Retirement…

People ask me, “When did you decide to become a pastor?”  My answer is a bit unusual. 

As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a pastor.  In our country vernacular, we called it being a “preacher.”  When asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” my response was always the same: “I want to be a preacher.”  Sometimes I added to my aspirations: “I want to be a preacher and a cowboy;” “I want to be a preacher and a garbage man;” “I want to be a preacher and a policeman.”  Preacher was always at the top of my list. 

I preached sermons to the cows when I was six.  I gathered my friends together during Vacation Bible School and preached to them.  Mark, Teresa, Harold, Audrey, and Denise were my first congregation.  When the fifth-grade Sunday School teacher didn’t show, I was the substitute teacher. In junior high school, I wrote my first real research paper on Billy Graham.   

Somehow, that inner call never dimmed.  I preached my first sermon at age sixteen.  The chairman of deacons came forward to ask for prayer; my sister rededicated her life.  I was licensed to preach thirty days later.  I preached at my home church for “Youth Sunday” and whenever the pastor needed a break.  

I went to Samford University because they had a reputation for being a good place to learn about ministry, and they had a program that allowed ministerial students a chance to go preach every Sunday.  I learned to preach in those small Alabama country churches in Bug Tussle, Oneonta, West Blocton, and Geraldine. The sermons weren’t that great, but preaching just felt natural. 

I went to Southern Seminary in Louisville, determined to get a Ph.D.  I took a year off to stay home and pastor my first church, thirty of the bravest people God ever put on the face of the earth.  I went back and finished my master’s degree.  I got into the Ph.D. program.  I was halfway through with my degree when I realized I was not cut out to be a scholar.  Scholars tended to argue over things that didn’t seem to matter to me.  I went ahead and finished the degree, and it certainly opened some doors for me.   

While doing my Ph.D., I pastored two churches.  The first was a rural church in Finchville, Kentucky.  The community was transitioning; the dynamics were complicated.  I never seemed to measure up to the previous pastor’s performance.  I was once told my preaching wasn’t deep.  When I asked why the person thought that, she replied, “I understand your sermons.  I never understood the previous pastor; now he was deep.”  I got out before I was let go. 

My third church was in inner city Louisville.  Located six blocks from Churchill Downs, the church was hampered by location and lack of parking.  Still, God blessed, and it was in that church that I learned how to lead. 

My degree in hand, I was ready to move on.  God, however, said, “Wait.”  I watched my classmates move on to pastor “First Baptist” churches while I languished in Louisville.  I interviewed with thirty-two churches and almost gave up when a church with a strange name, in a place I had never heard of, said they would like to talk to me.   

I called a previous pastor, and he said, “Alice Drive is a good place to go and stay three years and move on.”  I stayed three years and then another twenty-eight.  God was at work.  The church grew, then outgrew our building.  We had to move services over to the University auditorium.  We voted to relocate.  When we were a church of 400 attendees, we voted to build a building that would hold 800.  People with much faith joined together, sacrificed, and took a series of leaps.  God blessed.   

We weathered downturns in the economy, some poorly executed decisions on my part, and people kept coming.  COVID came, and it felt like we had to start all over.   

My age started to tell on me.  I tired easily.  People under thirty didn’t get some of my illustrations, like “dialing a number on a phone.”  I realized time was coming to step aside. 

I remember driving to Durham to see my grandson, talking with my wife.  In the midst of that conversation, I heard from God.  I have never heard God audibly, but I heard a message in my soul: “It is time to step down.”   

Now I am a few days away from stepping down as Lead Pastor of Alice Drive Baptist Church, after thirty-one years of service, and a total of forty-one years as a pastor.  I have many emotions.  One is relief.  By my count, I’ve attended over 480 Deacon meetings.  I’ve gone to over 2,000 committee meetings.  By God’s grace, I will never have to go to another Baptist meeting. 

