leading, the broken down old building and loan from It's a Wonderful Life could play the stable and manger in our re-telling of the gospel. George Bailey struggled with that old business most of his life. It kept him from bigger dreams and traveling to exotic places. Yet, in the end it held the town together and helped many others find their home in a world run by the old men Potters who could have cared less. No doubt the owner of the stable thought little of his stable but God thought enough of it to make His entrance there. Most of us spend our days wondering if we really make any real difference. One day we will know and we will see not through a glass darkly but through the Light of the World shined on those old things we thought kept us from a wonderful life. Then we will see that it was those very things that God used to advance His kindom and agenda in ways we could never imagine. All good stories have an antagonist. In Matthew's gospel you meet King Herod, who, was not unlike the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. The Grinch had a heart that was two sizes too small. Many question if Herod had a heart at all. Much heartache was caused by Herod. He had his own two sons executed as he thought them wanting his throne. At his death he had two popular Jewish teachers and their students burned to death to insure there would be someone mourning at the time of his own death.Then there is the death of the innocents in Bethlehem. But history tells us that within 4 years of Jesus' birth, he was no more. So we don't celebrate "Herod-mas" and don't so much as name our dogs after him. Evil exists. Sometimes, like with the Grinch, it repents and changes. In Herod's case, his evil died with him. There is plenty of evil left in the world but we know from Herod, Hitler, Ahab, Pilate, Nero, Domitian, and any other despot that they die. One day we will add Osama bin Laden and Robert Mugabe to the list. Someone else will pick up where they left off. One day God will take evil off every one's list. Our Christmas list will be much easier then and our hearts will be big enough to fill it. Admittedly, finding a place for Charlie Brown's scraggly little bent-over tree has been harder to plug into the story of Christ's birth from the gospels. Misfits, Grinches, Building and Loans, yes. But where does the left over Christmas tree come in? Then I figured it out. That's me. That's where I plug into the story. God's not through decorating me yet. I won't stand still enough some time to let Him work. I keep dropping ornaments and breaking them. But God is relentless. He just doesn't stop working. And if you have been bent out of shape, lost your needles, felt like you didn't grow like everyone else, abandoned at the back of the lot, and in general felt unloved, then the Christmas story is what you most need to hear. To the misfits, in out-of-the-way places, in spite of Grinches, God shows up to love those needing it the most. And the last time I checked, that includes everyone. Yet to all who received Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God... John 1:12 Merry Christmas 2008 Terry

A Christmas Without

It's not good to set out the nativity scene when you're mad at the preacher. All that stuff he wrote about no donkey, no wise men, no innkeeper or stable just ticked her off. She fairly slammed Melchior down beside the manger. "Well, MY nativity scene has wise men!" It was at that moment that the tears came and Fran just slumped down on the floor beside the hearth. After a few minutes she gathered her thoughts again and tried to figure out where that outburst came from. It probably wasn't just the pastor's article. It was everything else that happened that year. Her divorce was nine months past and her ex wasn't around last Christmas but it still hurt and still made her mad. Her dad's health had taken a downturn and he would spend this Christmas in the nursing home. Fran hated that prospect. The kids were grown with their own traditions for family to take care of and wouldn't be in until later on Christmas day. That magnified the loneliness of decorating a tree and trying to put out the Christmas cheer with no one to enjoy it. The thoughts that haunted her the most were about her oldest grandson who would spend this Christmas in Afghanistan. The fear and sadness were too much some days. Fran remembered to stop a moment and count her blessings. She had two days off work for Christmas and had two vacation days left so she could rest, cook, and enjoy the kids and grand kids when they finally would make it in. She had survived the latest round of layoffs at work and she was thankful for the job. Of course, everyone who remained was expected to pick up the extra work. If she could just hang on a few more years she would seriously considering retirement. That's another reason to be mad at the man she once called husband. No sooner had the anger begin to rise again when came the interruption of the doorbell. It was Jackson, next door neighbor's youngest child. She wiped her face, put on a semi-fake smile and opened the door. "Say Jack, wassup?" He giggled at the way she said that. " Not much, Fran. Mom wanted you to have these cookies and I wanted to ask you a question." "Fire away, Jackson." "Well, our kid's choir is singing at church tonight and I was wondering if you could come. I've got a song I sing by myself. Anyway, I hope you can come. It starts at 6. Bye." Judging by the loose wrapper on the plate and the chocolate on his face, Fran figured Jackson had tested one of the cookies on his way to her door. How do you tell a nine year old with chocolate chip cookie on his face "no?" So Fran guessed she would be at church tonight. The kids were cute. Jackson sang very well. But the most remarkable thing about that evening were the songs. They weren't really sung any better than most kid's choirs. She just needed to hear the simple truths of the Christmas carols again. It was going to be a Christmas without a husband; a grandson without his family in a faraway place; a father without his own home. In this year of brokenness, loneliness, anger, doubt, fear, and exhaustion the Christmas songs reminded her of why there was a Christmas in the first place. The world was broken, fearful, exhausted, and alone without God in their lives. So He came. Fran thought to herself that there were many things she was without this Christmas. She laughed at herself for getting mad at the preacher earlier. Maybe there was no donkey at the first Christmas, or no wise men or no innkeeper but the world was not without a Savior. He is Immanuel- God with us. Terry Quote wanted from Sunday's sermon(12-14-08)"Joy is dancing to a rhythm the world cannot hear but the heart faithful to Jesus cannot miss." author unknown