In Appreciation

I don't know how anyone can be a head coach. Sure, I understand the love of the game. I understand about working with young players and molding them to be better men and women. But for every coach, there is an entire herd of people who could do a better job of coaching -- just ask them!

I remember my Grandpa. He was a big Dodger fan, and a big fan of the local high school basketball team. But he wasn't a big fan of the coaches. You may not realize this, but my Grandpa could outcoach the legendary Tommy Lasorda AND call the shots better than a high school basketball coach with more than 700 career victories. He told me so.

"What is that coach doing? I can coach better than that!"

I couldn't tell you how many times I heard him say that. And my Grandpa wasn't unique. Every coach has his or her detractors. Lose and game, and people immediately start asking for your replacement. One mistake and some folks will never let you forget it. Two mistakes and you're the most worthless person walking God's green earth.

If the team finishes the season 4-12, the coach should be canned. Never mind that half the players are hurt and the other half have no experience. Forget that pesky little detail that the players aren't really very good. Fire the coach!

Of course, a few coaches reach untouchable status over time. But even the untouchable coaches have had to deal with the occasional moron who thought themselves to be much brighter than they actually were.

A coach with a mediocre team is never appreciated. A coach with a great team usually doesn't get any credit for the team's success. And pity the poor coach who ends the season 4-12. Or worse.

And don't even get me started on how unappreciated the referees and umpires are. Somebody's got to make the calls. But, oh the abuse those poor people take!

There are many times when I don't feel especially appreciated. In my secular job, I could make 10,000 decisions flawlessly, but when I make that inevitable mistake... well, let's just say that people immediately and repeatedly let me know all about it.

As a husband, I know I am sometimes taken for granted -- just as I sometimes take my wife for granted. Man, I hate it when I'm just as guilty as she is.

Maybe the role in life where I feel the most appreciated is as a pastor. I know that people in my congregation will specifically seek me out to tell me that they appreciate a sermon or a visit or a prayer. And I'll admit that even though I am not a pastor so that people will appreciate what I do, it makes me feel good. It makes me feel like God is using what I am doing. God can work though this twisted and bloated mess of flesh and bone and sin that I am.

Wouldn't it be a good idea if we all told someone how much we appreciate what that person does? It would be great to feel that rush of encouraging another person. Even if that person doesn't seem to appreciate the effort, we could still give that encouragement. Isn't it odd that we would think we should be shown some appreciation for showing someone else some appreciation?

Or maybe it's just all about learning how to be selfless. I want to be able to do my best or to do what is right without the need for approval. I should be able to give money to a good ministry without wondering how to get a proper receipt for a tax credit. I should be able to volunteer my time without wondering what I'll be getting back in return.

If I donate money to my local PBS station during the pledge drive (which lasts around 360 days each year), the station will send me a gift of appreciation. Maybe it's a DVD or a CD of whatever concert the pledge drive is interrupting. Maybe it's a stuffed Barney toy. Whatever. If I truly appreciate what that PBS station is broadcasting, why would I need a gift to show appreciation for my own appreciation?

One last thought: If we really want to show our appreciation, shouldn't we start with our Creator? Like it or not, everything we have comes from Him. I certainly appreciate that.

Bitterness

He sat there with a sad, yet nervous expression on his face. I understood the emotions, you see, Randy is a pastor.

Randy was talking with the editor of the local newspaper. He arranged the meeting because of calls which had been made to the newspaper's staff. Apparently some people at Randy's church are very, very bitter.

The editor told Randy that on two recent occasions, he had received calls suggesting that the paper send a reporter to see and expose the horrible things going on at Cross Church. What horrible things, you ask? The callers apparently wouldn't say, nor would they leave a name.

Most papers these days won't print a letter to the editor if the author doesn't have the guts to sign it. That policy makes sense, really. After all, if you won't stand by your words enough to put your name to them, what real value do they have? I know all about the idea of protecting identities, as most of us do on the web, but a public forum isn't for people wearing disguises.

Anyway, the editor reported that he had received a third call over the weekend. This anonymous caller suggested that there was a situation at Cross Church that was just like the situation at another local church. The "other church" the caller referenced had just fired a youth pastor who had been having sexual relationships with two girls from his youth group. That call startled the editor, but it really startled Randy. And if you think it startled Randy, you can only imagine what it did to Randy's youth pastor!

There is no youth pastor seducing underage girls at Cross Church. There is no scandal worthy of a newspaper expose at Cross Church. So why the phone calls?

There are a group of mostly older church folks who don't like the fact that Cross Church has added a contemporary service. That's it. Oh, the horror! A handful of people are becoming quite a handful, and it looks like at least two have taken to insinuating that the church is scandal-plagued because the church is offering a service without The Old Rugged Cross played on a pipe organ. It's not as if Cross Church isn't still offering the traditional hymn/pass the plate/long sermon/closing hymn service. The complainers still have their service untouched. They object to (1) having a second service, and/or (2) the worship style.

Friends, that's just bitterness that has taken these "fine upstanding, mature saints" and turned them into nasty, vindictive, lying embarassments to God.

I've known plenty of people who have changed churches due to pastoral failings or disagreements of buildings or gossip within the congregation or any number of other reasons. Of those people, some are sincerely praying for their former church, their former pastor, and former fellow parishoners. Then there are others whose live is filled with bitterness.

Plenty of people have been burned by the church -- or more correctly, it's people. Still, through the hurt, they are not burdened by the bitter feelings or the desire for vengeance. They are able to look down from their own crosses at those who have caused the pain to say, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."

Then there are those who are more concerned with their own power and position within the congregation than anything else. Some are protective of such trivial things as the order of service. Others will fight to the spiritual death to keep pews in the sanctuary instead of folding or stacking chairs. And, of course, there are plenty who will enforce their own rules of who should be in "their" church and who should not. God help the person who visits that church with the faint odor of cigarettes or with a reputation that doesn't measure up to these bitter, misguided churchgoers.

That's a big problem in the church today -- more people are too concerned about their religion and yet are completely unconcerned with their faith. I wish the anonymous phone callers would take a time out from their cardiac arrest over the presence of a tamborine in the sanctuary and realize that. But I'm not holding out much hope.

Mark of the Beast

Time was running close. The kids program at church was less than an hour away, and I still had to pick up my oldest boy from high school football practice. My wife and daughter had been working all day in preparation for the new horse, coming this weekend. Handing me two empty feed bags, my beloved asked me to take them to the burn barrels where we get rid of some of our trash.