On the other hand, I will miss the people.  I work with the finest team I have ever seen.  I will miss walking with people through the most important moments of life: birth, coming to faith, baptism, marriage, and death.  I’ve enjoyed the preaching, but preaching means writing a new term paper every seven days.   

People have asked what I will do in retirement.  I hope to coach pastors, tend to my cows, manage the ranch, and have time to invest in friends.  Spending more time with my grandsons goes without saying. 

One thing I have noticed is that God seems to really use people in the last third of their lives.  Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus all have the peak of their stories in the last third.   I’m entering the last third.  I think I’m not really retiring.  There is a new adventure out there, and I am eager to see what God has in store.  I think God’s guidance for me is the same as it was for the first two-thirds of my life: Find my next step, and take it, for it brings me one step closer to Jesus.

Be Anxious for Nothing…

Be anxious for nothing… 

“Excuse me, Lord, but I don’t think that’s possible.  I’ve got work piling up, and the fence in my backyard to repair.  Plus, the kids need help with their homework, and I hardly understand it myself.  Mom called, and Dad is back in the hospital, so I’ve got to get up there to see them.  I worry about Dad; I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to him.  And Lord, I forgot to mention I’ve got bills to pay and I have no idea where the money is going to come from.  So, you see, being anxious is kind of my default setting right now.” 

Be anxious for nothing… 

“Lord, I wasn’t quite finished with my prayer.  My wife has been really moody the past couple of days.  Jesus, I wish she would get off my back – Oops, sorry Lord.  Plus, my boss is on me about closing that Palmer deal before the end of the year.  He keeps telling me to push harder.  I’m telling him if I push too hard, I’ll lose the deal.” 

Be anxious for nothing… 

“Lord, you keep interrupting me.  I’ve got this weird pain in my back.  I went to the doctor, and he told me I need to cut down on the carbs and exercise.  Right.  How am I supposed to do that?  Most of the time, I only have time to go through the drive-through at Chick-fil-A.  Who has time to go to the gym?  Doc said if I lost about thirty pounds, the pain in my back would go away.  I try, but it’s hard.” 

Be anxious for nothing… 

“Lord, are you a broken record today or what?  I’m telling you all my troubles, and all you can say is ‘Be anxious for nothing…’  Where does that even come from? Oh, right, from the Bible.  Yeah, I haven’t been reading my Bible.  I mean, I mean too.  I tried to get up early one morning and fell back asleep.  Then I tried to read it at night and fell asleep.  Seems like all I do is fall asleep.” 

Be anxious for nothing… 

“Lord, I can’t just turn it off.  How can anyone stop being anxious?  How do I stop letting my mind race around and around? Sure, I don’t like being this way, but what do you expect me to do?” 

Be anxious for nothing… 

“Okay, Lord, I get the message.  You want me not to be anxious.  I guess I'd better find what the rest of that verse says.  Thank God – I mean – thank you for Google.  Here it is.  Philippians 4:6: ‘Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, with prayer and petition, with Thanksgiving, present your requests to God.’  Hmm.  So, I’m supposed to pray my anxieties?  Is that it?  Wait.  Verse 7 looks interesting: ‘And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.’  So if I pray, I will get peace?  Is that what I’m supposed to do?” 

Be anxious for nothing…

“Okay, I’ll try it.  Father, let’s start with the bills.  Please let me win the lottery.  No, that doesn’t sound right.  Lord, I’m struggling financially.  Give me wisdom.  Give us ideas for the kids that don’t cost too much.  Give me patience as I deal with my in-laws.  And God, I’m just not comfortable on stage.  Is it okay to turn down the church?  I feel more peace not doing it than doing it.  Give my wife some peace.  Give us laughter.  Help us count our blessings, not our stresses.  I’ll have to trust that Palmer deal to you, Lord.  God give me strength not to eat when I’m anxious.  If you gave David power over Goliath, you can give me power over food.  Heal my back pain.  I know I need to spend more time with you – hey, Lord, it just dawned on me, I can read my Bible during my morning break at work.  And Lord, give me peace.  You know, Lord, I feel better.  Thank you.  Maybe you’re teaching me something.  Put stuff in your hands and stop pretending I am you.  Wow.  Thanks for being a God big enough to hold me. Okay.  In Jesus' name, Amen.”   

