Power Makes a Difference…

Turn back the calendar to 2004.  Hurricane Charley came ashore at Punta Gorda, Florida, and made a beeline up the Peace River to my hometown of Wauchula.  Hundred-mile-an-hour winds blew through town and across our ranch.  Powerlines were down, and my parents had no power. 

Let me explain what that meant.  No power meant no air-conditioning.  Hurricanes are usually followed by stifling heat and humidity.  Charley was no different.  By this time, my mother was bed-bound with Alzheimer’s disease.  In a non-air-conditioned house, sweat poured off her. 

No power meant no water.  In the country, water came from the well, which was powered by electricity.  No electricity, no water. 

No power meant no cooking.  Decades before, we made the switch from a propane stove to an electric stove in the name of progress.  We forgot that progress requires an intact power grid. 

There was still enough juice left to power my brother’s cell phone.  I asked him what was needed.  He told me, “Get a generator and get down here.”  A friend lent me a high-powered generator.  I got some other supplies and struck out for Florida. 

I dropped some propane at my sister’s so they could cook.  Then I made my way to the ranch.  It has always been dark at the ranch, but with no power for light, darkness went to a deeper intensity.  I walked into the house to find my stepfather in the kitchen with a fan and a small portable TV playing.  An extension cord ran back to the master bedroom to power a single fan blowing on my mother.  Pop had three small Honda generators.  One was powering the items in the house.  One was powering the freezer.  One was powering the refrigerator.  I slept that night in motionless air and stifling heat in one of the other bedrooms.  I was convinced hell would be a place with no breeze. 

The next morning, my first order of business was to get water into the house.  We changed the wiring on the pump and plugged it into the generator.  Water came back on.  That meant Mama could be bathed in cool water, we could flush the toilets, cook, and wash dishes. 

It also meant we could re-allocate the generators to power more devices in the house, including two more fans for Mama.  I spent the rest of my time in Florida checking on cows, fixing a neighbor’s roof, and trying to help the best I could.   

I was about to leave to head back to South Carolina when my brother-in-law showed up with an even bigger generator.  He was at Home Depot first thing that morning, and a truckload of generators showed up.  He grabbed two (all that was allowed), and graciously brought one to my folks. 

It would be ten days before power was restored.  On that day, my sister-in-law saw a truck that said, “Sumter Utilities,” spoke to the workers, and explained that I was a pastor in Sumter and my parents were at the end of the line.  They worked a little extra and got the power back on.   

My stepfather told me that when the power was restored, the lights came on, the air-conditioner kicked in, and life was good.  In his words, “When they got the lights back on, everything got better.”  With power, everything gets better. 

Everyone needs power in their lives.  Some people, feeling defeated by this world, see themselves as powerless.  They drift through life, reacting to events, letting others make choices for them.  They see themselves as victims. A powerless life is no fun. 

Other people, especially American males, see themselves as self-sufficient.  They want to do “it” themselves. Hank Williams, Jr. sang about them: “A country boy will survive.” The problem with this way of thinking is that one day, even country boys face something they can’t fix.  It might be when the doctor says, “It's cancer.”  Or maybe when your wife says, “I’m done with your cheating ways.  I’m leaving.”  Everyone has a problem they cannot fix themselves. 

This is why God grants to those who love him the gift of the Holy Spirit.  The Spirit gives us a power greater than ourselves.  We are not able to solve all our problems, but the Holy Spirit is able to give us power to endure, to start over, to move forward. 

The power of the Spirit only comes when we are humble enough to pray, “God, I can’t; you can.  I will let you.”  The power of the Spirit only comes when we are plugged into God, and his power can flow through us and to us.   

Power makes a difference.  God’s power makes the biggest difference.  Are you connected to His power line?

Follow Instructions…

Recent events in my life have required me to assemble several pieces of furniture.  I realize most of these pieces are now manufactured in China.  I am convinced there is a Chinese plot to bury America in cardboard and Styrofoam.   

I learned that following instructions is essential.  I also learned that most of the instructions are written by someone who does not have English as their first language.  The instructions are often just diagrams, with blow-ups of certain details.  I am not certain if my eyes are failing or the Chinese are trying to conserve ink, but I often am puzzled over which hole to use for the bolts and which hole to leave empty. 

The instructions refer to bolts, nuts, and screws that I am to use.  These are labeled, but the print is so small that it requires a magnifying glass to read.  The different types of fasteners can be overwhelming.  When bolt numbers run from 1 to 18, that’s too many different bolts. 

Usually included are a small allen wrench (which I cannot bear to throw away; I have about twenty), a small screwdriver, and sometimes a special wrench with the thickness of a dime.  The wrench and allen wrench are designed to bang your knuckles into sharp metal edges so you will be adequately scratched and bruised.  Fortunately, I have my own tools, including my cordless drill, which will speed the process along.  Unfortunately, cheap Chinese metal often bends when I apply too much torque from the drill.  When that happens, I must apply farmer engineering, which involves WD-40 and duct tape. 

It took two and a half hours to assemble one bookshelf.  Included in that time was disassembling and reassembling the piece I put on backwards.  I am certain it was not my ineptitude; it had to be those dang Chinese instructions. 

My next assembly project was putting together a queen box spring.  Remember the good old days, when you went to a furniture store and bought a box spring made out of wood that had actual springs underneath the fabric?  These days, box springs come in a box and must be put together.  No one has a workbench big enough to hold a box spring, so you must put it together on the floor, bent over.  After two hours of putting bolt 12 through hole C on part H and attaching nut 4 and washer 3, I was walking like the hunchback assistant of some evil scientist, muttering to myself like some demented person.  I had to disassemble part of the mattress, too, when I put a piece in backwards. 

Then I had to tackle putting together a small kitchen table.  How hard could that be?  Five pieces of wood had to lean on each other for support until they could be joined by bolts and nuts.  It was like playing “Jenga;” you never knew when the fall was coming. 

I had time to think while doing all this assembly work.  First, I appreciated even more that God simply spoke and said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.  Imagine if the sun had come with assembly instructions: “Insert quadrillion particles of hydrogen and oxygen.  Initiate combustion.  Insert axis, being careful not to touch the flammable material.  Blow on combustion to begin rotation.  Repeat with billions of stars.”  I admit, I wished to be God so I could speak, and shelves would assemble, box springs would come together, and tables would hold in place while bolts were inserted. 

There was also a second lesson: follow the instructions.  I am thankful God did not give us life instructions in Chinese or in diagrams that are hard to follow.  How did God give us instructions?  By sending his son to earth.  Yes, Jesus taught us the truth of God.  But more than that, he showed us how to live, how to surrender, how to pray, “Not my will, but thine be done.”   

Yes, the Bible records God’s revelation.  It gives us teaching.  But the ultimate instructions are found in the life of Jesus. 

I wonder how many Jesus followers begin their day with “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven.”  When we must have hard conversations, do we think, “What would Jesus say?”  When temptation presents itself, do we say like our Master, “Get away from me, Satan.”  When people hurt us, can we be like Jesus and say, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” 

God’s instructions are really pretty simple to discover: look at Jesus.  Ask God to make your heart like his, so your decisions are like his.  To follow God’s instructions, simply follow Jesus.

The Labor Day the Boat Turned Over...

From the Archives…

We always spent Christmas with Granny in Kissimmee, Florida.  Easter, we always spent with Mamma’s brother and sister in Okeechobee.  And for some reason, we always spent Labor Day at cousin Jack’s place on Lake Lotela in Avon Park.  Everybody would bring some food, and Jack would pull whoever wanted to ski.  He was the only person I knew who had an inboard motor on his boat.  In those days, riding in a boat was a big deal.  It was something that gave you status on the preschool playground.

One year, my cousin Ross brought his boat.  Compared to Jack’s, it was a sorry excuse for a boat.  Nothing more than a souped-up john-boat, it had a tiny Evinrude outboard motor that looked and sounded like an electric mixer.  Still, Ross spent the day riding kids around in his boat.  We didn’t care about the size; we were thrilled.

It got to be late in the day, and Mamma said we’d be leaving soon.  My sister and brother begged Ross to take them for one more ride.  There is nothing like the persistence of children to wear you down.  Mamma said “yes,” and off they went.  I was told to play in the shallow water and not drown.

I couldn’t have been more than four, but I remember looking at the boat as it left the dock, with my brother Steve and sister Clemie Jo sticking their tongues out at me.  Sometimes, it is sheer torture to be the youngest.

Ross knew how to make the ride exciting.  He’d open the throttle on that glorified mixer and jump the wake left by Jack’s ski boat.  The kids would experience a microsecond of no gravity and squeal in delight.  He’d cut the boat sharply and make everyone hold on for dear life.  This is what we called “fun” before people thought you had to go to Disney World and pay hundreds of dollars to laugh and scream. 

The old folks hollered at Ross to head in.  Ross decided to give the kids one more thrill.  He turned the boat sharply left and cut back across his own wake.  The boat dipped toward the water, the kids slid, and then, the unthinkable happened.  Ross mistimed his recovery.  The turn was too sharp, and the boat flipped. 