It was a short walk to the back of the yard, right along a ditch. In the eight years we've lived here, I've taken that walk countless times. Today it was different.

Earlier this week, I had cleaned out the barrels and got rid of a bunch of trash. When I reached the trash cans, I couldn't see the bottom of the cans or the thin layer of goo on the bottom. What I saw when I glanced at the can was what appeared to be a cat. I knew that our one outdoor cat was up by the house, so I was a bit confused. Then I took a closer look. It was mostly black. But there was this troublesome white pattern on its back.

This was not a cat. This was Pepe LePew's younger cousin. A real life skunk.

Now I'm a country boy. I've happened upon all kinds of wild animals in my life. But I've never stumbled across a live skunk in the wild. I've stumbled across plenty of dead skunks. Those are usually pretty easy to notice from half a mile away. But this one was not lying between the dotted yellow lines on the crown of the asphault. This one was looking up at me with tiny black eyes, as shocked seeing me as I was seeing it.

What did I do? I ran. I'm not ashamed to say it.

I wasn't afraid of old Stinky leaping out of the barrel, onto my neck and ripping out my jugular. I was pretty sure the skunk wasn't going to jump on my leg and chew it to bits. But I was afraid that Mr. LePew was going to turn and fire, and that I would be forced to call off Wednesday night kids church because of fumes.

The two bags I was carrying ended up on the ground. I ended up doing my best Carl Lewis impression and made it back to the house without so much as a bit of body odor. I avoided what I knew I had to avoid. I've had dogs who met up with skunks who didn't turn and run. I've tried to kill that smell with tomato juice and countless other home stench remedies. My fear was not a physical attack. My fear was being a marked man. That smell doesn't go away easily.

Whenever I hear someone hypothesizing about the "mark of the beast", I usually either turn away or I catch myself daydreaming about something else. Because from what I read in Revelation, the mark of the beast is contrasted with the mark of the lamb. I've never heard anyone boldly predict what the mark of the lamb may be. Perhaps because the mark of the lamb (and most likely the mark of the beast as well) are not visible marks, but invisible signs of our personal choice of what to do with Jesus Christ.

I've been "marked" by Jesus, yet there are still times when it seems like the smell has worn off, to coin a phrase. I just don't smell enough like Christ. One day last week, a person really inflated my ego, telling me that I appeared to act a lot like Christ. Later that afternoon, I said something I shouldn't have said in an offhanded way, and the person I said it to expressed surprise that those words had come from my mouth. I had "blown my witness" in the blink of an eye. It was like the "smell" of Christ had been doused with some kind of super-charged Odor-Eaters.

I want to bear the marks of Jesus Christ. Yet I find that it only takes an instant for me to take on the marks making me resemble the rest of the world. It's not often that I'm swift enough to avoid being sprayed by the stench of sinfulness. Skunks I can outrun. Sin is another matter.

Lord, give me Your strength. Change my heart so that my life will be marked by You.

Wind Chasing

"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."

What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?

Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.

The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.

All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.

There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

I, the Teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on men! I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Ecclesiastes 1:2-14

I often find myself wondering about the way I spend my time. I'm pretty sure I don't make the best use of my time. And I'm not even sure that spending time wondering about the way I spend my time is a great way to spend my time. But now I'm confused. But I'll continue.

A lot of bloggers eventually write a few posts about whether it blogging is a good use of one's time. This post is not one of those posts. Instead I'm thinking more about the other things in my life. Not the stuff that actually has some sort of value, but the stupid things I do. The picture to the right is not of me. It's actually some woman setting the world's record for... get this... underwater ironing. That's what I said. Read it again if you like. Un-der-wa-ter-i-ron-ing. This dear lady is at a depth of around 100 meters in scuba gear, with a folding ironing board, an iron and a mental deficiency.

Let's think about this for just a moment. (Again, it's probably not the best use of my time or your time, but humor me.) She is ironing. Underwater. Generally, that's not the best way to iron. When I actually iron something, I usually start with a mostly-dry item of clothing. I'm assuming the iron isn't plugged in somewhere, as I don't see a long orange extension cord, or any signs that the diver is being electricuted. Then, it appears that the diver is actually ironing -- a t-shirt! As I've told more than one person, if you're ironing t-shirts, you need to get yourself a hobby.

Putting it all together, it's ridiculous to think that a woman is actually diving the depth of a football field into the ocean to iron a t-shirt in the most ineffective way imaginable. It's perhaps even more ridiculous that a photographer bothered to dive down 100 meters to take a picture of this woman!

As easy as it is to make fun of Miss Underwater Ironer, I realize that I'm no better. I'm not as hard on myself as Solomon was. I don't buy into the whole "everything is meaningless" argument. The two days I spent wandering around the county fair this weekend was time spent with family and friends. The time blogging helps me explore my relationship with God. My time reading blogs does the same thing.

But there's the hour or two in front of the television set. Or playing a computer game. Or surfing You Tube to see what silliness has been documented for the whole DSL-Connection-or-faster-world to see. Am I making the best use of my time? Obviously not. Most of the time I'm doing my share of wind chasing.

Why is it that time-wasters are able to climb up the ladder of priority in my life? (and I'm assuming yours also). True, I'm not ironing t-shirts underwater, but by the same token, I don't know how to scuba dive. Shoot, I barely know how to iron!

I wonder where the right mix is. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," I've always heard. Of course, I've always heard that from people who don't want to work! I wonder just how much of my life I've wasted, chasing the wind.

Paul wrote that whatever we do, we are to do it to the best of our ability as though we are doing it for God. I'm not quite sure Paul was thinking about underwater ironing when he wrote that, but is there a place for diversion? Is diversion like so many other things in life -- good in moderation, bad in overindulgence?

All I know is that I don't make the best use of my time, and I don't believe God is always pleased with the way I spend my waking hours. That is something I must be praying about.

Family Tradition

I am very proud of my daddy's name
although his kinda music and mine ain't exactly the same
stop and think it over put yourself in my position
if i get stoned and sing all night long
it's a family tradition

Don't ask me Hank, why do you drink?
(Hank) why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
If I'm down in a Honky-Tonk
Some ol' slicks tryin to give me corrections
I'll say leave me alone, I'm singin all night long
it's a family tradition.
(From Family Tradition by Hank Williams, Jr.)