“Be anxious for nothing…  I really need to remember that verse, Lord.  Thanks.” 

You’re welcome.

The Power of a Hot Shot…

A Hot Shot is a long pole with a battery pack on one end and two electric prongs on the other end.  As long as I can remember, we’ve used Hot Shots to get stubborn cattle to move where we want them to go.  The idea is simple: put the electric prongs on the cow, press the button, give her a charge, and she now has a new motivation.  Think of it as a taser for cows, although we were using Hot Shots long before tasers were used on humans. 

Some cattlemen refuse to use Hot Shots.  They say it makes cattle jumpy (it does) and resistant to going in the pens.  That might be so.  When I work cows, I try to use the Hot Shot sparingly.  The truth is, most cows don’t need it.  They have been through the pens enough, they know the drill.  Move down the alley, go into the chute, get the shot, get the ear tag, get out.   

However, there are cows, bulls, and calves without any sense at all.  They resist going where they need to go and need a little extra push.  Some are downright ornery.  They will turn on you, charge, and you'd better move fast for the nearest fence.  Hot Shots are of no use in this situation.   

Cows will sometimes lie down in the alley or the chute.  This is their way of being passive-aggressive.  You can’t work anymore cows until that cow moves.  A little electricity is often a good motivator.  But you also have to know when it’s not working.  We had a cow get down in the alley one time and stubbornly refuse to get up.  One of the fellows poked her with the Hot Shot, and she bellowed but did not move.  He hit her a few more times with no effect.  Greg, the man who runs our cow crew, told him to back off.  That wasn’t going to work.  We got a rope around her horns, and the horse began to pull her.  She got up pretty as you please and trotted off into the right pen.  The Hot Shot is not the solution for every situation. 

If you work around cows, it is inevitable that you will get shocked by a Hot Shot.  I was six when I got my first charge.  My brother Steve claimed it was an accident, but he was laughing pretty hard when he said it.  At age six, I leapt into the air, yelling and squalling.  I demanded retribution, but I was told there would be no more foolishness.  Come to think of it, the last time I was hit by the electrical charge of a Hot Shot, Steve was right behind me. 

Would God ever employ a Hot Shot on us?  Read the Bible.  The book of Judges recounts the times when God’s people turned away from him and worshipped other gods.  He would send oppressors to conquer his people until they cried out for God to have mercy.   

Read Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel.  Read Hosea, Amos, and Micah.  God was not happy with his people. They trusted in political power and military might.  They worshipped sex gods and gods of war.  So, God sends Nebuchadnezzar, a Babylonian King, to carry his people into exile.  Sounds like a Hot Shot to me. 

In the book of Proverbs and the book of Hebrews, we are told: “My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son.”  When God loves you, he will discipline you, and he will punish the people in his family.  He does not do this capriciously.  He disciplines us when we are stubborn, when we insist on going our own way, when we reject his path for us.  Like any discipline, it is not enjoyable.  But God punishes us to get us back on track and to remember that he is God and we are not.   

I don’t think this is God’s preferred way of reaching us or teaching us.  He prefers that we respond to his love.  He wants us to have deep gratitude for all he has done for us.  But like a stubborn cow, if we lie down and refuse to move, God will use things in our lives to get us up and moving in his direction. 

I can’t say with authority what is and isn’t God’s punishment.  I do believe often God simply lets us have what we think we want.  When we experience the consequences, we understand his way is better.  But I believe sometimes God directly intervenes and we directly experience his displeasure. 