I still remember it.  A second before, I could see Clemie Jo and Steve’s heads; the next second, all I saw was the upside hull of Ross’s boat.  Then Ross’s head bobbed up.  The old folks on shore were hollering.  What we couldn’t see was that Steve and Clemie Jo had surfaced on the other side of the boat.  Jack saw what happened, carefully maneuvered his boat closer, and pulled everyone on board.

It all happened so fast, Mamma didn’t even have time to cry.  But I did.  I started bawling, with tears the size of thunderstorm raindrops.  Naturally, everyone thought I was upset about my brother and sister.  I remember Aunt Iris saying, “Son, stop crying, it’s all right.  See, everybody is safe.”

I blurted out through my tears, with my lip poked out, “It’s not fair!  I want to be in the boat when it turns over!  Clemie Jo and Steve always get to have fun!”

Too many of us who follow Jesus pout because it looks like everyone else is having fun, even when their lives turn upside down.  We fail to fully embrace the path of Jesus because we’re afraid that the best life is out there, living dangerously, oblivious. 

I think Jesus would say to us, “Stop pouting.  I’ve saved you for a better life.  The greater joy is life with me.”

And if you are in the middle of the lake, and your adventure boat has turned over, I have good news for you.  Jesus has come for you.  His hand is stretched out, ready to pull you to the safety of his grace, to the future he has for you.

Stop pouting.  Start following.  An overturned boat in the middle of the lake is not God’s plan for you.

Questions from the Kids…

From the Archives

They asked me to meet with the kids at church and answer their questions.  No problem.  I figure with a college degree and two graduate degrees, I can handle what the kids throw at me.  Can anyone see the humble train coming down the track for me?

Question:  Why are there bad people?

Answer: “All of you kids are bad people.”  Their little faces were shocked when I said this.  One little boy instantly protested, “I’m not bad, except when I lie.”  And there it is.  I told them all of us are bad, myself included.  Being bad is called “sin,” and it is such a big deal. Christians believe God sent Jesus to die in our place so we could be forgiven.  I am sure I will get some protests from parents about their sweet darlings, but I guarantee by the time their children hit age 12, every Mom and Dad believes in original sin.

Question:  Who is God’s Father?

Answer:  I was so tempted to reply Vito Corleone, but I realized most of them never saw “The Godfather.”  I tried to explain that God does not have a father because God always has been and always will be.  He has no beginning.  If you think about it, it makes sense: it would take an infinite being to create a finite creation.  One little girl held her head and said, “Whoa.”  I know.  Realizing how infinite God is will make your head hurt.  

Question:  How old is God?

Answer:  See above. 

Question:  Why does God make me have nightmares?

Answer:  God does not make you have nightmares.  I told them nightmares happen because we are afraid, and at night, our brains bring up our fears.  “Give your fear to God,” I said.  “Every night when you go to sleep, ask God to hold your fears until you wake up.”  As I heard myself say those words, I thought I should take my own advice.

Question: Is Jesus more powerful than The Avengers?

Answer:  I know you see movies and video games, and they seem real, but they are not.  They are pretend.  Jesus is real.  So yes, Jesus is more powerful than The Avengers.

Question:  Is Jesus an angel?

Answer:  No.  Jesus is the son of God.  A lot of adults misunderstand this, too.  Angels are messengers.  Jesus is Savior, King, Leader, Maker of Heaven and Earth.  Jesus is better than an angel.

Question:  What did you want to be when you were a kid?

Answer:  I wanted to be a pastor.  I know, this makes me strange.  From the time I was a little boy, I wanted to pastor a church.  God put into my soul at a very young age a calling.  I am one of those blessed people doing exactly what I was made to do.

Question:  What happens when you die?

Answer:  You meet God.  If you follow Jesus on earth, you get to be with Jesus after you die.  But God does not make you be with him.  If you want to be away from him, he lets you.  You go to hell (Lots of wide-eyed reactions).  I try another to give a word picture: “If God made you be with him, that would not be fair, would it?  God gives you a choice to be his friend or not.”  Head nods.  I think I get through.

Question:  Why did God make people who do not have arms or legs?

Answer: “Well, I see our time is about up.”  For little people, these are serious questions.  I tell them the world is broken, so it is not the way God wants it to be.  Jesus came to make the world better, but everything is not put right yet.  That is why people are born without arms and legs.  But I go on to tell them that some people do not have arms and legs because of war.  War is bad.  We need to love people, so no one has to lose their arms and legs.  Nods from the crowd.  Funny how kids get this, even when politicians do not.

Question:  Do you have children?  Were they ever little?

Answer:  Yes, I have three children.  They are all now adults, but they all grew up in this church and had classes in this very room.  They learned to love Jesus, and I hope all of you learn to love Jesus, too. 

And the best question of the day:

Question: Why does God make me hurt when I poop?

Answer:  I do not think God makes you hurt when you poop, but you might need to change your diet.  Talk to your Mom.   

Settle Here...

My great-grandfather, William Smith, was twenty years old when he struck a deal with a man named William Hair.  Mr. Hair had bought some property deep in former Seminole territory and was moving there.  He had a herd of cattle he wanted to move from North Florida (almost South Georgia) to his new place, between the Peace River and the Kissimmee River, near a trail from Ft. Meade to Ft. Kissimmee.  If Great-grandpa went with him, he would give him part of the cattle, and Great-grandpa could find his own place to settle.

I can’t imagine what that must have been like: my great-grandfather, great-grandmother, her mother, and two enslaved people, probably with a wagon, horses, maybe a few chickens, setting out south into the wilderness of Florida.  There would have been many rivers to cross, swamps to navigate, piney flatwoods to traverse.  There may have been a few primitive trails, but many times they literally were off the beaten path.

They had to keep the cattle together.  I don’t know how many cows there were, but driving cattle across that terrain had to be tough.  I’m sure they had dogs to help.  There was a good chance they would run into a Seminole or two who had escaped deportation to Oklahoma.  They might steal a few cows or kill some of the little traveling band.

I don’t know how long it took for them to make the two-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip. Considering the wagons, it might have taken them a month.  Camping out is fun for the first two days; imagine it for a month.  Historians talk about the conditions on the Oregon Trail; imagine it with Florida-sized mosquitoes, alligators, rattlesnakes, and panthers.

When they arrived at Mr. Hair’s new place, a whole ridge of land opened up.  Great-grandpa would have looked for a place with good water, good soil, timber to build a log cabin, and some open prairie to run his cows.  About three miles away from Mr. Hair, right as the ridge fell off to flat creek bottom, Great-grandpa found his place.  I’m not sure why he chose that exact spot, but something told him, “This is a good place to settle.”  He staked out his claim, built his log cabin, and made his home.

Some time after that, he rode over to the village of Manatee, sixty miles away, and paid ninety cents an acre for his eighty acres.  The total price came to a whopping $72.  In today’s dollars, that would be about $2,700 total.

I’ll bet Great-grandpa had no idea that his family would still own that original eighty acres 170 years later (plus a lot more).  It turned out to be a good place to settle.

Jesus told his disciples to “Abide in my love.”  The word abide means to settle down, to make a home.  What does it mean to settle in Jesus’ love?

I think it means I am not looking for another home.  I have made my decision: I will live with Jesus.  People may tell me about a better place to live, but I will not trust their words.  I will trust the love I experience doing daily life with Jesus.

It means I will enjoy living in abundance.  Because Jesus draws his love from our Heavenly Father, I know the supply of love available to me is unlimited.  Whatever my struggles, whatever my fears, whatever my anxieties, I know I am deeply loved.  As Paul wrote, “Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I did not have to pay to live in this land of love; Jesus paid the price for me to dwell here. When Jesus died on the cross, my sins were forgiven, and I was enabled to move into the land of his love, to settle down, and to live a life of grace and peace.

Settling into Jesus’ love means I have security.  I will surely still face “many dangers, toils, and snares.”  Living in his love does not mean a non-stressed life.  It means even though the storm rages, the winds howl, and the waves beat against my home, my foundation is Jesus and his love.

Many people come to the edge of the land of love.  Jesus invites them to settle there.  They refuse.  Some start to tell you about their troubles in the last place they lived and never enter.  Some think his offer is too good to be true.   Some believe the lie that there is a better place a little further on.  And tragically, some people believe they are not worthy of living in the land of love; they never pause on their restless journey.

Jesus’ invitation is for everyone: come, settle down in my love.  Living here will fill you up with joy.  You will have a deep, settled feeling that your Heavenly Father is for you, not against you.  And one day, you will wake up, not in this world, but in the ultimate land of love: Heaven.

-August 17, 2025

Hoe to the End of the Row and Then Some…

My stepfather, Lawrence, was not a perfect man by any stretch of the imagination, but he excelled at one key virtue: Endurance.  He simply would not quit.

When Lawrence grew up during the Great Depression, children did not play; they worked.  I heard old-timers tell about the whole Prescott family hoeing strawberries.  In the age before herbicides, a hoe was the primary tool of weed control.  Lawrence, his brothers Barney and Bedford, and his father would each take a row and a hoe and attack the weeds.  When each finished his row, they would turn and start down the next row.