Ol' Hank loves to pass off his rowdy ways on upholding the ways of his daddy. But I've been thinking about traditions lately, and I wonder how many are simply excuses, rationalizations and justifications.

I talked about tradition with a couple of different people yesterday. One man is carrying on the family tradition of making root beer and selling it at county fairs. His grandparents started doing it in 1939. His aunt got into the act in 1948. He helped out after his grandfather passed away in 1962, but didn't launch fully into the tradition until 1976. He's still making and selling the stuff, thirty years later, proudly carrying on the tradition begun by his grandfather almost 70 years before.

Another lady is county fair nut enthusiast. At the age of 77, she still is at the fair every hour that the grounds are open to the public. Why? Her family used to work there when she grew up. She and her sisters would open the gates in the morning, sell tickets for the amusements all day, then close the gates at night. "It was our fair," she told me. "It's still our fair. I just can't leave." Now that seems silly to most of us, but her family tradition has her latched to a parcel of land for seven straight days every year. And she loves every minute of it.

I also saw someone yesterday with a different family tradition. Actually, calling it a family tradition isn't exactly accurate. This boy, whom I will call James, never had a father and lost his mother at an early age. For most of his 16 years, James has been shuffled from temporary home to foster home to orphanage. His tradition is that there is no family, no one worth trusting. And sadly, James' tradition is that he can do as he wishes. If he does something wrong, the worst that will happen is a move to another foster home or shelter.

Back in March, James moved into another foster home. This one was working out well, and James told the couple that he wanted to stay with them. The next day he attacked his foster mother with a knife, stabbing her multiple times and even slashing the couple's 13-year-old daughter, who got away to call for help. The woman survived, and James is off to prison for 18 years.

As my wife and I talked about James, we wondered if James had been blessed with a good, stable family if he would have turned out the way he did. We'll never know, of course, but it sure seems like he would have had a better chance.

I cringe when I see parent of young kids out in public, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, and obscenities written on their t-shirts. I see WAY too many of these, and I wonder what chance those kids have. Surely I'll see those kids in twenty years, talking and acting in the same fashion as their parents. Family tradition, right?

And then I thought about the one power that can break the tradition.

I was blessed incredibly with a great family while growing up. I was adopted as an infant, so I realize that my present life could be startlingly different than it is today. I accepted Christ early in life, so there was no huge turnaround story. It wasn't hard to accept Christ publically -- that was what was expected of me. Family tradition, if you will.

What was actually hard was doing more than walk the aisle to the altar. The hard part was putting feet to my faith and living out what I believe. That's still the hard part, you know?

But back to James... what was going to take him out of a childhood full of violence and crime? Sure the love of a mother and father can be big influences. But I know plenty of kids who have gone bad while growing up in a lovely home environment.

Let's face it. There is only one Way out. Whether He's pulling me away from daily temptations or whether he's pulling the violent kid toward a life of obedience to Christ, there is only one Way.

Family traditions aren't broken easily.

I wonder when he figured out that something was wrong

Evangelist Dies Trying To Walk on Water: Pastor reportedly told congregation he could repeat miracle of Jesus

It's an actual news story, so I'm assuming it's actually true. Nothing would surprise me at this point.

Note: It's not a matter of having enough faith to do something to make yourself look cool.

Pastoral Dominoes

That's twice this week. Two times, count 'em, two. Two separate pastors who have either been accused of or admitted to sexual misconduct -- all in a town of just 10,000 people. One is a
supposedly happily married pastor who is now getting divorced to begin life anew with a new woman. The other is a youth pastor who is being accused of improper conduct with two girls from his youth group.

Sure, this is nothing new. Pastors fall like dominoes every year. I've known pastors who have fallen prey to sexual temptation. And I've heard plenty more stories.

A youth pastor friend of mine in graduate school turned out to be misusing young boys and was sent to prison. I never had the slightest idea until he was arrested.

I've been told stories about all kinds of pastors -- and not just male pastors. One female pastor ran off with another man while her husband was SICK IN THE HOSPITAL!

Of course the pastorate can be viewed as a microcosm of society in general. In other words, there will be all kinds, good and bad, in pastoral positions. But it just stands out more when it is a pastor.

There are all kinds of people waiting for a pastor to slip up. I'm certainly aware of this. I know plenty of them. They see the Jimmy Swaggarts and Jim Bakkers of the world and think all pastors are the same way except they don't get caught. Perhaps it is a wish to
justify one's own sinful behavior or lustful temptations, I don't know. But every time one of those pastoral dominoes fall, another excuse for ignoring Christianity is erected in its place.

Being a pastor, I have a little bit of an insight into the other side of the coin as well. Fortunately for me, I'm ugly enough to repel any female's advance so I don't face the same kind of temptations that some take on. The relationship between pastor and a woman with an unhappy life can be confusing for both parties involved. And pastors, like any red-blooded human being (male or female) face the possibility that their mercy, comfort and understanding will be seen
as an invitation to something more. And it's not easy to resist a good-looking person of the opposite sex who is all but throwing himself (herself) at you.

So what's the answer? Sorry, I don't have one. Well, yeah, prayer is a weapon in the fight. But if a sometimes-happily married pastor wants to run off with the church secretary or organist or backup singer or occasional attender refuses to listen to common sense and accept the strength that God provides, that pastor reaps what he/she sows. But think of the lives that are torn apart in the process. Children... church members... scoffing skeptic.

Pray for your senior pastor and your assistant pastors and your worship pastors, and oh please, pray for your youth pastors. Pray that they won't give up the struggle. Pray that they will stand strong. Pray that God will use their ministry and their life's example.

I'm Not Dead

Just a quick note to point out that I'm really not dead, nor have I given up blogging. It's just been a couple of very busy weeks. I promise more actual content will be appearing in the very near future. But until then, in case you were hoping to take a nap, you might as well put on your Armor of God PJs.

Heat Wave Edition - Christian Carnival CXXXIV

Hello and welcome to Christian Carnival CXXXIV (that's 134 outside of Rome). My old friend, Heat Miser brings you greetings as well! Be nice to him... he's a bit of a hothead, you know.

It's August, and let's be honest -- it's been a sweaty mess throughout much of North America for the past two weeks. I myself have lost well over 600 pounds of water weight since July 4. Fortunately, I replaced the water weight with good old fashioned "fat weight" so I'm prepared for winter hibernation. But I digress...