Most of us don’t want to admit we can be that hard-headed or resistant to God.  But we can.  The best way to avoid God’s punishment is simply to be humble and walk with Jesus.  It means saying, “Not my will, but yours be done.”  It is a much simpler way to live. 

A Hot Shot has the power to make a cow (or a man) move.  God’s power is greater.  Doesn’t it make sense to willingly move with him? 

Stubborn Steer…

It is easier to load 20 calves on a trailer than four calves.  If you get twenty calves moving in the same direction, the herd instinct kicks in.  They keep moving forward, make the jump onto the trailer, and move on up.  If you are quick about it, you can shut the gate right behind them, and you are good to go. 

Loading four calves, however, is tougher.  Four is not enough to form a herd.  Instead, four calves usually divide into two groups.  The first, and usually larger group, consists of the timid calves.  They are scared of their own shadow and are not about to walk into a dark, dead-end trailer.  The other group usually consists of one calf.  You might argue that one calf cannot form a group.  My reply is that it can if the calf in question has multiple personalities. 

Lately, I’ve had good luck loading calves.  In my setup, they go into a small pen, and then I load them on the trailer. The challenge is that the pen doesn’t narrow, so I must position my trailer so there is no room to escape on either side. The last two times I’ve positioned it just right, and the calves, after a moment’s hesitation, loaded right up. 

My luck changed this week.  I had weaned off four calves a month earlier, and it was time for them to go to the market.  Three of the calves were in the timid group.  One steer, however, was possessed by some sort of evil spirit.  To make matters worse, he was a bad influence on the others. 

I got my trailer set up, but I was a little concerned I left an inch or two too much on the right side.  Foolishly, I thought, “There is no way a calf can get through there.”  Then I got the calves into the pen, and the trouble started.  I could get all four of them up to the trailer, and then they wouldn’t go in.  They stood at the back, looking into the trailer, and wouldn’t move.  I tried to push them in; that didn’t work.  I hit them gently on the back with a stick.  Nothing.  I grabbed the tail of one of them and tried to force her forward.  She wasn’t having it. 

Then my crazy steer had his insanity gene kick in on him.  He turned and charged me.  No big deal; I’ve been charged by 1800-pound bulls.  I stepped out of the way and let him pass.  The other three followed his lead, and we started over.   

I began to tire after thirty minutes of this game.  I needed to get these calves loaded and get them to the market so I could get back for some “can’t miss” meetings.  At this point, the insanity gene in the steer released some kind of chemical reaction in his brain, and he decided he, too, was tired of this game. 

Every cowman I know has seen this: that stubborn steer, who would not load, found that two-inch gap I had left, and somehow jumped, squeezed, and wiggled his way through it.  Five hundred pounds of beef went through a gap that would have given a mouse claustrophobia.  He was off and gone.  

Now I was faced with the dilemma of either loading the three remaining calves and taking them or waiting until next week.  I tried to load the three, but inspired by their stubborn brother, they began to hurl themselves against the guardrails that make up the pens and the gates.  They even tried to squeeze through the gap their brother found, but apparently, they were not as flexible as he was. 

The wise philosopher Kenny Rogers said, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold 'em.  Know when to walk away and know when to run.”  I felt that if I continued, either I or a calf was going to get hurt.  It was time to fold.  I turned the three timid calves back to their own pasture, unhooked the trailer, and went looking for my stubborn steer. 

He was right where I thought he would be: next to his mother.  Though he had been weaned for thirty days, he still wanted to be with her. 

I often ask God to help me learn from the events of my life.  What I learned from that frustrating morning was that I am like the stubborn steer.  God wants to direct and guide my life.  Sometimes the direction he wants me to go scares me.  So, I dig in and refuse to go.  I think I know better.  If God urges me forward (“Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me”), I start to panic.  I blindly charge around, running into one obstacle after another.  I can be so stubborn. I see a gap and try to escape.  Sometimes I succeed.  I go off in my own direction, which works out poorly.  Like the stubborn steer, I have this insanity gene that confuses me, making me think that up is down and down is up.   