Pat Conroy once said Charleston heat felt like you were trying to dog-paddle across a hot tub.  Pat Conroy never hoed strawberries in Florida.  Legend has it that my Uncle Kelly and Herman Collins were hoeing one day when Herman threw down his hoe and declared, “Kelly, there’s a revival at the Baptist Church tonight.  I believe I’m going to surrender to preach, because preaching has got to be easier than this.”  I don’t know if that story is true, but you get the idea.

The old-timers said they would see Lawrence’s dad at the far end of a row.  Barney, the oldest, would be about halfway down his row.  Bedford, the youngest boy, would be leaning on his hoe, taking a breather.  Lawrence would have already made the turn and started back down the next row.  A boy of no more than ten years old, he could out-hoe all comers.

I experienced Lawrence’s endurance firsthand.  He believed in starting early and working until you couldn’t see anymore.  If we were working cows, he would say, “I believe we can get this last bunch done before dark.”  Many a time, we wound up working in the dark, using flashlights to see what we were doing.  All of us would be dead tired – except Lawrence.

Heaven help you if something gets lost.  Lawrence believed in searching until something was found.  I remember a piece of a tractor fell off in a hundred-acre pasture (Yes, pieces of tractors fall off.  The Buckhorn Ranch tractors shed parts like a duck sheds water).  We rode up and down that hundred acres in the truck, got out and walked, until we found it. 

Lawrence loved Florida Gator football.  We had season tickets, and Lawrence believed in getting his money’s worth.  In the ’70s, Gator football could be right tedious.  No matter how bad we were getting trounced, Lawrence would stay until the bitter end.

I’ll admit his endurance drove me crazy when I was young.  It wasn’t until my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease that I realized how important endurance really is. Alzheimer’s robs a person of life inch by inch.  As my mother began to slip away, Lawrence endured.  “For better or worse, in sickness and in health” were not just words, but rows to hoe.  Lawrence made sure my mother was cared for to the end of his life.

I’m not sure any relationship survives without endurance.  Endurance is not blindly doing a task; it is carrying a load with the sure knowledge that this is a task that must be accomplished.  In our world of instant gratification, endurance is in short supply.  It’s easier to go buy a new part than search for an old one.  It’s easier to quit early and leave work till the next day than to work in the dark.  It’s easier to end a friendship than to work through the tensions.   

In my line of work, I see people quit on God because their relationship with him gets too hard.  They pray and don’t get what they want.  Someone in leadership disappoints them.  Life gets busy.  People stop engaging with God.  The relationship grows stale. What strikes me is that people understand they need to love a spouse for better or worse, but they think their relationship with God should just be for better.

Jesus did not quit on you.  He endured misunderstanding, abuse, exclusion, and death on the cross he didn’t deserve.  He hoed to the end of the row and then some.

Give God the same endurance he gave you.  When your relationship with him isn’t all you want it to be, hoe to the end of the row, make the turn, hoe some more.  You’ll find God waiting for you.

Prayer in Schools…

In 1962, the Supreme Court struck down government-mandated prayer in public schools.  This ruling led many to believe that it was forbidden to pray in school.  Not so.  As one bumper sticker stated, “As long as there are students and tests, there will be prayer in schools.” 

About twenty-four years ago, I read about a church in the Midwest that prayed over every classroom in their neighborhood schools.  I thought, “We could do that!”  Thus, an annual event in our church began to pray over every classroom in our county.

We got permission from the school district to go into the schools.  They notified the principals.  We couldn’t quite pull off praying in every school the first year.  We did cover every school in our city.  The next year, we went to every school in our county.  We invited other churches to join us.  Some years, some churches did.  Some years they didn’t.  It didn’t matter.  We went and we prayed.  When we launched a campus in a neighboring county, we prayed over those schools, too.

I’ve been to rural schools to pray.  One principal thanked me, saying, “No one ever pays attention to us. They say we are too far out!”  I prayed with the office staff, praying they would have patience with parents who were upset.  I prayed with the custodians, who had to clean up everyone else’s messes (I told them they were just like Jesus).  All the teachers were at a district-wide meeting, so I prayed over their classrooms, imagining the challenges each teacher faced in teaching their grade.

One of my most memorable experiences was joining with a friend who was a grandfather and praying over the school that my children and his grandchildren attended.  With great spiritual wisdom, he would stand before a door and pray that the science teacher would open the mysteries of creation to children, that the library might inspire children to read so they read God’s story for themselves, and that the Special Ed classroom might be filled with hope and patience.  I learned about prayer that day.

This year, there were two schools that were not picked up by others going to pray.  These schools were supposedly in the rougher part of town.  I’d been to both schools before, and I wanted to make sure these schools were prayed over.

At the first school, I caught the faculty in a meeting.  The principal paused the meeting and invited me to pray.  He said, “We need all the prayer we can get.”  I prayed for the teachers to have wisdom and patience, for the parents to be involved (lots of “amens” on that part), and for students to be engaged and motivated.  I prayed for protection for the school.  Then I left the meeting and began to pray over every classroom.  I wrote notes on Post-It Notes telling the teachers I prayed for them.  One teacher had left a note on her door from three years earlier.  She said she looked at it every day for encouragement. By then, the faculty meeting had broken up, and I was able to pray with several teachers individually.  When I asked if I could pray with them, no one turned me down.  One teacher said, “Lord yes, pray for me.  I’m teaching a new grade this fall.”

I caught the teachers at the second school getting their picture taken.  The principal graciously invited me to pray with them.  The air conditioning was not working well, so I promised to be brief, telling them I knew how much anti-perspirant they put on, and it had worn off.  Off I went to pray over the rooms.  I prayed with one teacher who was going back into the classroom after spending several years in administration.  I prayed for one group of preschool teachers who had no air conditioning.  I prayed with a group of facilities people.  One man had been lifting and arranging tables.  He “amened” my prayer often. 

As is so often true when we go to serve others, I was the one who was most blessed.  It was a great privilege to pray with these educators.  Many of them had taught for years.  I told them they were God’s servants, doing his work.  If you want to see true dedication, go to an under-resourced school and find teachers who sign up every year to change the world one day at a time.

I could not help but think that before anyone is allowed to make a law about public education, they should spend an hour walking the halls of a school, meet real teachers, and see dedication. 

I wondered why every church hasn’t embraced this simple way to serve.  We followers of Jesus believe prayer moves mountains.  We know Jesus to embrace and serve the least of these.  We can make a difference with our prayers.  Instead of arguing about prayer in schools, let us go and pray.

As I left the last school (having sweated through my shirt.  Can’t the district find the money to turn on the air conditioning for teachers?), one of the teachers caught up with me and said, “Now you need to come back every Monday and pray.  Especially when the kids get here. After about two weeks, some of them will need the demons cast out of them!”  We laughed together, but I think I understood what she was saying.  Prayer brings hope.  What better place than a school to pray for hope?

Press On…

Thomas Edison made some 2,774 attempts to find the right filament for a light bulb before he finally discovered a carbon filament that would both work and last.  Charles Goodyear began working in the 1830’s on a process to harden rubber.  In 1839, he accidentally dropped some rubber and sulfur into a hot frying pan, and to his amazement, it hardened.  However, it wasn’t until 1844 that he was able to develop a consistent process and patent it.

Alexander Graham Bell began work on existing technology to transmit speech over telegraph wires.  After two years of labor, he was finally about to transmit voice over a wire, resulting in the telephone.  An engineer named Charles Babbage proposed an analytical engine in 1833, but not until 1943 was “Colossus” built, a British device used in code breaking. It is generally considered the first true computer.  It took another thirty years for technology to shrink to a personal computer.  Hundreds of people, working for over a century, finally succeeded in making computing power accessible to us all.

There is no way to get an accurate account of the total number of rockets that failed before Apollo 11 finally landed on the moon.  Every time a multi-million-dollar rocket exploded, NASA engineers would ask, “What did we learn from this failure?”

During the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, Australian Patrick Tiernan was keeping pace with the leaders in the men’s 10,000-meter run.  About 200 meters from the finish line, he hit the wall (in case you are not familiar with the term, it means your body gives out and shuts down.  This happens to me in a 10-meter race).  The leaders surged ahead.  Patrick stumbled.  He got up, his legs swaying, and fell to the ground a second time, 180 meters from the finish line.  Patrick’s body was saying, “We will not go further.”  But Patrick got up a second time and stumbled his way to the finish line, coming in 19th place.  “It’s the Olympics and I’ve been waiting for five years for it,” he said afterwards, “It was about 180 to go that I collapsed the first time. You don’t stop when you’ve got 180 meters to go.”

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” was rejected by twelve publishers before finally being accepted for a publishing run of 500 books.  John Grisham’s first book, “A Time to Kill,” was rejected by twenty-eight publishers.  Theodore Giesel, better known as Dr. Seuss, had his first book, “To Think I Saw it on Mulberry Street,” rejected twenty-seven times.

In the Bible, there are people who had to keep trying.  Noah spent a hundred years building the ark.  Abraham and Sarah tried to have a baby for twenty-four years.  Joseph was sold into slavery, got promoted, was falsely accused, put in prison, rose to be the head trustee, had the chance to interpret a dream for Pharaoh, and was finally made second in command of Egypt.  Every time he was knocked down, he got up and started over.