With so many people still trying to recover from the affects of blazing temperatures and 300 percent humidity readings, I've decided to christen this edition of Christian Carnival, "The Heat Wave Edition". So, grabbing a frosty mug of root beer and a couple of salt tablets, allow me to guide you through this week's broiling hot posts, submitted from fine, sweaty bloggers throughout the blogosphere.

We begin with our modern necessity, the air conditioner. Sure, there are still plenty of people walking around in unconditioned air, but for many of us the old A/C is something we cannot do without when the thermometer shoots above room temperature. In the same way, there are many people who live their lives without Christ, not understanding the advantages of a Christian walk. With that in mind, our air conditioner introduces a section of posts contemplating the One who is our necessity.

Complementarianism as a Mediating Position. Don't let the title scare you. Jeremy at Parableman tackles gender roles and consistency in his offering this week.

Jon at Think asks, what are we to make of Christian praise songs that contain lyrics that are literally false (if not heretical and blasphemous)? Do such literal falsehoods implicate truths or fall under artistic license, or are they simply heresy? The post is entitled, Artistic License vs. Heresy.

At Crossroads: Where Faith and Inquiry Meet, Diane is asking The Seven Questions. She says, "I've identified seven moves within the current evangelical movement that I consider heresies. However, these seven movements are attempting to answer some worthwhile questions that the larger evangelical church is either not answering, or answering well." Read and see what you think.


For those who can't afford air conditioning, there's the lower-cost, lower-enengy-hogging alternative -- the fan. The electric fan is a whirling dervish of moving parts. Three blades in perpetual motion. Until the power goes out. Then throw in the oscillating action and you have movement galore. Of course there is also the paper fan. I remember the hand fans, stuffed into the hymnal rack in every pew at church. There were always two pictures: the obligatory picture of Jesus and the one of the little girl with white gloves praying in front of a stained-glass window. For some reason, there was always a funeral home ad on the other side. But during a hot Sunday service, everyone had one of those paper heat-relievers waving back and forth until wrist muscles were stretched and worn out. Again, it's motion. It reminds me of two people debating with arms flapping and lips flapping even faster. Nothing gets you worked up faster than a good debate. So the fan will lead us into the valley of the shadow of philosophical and political debate.

We'll begin with Leslie Carbone's self-titled blog. Leslie invites us along to read A Vision for America.

Meanwhile at Acme Anvil Co., SteveO has been watching O'Reilly reruns and is taking on the Million Youth March Organizers in his entry.

Is religion The Root of All Evil? At Principled Discovery, Dana begins with Mel Gibson's latest statements and compares them to media statements about Christianity.

Want to learn a little more about political philosophy? JCHFleetguy at Brain Cramps For God is in the midst of that very exercise. Check the post A "Discussion" of Political Philosophy.

Marijuana and hashish in the Old Testament? "Not a chance," says Tyler from Codex: Biblical Studies Blogspot. Then he sets about debunking the whole idea. Interesting read.

Minimum Attention For Minimum Wage is the offering from Father David at Left of Calvary.

Mark, from Kingdom>>> Church>>> Culture, has plenty to say about illegal immigration. One of his posts on the subject, Busting into America, he discusses why they are coming, why their countries don't work, and why illegal immigrants are, in effect, stealing (or attempting to steal) rights and privileges that belong to American citizens.

Now, what if the air conditioner and the fan didn't provide cooling as quickly as you'd like? Ice, ice, baby. It's cold and it meets our desire for instant satisfaction. But more than that, ice cools the liquid it floats in. It affects the world around us. The cuves to the left will lead us to posts dealing with our own efforts of affecting the world around us and the world within us. In short, these posts help describe the Christian walk.

The Doctor is In is always a fun read. This week, Dr. Bob shares his own journey of faith in The Path 1:Genesis.

At Trivium Pursuit, Laurie presents a list of Recommended Sermons.

A reflection on prayer in the night comes from penitens at A Penitant Blogger.

The 23rd Psalm is often called the most beloved in the Psalter. Rev Bill clues us in on a new version -- Psalm 23 (For Work).

Dave, from Career Intensity Blog concludes, "Trust in God and believe in yourself and anything is possible." See if you agree with You Gotta Believe.

Becky, from I thought I'd have it together by now, says that her post, A God-shaped Hole, is about her three-year-old grandson’s accepting Christ and beginning his faith journey and her friend Lisa sharing her journey at a retreat. It got its title because our God, who is faithful, has filled the holes in their hearts.


There are times when no matter how you've cooled yourself off, you still smell like a sweaty mess. A heat wave is usually not a treat for the olfactory. A day of sweating leaves you smelling... well, like you've been sweating all day! It's like sin. The more we wallow around in sin, the smellier we get. With that in mind, pull out the Speed Stick, the Ban, the Secret, and the Arrid Extra Dry, lift your arms and apply a generous helping of posts which speak to our sinful condition.

My own contribution to this Carnival is a post I call All Rise, which features the struggle of truly offering God the honor He deserves instead of trying to grasp it and keep it for ourselves.

Andrea Graham offers up The Whipping Boy. It's a discussion of the need to let Jesus, not only be Savior, but also Lord, and it's up at Adam's Blog.

Here's a title which says a lot before you ever click on the link -- The Idolatry of Ministry. Maybe that phrase upsets you. Perhaps it makes you glad that someone else thinks like you. Whatever your position, I urge you to read it at Light Along the Journey.

I'm not sure this is all about sin, but there are people who think it is. At Resistance is futile! Gullyborg gives a response to Christian criticism of a lingerie photograph, from a Christian with different views in Theology 101.


If all else fails, and you're still smelly, sweaty and hot, there's always the cold shower. Just toss everything you have into the shower and turn on the faucet marked "C". And so I'm taking every post that's left and tossing them into a nice refreshing group with no apparent theme.

We'll start with Jack Yoest posting of a letter from a soldier who gave his life for his country in Iraq. The post is simply called, Remembering Staff Sergeant Dan Clay.

A light-hearted battle of words is heating up between David Ker from Lingamish and Rick Mansfield regarding the relative merits of Wikipedia and the Encyclopedia Britannica. Here's David's latest foray called A new kind of mind.

I've always told people that yoga is more than just stretching, and it's the "more you have to watch out for. Mick Dobra of the Romans 15:4 Project describes this situation as it began for him with a show on MTV in Yoga - Dangerous Teachings.

At Pseudo-Polymath, Mark wonders about the Reformation's End. Since mainline protestant churches have been undergoing a decades long slide in membership, if they disappear by mid-century ... will the Reformation basically be ended? And what does that mean?

