Being Fully Present

In an article by Gillian Marchenko in the magazine Thriving Family, Gillian talks about caring for her two daughters who have Down Syndrome.  While teaching one of them to cut circles out of Play-Doh, she considers the importance of this simple activity while at the same time pondering on the immensity of her task as a parent and the frustrations it presents.

Then she says that God reminded her to "Just concentrate on what you're doing right now."  She continues with the work with her daughter, and concludes "This is my task at hand, to spend time with Polly...To create enough space in my thoughts to be fully present and make contact with her heart."

Yea, that's exactly what I want to do with those around me.  Gillian had put words to a beautiful truth, one which can be applied almost daily.  But in addition to touching my heart, I thought to myself "Now that's how I want to write.  If I could pen a line like that occasionally, I'd be content."  Gillian had captured an idea that is an aspiration for most of us - to touch the hearts of those we encounter in our day to day existence.

And then the thought occurred to me that Gillian didn't create this line out of nothing.  It came out of her experience with her child.  She was just plugging along in a difficult situation in her life.  If not for that situation, her page would have remained blank.

I'm one who would like to avoid difficult and trying situations, as most of us do.  But apparently, in order to have good material from which to write, I must continue to get up every day, go to work, and walk through all kinds of situations.  I'll take it, but I'll have to be reminded over and over that it's all good.

"And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown."

Today we celebrate the receiving of two very special gifts - one which changed our lives forever, and one which changes the way we look at snowmen forever.

Thanks to Keith Lankford from The Red Barn Country Store in Georgetown, DE for the special surprise in my stocking.

16 Miles

A few weeks ago, I bought a new pair of running shoes.  My old Mizunos were long past the point of needing replacing.  I used the same shoe shopping process I always use, asking for recommendations from the store, trying on 3 or 4 pair, then eliminating them one by one until I ended up with what seemed like the most comfortable ones, a pair of Brooks.

The first time I went out for a run in the new shoes, I noticed that my sock under the ball of my left foot seemed to be bunched up.  It wasn't.  It was the shoe putting more pressure on that area of my foot.  Hmmm.  I deducted that my old shoes were worn badly in that area, creating a low spot in the shoe.  The new shoes must be putting my foot back in the correct position, but my foot wasn't happy about that.

So I thought my feet just needed time to adjust.  It was my fault for waiting so long to replace my worn out shoes.  The discomfort did seem to get better, but would still come and go.

Saturday I set out on my long run, which has worked up to 16 miles.  I noticed the discomfort early in the run.  By mile 10, it was bad enough that I wondered if I could even finish the run.  So I asked The Lord in my typical way for help.  It went something like this:  "Lord, Here I am.  You know all about this situation.  My foot hurts.  I sure would appreciate it if you would heal it.  But if you don't, I'm o.k. with that.  I just want to finish this run, and I want to run the marathon.  But that's all me and all about what I want.  So I'll leave it at that."

Nothing really changed in the discomfort, but in a few minutes I had a thought.  Before I bought the Brooks I was wearing, I had shopped on-line for a pair of shoes just like my old ones.  They had been discontinued, a new model had taken their place, and I had found a store that had the old model I had been wearing.  But I wanted something new and different, and hadn't gone that route.  However, after buying the new shoes, I had gone on my computer and was cleaning up some old bookmarks, including the one for those shoes I had found.  When I had clicked on the bookmark, I saw that the shoes were on sale for $40, less than half the price I had paid for them a year or so ago.  So I had ordered them, and they were in the back of my closet.

The Mizuno Wave Inspire 6 from Rogans Shoes

This all came back to me at mile 10, so I determined that I would change shoes at the end of mile 11 (I had divided the 16 miles into three legs, each leg coming back to our house.)  I made my pit stop, changing shoes (I had to do it myself, as I had no pit crew that day), and set off on the last 5 miles of the run.

Immediately I noticed a drastic difference in the way the shoe cradled my foot.  Within the first mile, I could tell that the ball of my foot felt much better.  I finished the run, exuberant that I had been given an answer to my petition for pain relief.  My best analysis is that the Brooks don't have quite enough support in the arch, and that was creating extra pressure on the ball of my foot.  Not a fault of the shoe, just that it isn't suited for my foot.

After a mere 70 miles on the new Brooks, I have retired them to the back of my closet (at least temporarily), and will press on with the $40 pair of Mizuno Wave Inspire 6's.  And I will order another pair of them, as they are still available on-line.