Moses kept the people of Israel on the move for an extra forty years before they could enter the Promised Land.  David was anointed King, but waited fifteen years before he actually became King.  Jeremiah preached for forty years, warning people to turn to God.  They never did.  Paul was converted between 33 and 36 AD.  He waited ten years before his first missionary journey. 

What do all these stories have in common?  These people did not give up.  They pressed on.  Failure was a teacher, not a dead end. 

In the last years of his life, Paul wrote, “I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”  What was the goal Paul pressed towards?  It was not, as many think, his reward in heaven.  Paul explained, “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.”  Do you hear what Paul is saying?  His goal was to know, to experience Jesus, and to become like him.  He would not quit on that goal.

I wonder how many followers of Jesus have this as their goal.  Not many, I’d wager.  Somehow, we lost sight of the goal: to know Jesus and to be like Jesus.  Being a Christian is not just about going to heaven; it is about living your life as Jesus would live it. 

I’ve seen people who called themselves Christians quit on God.  When faith was hard, when prayers were not answered, when other people who called themselves Christians acted up, they bailed out.  They did not press on.

Followers of Jesus, hear this simple call: Press on.  Become more and more like Jesus.  When you fail, learn.  When you fall, get back up.  When you are rejected, try again.  When you have to wait a long time, keep trying, keep believing.  Press on.

No Endorsements Here…

Recently, the IRS announced that it would no longer endorse the Johnson Amendment.  The Johnson Amendment was passed in 1954 and was named after then Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson.  The Johnson Amendment prohibited churches and religious organizations from participating in electoral politics, specifically, from endorsing a candidate for office.  If a church or religious organization did endorse a specific candidate, it would lose its tax-exempt status.  It has been suggested that this was an act of political revenge on Johnson’s part because two non-profit organizations with religious orientations had opposed him politically.  He was known to hold a grudge.

The IRS has applied this regulation unevenly through the years.  Candidates from both parties attended and spoke in churches.  I heard preachers tiptoe around the Johnson Amendment by saying, “Now the government won’t let me say who I will vote for.  But it says nothing about me telling you who I won’t vote for.  So, I am not going to vote for Senator So and So, because God has told me he is a bad man.  You draw your own conclusions.”  That may be following the letter of the law, but it stomps on the spirit of the law.

Pastors and Religious Leaders on the left and on the right hailed this decision of the IRS.  Many have long seen the Johnson Amendment as a limitation on free speech.  I expect that in the next election cycle, we will hear of many preachers and pastors endorsing all kinds of candidates.

I will not be one of them.  The most obvious reason is that by the next election cycle, I’ll be retired.

Even if I was not retired, as a pastor, I would not endorse any candidate for any office.  Here’s why.  First, history teaches us that whenever the church seeks political power, there is a diminishment of spiritual power.  Jesus never told his followers to seek political power; he never sought it himself, and he warned his disciples that rulers more often than not would want to arrest his followers instead of accommodating them.

Second, Jesus gave his church a mission: “Go, make disciples, teaching them everything I have commanded you, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  Nothing in that mission is about politics that I can see.  A disciple is someone who is like his master.  The church’s mission is to teach people to be like Jesus.  Evidence suggests we are not doing this very well.  If we are not doing our primary mission well, why take on another mission?

Third, Jesus never asked his church to make Republicans or Democrats, or for that matter, Conservatives or Liberals.  If his church is to make disciples, we must strive to be open to all people, no matter what their political affiliation.  The county where I serve is a swing county, one of the few in the United States.  If I endorse a candidate from a certain party, I will send a message to people in the other party that they are not welcome in our church.  That is so contrary to Jesus!  Shouldn’t church be the one place that transcends politics, where we place our Lord above our politics?

Fourth, as an observer of culture, a student of history, and a reader of scripture, I have noticed that every candidate is a sinner.  The sins of some candidates are obvious.  Other candidates have more hidden sins.  There is no candidate that completely reflects the will of God, because every candidate is flawed.  When I have made this point through the years, people come to me after I have spoken and argued with me.  Their argument usually goes something like this: “Yes, he (or she) is flawed, but he (or she) is not as flawed as the other guy.”  The problem with this argument is that we are arguing over levels of toxicity.  Whether you mix in a little poison or a lot of poison into chocolate chip cookies, the poison makes them all dangerous.  I do not want to lead the congregation under my care to put their trust in a flawed person, not a politician or a preacher.

Fifth, preachers need to preserve their prophetic callings.  I’m not speaking about their chart about the end times; rather, the calling to speak truth to power.  I’m not advocating that preachers make every sermon about the hot issues of the day.  Too much of that kind of preaching isn’t good for the preacher or the congregation.  But a pastor needs to be able to say about the actions of any politician, “This does not conform to the teachings of scripture.” 

Finally, Psalm 146:3 says, “Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save.”  If you take the Bible seriously (which I do), this verse tells me not to trust a human being who cannot save me.  Jesus is the only one who can, so I will put my trust in him.  Like the old hymn says, “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”

Florida Keys Sunset…

My cousin invited us to spend the 4th of July at his place in the Florida Keys. Free lodging, good food, good friends, and the beauty of the Keys was an offer we could not turn down.

My cousin has a boat, and we went out to the reef to snorkel. I learned two things. First, without my glasses, I really could not see the fish clearly. I could make out a fish with yellow and black stripes, and a purple fish. I asked my cousin the names of those fish, and he replied, “The yellow and black striped fish is a yellow and black stripe fish, and the purple one is a purple fish.”  I worry about him.

It was the next evening that my cousin suggested we go out on the water to see the sunset. I heard the sunset on the water in the Keys was like nowhere else. We took off about forty-five minutes before sunset and got in just the right spot. There was a line of storms about fifty miles off that provided the perfect frame.

The sunset was like nothing I had ever seen. The sun had a soft yellow glow, and as it sank, the sky was painted in shades of purple and pink. Sun rays shot out between the blue clouds (yes, clouds can be blue), as the purple and pink shades deepened.

My cousin had Spotify playing, and as a thousand sparkles of light played across the waves, Louie Armstrong came on, singing, “What a Wonderful World.”  In case you have forgotten, the second verse is: “I see skies of blue and clouds of white; The bright blessed days, the dark sacred nights; And I think to myself, What a wonderful world.”  The moment was as sacred as someone singing a hymn.

I had always heard that when the sun hits the horizon, it takes one minute for it to disappear. Not this time. The sun kissed the water and slowly began to sink into the horizon. The soft yellow glow turned into a warm orange that made you feel good to be alive. It seemed like it took the sun five minutes to be enveloped by the sea. Finally, the last silver disappeared, and the pinks and blues became a rich blanket covering the sky.

My cousin turned to me and said, “And people say there is no God.”

Human beings are the only creatures made in the image of God. This means we are the only beings who can appreciate the beauty of the world God has made. Think about it; when you walk your dog at sunset, has your dog ever stopped to admire the beauty of the colors? No. Your dog is only interested in smelling the smells left behind by other animals and reading the mail from other dogs. I have never seen a cow admire the beauty of a majestic live oak or a horse appreciate the flowing waters of a creek.

I have been blessed to see some beautiful places in my life. I’ve seen the coast of Maine from the water, stood on the rim of the Grand Canyon, canoed through Sparkleberry Swamp, snaked through Mammoth Cave, bathed in the mountain streams of the Mexican desert, walked around Cades Cove in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, been on a safari in South Africa, driven through the mountains with the leaves providing a golden carpet across the road.   I have looked up and marveled at the stars on cloudless nights, stood on the concrete steps of the Old House, and watched lightning arc across the Florida night, seen the surface of the moon through my childhood telescope. One of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen is the sunrise through the fog across the green grass of the Buckhorn Ranch. Just tonight, on my way to feed cows, I saw a doe with twin speckled fawns. And now, I have seen an amazing sunset in the Keys. In each of these places, each of those times. I felt the presence of God, the grandeur of God.

Because I am made in the image of God (as are you), I can see the beauty God has made. When I consider this, I am amazed that God created a beautiful world just for us to enjoy. Elton Trueblood once prayed in the chapel of Southern Seminary, “Thank God, for all the unnecessary colors.”

My friend John Ortberg points out that technology is making us prisoners. We stay inside too much. We need to get out more, see the world God has made, the world he declared to be good. We need to marvel at his grace in creating this sparkling world.

Psalm 19:1 says, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” 

Listen to the sky. The colors are telling you God is alive.

Why is God Picking on Me?

Last week, a young mom unburdened herself to me.  Her baby was cutting new teeth and was not sleeping or eating.  Her house needed unexpected repairs, requiring her and her baby to temporarily move out.  Her husband was called in to see his boss.  The boss wanted to know if he was really committed to the company.  She finished her recital of troubles by asking, “Why does it feel like God is picking on me?”

I’ve learned that when people are in pain, it is hard for them to hear theological viewpoints (see the Book of Job).  The best thing to do is listen, comfort, and assure people that God is at work and he wants good for them.

I felt pretty good about my response… until Friday came.

I had to pick up my boat from a shop in Columbia.  On the way back to Sumter, I hit something on the Interstate, which bent the fender up on the boat trailer and peeled the tire back.  The tire came apart, and I had to pull over to the emergency lane.