Part-Time Pundit John asks us to consider donating to the Tumaini Foundation, a charity that sends medical and school supplies to rural Tanzania to help AIDS orphans and other children get a good education. The post is simply called Please Donate to the Tumaini Foundation.

Along the same lines, at Matt Jones' Random Acts of Verbiage, the host is extoling another group doing excellent work in helping those the West has seemingly forgotten. Read Uganda's Invisible Children.

That puts the wraps on the 134th edition of the Christian Carnival. My thanks to Dory for keeping this organized (sweating the details), and to all of you who submitted your wares (the sweat of your brow). And thank you as well to all of you who spent time purusing the aisles of the Carnival, trying to bring your body temperature down to a less-than-feverish level. Look for next week's Carnival at a blog near you.

Watch this space!

Coming tomorrow to Attention Span is the latest version of Christian Carnival. It promises to be a scorcher, so make plans to stop by. I'd also encourage you to submit a post before midnight eastern time to ChristianCarnival@GMail.com so you can be a part of the carnival as an author AND a reader.

Nothing's Different But Everything's Changed

The title is from a song on Paul Simon's latest CD. I hear it at least once a day on my Sirius Satellite Radio. I'm not sure I can determine exactly what Paul means by that line, but I know what it reminds me of.

The comment has often been made after accepting Christ: "But, I don't feel any different." I've heard it myself. It's usually delivered with an air of disappointment. Some people seem to be expecting the earth to move or a choir to sing or at least some sort of feeling of invincibility to overtake them. But that's not part of the deal. The fact is, we still have to deal with the problems we make and those we inherit.

One lady asked me, "If I become a Christian, will my life get better?" My answer didn't really satisfy her. I told her that her situations wouldn't change, but the way she looked at them would. Like the rich young ruler, she walked away shaking her head, for she wanted everything to be different. She wanted her boyfriend to really love her. She wanted her illnesses to go away. She wanted a better job and a better this and a better that. But why bother if nothing will be different?

The thing is, when a person trusts Christ to be not only Lord, but also Savior, nothing is different. Ah, but everything's changed. "Keeping up with the Joneses" isn't what drives us anymore. Stockpiling cash and prizes aren't our lives' focus. We now look to please God rather than men. We understand that this earth is not all there is. We realize just how messed up we really are.

Sure, we still mess up. We don't live up to our world view. But our entire priority system has been knocked on its head. We know what we want to be and how we want to act and we're not satisfied with being like the others who couldn't care less about their Creator until they have an emergency.

You see, nothing's different. But everything's changed.

All Rise

Every once in a while I find myself sitting in a courtroom. No, I'm not a lawyer or in need of a lawyer. I'm not suing anyone for some injury I may or may not have suffered while driving, climbing a ladder placed in front of a door, or placing a cup of scalding coffee between my thighs. I'm just an observer. But it's obvious that the position of judge carries with it a boatload of respect. How do I know? Because whenever the judge enters the courtroom, Rusty the bailiff instructs everyone to "All rise."

We show our respect for the office of judge by standing when the person filling the office walks in to proceed with the actual business of judging. There aren't a lot of other jobs where this type of respect is shown. I've never met a sitting U. S. President, but I'd bet most everyone stands when he enters a room. I've met my fair share of other politicos -- governors, congressmen, etc. -- and I've stood when greeting them, but no more so than when I greet the trash collector. There just aren't many jobs which carry with them, a certain amount of respect.

In days gone by, preachers used to get a bit of that respect. Those days are long gone now, many thanks to Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart and countless others who tried to cover up the fact that they were simply fallible human beings. I heard a rabbi once mention that whenever he gets pulled over by the police, he always places his "CLERGY" sign cleverly in the left front window of the car... just in case it helps him get a warning instead of a citation. Me, I figure there are enough people gunning for preachers, that I keep my calling to myself in such cases unless I'm asked!

Ever think about the amount of respect we give to our Creator? I do. The position of earthly judge has nothing on the position of heavenly judge. An earthly judge enters the room and we rise to our feet. Seeing the heavenly judge before should make us at least drop to our knees, if not fall prostrate on our face before Him.

But for now, we aren't blessed with His physical presence, so let's think about the respect we show Him anyway. It used to be that we would put on our "Sunday Best" every weekend and toddle off to "God's House" and be on our best behavior, all as a show of our respect for God. Of course, eventually we figured out that even though we were in God's presence in the church building when we looked all pretty, we were also in God's presence on Monday afternoon when we were all grimy and sweaty and a couple of miles away from "God's House". Respect is more than physical posture. Respect is more than the clothes we wear, or our location, or our outward behavior.

Respect for God begins inwardly and is then expressed outwardly. Maybe we express it in the way we dress, but it's so much more than that. It's the way we are.

In my sinfulness, I give God nowhere near the respect He deserves. In my selfishness, I give God only leftovers after I have pleased myself first. In my shallowness, I fail to give God much of anything meaningful at all.

All rise? Yeah, right.

"Lord, I pray that You would continually remind me of who You are and who I am, to help me remember just how marvelous and awesome You really are."

Farmer Tan

After I got up Monday morning, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. Let me tell you, it wasn't a pretty sight. But besides the usual early morning ugliness, I noticed something about myself. I have a farmer tan.

If you're not familiar with that terminology, let me clue you in. A farmer tan on a man is where the forearms, hands, head, face and neck are a deep golden tan in color, while the area generally covered by t-shirt or other short sleeve shirt is almost shockingly white. The term comes from the tradition that a farmer will work outside with a shirt on at all times. (If you've ever baled hay, you know it's a bad idea to try it shirtless unless you're mighty fond of itchy skin.)

The typical farmer tan isn't noticeable unless the man's shirt is removed. At which time planes will aim toward the brilliant white skin, pilots sure that it must be the searchlight at the local airport. But if the shirt stays on, no one is the wiser.

My farmer tan became very noticeable to me because I was outside watching a baseball tourney most of the weekend under unbearably sunny skies. My t-shirt had a few buttons in front which were undone. The result was a bright red three inch line extending from beneath my throat like a miniature necktie.

"I really need to get a little more sun," I told myself. But with a physique
like mine, I figure I'm being merciful by keeping my shirt on.

The world arounds me sees a man with his spiritual shirt on. Beautifully tanned arms and neck. A real healthy glow.