I bet you some of that insanity and stubbornness is in you.  This is why Paul wrote, “I know what I ought to do, but I find I do the very thing I should not do.  Oh, wretched man that I am.” 

Next week, I will position my trailer correctly, gather the calves, and try again.  This time, I’ll be better prepared.   

The good news is our Heavenly Father knows we are stubborn, but grace upon grace, he gives us another chance. 

Showing Up…

My Aunt Ida passed away last week.  My cousins, Jeff and Todd, asked me to conduct her service, and so I went to Okeechobee to gather with family, to remember her life and legacy. 

When you gather like this, there is usually a time when the family gathers apart from the funeral service.  To me, this is when the real celebration of life occurs.  My Uncle Bud flew in from Colorado.  At eighty-eight, he still competes in senior calf roping events.  He told stories about the old days that I soaked up.  I had a good visit with the wife of one of my cousins and found real compassion for mentally ill people.   

One of my cousins is in the hospital; I got to drop by and see her.  Spending time with my sister-in-law is always enjoyable. 

Showing up is important.  We are all busy, but we need to shove schedules aside, make the trips, and communicate with our presence that we care.  Showing up is the ultimate way to say, “I see you.  I want to connect with you.  I care.”   

I feel sometimes this is slipping away from our culture.  We are more glued to our screens than we are connecting to people’s faces.  Because we are overcommitted to our schedules, we don’t have room to stop what we’re doing and show up. 

You might be thinking, “But you are a pastor, and you set your own schedule.  Naturally, you can rearrange things.”  That’s true, and it is a privilege.  Maybe you can’t show up because of work.  But you can reach out.  You can encourage people with notes.  A handwritten note is more powerful than a text. 

Isn’t this what Jesus did for us?  He showed up.  He reached out.  I suppose God could have done his salvation work remotely; after all, he is God and can do things any way he wants.  But he came in person.  He experienced life in a human body.  He did not come as Superman, but as someone who hurt when the nails were driven in his hands. 

In his ministry, Jesus showed up when Jarius said, “My daughter is sick.  Please come and heal her.”  Jesus showed up when he faced the Gadarene demoniac and cast the legion of demons.  Jesus showed up when he healed a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath.  Ever wondered why Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus?  He opened his emotions to what Mary was feeling.  He showed up. 

If Jesus showed up, his followers should show up.  Isn’t that the point of the parable of the sheep and the goats?  His true followers show up to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, visit the prisons, care for the sick, and welcome the foreigners.  Jesus followers, the church, need to show up and be with people. 

One of my heroes, Will Campbell, told about the night he sat up with his dead nephew’s body at the funeral home.  That was an old custom, rarely done now.  It is called sitting with the dead.  His sister had asked, and he said “yes.” 

Will was an early advocate for Civil Rights in Mississippi, not a popular position.  His work with black leaders had caused several of his family members to disown him.  One uncle, in particular, was severely harsh. 

About eleven o’clock in the evening, while Will was sitting in a pew of the funeral home chapel, he became aware that someone else was in the room.  As he turned to look, he caught the outline of his racist uncle sitting on the back pew.  “Mind if I join you?” he asked. 

Will said, “Yes,” and his uncle moved from the back pew to the front pew.  He poured a cup of coffee from a thermos he had brought.  As Will blew on the cup to cool the coffee, his uncle said, “Sure has been hot.”  That’s what men do when they want to connect.  They start with the weather. 

As the night passed, there was passing conversation, awkward at times, followed by long stretches of silence.  As dawn’s light began to stream through the windows, Will thought to himself, “I have been comforted by a racist angel through the night.” 

There was a lot wrong with Will’s uncle.  Racism and hatred have no place.  But on that night, he did something very right.  He showed up.