There you have it, way more information than anyone would possibly want to know.  And I'm not even sure there is a moral to the story, except for the following:

• As hard as we try to do the right thing (such as to buy the best shoes, or a gas range), sometimes it just doesn't pan out the way we expect.
• God does still answer prayer, although the answer may not come the way we expect.
• As to God answering prayer, in this case, He started the process of answering it immediately after I had bought the doomed Brooks shoes.  I had the answer in my closet before I even needed it.
• As a matter of fact, there is a moral to this story, as illustrated by the point above.  In fact, it is an excellent point, thank you very much.

Courage

Our kids  were watching  The Princess Diaries  the other day.  The following quote towards the end of the movie caught my attention: 

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.  The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all." 

The book upon which the movie is based was written by Meg Cabot.

Hmmm.  No doubt this grabbed my attention because I am the definition of cautious.  "Ouch", my sensitive nature said to itself.  But this is not news to me.  I am self-aware enough to know this to be fact.

The problem is that it is difficult to live outside of your nature.  My first instinct, in just about every situation, is to be cautious.  Then, once I have the time to look at the situation with some clarity, I can attempt to gain control of the fear which sparked the cautiousness in the first place.  It is all very analytical, isn't it?

So the question is... How do people act out "courage".  Is it through such an analytical process?  Is it a decision to put fear aside because "something else is more important"?

Perhaps that happens at times - that courage is a decision made in opposition to some other emotion.

On the other hand, I suspect courage is sometimes an innate response in some people.  They don't go through an analytical process and decide they will be courageous.  The just do it.

That is the kind of courageous I want to be.  But I'm not.  And that's why I put my faith in Someone who IS that kind of person.  And out of that relationship, I believe that when the time calls for me to have courage, I He will.

What Pain Makes You Think About.

I knew from the beginning that there was going to be a risk of injury in training for a half-marathon and a marathon.  So I have been diligent to keep a watchful eye for shin splints, which come from increasing mileage too fast.

Last week involved an 8 mile run, which I bumped up a day to Friday , following a 4 mile Thursday run.  At about mile 6, I noticed some soreness in the back of my left calf.  But it was tolerable, and I attributed it to muscle soreness.  No big reason for concern.  We helped some friends move on Saturday, and I did a short 3 mile run on Sunday.  Monday was a scheduled day off.

I knew I couldn't run after work on Tuesday, so at 6:30 a.m., after a cup of coffee, I set out for an easy 3 mile run.  I was thinking of the song "10,000 Reasons" by Matt Redman.  I had just been discussing a 3 beat drum part with the worship leader of our church, and had the song in my mind.  At the end of the first mile, the pain in the back of my calf started to increase, and in about the next 3 steps, it increased to the intensity of a cramp, and brought me to a wincing stop.

I debated as to whether it was actually a cramp.  But cramps are usually accompanied by a sensation of the muscle tightening and pulling. There was none of that.  It let up some, and I continued walking, thinking I could walk it off.

When I was certain it wasn't a cramp but most likely a pull,  I did what all good Christians do, and began to talk to the Good Lord about my injured leg.  "Lord, this is a good thing I'm doing, isn't it?  I just did ponder on the idea that my body is made for marathon running.  And I'm doing it.  But apparently I screwed up, and I would appreciate it if you would take care of this leg, even though I brought on this injury myself."  Often prayer is an effort to convince God why He should do what you want Him to do, and to get rescued from your own stupidity.

Nothing much to speak of happened. I kept walking through about the 2nd mile, and was able to run gingerly most of the last mile.

A quick self-diagnosis via the all-knowing internet revealed that I most likely have a "grade 1 calf strain" meaning that "the muscle is stretched causing some small micro tears in the muscle fibers.  Full recovery takes approximately two weeks."  (About.com Sports Medicine)  Running that last mile... not smart.
  
Geez.  This is going to wreak havoc with my training schedule.  I'm supposed to get in a 9, a 10, and another 8 mile run in the next three weeks before the half-marathon.  Not sure that is even a possibility now.  Even if after a week of rest the leg is good, you're supposed to ease back into your routine. 

While I was trying to walk off the pain, the whole question of why God answers some prayers and not others came to mind.  Admittedly, this particular situation rates in the negative numbers on the scale of importance, but the principle is true nonetheless.  I knew the answer to why God did not heal my leg instantaneously, but sometimes the answer isn't so clear.