I don’t believe in karma, but if I did, I would have noted the irony that two weeks ago, I wrote about my cousin Ned having a flat tire, but someone had stolen his block of wood that lifts up his jack.  Guess what was missing from the back of my truck?  You got it – my big block of wood.  I crossed my fingers and started to jack up the trailer.  I could get the old tire off, but I couldn’t get the new tire on.  I let the jack down, but now it was stuck under the trailer.  Not a problem.  I got out my scissor jack from the truck and started jacking up the trailer again.

Keep in mind that all this labor was happening about four feet from the interstate, with semi-trucks going by at 70 mph.  I began to hum, “Nearer My God to Thee.”  I kept turning the handle on the scissor jack, but the trailer was not going up.  Instead, I was bending the aluminum cross-piece up at a 30-degree angle.  I cranked the handle backwards and bent it.  I took a hammer and beat the scissor jack out.  Now my trailer was sitting on the axle.

All this took about an hour.  At the end of the hour, my shirt soaked through with sweat, I thought, “I have money.  I have a credit card.  I can call someone to do this for me.”  I made a couple of calls, and about thirty minutes later, a nice young man showed up to change the tire.  He had an air compressor, an airbag lift, and he had the trailer up in no time.  Then he came to the window of the truck, where I was inhaling the air conditioning, and told me that to change the tire, he would have to remove the bent fender, and it would cost $75 more.  At this point, I didn’t care.  He took off the fender, got the new tire on, and I was on my way, driving slower to Sumter than I ever drove.

I drove straight to the tire store and bought two new heavy-duty tires.  Then I had to run some legal documents to the notary so I could fax them to Florida.  After I faxed them, the attorney’s office in Florida called and told me the notary forgot to stamp a page.  Then the tire store called and said the boat was ready.  I picked up the boat, went back to the notary, dropped the boat off at another place to get new fenders, then went back to the house to scan and fax the documents again. 

From there, I went out to the pasture to feed the cows.  The bull had pushed down the gate, and they were all mixed up.  I started to fix the gate, and the rusted bolt snapped in half.  I went to the hardware store, but by then it started to rain, so I couldn’t get back to fix the gate.

It was about this time that the thought formed in my head, “Why is God picking on me?”  But I already knew the answer.  God was not picking on me.  Was he using circumstances to teach me patience?  Definitely.  Was he teaching me my limitations?  Probably.  Did he remind me of what I had written two weeks before about finding joy in changing flat tires?  Yes.

God does not cause everything that happens to you, but he can teach you through everything that happens to you.  It was a day to learn patience, to remember I am not in control, and that whatever happened to me on any day, God was with me.

One of the most important spiritual habits to cultivate is to review your day with God and ask, “What do I need to learn?  What did I do that requires forgiveness?  When did God protect me, encourage me, and show me his presence?”

God does not pick on people, but God wants you to learn some things from your day.  Even from flat tires, broken bolts, and papers that have to be sent twice.

PS: I told my cousin Ned about the flat tire, and he said it was a sign from God that I needed to buy a new boat.

A Kingdom Greater Than Our Country…

George Schultz was Secretary of State during the Reagan administration. He kept a large globe in his office. When newly appointed ambassadors had an interview with him, and when ambassadors returning from their posts for their first visit with him were leaving his office, Shultz would test them. He would say, "You have to go over to the globe and prove to me that you can identify your country." They would go over, spin the globe, and put their finger on the country to which they were sent--unerringly.

When Shultz's old friend and former Senate majority leader Mike Mansfield was appointed ambassador to Japan, even he was put to the test. This time, however, Ambassador Mansfield spun the globe and put his hand on the United States. He said, "That's my country."

On June 27, 1993, Shultz related this to Brian Lamb on C-Span's "Booknotes." Said the secretary: "I've told that story, subsequently, to all the ambassadors going out. 'Never forget you're over there in that country, but your country is the United States. You're there to represent us. Take care of our interests and never forget it, and you're representing the best country in the world.' "

I can imagine Jesus saying to all believers, “Never forget you are in this world, but your true home is in my Kingdom.  You are in this world to represent me.  Take care of my interests and never forget you are representing my Kingdom, that is the best way for people to live.”

Those of us who follow Jesus are citizens of a Kingdom that never ends.  We have been made into ambassadors for our King, to tell people that a different way of living exists. A verse I learned as a child was written by Paul: “Now we are ambassadors for Christ.” 

Here’s the funny thing: we’ve never been to our Kingdom, to our true home.  That’s where faith comes in.  Blind faith is not required, for there are signs of the Kingdom all around us.  What are the signs of the Kingdom?  Changed lives.  A deep joy that comes from being forgiven.  A profound peace of knowing God is at work in your life.  All our fears and all that would destroy us have been destroyed by our King. 

Jesus told us that in his Father’s house there would be many rooms, and he was going to prepare a place for us.  Based on all I know about heaven, it is the space where God’s rule is recognized by all, and everyone lives by the values taught by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount.  We often think of heaven in individualist terms.  We claim that we will not feel pain, we will not cry, we will not mourn.  But heaven is also the place of perfect community. Imagine living where there is no hate, no deceit, no lust, or adultery.  Imagine living where people love each other, where everyone gets along. In heaven, you are not the star; we will worship our Heavenly Father with great joy.  This is why Dallas Willard says, “Heaven is for those who can stand it.”  He means if you are not very interested in the way of Jesus on this earth, you will be very uncomfortable in heaven.

Obviously, I have not been to heaven.  But my time on earth is to prepare me for my eternal existence.  This is my time to learn the ways of Jesus.  On earth, I will face many temptations to follow a different way.  It seems easier, more comfortable.  But Jesus told me (and you), “Broad is the way that leads to destruction, but narrow is the way that leads to eternal life.” 

As the Fourth of July approaches, for Jesus followers, it is a time to remember we do not point to a map of the United States and say, “This is my home.”  The United States is my country, but my home is in heaven.  While I am here, my job is to represent my Lord, my Leader, to learn to be like him in every way, to get ready for that day when I shall see him face to face.  As the old hymn says, “What a day of rejoicing that will be; when we all see Jesus, we’ll sing and shout the victory.”

Joy in Changing a Flat Tire…

My cousin Ned, who is also one of my best friends, called me the other day.  He’s been listening to my sermons on Steps of Joy.  In the series, I’m explaining how to build a life of joy, not just experience haphazard moments of joy.  He started the conversation by asking, “Next Sunday, are you going to explain how to have joy when you have a flat tire?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  I am no stranger to the flat tire club.  As a four-year-old, I let the air out of a tire.  I thought the sound of the hissing air was cool.  The whipping I got afterwards was not cool.

If there were a stray nail in a hundred-acre pasture, I would find it with the tractor.  Tractor tires are not easy to change.  I was riding my bike one day and found a sharp piece of glass that left me with two flat tires. 

My record was hauling my boat up to Lake Keowee for a family vacation.  I had a flat tire on the right side of the boat trailer ten miles from my house.  An hour later (after I bought a new spare tire), I had a blowout on the left side of the trailer.  I called and paid a man to come out and bring me another new tire. 

It is hard to find joy in changing flat tires.  In my experience, the jack never quite fits.  I carry a four-ton jack in my toolbox.  Once I had a flat tire out in my pasture.  I hauled out my jack, set it up, and started pumping it up.  The truck did not go up, but I managed to push the earth down a good ten inches.  Since then, I carry a six-by-six block of wood in the bed of my truck.  Putting the jack on a block of wood makes everything work better.

Ned told me his flat happened in a sandy orange grove middle.  Florida sand is not like beach sand.  It’s porous.  You can lose small children who get sucked into the sand.  Ned said he normally carries around a block of wood, but for some reason, it had gone missing from the back of his truck.  I get that.  There is a steady stream of garbage in and useful items out of the back of my truck.

Ned got his tire changed, but it was hot, and he got sweaty, and it was about five times harder than it needed to be.

So where was the joy?

Have you noticed we focus on the things that frustrate us?  When life does not go according to plan, we get mad, or we get anxious because we have lost control.  Frustration and anxiety are joy-killers.

So, how do you find joy when changing a flat tire?  I thought about my grandfather, Ned’s great-grandfather.  For the first two-thirds of his life, he did not have a truck.  To check his groves, he walked or rode his horse.  Grandpa Smith never had an air-conditioned truck or house.  I’m pretty sure he never sat in an air-conditioned room in his life.  I’m not sure they owned a tractor before he died.  They plowed with a team of oxen and hand-hoed every orange tree.  I wonder if he would tell us to be grateful that we have trucks with air conditioning.

My parents were married in September 1945.  During World War II, food, gas, and tires were rationed.  My daddy had to borrow his mother’s car, but it had four bald tires.  His brother-in-law, Uncle J.N., had a service station, and he had a car in for repairs that wouldn’t be fixed over the weekend.  It had four good tires.  They took off the four bald tires of Granny Smith’s car and put on the four good tires.  Daddy drove it to Kissimmee, got married, then he and Mama drove to Tampa for their honeymoon.  Mama told me they both prayed the whole way not to have a flat.  They had no spare.  They made it to Tampa and back to Wauchula, exchanged the tires, and no one was the wiser.  I think Daddy might tell us to be grateful that we have spare tires.