But God sees me as I am -- a sinner with a spiritual farmer tan. But God sees through all of that outside stuff. He knows what a wreck I am. He can see that I am in the same state as the Apostle Paul -- the chief of all sinners.

Even though the world may not notice my farmer tan -- my imperfections -- I know that God isn't fooled. And I strive not to be fooled either.

The Barrier

As I looked through the newspaper last weekend, I read the accounts of a protested military funeral in the same town as my denomination's headquarters.

You've certainly heard of the foolish people involved -- Rev. Fred and the Kansas Krew. OK, that's not the exact name, but it's already more respect given to them than they deserve. These are the folks who claim that the U.S. is being divinely judged for embracing homosexuality by having our servicepeople killed in Iraq. So in the illogical extension of their thinking Fred and the Krew show up at the funerals of soldiers who are killed in the Middle East to hold up stupid signs and shout about their misguided beliefs.

So that's what happened. RF&KK showed up outside the church to... whatever it is they think they're accomplishing. What a painful sound for the family grieving the loss of a young man who gave his life in service to his country -- without regard to anyone's position on homosexuality.

What caught my eye in the newspaper story was that there were a couple of motorcycle groups who decided to do something about all this. They parked their motorcycles on the street directly in front of Rev. Fred and the Kansas Krew and revved the engines. No one could hear the protesting Jayhawks. The surroundings weren't silent, but the air wasn't filled with the sound of hateful idiocy spoken, supposedly, as the voice of Christ's followers. Instead of the cries of the foolish reaching the mourning, the motorcyclists formed a barrier against the hatred.

What an interesting concept. Instead of argueing with someone who won't listen, cushioning the blow of those who are grieving.

Often we can't shield the hurting from the pains that life has in store for them. A hug and a casserole doesn't stop the pain of grief anymore than a dozen motorcycles revving their engines can quiet a crowd. But sometimes we have to be creative to offer that cup of cold water in Jesus' name.

Sloth

Sloth. No, not the cute little critter with either two or three toes. More like the innate desire we have not to bother to lift either two or three toes to do something. Meet Sammy the Sloth.

There are days I can be the laziest man on the face of the earth. I'm not proud of that, although on those days I doubt I'd put up a good argument to refute the charge. There are days when I'm content not doing anything, if at all possible.

The reason why Sammy the Sloth has come up is from Kelly's comment from my post, Doubt, Pride and Shame. I fully understand Kelly's point. Many days I live Kelly's point. But let's look at laziness, or sloth, and see what it really is.

My contention is that in it's basic form, laziness is simply selfishness. Think about it. If I'm too lazy to read my Bible or to pray, isn't it really that I don't want to read it? Or at least that I don't want to read it or to pray enough to put down the bon-bons and the remote to pick it up and get to it?

I know that there are days when I come home from a long day of work and I really don't feel like doing anything more. Last week was one of those weeks for me. I was filling in, taking on extra assignments at work while my boss was on vacation. By the time the whistle blew at the end of the day, my mind was fried and I had no desire to use it without significant sleep. Could I have done something I really wanted to do? Sure. There were things I would have gladly done, given the opportunity. However, most things last week didn't motivate me enough to get me going.

So too with the busy schedule excuse. I hear ya', soccer moms and little league dads. I'm with you, not only in spirit, but also in body. Shoot, we're all pretty busy little beavers these days. Society tells us we should be, and our kids should be, so that's what we do. The little squares on the calendar fill up and each day becomes a sort of challenge to see how we can manage to get everything accomplished. So who can take time out for prayer? Being a busy little beaver leads to being a lazy little sloth.

But from where I sit (and it's not far from where you're sitting), our business is a matter of choice also. And it comes back to self. We make committments or fill in schedules with things we want to do (or think we should do) and then wear ourselves out for the things we are called to do. So when we collapse on the sofa after a long day of picking up kids, dropping off dry cleaning, picking up groceries and dropping off projects we are left with our sloth. Not that we are too lazy to pray, but that we've chosen other alternatives -- alternatives which make us happier, or which make us more impressive to the people we know. Or as Kelly put it, "I make time for all the other things in my life that are important, don't I?" Yup. That we do.

So I really can't accept laziness as an excuse or a reason why we don't pray. Because laziness comes back to selfishness, and selfishness comes back to pride. We don't find ourselves too lazy to pray. We find ourselves to have chosen things that give us satisfaction in other areas, then use our own pride as an excuse for ignoring the One who gave us life, and gives us eternal life.

How To Get Here - 7/13/06

Still here. I've been busy paving new routes to Attention Span. Just look at the new search strings people used to end up here:

installing a clothesline - Apparently I may have to do a series with "installing a clothesline" "hanging a picture on the wall" and "changing the roll on the toilet paper holder" for some of the manually challenged cruising the blogosphere.

My father was a semi-professional curler - Did he keep his amateur status as a shampooer? I still have four years of college eligibility in beard maintenance.

"semi-permanent" lip - OK, what's the deal with the "semi" stuff? I keep going back to the old George Carlin bit about "semi-boneless ham". Does it have a bone? Then it's a bone, it's not a semi-bone. Perhaps a semi-permanent lip operation can be done by a semi-professional curler?

cat disease balding head - Oh great! I have a cat disease?!?!?!?!

loudest clapper - Personally I don't worry about how loud a clapper is, I just turn the light off at the switch like most people.

does lionel richie sing cherish the love song - These days, Lionel would probably sing anything if the price was right.

what side of the bed should the wife sleep on - Well, obviously the right side. You don't want her waking up on the wrong side of the bed, do you???

romal numeral - You know what they say... "When in Rome, do as the Romals do."

what do you get when you cross an insomniac - With an elephant? Someone who doesn't sleep and can't forget about it.

Enough for now. Real content coming when I get a chance to catch my breath. I promise.

Doubt, Pride and Shame

A good writer doesn't give away the answers to the question too quickly. So, call me a hack.

I asked the question, "So, why don't we pray?" and I've already given you the answers that I've come up with right there in the title. Doubt, pride and shame. I thank those who offered their comments, which I believe fit into these three categories.

When I first started hashing this thought out in public, it was at Meg Logan's Blog. (Meg was away from the blogosphere for awhile, but is back at it again. I heartily recommend a trip over there.) But in one post on prayer, I mused about this subject and Meg, very bravely, admitted that her problem was doubt. It is very easy for us to doubt that our prayer will make any difference at all in the situation we pray about. Why is that? Because we've all prayed for something and not received what we prayed for. All of us. I've met no one who is batting 1.000 in the GWPF's (Getting What we Prayed For's). In fact, I'd say I know more people who are closer to .050 than to .500 in GWPF's.