The crux of the issue is that God doesn't seem to often intervene into the natural course of events.  He lets lots of things just happen.  In this case, when I run too much too soon, I risk injury.  Anyone would say that the appropriate response from God in that situation would be to let me get what I deserve.

But sometimes God does intervene despite a lack of good sense.  Perhaps the best example of this is what Christians call "salvation".  We believe that despite the fact we have failed and will continue to fail as the human beings we were created to be, we are nevertheless forgiven and put to good use because we accept the work of Christ. There are endless stories of men and women who, had they continued on the path they were on, would have led lives of waste and destruction.  God stepped into their situations and changed the natural course of events.  These people will tell you that it was not a superhuman effort on their parts to alter the course of their lives, but rather they cried out to God, and were snatched off one path, and put on another.  But even in these situations, the believer often finds that his life is changed in some areas, yet in others, he continues to struggle, his pleas to God for deliverance ignored.

A very common situation that most have experienced is a plea for God to alter an everyday situation - difficult financial circumstances, trouble in a relationship, issues our children experience.  We ask God for help.  Sometimes He does, but sometimes He seems to ignore what we desire.

And then there are the stories of events which God apparently stepped into and altered the natural course.  They are often situations which can be attributed to good luck, but the believer attributes them to the hand of God.  Healings fall into this category.  Generally, God seems to ignore requests for outright miraculous healings, and the claims of such healings sometimes seem questionable. 

These are just a few of the types of things in which God operates in a way that is difficult to understand.  The problem arises due to the fact that we don't know when God will intervene, and when He won't.  This is perhaps the most difficult aspect about faith.  The real test comes when God is silent in situations we think He should intervene.  Bad things happening to good people through no fault of their own is the classic example.

What God does and does not do is His prerogative.  And the essence of faith is that the believer chooses to accept that premise.  Sure, he occasionally questions God's choices.  That's only human.

But in the end, faith says "I don't know what God knows.  And if He can live with His decision, then I'll trust Him to make me live with it as well."

Like I've said before, there is almost always a larger point. 

Things That Happen in a Bar

I read a blog entry of a friend's, and felt compelled to respond.  Bill got back to me and suggested we meet for breakfast to discuss it.  A couple of weeks later, we did.

While there, we never got around to discussing the content of his blog entry.  Instead, he told me a fascinating story about some things currently going on with John Thompson, who, with Micheal Card, wrote the song "El Shaddai", which was recorded by Amy Grant and others.

John now lives in the area.  Among other things, he writes and performs with a local group "The Reminders" along with Ed Shockley and Kevin Short.  A while back, John had told a story about the song "El Shaddai" on Bill's morning show on 88.7 The Bridge (listen on As heard on The Bridge, January 27, 2011 and April 13, 2012). The story involves John going on a risky trip to the Soviet Union in 1985 to meet with Vladimir Slepak, who at the time was part of a group of Jews who had been denied exit visas and were being repressed by the Soviet government.

Bill filled me in on the details of how that story was about to be made into a movie.  Part of those details involved Christian recording artist John Waller, who was being considered for the part of John Thompson in the movie.

Near the end of our breakfast, Bill asked what I was doing Friday morning.  He was going to shoot a screen test for Waller in a little bar in Bridgeville, DE - Jeff's Tap Room.  The scene was meant to portray one which would have occurred in 1985 in the Bluebird Cafe in Nashville, TN, with John Thompson describing his trip to Russia and singing a song which captured the essence of that experience.  Bill said he might need some extras sitting in the audience.

Friday morning, I found myself joining Andy Mason who was in the process of helping Bill set up his equipment.  We were soon joined by John Thompson and John Waller and his son Bailey.  Bill decided that John needed a small audience to speak and sing to, so Bailey and I sat in front of Waller as he told the Slepak story as the character John Thompson, and then sang Thompson's song "Love Has Spoken".

The song touched something in my spirit.  What I heard was not just John Thompson's experience, but an experience of humanity as a whole. I took the story and the song to be about the motivation for people doing extraordinary things without reasonable explanation.  It gave that experience a title - calling it "Love Speaking".

The idea of "Love Speaking" is a universal theme familiar to many.  While the underlying source of the sentiment may be a little different depending on the person, the key is that the effect of it is extraordinary.  A believer in Christ would call that source God living in the hearts of His people, and He speaks His presence into the world.  It is God speaking, not some emotion we call “love”.