When those frustrating times come (and they will), before you get on board the frustration train, pause, get perspective, and be grateful for what you have.  Paul gives three commands in 1 Thessalonians 5: “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”  Paul connects joy with prayer and gratitude.   He is telling us to choose our reactions instead of letting our reactions choose us. 

This is not to say that we fake joy.  If our child dies of cancer, or our spouse leaves us, or we lose our job, we may feel the loss and the sadness.  But the Psalmist reminds us that joy comes in the morning.  If I understand this correctly, it means with time, we can see God’s hand at work guiding us, comforting us, loving us, and forgiving us, no matter what tragedy comes.

How do you find joy in changing a flat tire?  You pause.  You remind yourself of your blessings.  You remember God is at work for you.  Then you get out, change the tire, and know Jesus is right there with you.

Our Father…

Jesus said when we pray, we are to begin with “Our Father…”  This got me thinking, “What if my Heavenly Father lived in my house?”

Would he sit down on the edge of my bed in the morning and say, “Time to get up!  I have made an amazing day for you.”  Would we talk over breakfast about the day ahead?  Would he remind me that I would face temptations, but that he would always make a way out for me?  As I walked out the door, would he say, “Remember, I will never leave you or forsake you?”

Would he call me mid-morning to check in?  Would he encourage me about an upcoming meeting that might go badly?  Would he give me an idea for a project I was working on?  Would he tell me that I would run into a colleague, and she would be crying, and that I should not rush past her, but encourage her?

Would he come by and pick me up for lunch?  Would he ask how my morning went?  When I tell him about my “little white lie,” would his eyebrows arch in a questioning look?  Would he gently remind me I need to acknowledge that “little white lie” as a sin, ask forgiveness, and go back and apologize to the person I lied to?  Would he send me off with a warm embrace?

When I get stuck with a problem I can’t figure out, I’d call him.  Would he tell with a chuckle that he faced that problem before and give me an idea how to solve it?  Would he remind me to call someone I promised to keep up with? 

When I was tempted to leave work early, would I remember his teaching, to put in a full day’s work to get a full day’s pay?  He taught me so much: would I remember not to stare at the attractive woman walking down the street?  Would I remember not to be angry with the driver who cut me off?  Instead of judging the guy with the loudspeakers that rattle my car and teeth, would I remember not to judge him, but try to understand him?

When I got home, would he be waiting to hear about my day?  Would I feel the urge to tell him about the times I didn’t live by his teaching, or the five occasions I violated his rules?  If I confess, would I again feel his warm hug, telling me he forgives me and loves me?

Would we cook supper together, maybe sing some songs together?  Maybe we would sing an old hymn or a new contemporary song.  Or maybe we would sing “Always stay humble and kind,” by Tim McGraw.  One thing I know: My Heavenly Father has perfect pitch.

What would we talk about at supper?  Would we talk about his heartbreaks, how wars trouble him deeply?  Would we talk about the homeless man I gave five dollars to, but never asked his name?  When I ask him if it will rain tomorrow, he smiles and says, “We’ll see.”

I doubt we would watch TV.  Honestly, it’s no fun watching “Jeopardy” with him; he knows all the answers.  Instead, he might tell me stories that date back thousands of years, stories of how David killed Goliath, or how Solomon fell deeply in love with a girl and wrote her a love poem, or how he told the prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute.  I might ask, “Why in your name did you ask him to do that?”  Would he smile and say, “It was the best way for him to learn about grace.”

He might even tell me some funny stories, like how his other son, Jesus, once walked three miles with some men who thought he was dead, and they never recognized him.  Or he might tell me about the time he told Abraham and Sarah they were going to have a baby in their nineties, and they both laughed so hard, they snorted. 

When it was time to go to bed, I would thank him for being such a great Dad.  I would thank him for forgiving me for the dumb things I did that day.  I would ask him to give me good advice on how to live the next day.  I would ask if there was anything else I needed to cover.  And I would go to bed, knowing that he would be up all night (he never seemed to need sleep), watching over me.

When Jesus taught us to pray “Our Father,” I think this is what he had in mind.  We would learn to do life with our Heavenly Father.  His son would teach us.  His Spirit would guide us.  We would be encouraged.  We would never be alone.  A life of joy could be ours.

So, what’s stopping you from doing life with your Heavenly Father?

Imagine Your Life as a Movie…

Imagine your life as a movie.  I once heard a motivational speaker issue this challenge.  Your life, he said, is a movie, and the script isn’t finished.  It’s up to you to decide if your life finishes as a tragedy or a comedy. 

I’m not sure I agree with that last statement. 

I can imagine my life as a movie.  The opening scene is a year-old baby, sitting on a horse in front of his Dad.  The scene shifts to a confusing night an eighteen-month-old cannot understand; why is Mama crying and why is Daddy not there, and why will Daddy never come home again.

There are scenes from childhood, of exploring orange groves, pastures, and woods with my dog Mo, going to school with my lifelong friends.  Then my mother marries my stepfather, and I step into the strange world of Florida suburbia.  High School is music, band, and championships.

The thread throughout the movie is this early, strange call to be a pastor.  I am a leader in church.  I preach my first sermon at sixteen.  I go to college to learn the Bible, how to think theologically.  I have my first serious romance.  I have my second serious romance.

There are mistakes and sins.  Just because you are called into ministry doesn’t mean you are immune from saying “Yes” to bad choices.  I go to seminary.  I stay out a year to pastor my first church.  I go back to school, met a girl and fall deeply in love.  I decide to stay and get my Ph.D. I am called to my second church.  There, I discover not everyone likes me.  I propose.  She says yes.  I struggle with my coursework and working full-time.  We marry.  I’m called to a new church.  God delivered us.

Our son is born.  I write my dissertation, an unreadable analysis of three chapters in Job.  I pass oral exams. Our daughter is born.  I graduate – Jimmy Carter is the speaker.

I’m ready to move.  Nothing works out for two years.  I get depressed.  Finally, a church in a place I’ve never heard of, Sumter, SC, calls me to serve. 

We move.  God shows up.  The church grows.  It’s exciting.  Our last daughter is born.  The church votes to relocate.  People in town think we are crazy.  I need to make more money.  I teach classes at local colleges. 

We move into the new building.  The church keeps growing.  The Great Recession hits.  The church struggles through tough times.  We emerge.  God keeps working. 

The kids graduate.  They go to college.  Smart kids equal expensive colleges.  God provides.  The church is doing well.  We launch a new campus. 

My oldest daughter gets married.  Son gets married.  Covid.  Controversy over a column I write.  Raise money and build building for campus.  Sister dies from cancer.  First grandson is born.  Brother/best friend dies from cancer.  Now I run the family ranch and pastor a church.  Launch second campus.  Knee replacement.

Start to think about retirement.  Start process.  Second grandson is born. 

Which brings us to today.  As I look back, I realize I wasn’t the only one writing the script.  Satan and the forces of evil were trying to wrestle the pen away from me, encouraging me to make wrong choices and decisions.  They were often successful.  The lie they told me was that they could write a better script than I could.  The tragedy is how often I believed their lies. 

God also offered to take the pen and write.  Funny how it seems like letting God write my story feels like losing control, when letting Satan write the script is also losing control, but doesn’t feel like it.

I look back and I see God leading me down the right paths, guiding choices, granting me blessings beyond measure. 

My movie isn’t over.  I don’t know how long this life/movie will last.  I hope it lasts a long time with good health.  Don’t we all?  I do know this: when God is writing the script, my life, my story, my movie is better.

I don’t agree with the motivational speaker who said I get to write the ending to my story, to decide if my life is a tragedy or a comedy.  I remember from English class that tragedy leaves you sad at the ending; comedy leaves you smiling.   I’m not sure life is that simple.  I’ve known many believers who lived tragic lives.  But I also know the great promise of Jesus: there is a life beyond death, and in that life, if we are his children, his followers, there is great joy, great feasting, and great music.  There is a triumphal sound in heaven, a melody of joy that reverberates throughout the city of God. 

When God is writing your script, your life is a joyous comedy, because you know, no matter what tragedy falls on you, God will work out all things for good.

Just be sure to keep the pen in His hand.  Let him write the script.

A Long Way Down…

Maybe it is because I grew up in the Florida flatlands.  Maybe it is because I was pushed off a dock when I was little.  Maybe it is because I jumped off a sandhill when I was six and sprained my ankle. I really don’t know why, but I am afraid of heights. 

It is embarrassing at times.  I was with a group of friends in Chicago, and they convinced me to go to the observation deck of the Willis Tower, once the tallest building in the world.  Not wanting to admit my fears, I went up and spent the next thirty minutes clinging to the walls, away from the glass.  I felt this panicky feeling that unless I held onto the wall, the whole building was going to come down.  There were parents who foolishly let their children lean on the glass.  I still feel a knot in my stomach when I think about it.

We celebrated one of my birthdays by going to Chimney Rock in North Carolina.  There were beautiful views, but also steep drop-offs.  My courageous wife would go out ten feet from the edge and look down.  I got down on all fours and crawled away from the ledge.  Not my most manly moment.

I went to a USC-Florida game and had to sit in the upper deck.  A Clemson engineer must have designed it because when “Sandstorm” played, that deck started to bounce.  I was already struggling not to freak out, but the bounce nearly did me in.