So doubting is natural for us. Since we often think of prayer as a way of getting what we want instead of remembering that it is a way for us to want what God wants, we can get discouraged watching request after request go unanswered -- or at least not answered the way we want.

If we don't think something is going to "work" it becomes a less attractive way for us to spend our time. But prayer is not about getting God to change His mind, it's about molding us into the image of Christ Jesus. "Thy will be done" -- remember?

The mental image I use when explaining how prayer works is of a person in a rowboat holding a rope which is tied to the dock. By pulling on the rope, the dock is not brought closer to the boat. In fact just the opposite is true. Prayer is most effective when our will is brought into line with God's will. But the doubting mind keeps us from seeing the true purpose of prayer, and so drives us away from prayer. We may not really hate the idea of praying. We just can't find a pressing reason to make it necessary or even efficient.

Then comes pride. Pride makes us think that prayer is unnecessary because we can handle the tough stuff ourselves. Pride makes us believe that we're not in that bad shape. Pride says that we are rugged individualists who have no need for a crutch. Pride tells us that "God helps those who help themselves" yet forgets that this old saw is not taught in Scripture.

Oh, pride. It's just our own poor perception of ourselves taking action. It's usually more of a "male" thing, but it brings down plenty of females too. Urging us to "be strong" and to "deal with it" and the like. Funny how Jesus never had any real problem with being too proud to pray -- and I doubt we think we're stronger than Him!

We do so love to have a good opinion of ourselves. Self-actualization, self-worth, loving yourself before you can love others... the world tries to sell us that whole bill of goods daily. Scripture teaches something else entirely. And the Bible is full of examples of godly people who weren't too proud to come to their Creator.

Shame. There's a word we don't hear much anymore. I suppose it stems from the whole pride nonsense. But deep down we still have shame, even when the world tries to tell us we shouldn't. And that shame can get in the way of our relationship with Christ.

John and Martha have each sat down in a room together. This married couple hasn't spoken to one another since Martha was caught lying to cover up an adultrous relationship. John and Martha try to make small talk -- about the weather, the kids, work... but they are not alone. Also in the room is the 1200 pound gorilla they both seek to ignore, but which refuses to be ignored. How awkward and uncomfortable John and Martha each feel. Both are fully aware of the problem, but neither is willing to address it. They wish to avoid a confrontation.

I think it's that shame which drives many away from prayer. We are fully aware that God knows our sinful hearts. He knows what we shouted at the person at the coffee shop yesterday. He knows what we were fantasizing about the attractive young person in the next car at the stoplight. He knows that we're so self-absorbed that our efforts at a relationship with Him are superficial at best. And since we know that HE knows all that, we wish to avoid the confrontation.

I'm not big on confrontations myself, but even more I hate having the gorilla in the room. Many years ago there was a young lady I worked with who had a problem with something I did. I heard through the grapevine that she was upset with me, but whenever I went to her to discuss it, she left the room at breakneck speed. She hid in her office with the door shut. She sneaked out of work via the side door at an unexpected time. All this to avoid a confrontation which needed to be worked out. Running from confrontation seldom accomplishes anything but delaying the inevitable. Yet still many people run. By the same token, many run from prayer, too ashamed to go to God to get rid of the 1200 pound gorilla.

Now maybe I'm just being simplistic here. But I think prayer avoidance comes down to these three categories. Again, not having time is just an excuse. Claiming to not know what to pray or how to pray or even not knowing we should pray are childish rationalizations meant to make ourselves feel better about snubbing Almighty God. It's back to doubting in prayer or God's ability to answer prayer, being too proud to ask for help, and feeling too much shame to come to the One we continue to sin against.

But isn't understanding the reason for our running a step toward getting that prayer life on track? I'm challenging you and me both to deal with the reason why we don't pray, then let God put it as far away as the east is from the west, and get back to a deepened relationship with our Savior and Lord.

So... Why Don't We Pray?

There's a scene at the end of the movie, Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (or the book, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but the movie with Gene Wilder, not the creepy version with Johnny Depp which I didn't bother to see. But I digress...) In this scene, Charlie has been told he has won the grand prize, and he, Grandpa Joe, and Wonka get into the great glass elevator (Wonkavator, technically). The small passenger compartment has hundreds of buttons to press, each one corresponding to a different room in the factory.

Anyway, ol' Mr. Wonka tells Charlie something to the effect of, "You know, Charlie, I've pushed every button in this elevator except one. And I want you to press it now." So Charlie hits the button and the Wonkavator shoots out the top of the shaft and becomes a tiny, glass-encased hovercraft. Then there's the happy ending, and so on and so on. But I always found it odd that this eccentric candy-maker who could do pretty much whatever he wanted to do had actually tried everything but one little button on the elevator.

Why wouldn't he have pressed it at some point? In my mind, I've concocted all kinds of scenarios as to why Wonka kept his mitts off that button. Perhaps it would have given away some sort of secret about his identity to the public, or aroused the interest of his competitor, Slugworth. Certainly there must have been a good reason. Right? It's a perfectly good button. It seemed to work just fine. Why not use it?

Fantasies about chocolate-makers and oompa-loompas aside, I've found there's a button that many Christians seem reluctant to press as well. The prayer button.

Apparently it's not a new phenomenon. James chides the readers of his letter that "You do not have because you do not ask God." Or in the Wonka version, "You do not have because you never press the button." So, why don't we pray?

I don't buy the argument that we don't have time or that we don't know what to pray for or that we don't know we should pray. I've used all those excuses many times and I know they are nothing but empty excuses stuffed with rationalization. We know we're supposed to pray. To paraphrase the New Testament, even the heathen know that! Most times we know what we are to pray for. Needs and people come to our minds and to our attention often. I've even caught myself thinking, "I need to pray for that family," only to let it slide from my attention. And I know we're all incredibly busy, but there is always time to pray if we make the time.

So why don't we ever make the time? Why don't we follow through? Why do we leave prayer as the button we never press, the weapon in the arsenal we never deploy?

I want to explore that problem this week. In the meantime, help me out by offering your own experiences, excuses and explanations as well as those of others you know in the comments section here. Thanks!