That's the kind of life most of us desire to live.  Anything less is just common.

Its Not Just a Job

I work with a lot of different people on a lot of different jobs.  Like any work, there is a tendency to set your sights on just getting the job completed.  I constantly try to remind myself to enjoy the moment... there's more to the work than just getting it done.  And then occasionally, something unusual, even extraordinary, will occur, making the job less about work, and more about life.

Out of the blue, an old friend contacted me.  Her vacation home had suffered water damage over the winter.  The roof had already been repaired, and the damage inside remained.  She knew I did this sort of work, and wondered if I may be able to work on the home or at least point her in the right direction.

My first inclination was to offer her advice only, for a variety of reasons, one of which was the fact she had been more than a friend in our college years.  We parted ways amiably, but hadn’t really spoken in depth since then.  I was hesitant to even open that door.

I made a fact finding trip to the house on a day she wasn't there.  Being in the home had the effect I anticipated.  While surveying the property, a flood of memories smacked me in the face.  I wasn't sure at all how to proceed.

Accompanied by my youngest daughter, we met my friend at the house one Saturday.  We talked about the repairs, and as the details of the job unfolded, it became apparent that while I was hesitant to step into this situation, it seemed I was the right person to do the work.

The visits to the house and the subsequent conversations prompted some contemplation regarding our past.  It was a process I foresaw having to walk through, and elected to press on despite some discomfort. The thought that this was being orchestrated for us by God Himself was hard to shake.

The following Sunday morning our worship leader opened with the song “It is Well with My Soul”.  As I sang the song, the present situation immediately came to mind.  I knew I was midstream of a healing taking place, and thought “This is well with my soul.  This is all good.” 

But then those churchy goose bumps were interrupted.  Was I singing this sincerely?  The answer came quickly - NO.  So I turned the song into a prayer, and asked "Lord, make this situation more well with my soul.”

I sensed a desire to talk to someone.  Two of my best friends were out of town together, ministering at a summer church camp.  Some help THEY were in my hour of need.  So I sent off a text to another friend, Joe.  He was busy, but would call later.

About this time, I received an e-mail from my friend Bill.  He forwarded a story about dealing with the past.  The timing was uncanny and I shot a response back to him mentioning this.  We discovered a common bond, and thought it prudent to schedule a time to meet for coffee.

The day I started the job, I could tell that something was different already.  The only thing that smacked me in the face was the desire to get it done in time for my friend’s vacation.  Around day four the reality of the magnitude had set in, so I asked my dad to help me.  We spent some quality time together.  I even snapped at him a few times and had to apologize.  It was beautiful.

Bill and I met for our scheduled coffee.  We had one of those heart to heart talks that they say men are supposed to have, but rarely do.  But this came about very naturally, out of a mutual desire to share what light we had which may have applied to our situations.  He told me he would be praying for me, and I believed him.

A few days later, Joe called me, and I sat out on the step while we talked and my dad continued slaving away in the house.  We exchanged stories of similar events in our lives, another one of those heart-to-hearts that men are told to have.  But no one had to tell us.  We connected in a way we never had before. 

There were some peculiar occurrences on the job that didn’t involve people at all.  The summer so far had been unusually dry.  The night before we tore out the old damaged ceiling in the bedroom, we had a horrific rain storm.  As we removed the ceiling, we found some soaked insulation.  It didn’t take long to trace the leak to a window above the roof, which was easily fixed.  The timing of the rain was perfect.  A day or two later, and new drywall would have gotten damaged by water.

A day or two later another horrific storm hit the area.  I was half way home and for some crazy reason thought of the cook top in the kitchen.  We had covered the top with plastic and a rug to protect it while tearing out the ceiling.  It had push button controls, but I couldn’t recall where they were.  I wondered if there was a chance we could have inadvertently turned on one of the burners.

Of course, I returned to the job.  When I arrived, the storm was directly over the house.  I found the cook top to be off, but as I was removing the plastic and rug, I heard a dripping sound.  Coincidentally, water was coming in a window above the kitchen in the same manner as the first leak we had discovered.  Again, the timing was outrageously perfect, as we were about to install new drywall.

My friend arrived with her family the night before my last day of work.  That Saturday we talked as I finished up with some painting and miscellaneous jobs.  I met her husband for the first time face to face. It was a perfect ending to one story, the perfect beginning to another.