Recently, we went to an Atlanta Braves game at Truist Park.  My son-in-law made the arrangements.  I know he thought he was doing us proud by getting us good seats in the upper deck, first-base side, second row.  Going up to our seats didn’t bother me.  But we had to walk down to the seats.  The closer we got to our seats, the more my old fear of heights kicked in.  I knew if I tripped, there was only a pane of glass to stop my fall to the deck below. 

We were in the middle of the second row and had to squeeze past folks.  Sitting next to me was a man not as tall as I, but rather large.  Now I felt my fear of heights full on, plus a bit of claustrophobia. 

I was calming down when the batter hit a foul ball.  As it rose to eye level, panic took over.  The fear triggers in my brain said, “That ball is going to hit you!  Run!” while simultaneously saying, “Freeze, you fool!”  Every foul ball was like that.  My wife knew I was moving towards a panic attack.  She kept saying, “Deep breaths, deep breaths.”

I began to adjust by the fourth inning.  But I would see a child in the first row pull up on the glass barrier and look down.  In reality, they were in no danger, but just seeing them caused the bottom of my stomach to fall out.

By the sixth inning, I was thirsty.  I turned to my wife and asked her to get me a drink.  She understood I could not move and kindly got my drink and some popcorn.  Having sat for two hours, under normal circumstances I would need to avail myself to the “facilities,” but every part of my body was in a nervous clench.

The Braves won the game, and we made our departure.  I looked away from the field and up to the concourse where I knew relief awaited.  Funny, once I was back up on the concourse, the panicky feeling went away. 

There is a verse in the Psalms: “I look to the hills.  Where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.” I admit I prayed my entire time in my seat.  I did not pray for the Braves to win (added bonus), but I prayed for God to bring me peace, to trust him even with my irrational fears.

Sometimes people have a good reason to be afraid.  Sometimes fears make no sense at all.  Either way, the Good News is that God is there, walking with us, gently reminding us that he is greater than our greatest fear.   Whatever your fear, bring it to God.  Pray.  Listen to his response.  Ask to sense his presence.  Remember David’s words: “…I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

I imagined God keeping his staff between me and that thin piece of glass.  It helped. 

But next time, I will remind my son-in-law that the scripture says, “Lo, I am with you always.”  Not high.  Lo(w).  No use making God work overtime on my fears.

Never Trust a Man with a Clean Pickup…

I remember when my stepfather, Lawrence, bought a new truck.  He took me and my brother Steve aside and sternly warned us: “Now, this truck has to last a long time.  All three of us are going to be driving this truck.  I want you boys to be careful when you drive it and keep it clean.”

Thankfully, Steve put the first dent in the truck when he backed into a tree and bent the bumper.  Lawrence never yelled at us, but he had a way of reprimanding you that made you feel about five years old.  Usually, it was because we acted like five-year-olds. 

Because Steve put the first dent in the truck, I didn’t get in as much trouble as when I got it stuck in a pond.  It would take me years before I learned four-wheel drive was not the same as amphibious.  

Lawrence himself was not immune to tearing up the truck.  I was with him when he tried to chase a bull out of a pasture in the truck.  He hit a bull hole at thirty miles an hour and tore the front suspension out. 

The truck lasted two years.  Though it only had 40,000 miles on it when Lawrence traded it for a new model, the salesman said it looked like it had been ridden hard and put up wet.

He bought another truck, and again, Steve and I were told the truck had to last a long time, we had to keep it clean, etc.  It wasn’t long before a tree ran out in front of me, and I put a big dent in the side.  The bed quickly filled up with assorted tools, cans of WD-40, hoes, shovels, and axes.  The dirt in the orange groves migrated to film inside the truck.  In two years, this truck was passed down to Richard, the man who worked for us. 

We received the same speech when he bought the next new truck.  Thankfully, Lawrence was the first one to damage this truck.  He was loading his bass boat at a landing, hit the trailer hard, and accidentally knocked the truck into neutral.  The truck gracefully rolled backwards while Lawrence watched helplessly from the boat.  With a few bubbles, it was gone.  Thankfully, I was out of state when this happened, or I’m sure I would have been blamed.

It was about this time that a man came by the barn one day.  He was driving a shiny new truck that seemed to repel dirt and mud.  When he got out, his shirt and jeans were pressed.  I caught a glimpse of the inside of his truck.  It was spotless.  Richard leaned over to me and said, “Never trust a man with a clean truck.  He’s always trying to sell you something.”  Sure enough, the man tried to sell Lawrence an insurance policy.

Every truck I’ve owned got dirty.  The convenience of throwing something in the bed so it will be there when you need it is too tempting.  When my children were small, they did not help keep it clean.  I would find mummified gummy worms covered in dirt, lint, and hair.  However, the dogs still ate them.

I bought my current truck seven years ago.  It was immaculate; it had been owned by a salesman.  I told my wife, “I’ve got to keep this truck clean.”  That lasted about two weeks.

The dent on the right side happened when I tried to make a turn through a gate that was too narrow.  I busted out the cover on the right rear taillight twice (but it still works).  The driver’s seat has a big hole in it, but it doesn’t bother me.  My toolbox has a layer of grease from a grease tube that busted.  I keep a shovel, a hoe, and a pickaxe in the bed of the truck.  Right now, I have a sprayer filled with fly spray for the cows, an empty container of herbicide, a gallon of diesel fuel, and about an inch of hay and dirt up under the toolbox.  There is mud behind every tire well and some on the hood from where I got bogged down in the pasture last week.  I need to run the truck through the wash pretty soon.

Jesus once told the Pharisees they were like whitewashed tombs.  Attractive on the outside, full of rotten stuff on the inside.  He warned them and us not to pretend like we are perfect, like we have it all together.  The scripture says, “No one is righteous, no not one.”   Another way to say this is, “No one has it all together, no not one.”

My friend John Ortberg says he wishes we could start worship like they start 12-step group meetings: “Hi, I’m Clay, and I’m a sinner.”  Isn’t it strange that to begin our walk with Jesus, we must confess this reality, and then many of us spend energy to create the illusion that we no longer have any flaws?  Pride leads to self-righteousness.  Self-righteousness creates distance between you and your Heavenly Father. 

I think this is what Micah meant when he told us to “…walk humbly with our God.”  Admit we are broken.  Ask God for grace.  Pray to not be led into temptation.  Repeat.

My life, like my truck, is broken and dirty.  But Jesus and I are working on that.  I’m not as broken as I once was.  I’ve cleaned up a lot.  I still have a ways to go.  Don’t we all?

Inventory…

We lived off the ranch for ten years.  My stepfather managed the S.H. Kress store in downtown St. Petersburg.  Every year, the store closed on New Year’s Day for inventory.  This was before computerized inventory.  Every item in the store had to be counted.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe it was for tax purposes.  Maybe it was for preparing the annual report.  It never made sense to me. 

I remember the old Jerry Clower story of the dad who ran a general store in a Mississippi town.  His son, a new graduate from Ole Miss, closed the store one day.  When his dad came in, he was surprised to see the door locked and a sign that said, “Closed for inventory.”  When he went in, he asked his son what was going on.  The son replied that they had to take inventory to see how the store was doing.  The Dad said, “Son, go to the back of the store and on the top shelf near the door is the first piece of inventory we ever bought: A bolt of purple cloth.  Everything else in this store is profit.  Now open those doors and let’s serve our customers.”

As children, we were not asked to help out during inventory; we were told to be up at 6 AM, and we would all go down to work alongside the regular store employees.  My sisters ran the office, tallying up the reports.  My brothers did the storerooms.  Various employees inventoried their departments.  As the youngest, I was assigned to count things that no one else wanted to count. 

My first year, I counted postcards.  Thank goodness I passed third-grade math.  I pulled one rack of cards and counted them; then the next.  It took me about twenty minutes to count each rack.  There were forty-eight racks.  I worked most of the day on the postcards, till my brothers told me to count the number of cards in an inch and then measure the stacks of cards.  In the process, God revealed to me that I was not cut out to be an accountant.

One year, I was assigned to count the toy department.  It took me longer than the postcards.  Not because there were that many toys, but I felt to be responsible, I needed to count and test each toy.  My stepfather surprised me in the middle of this joy, and I was reassigned to ladies’ underwear.  I was eleven, and lingerie was repulsive to me. I closed my eyes and counted as quickly as I could.

Have you ever done an inventory of your soul?  Most of us don’t.  To ponder our defects of character, to face the reality of our sins, to see clearly the damage we have done to others brings pain and shame.  Even Jesus followers want to throw paper over our character flaws.  That’s why we resort to blanket confessions: “Heavenly Father, forgive me of all my sins.”  John Ortberg aptly observed, “Bland confessions are like taking a shower with your clothes on.  You are spared the embarrassment of nakedness, but you really don’t get clean.”

We used to say, “Confession is good for the soul.”  Now we believe we shouldn’t dwell on the negative and only think positive, self-affirming thoughts.  The problem with this therapeutic way of thinking is reality.  Every person has flaws, makes mistakes, and does wrong when they know the right thing to do.  Only when we face the reality of our soul’s condition can we begin to receive forgiveness, release guilt and shame, and get healthy.