Thinking About the 4th

Wow, what a busy week! I'm finally getting caught up around here, but there have been so many things rumbling through my gray matter that it's going to take a while to get it all fleshed out. Plus there's a worship service to prepare for today, so I'll regale you with a rerun. I actually posted this back in January, but it's much more appropriate this weekend.

I posted a couple of days ago about the way the minds of so many American Christians link patriotism and Christianity as almost one and the same. This was an extension of my July 4th post about the American flag's presence on church property. Anyway, in the comments section, Bob of gratitude and hoopla pointed out,

I hear all the time from people who have mistakenly equated Christianity with Americanism. It sounds foolish to our ears, perhaps, but where did they get that idea? Did we give it to them? I think the answer is yes, unfortunately. We have to work at correcting this misunderstanding, for we bear that responsibility. I thank God for my country, but it does seem that we American evangelicals are far too "at home in this world".

Now I can argue that personally, I didn't give these people that idea, but I realize that Bob was using "we" to refer to Christians in general, especially teachers and preachers. But the responsibility to correcting this misunderstanding falls on me and upon all who are reading this. So how do we do it? How do we get people to see that Christian does not equal American? Here are a few ideas:

(1) Get the American flag off of church property. We don't have to fly flags, right? And flying the American (or Canadian or whichever) flag forces us to put Christianity and patriotism on the same level, or if both flags are on one pole it's the Christian flag which is pushed to the bottom. You can't tell me that the symbolism isn't noticed at one level or another by the general population. I went off on that topic here.

(2) Preach about Christian sacrifice. What should we be willing to give up for Christ? Think about this: Almost every church in America has people sitting in the pews who would gladly lay down their lives for their country, but who wouldn't in a million years give up their lives for God. You know it's true.

(3) Along with that idea, preach about the advantages of being a Christian. Those who would die for their country realize that they want the advantages of being an American to be available to others. They will give their lives so that others can continue to enjoy those benefits. But do most people understand the advantages of being a Christian? Aside from being "fire insurance", what about the value here on earth -- peace which passes all understanding, hope, strength, faith, etc. Does the average person in the good ol' U. S. A. know about these things? I'd bet not. Perhaps the idea of Christian sacrifice wouldn't seem so foreign if we realized the benefits we're already using.

(4) Teach priorities. Do not denegrate this country. It's a great country. I'm sure Canada is fantastic too. But this is not our home. Our first priority is to our Creator and Savior.

(5) Don't allow anyone to inject "America" into the Scriptures. I've heard so many people interpret 2 Chronicles 7:14 as applying to the United States, yet in context the promise to "heal the land" is for the nation of Israel. Americans are not the "people who are called by my name". Not that we shouldn't humble ourselves, pray and seek His face, but the promise is not for America.

At least those are my ideas. Feel free to argue any of them or suggest more. But a clear teaching of Scripture is needed to give a clear understanding that we are called to be Christians before we consider our home country. I argued in my last post that we are to be Christians before we are doctors or fathers or any other role we fulfill. Being a Christian first makes us better doctors and better fathers and so on. In the same way, making sure Christ is our first priority will make us better citizens, and it will put God solely on the throne as He deserves.

Fire

I stood this afternoon watching a family's possessions go up in flames. I don't know how the fire started, but by the time I arrived at the inferno, the blaze was out of control.

It's a helpless feeling, watching a fire burn. Even the firefighters weren't fast enough to be able to save much of the house. On the back porch, a metal swing set slowly melted into a pile of charred, twisted metal. A child's plastic slide turned into a jumble of melted plastic in primary colors. The destruction was incredible, and I found myself and many other onlookers had little more to say than, "Wow."

I spent a little time with the people who lived in that house. The parents had left two teenage boys in the house while they ran an errand a few blocks away. The boys smelled smoke and went to investigate only to find that a wall in the rear of the home was engulfed in flames. They got out unharmed, but were afraid that their father would be mad at them... as if they had done something wrong. Mostly, I think, they felt bad that something like that could start without their notice.

The family had no insurance. They were renting the house, but everything inside was theirs including an envelope of cash by the back door which was to be applied for rent and utilities. A newer car was parked in the driveway beside the garage. It caught fire and is a total loss. The father was in the process of switching transmissions and had let the insurance expire two days ago. Gone are the computer, the camera, and the "stuff", but also gone are family pictures and presents made by the boys "for Daddy" from years gone by. Like the father told me, "I never would have thought it could be gone so quickly."

The pastor in me was immediately reminded of the biblical teachings about the temporary nature of earthly possessions. But this was no time for preaching. Besides, the parents seemed to understand that lesson anyway.

Still what struck me as I watched the flames dance along the roof of the home was the word picture Jesus used to describe hell -- the flame that never goes out. At times it appeared that the firefighters had extinguished all the flames, then suddenly I would see a different patch of fire breaking out. It never seemed to be ready to go out. My studies have shown me that Jesus was using Gehenna, or basically the city dump as an illustration of what hell is like. In Gehenna, the suffering never ceases. The flames never go out.

Standing in the yard behind that burning home, I could feel the intense heat coming from the flames. It was a hot day anyway. Muggy. Sticky. Firefighters had to take breaks from the flames to cool off for a bit. I can not imagine suffering that doesn't end. Like fighting a fire that never goes out and having no moment of cool respite from the heat, the suffering of everlasting life without God's presence is beyond me.

One other thing I noticed as I watched the dancing tongues of fire... the blaze had an effect on much more than one house. All the neighbors were out watching the residence burn. Seeing something like that will remind them of the need for smoke detectors and care in handling fire hazards.

Smoke filled the air in that residential neighborhood contaminating the houses across the street. Those people will be airing out their homes for a couple of weeks, at least. Some items will always smell like smoke. When I made it back into the office, I smelled like smoke and I was only on the scene for 90 minutes.

Next door to the burning house was another home. That home was damaged on the side nearest the fire. The vinyl siding was melted and even the insulation beneath was exposed. Then on the other side of the house which was on fire was another house -- this one untouched by the heat and flames. Sometimes we can be affected by the disasters around us to the point where we become part of the damage. Other times we are left untouched.

Tonight, the family is in the hands of the Red Cross. Immediate needs are being met. Certainly there are many who will step up in the next couple of months to help get these people back on their feet. After all, it's easy to see the need when a family has lost everything. But when a person has no relationship with his Creator, too many people refuse to see a need and too many who are lost refuse to accept it.

So many lessons in one fire.