As is the case with many so called routines in life, this wasn’t just a job.  God’s fingerprints were all over it.  I would suggest that it was nothing less than a walking out of Acts 2:42.  “And they were continually devoting themselves to the apostles' teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.”  The “they” in this case was a whole cast of people I encountered along the way.

In that light, throughout that five week period, I believe it is probable that The Lord brought to mind teaching we had all been exposed to throughout our lives to guide us through.  We effortlessly devoted ourselves to intimate fellowship with each other.  Without the “breaking of bread” - the actual work of Christ Himself represented by that - the work and interactions would have been nothing more than a chore, perhaps an inconvenient one fraught with pitfalls.  And naturally,  we held this whole situation before The Lord in prayer as it unfolded.

And the fruit of this so-called “continual devotion” reminiscent of the Book of Acts?  As in any gathering of believers, it brought new life.  The relationship between my old friend and I was re-defined.  New relationships were birthed.  New life was breathed into other relationships in a way that only a sharing of The Life of Christ can.  We were reminded again of His hand in our lives.  And as an added bonus, an old house got restored.

This story first appeared in the October, 2010 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org

The Giver

Our youngest daughter had just finished reading a book which she was assigned over the summer by her school.  Her older sister had also read it two years ago in English class.  A small discussion about the book had ensued.  Neither girl liked the story very much, and both were frustrated with the ending.  I pointed out that the intent was not necessarily to entertain the reader, but to expose them to some specific form of writing or ideas.  This suggestion landed with a thud.  My curiosity was high.  There was no other option but to read the book myself.

It didn’t take long before I understood the girl’s discomfort with the story.  The society being described was extreme, with bizarre ideas carried to the nth degree.  In an attempt to create the perfect world, almost all personal choice had been eliminated.  A plan for daily life had been carefully laid out, and everyone was expected to follow it, without question.

Immediately I began to wonder what the author was poking at.  Perhaps she had in mind religion, or a political party.  Surely it was one of those books some parents would find objectionable.  Eventually I speculated her gripe may have been with anyone who attempted to make groups of people think in the same, unquestioning way.

The story revolves around a twelve year old boy who is about to be assigned his life’s work.  One of the peculiar practices of the society is for a group of elders to choose this work for each member in the year they turn twelve.  After that assignment, the child starts a season of training.

It is revealed that the young boy has been chosen for the role of “Receiver of Memories”.  This is the most honored role in the community, and the most difficult.  It had been decided long ago that memories were often painful and therefore counterproductive.  The society concluded that it would be better for members not to be burdened with such things.  But along with the removal of memories came with the loss of wisdom.

They did recognize that on occasion, memories served a purpose, specifically in decision making.  Without memories of the past, the wisdom gained from experience was not available.  This was where the Receiver of Memories stepped in.   Memories were transferred to this person, and when his wisdom was required, he would be called upon to give counsel.

The boy begins his training as the new Receiver of Memories under the tutelage of the current Receiver, an old bearded man aged beyond his years.  The more the boy learns of his assignment, the more uncomfortable he becomes with it.  The training is grueling.  It requires the current Receiver, who becomes known as the Giver, to “give” the memories to the boy.  The boy gradually begins to question the whole concept of Receiver of Memories, and as he voices this to the old man, he too begins to confide in the boy that the system is a poor one.

The two discuss the tragedy that has taken place in this society.  So much has been given up – choice, emotion, even love, all for the sake of the supposed good of the whole.  It has been a heartbreaking experiment.  Much has been lost, and much must be recovered. The question is how to change it. 

At this point in the reading of the book I sensed something else going on.  It was as if The Lord wanted to show me something through this story - not about the story itself, but about my own heart.  As I read, as much as I often mistrust feelings, I could feel something building. 

The Lord seemed to want to address my own heart through the character of this young boy.  As the story unfolds, the boy and the old man begin to plan how to remedy the error this society has made.  The solution, not surprisingly, involves a sacrifice.  The boy must leave the community at the risk of losing his own life.  If he succeeds, and gets far enough away, the memories the people have lost will be returned to them.  They will go through a period of great stress, but the old man will remain to help them work through it.  The fate of the boy is a question that can’t quite be answered on this side of the plan. 