You need a daily time to be still and take inventory of the day.  You can use the Ten Commandments as a guide or the seven deadly sins.  For example, did I put God first today?  Did I attach God’s name to something he would not approve of (see social media)?  Did someone or something other than God guide my life?  Did I rest? Did I give God time when I focused on him?  Do I honor the good work my parents did in my life?  Do I forgive them for their imperfections?  Do I harbor hate in my heart for anyone? When did I lie today? Have I taken anything that did not belong to me?  Do I treat people as sexual objects? Am I faithful in relationships? When have I been greedy? Do I value money or possessions more than God?

You can also use the fruit of the Spirit to take inventory of the positive things in your life.  Do I love like Jesus? Am I living a life of joy? Do I have peace that is greater than my anxiety? Am I patient? Am I kind? Am I gentle in difficult situations? Am I generous? Am I faithful to my commitments? Do I have self-control?

What does your soul inventory reveal? Could it be that God is pleased with the positive and wants to clean up the negative?

Taking inventory is hard.  It is humbling.  It is essential. When you take inventory, you can finally face the reality of who you are.  Taking inventory will show you how much you need God.

The Next Pope...

(This article was written before the announcement of new Pope being chosen, but the same rings true)

I feel strange writing about who will be the next Pope.  I’m not a Catholic.  But I am not of the tribe of Baptists who think Catholics are going to hell.  I was a hospital chaplain with a young Catholic priest, and I was impressed by his devotion and faith.  Catholic writers like Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen have spoken deeply to my soul.

I admired Pope Francis.  He seemed to be a compassionate man, with genuine care for the poor and a desire for justice.  Instead of appointing Cardinals from traditional bastions of power in Europe and North America, he diversified the college of Cardinals by appointing men from around the world.  Again and again, he spoke of God as a God of love for all people, not just a few.

The history of the Roman Catholic church is problematic.  There have been many abuses of power that date back centuries. Scandals involving sex and greed are woven into sterling examples of selflessness and devotion.  Yes, the present scandals of the church are inexcusable.  Attempts to keep secrets are reprehensible.  The miracle is God works through imperfect people and imperfect churches to advance his Kingdom.

My own tribe of Baptists has its own abuses and scandals.  Southern Baptists particularly were strong proponents of segregation and racial apartheid.  A famous Southern Baptist pastor, W.A. Criswell, declared to the South Carolina legislature in 1956 that, “Anyone who believes in integration is dead from the neck up.”  Not exactly in line with the teachings of Jesus.  We hear regularly about pastors who have abused children and had affairs.  Jesus did say, “Let him who has no sin cast the first stone.”  Baptists have no right to throw stones at anyone.

I think being Pope must be a hard calling.  Everyone in the world expects you to be perfect.  The press jump on every misstatement.  Fellow cardinals jockey for positions of power.  People notice when your eyes linger too long on a pretty woman and accuse you of harboring lustful thoughts.  Even moments of intentional humility, like washing the feet of the poor, are photographed.  Like the President of the United States, all the decisions that come to the Pope are hard ones.  The difference is that the Pope is elected for life; the President steps down after two terms (ever notice how every President ages in office?).

Now that Pope Francis is dead, the College of Cardinals is convening to select a new Pope.  The papacy is no longer bought and sold as it was in the Dark Ages.  There was a time when powerful Italian families controlled the papacy and traded it among themselves.  Reforms came, and the College of Cardinals developed a process to elect a Pope by secret ballot.  Adjusting to technology, today, cell phones are confiscated, and jammers are set up to prevent contact with the outside world.

Behind closed doors, there will be lobbying and politicking.  I do not condemn the Cardinals for this.  In my tribe, there are Zoom calls and late-night meetings to determine who will be selected for a one-year term as President of the Southern Baptist Convention. Every pastor knows there are meetings after the meeting in the church parking lot to determine what should really happen.

Here is the remarkable thing: somehow, through all our human ambition, our flawed nature, God works.  The promise of Romans 8:28 rises up: God is working good in all things for those called according to his purpose.  God has a way of sifting through our mess and making something beautiful happen.

No one expected John XXIII to be a great reformer and bring the church into the modern era.  John Paul II was a brilliant tactician who helped bring an end to Communism.  Pope Francis was a calm, peaceful voice in a turbulent, divided world.  God has a way of bringing the right people forward at the right time.

This is a good promise for all Jesus followers, Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox, to embrace.  No matter what we face, God is at work.   William Cowper penned these words: “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform …”  Jesus told us the Spirit blows where he wills.  I cannot fathom all the ways God steers the hearts of people, but I marvel at how he weaves our flaws into his purpose.

I was riding a bus in New York when a man asked me what I did.  I told him I was a pastor.  His understanding of Baptists and Catholics was not very clear.  He asked me if I was a priest who abused kids.  It was then I understood that to irreligious people, all Christians get lumped together.  Whether we are Catholic or not, non-Christians assume the Pope represents all the followers of Jesus.

So, I pray the new Pope will be a person who loves mercy, who does justice, and who walks humbly with our God.  Come to think of it, I need to pray that for myself, too.

-May 11, 2025

Is God Good?

Steve Jobs grew up going to church.  At age thirteen, a copy of “Life” magazine came to his house.  On the front cover was a picture of a starving child in Biafra, the rebel state of Nigeria.  Deeply moved, he brought the picture to church the following Sunday and asked his pastor if God knew about the famine in Biafra.  The pastor replied that God knew everything.  Then Jobs asked, “Then why doesn’t God do something about it?”  The pastor stumbled through an answer to an unanswerable question.  Jobs later pointed to this conversation as his turning point away from traditional Christianity to alternative forms of faith.

Steve Jobs was not the first person to wonder why God seemed unresponsive to suffering.  Charles Templeton, a contemporary of Billy Graham, turned away from Christian faith when he too saw a picture of a starving child.  Templeton said he would never allow a child to starve.  He concluded that there either was no god, or if there was a god, he was not good. 

It is strange when we see suffering, we quickly assume God should do something, that he is responsible.  In the case of the Biafra famine, the rebel government refused to allow planes with relief supplies to fly into their territory.  Was God to blame for that?  In places like South Sudan, food is often left to rot on the docks in Ethiopia because relief agencies refuse to bribe corrupt officials.  Is God to blame for that?

Of course, all suffering is not related to starvation.  Why does one cancer patient survive and another perish?  Why does the couple who longs for a child remain childless while another couple seems over-blessed with children?  Why is slavery still tolerated in India?  Why are oppressive dictators allowed to live in luxury while their people scratch for survival?  Our hearts are moved, and we wonder if God’s heart is moved. 

There is an answer, of course, but it does not make us happy.  God, being God, does know everything.  He is more aware of suffering than you are.  It is always before him.  But God also knows the importance of free will.  He allows people to sin, and their sin causes suffering. 

What about suffering that God seems to cause, like a drought?  The answer to this disappears into the mystery of God.  No book I have read can adequately explain this.  The best we can say is we do not know.  This causes people like Steve Jobs and Charles Templeton to turn away from God.  In doing so, they implicitly say, “We are smart enough to understand the ways of God, and he should explain Himself to us.” 

I have seen enough stupidity on the part of human beings (including myself) to believe we are not as smart as we think we are.  I do not believe that we are able to understand all there is to understand about God, an infinite being.  I’ve studied the book of Job enough to know God does not have to explain himself to human beings.

Any discussion of the goodness of God must consider not just suffering, but also the goodness in the world.  An old hymn says we are to “…Count your blessings, name them one by one.”

Oxygen is a blessing.  It is God-given.  It is free.  Gravity is a blessing.  Imagine a world where gravity is not a constant.  Color is a gift.  What if the world had only one color?  What if God chose gray?  Or olive-drab.  Even yellow would get tiresome after a while.

Your brain is a gift.  Without much thought, I imagine a letter and my fingers type it out.  My brain can remember instructions from typing class long ago.  I can remember how my mother’s fried steak smelled, the taste of her milk gravy on rice.  Even as I type that last sentence, my brain sends a message to my salivary glands to create more saliva in anticipation.

The stars are a gift.  What if we are alone in the universe?  What if God sprinkled all those stars and galaxies in the night sky for our pleasure? 

The ability to love is a gift.  Most animals breed based on lust.  Humans can love and bond.  No one had to tell me to love my grandsons.  My heart went out to them as naturally as a duck takes to water.

Jesus' followers believe that God’s greatest goodness is the gift of his son.  Millions upon millions have turned to Jesus for forgiveness of sins.  Lives have been changed, addictions broken.  Families have been healed; trauma has been redeemed.  God’s great gift is adoption into his family.  We become his children, and he holds us. 

When I look at the gifts and blessings of God, I choose to believe God is good.  I cannot explain all that is wrong with the world, but because I believe God is good, I trust he cares more about suffering and sin than I do.  I believe he cares about my suffering, even though I am far from starvation.  I also believe that as a follower of Jesus, my compassion must grow to be like God’s. 

Before you decide God is not good, be sure to look at both sides.  Do not make the mistake of assuming you can understand all his ways and thoughts.  After all, if you can understand everything about God, is he really God or a projection of your imagination?