Charlie Kirk’s Assassination…

The sin is as old as Cain and Abel.  It wasn’t as though God didn’t warn Cain.  “Anger,” God said, “is crouching like a lion at your door.”  Cain was jealous that God approved of his brother’s offering, but not his.  So out in the field one day, Cain answered anger’s knock, rose up, and killed his brother. 

What justifies killing a person who has done no wrong?  When we decide we are the authority, that we can determine what is right and what is wrong, then we take a step toward deciding what punishment fits the alleged crime.  In other words, if I appoint myself as the legislator, the jury, and the judge, I can easily justify a sentence that eliminates those who offend me.   

This idea escalates quickly in the Bible.  A few verses later, Lamech is bragging to his two wives, “A man brushed up against me and I killed him.”  He seems to brag that he got away with it. 

Before long, nations justified going to war over tiny slices of land, killing in the name of King and country.  For most of human existence, Earth has been a violent place.  Darwin was not right about everything, but he was right about this: The strongest seem to be the ones who survive.  Maybe that’s why Muhammad had no problem going to war to convert people to his religion.  Maybe that’s why Islam and Hinduism still fight bloody battles over whose God is the right god.  

I know Christian’s do not have the best record when it comes to violence.  Plenty of violence, murder, and war have been committed in Jesus’ name.  Jesus was probably hollering from heaven, “NO!  This is not my will.  Don’t do this in my name!”  He came to teach care for the least of these.  He famously taught us that hate was the root of anger, and anger was the root of murder, so don’t even go down that road. 

Most of us would say we do not hate anyone, but when we begin to see people who disagree with us as the enemy, we are hating.  When we belittle people on social media, we are hating.  When we attack people’s intelligence and character, we are hating.  When we question another Jesus follower’s relationship with God because their doctrine does not line up perfectly with ours, we are hating. 

Until last week, I had never heard of Charlie Kirk.  His assassination was caused by sin.  Whether Charlie Kirk was a liberal or a conservative, he had the right to speak his opinion without fear of being gunned down.  I do not know the thinking of his murderer, but like most shootings of this nature, I can imagine he thought he was the authority, that he had the right to end Charlie Kirk’s life, because he (the shooter) alone could determine right and wrong. 

Whether we are talking about Charlie Kirk, the Minnesota legislator, and her husband, or President Trump, murdering someone because you disagree with them is a result of perverted thinking and reasoning. 

I am disappointed by the reaction of commentators.  Some said Charlie Kirk deserved it because of his rhetoric.  The same was said of Huey Long in the 1930s.  Some defended him as a saint or a martyr.  I think those judgments belong to God, not me, and certainly not to anyone with a TikTok account.  Maybe I’m just another voice, adding to the hailstorm of perspectives. 

But please allow me to make a comment on the big picture.  When a culture cuts itself loose from the belief in absolute truth, when a culture rejects the idea of God who holds people accountable, when a culture embraces the concept that every person is their own authority, then people will choose to decide for themselves what is right and wrong and will justify their actions.  We have created a cultural stew that cuts people loose. 

The Book of Judges repeats a line over and over: “In those days, each person did what was right in his own eyes.”  That’s where our culture is now. 

What do we do?  We pray against violence.  I believe prayer is mightier than the sword.  We share the story of Jesus.  A life given to Jesus accepts his authority.  We grieve with Charlie Kirk’s family.  There is a wife who is a widow at too young an age.  There are children who will grow up without a dad.  Don’t lose sight of that in all the debate. 

Most of all, we do not lose hope.  Jesus came into a world just as violent as ours, perhaps more so.  He never backed down on speaking truth to power.  But he never attacked anyone, never went to war, never harmed another person.  An old song puts it this way: “He came to love, heal, and forgive.”   

We have hope because the way of Jesus prevailed over death.  His way changed the world.  Since his resurrection, his people have risen to the occasion many times.  We can do it again.  His hope is stronger than violence.

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?