In these pages, I saw an issue in my heart concerning my own selfish ambition.  It may sound benign, and did in fact appear that way to me prior to this, but The Lord began to speak to my heart about my desire for self-fulfillment.  What can possibly be wrong with the desire for self-fulfillment?  Just one thing – the word self. 

As I read about the selfless act of this twelve year old boy, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus.  I was reminded quite clearly that self-fulfillment was not the way of Christ.  He did not come to fulfill His own desires.  He came to put aside His desires for a greater purpose, and that purpose was to re-connect us with The Father.  At the cross, He laid down His fellowship with The Father. 

My desire for self-fulfillment was not Christ-like at all.  I hesitate to even use the words, but in a sense, those desires are ANTI-Christ.  They are against, the opposite of, and in place of Christ.  They are not of Him.  It was a quick and startling revelation.

Does this mean we must live in a constant state of introspection, brooding over our need to abandon our own ambitions?  Of course not.  Take a look at Christ.  While He laid down his life for us, we would all agree that He was doing exactly what He really desired to do - down to His core.  It is a difficult paradox to comprehend.  He was fulfilled in the sacrifice of His own life.

What this does mean is that when we are bumbling along, and the picture in our mind of what “fulfillment” is all about goes awry, The Lord will be faithful to show us Christ.  It may come from the most unlikely sources, at the most unexpected times.  As He does this work, our “self-fulfillment” will look more and more like Christ laying down His life for the benefit of those around him.  And that will become our fulfillment.  It will be what we desire at our very core.  He becomes, through us, The Giver.

First appeared in the August, 2011 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org

Boys and Their Trucks

The last words from the nurse before I left the medical center were “don’t make any important decisions today”.  The anesthesia tended to leave one in a fog for some period of time.  I failed to follow her advice, and by 6:30 that evening, we had a new truck.

I had been driving a ‘93 Chevy S-10 4x4 for the past 7 1/2 years.  With 175,000 miles, and showing signs of old age, it seemed prudent to begin looking for a replacement.  That process had begun roughly six months prior.  No sense in rushing.  It was apparent that the truck I wanted with the parameters I had set would be difficult to come by.  So I diligently looked, checking the crucial internet sights almost daily.  I had just told my wife that my patience was reaching an end.

I returned home from my medical procedure confined to light duty.  Wanting to make the most of the time, I went on a local dealer’s web site and looked at their inventory.  Finding nothing, I filled out a form to alert them of the vehicle I desired, and got my first call within a few hours.  The salesman did not have anything like I wanted, but would let me know if anything turned up.  Within the hour, he called back.  A truck had been traded that day.  I should come take a look.

The truck when we bought it, November, '10.

Since this salesman was only doing what I had requested, it was only fit to respond.  I took my whole family down to investigate.  It was, in fact, everything he had described, and exactly what I had been searching for.  The price was a little higher than what I had hoped to pay, but we made the decision that it was worth it.

That evening before going to bed, my daughter asked if I was “excited” about the new truck.  I wouldn’t use that word to describe my thoughts.  I had things going on in the back of my mind that put a damper on any “excitement”.

                            

The following morning, my wife jokingly/somewhat seriously told me she was hoping I wasn’t worried I had made a poor decision under the after-effects of anesthesia.  No, I was pretty confident my head had been clear by 6:30 p.m.  But I did confess that something was nagging me.  So I had to walk through all the possibilities to try to determine what that might be.

Were we being good stewards with that money?  I may have gotten another year or two out of my old S-10.  I had wanted to move to a full sized extended cab 4x4 to have the room to take our four kids to the beach fishing.  I suppose I could have made due with another S-10, and abandoned the fishing idea.  And of course there was that irksome thought of the possibility of the whole U.S economy crashing again, this time even worse.  Then there are the unemployed who would be perfectly content in my shoes to keep driving the Chevy while just trying to feed their families.  Oh, and what about saving for college and retirement?

But this “new” truck was ten years old with 100,000 miles.  The four wheel drive was practically a necessity. Moving to the full size would accommodate more tools and materials.    

To no great surprise, I was approaching the problem with my typical analysis.  The best my logical mind of the flesh could do was to create a burden that caused my brain to hurt.  I could see both sides of the mental argument, and neither outweighed the other.

The following day, I was pondering on Jacob.  We had been studying the stealing of the birthright and blessing stories.  The Lord always meant to bless Jacob, even from the time he was in the womb, but Jacob worked his hardest anyway to try to gain that blessing.  It would appear that he just didn’t trust God to do what He was planning to do anyway.  Or perhaps he was missing the main point...

Somehow, The Lord is able to take what you are reading and apply it to your own life, often unexpectedly.  Ugh.  You don’t suppose I had an issue of trust here?

We added a cap and ladder racks.

While all of those concerns I was pondering may indeed have some legitimacy, it occurred to me that perhaps the problem which The Lord wanted to put His finger on was trust.  I believe The Lord has provided for us in the past.  I believe that He is providing for us right now.  But apparently it was my trust that He would provide for us in the future which was at stake.

Money in the bank represents security to the eyes of flesh.  Certainly it is prudent to save for the future, but fear of actually using those funds for a need now because we will need them in the future, well, that has doubt written all over it. 

In my mind, Jacob seemed unclear about what the blessing actually was, and how it would come about.  So he worked feverishly to make sure it happened.  He could not rest in the promise that God would bring it to pass.  I found myself almost unwittingly wrestling with a concern about future provision.  I would have to decide if I could continue to trust The Lord and rest, despite an unseen future, or fret.  The Lord needed to do a work in my fretting department. 

After coming to this conclusion, I spoke about it with one of the friends with whom I was studying Jacob.  He gently reminded me of one of the key points we had been discussing.  I was neglecting the bottom line of the Jacob story.  The real substance of the blessing which The Lord intended for Jacob was Himself.  And He would ultimately be manifested through Jacob and his descendants in the person of Christ.  The world would be blessed through Christ.

The Best Truck, Ever, October, '11.

So what I was seeing had to be adjusted slightly.  The bottom line of my truck purchase quandary is this - I don’t know what the material provision will look like for my family in the future.  But there is no need to fret about it, because I do know we are blessed beyond our expectations in the person of Christ.  This doesn’t mean we can handle our finances irresponsibly, and it doesn’t mean we won’t go through slim times - more than likely we will.  But Christ has been given to us freely, therefore we have ALL we need.  What our future holds is simply a fuller understanding of what we already have now in Him.  And that will sustain us through whatever the next twenty years bring.

Post Script:  I have been driving this truck almost a year.  I pride myself on not being materialistic, but I love this truck. I have not, not for one second, regretted buying it since this story was written.

Picking Out a Shirt

Probably everyone knows at least one man who can’t dress himself well.  These men have no sense of color coordination, and their wives tell stories of mismatched socks, stripes paired with plaids, and ugly ties.  I am not one of those men.

I have excellent color coordinating skills.  However, I do love routine.  A couple of pairs of pants with matching shirts is all the wardrobe I need.  I had been wearing the same short sleeved buttoned shirts for a long time, and finally asked my wife to pick up a few new ones from the thrift store for me.  She came home with fifteen.  I picked out a dozen that I liked, and gave the rest away.

It is hard to make a routine out of a dozen shirts.  The trick is to pick out a couple of favorites, and ignore the fact the rest are there.  But one Sunday morning, the oddest feeling came over me.  I looked at my dozen shirts and thought “I don’t want to be in a rut of wearing the same shirts all the time”.  So I asked my wife to pick out a shirt for me to wear.

I wore my shirt to our Sunday gathering with the satisfaction I was not it a rut that day.  The good part about it was that I actually liked the shirt she selected.  I felt no loss from having relinquished the decision of how to dress that day.  It actually freed me from the nuisance of standing in front of my twelve shirts debating which one to wear.

If only I had someone to lead me in routine decisions throughout the week, someone who would keep me out of a rut, someone who would free my mind up from tedious choices that bog down my day.

If only I had someone who would always make the perfect choice, someone who knew how those around me would respond to the choice I had made. 

If only I could relinquish those choices as quickly and easily as I did that Sunday morning. 

If only I could come to the place where I really didn’t have a burning preference as to which choice was made, but would be deeply content with that someone’s choice in the matter.

If only my preferences and the preferences of this other someone could become so intertwined that I wasn’t sure if we were talking about my preference, or this other someone’s preference.

If only I had someone who would make decisions of life as simple as deferring to my wife the decision about which shirt to wear. 

Oh, but wait.  We do have that Someone.  There is in fact One who dwells within us, Who can do all of those things.  Perhaps He isn’t so much interested in which shirt we wear, but there is much He is interested in, probably more than we know.

Now, if only I had twelve pairs of pants.