Fringe

As I get older I tend to see myself morph into a stereotype I had had for others.  Generalities are beginning to inhabit entire people groups..."those young whipper snappers."  Respect is being demanded on account of my age not my character.  Seeing certain objects is futile no matter how many times I raise or lower my head.  Times of yesteryear ("when I was a boy") have remembrances of perfection even though many of these thoughts are tainted.

To keep myself from fading too quickly into this morass I look to my kids for some sort of relevance.  In this particular instance I was watching a TV series with my son.  "Fringe" has a story line which develops a parallel universe.  You can bet it took more than a pair of "cheaters" to bring this into focus.

One specific episode shows a man, in our world, who had developed into a caring professor intent on helping people deal with their difficult past.  This same man, in the parallel universe, grew up to be a serial killer intent on making everyone pay for the demons that followed him.  What was shown to be the difference?  This world of ours showed the helpful professor had had a woman who cared for and loved him in his brutal childhood.  The man in the parallel universe had no one to shelter him from the abuse he had experienced.

As usual I got sidetracked. This tangent took me elsewhere and left me wanting more.  No extrapolation on this woman occurred but I so badly wanted her story told.  What was she like?  What did she do?  How was she involved in this boy's life?  I know, it's a TV show, but it's the same story we all live.  Who has affected my life?  Whose hand do I hold when I'm bad?  Whose hand do I hold when they're sad?  Who do I laugh at when they're joked about?  How long is my reach?  How swift is my kick? Do I yell at the merging motorist?  Am I impatient with my co-worker?  Am I short with my child?  Is this really something I do or is it something I have become?  My guess is that this woman didn't plan or do anything unusual, she probably just was.

How do I just be like Christ? Of course, putting aside me watching a TV series about a parallel universe, what do I fill my mind with?  I'm not a hormonal rhythm crier or a subliminal backwards masker but what do I allow to affect my life?  Do I hold true to the statues God puts forth in His Word?  Does the love and mercy of my Savior ooze from my life?

And why shouldn't it ooze?  In a way I live in a parallel universe. In I Corinthians 15:42  Paul states it like this;  "...the body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body."

Unlike the "Fringe" God has enabled me to move past the depression of the parallel universe and the hopelessness  of our universe and has given me the opportunity to change my eternal outcome and enjoy peace, joy and hope through the shed blood of His sacrificial Son.

Graveside

Yesterday I sat, watched and listened…eloquent speeches, beautiful music and heartfelt tears… all a tribute to someone so accurately portrayed as a mom to all.  What a woman!  She was accomplished, polished, classy, down-to-earth, diligent, loving, tough and elegant.  But in all the ability and perfection that was seen is it possible it was accentuated because of what was not seen?

Let me explain.  Often when I was a boy and most always when mom lived with us, I would be up early and find mom praying or reading the Bible.  As I would bring her coffee we would chat, never enough of course, and I would find she wasn’t reading and praying for fun and pleasure but for comfort and guidance.  Mom was a worrier but often that wasn’t her fault.  Usually the worry was caused by her out-of-hand sons or hard to control husband.  A quick example: “Boys, if that motor for the mini bike comes today, do not put it together” she said knowing somehow clouds were forming over the horizon.  Mom drives away, the delivery truck drives in.   A few hours later mom comes back to find a mini bike tipped over and me on the ground with my head covered in blood.  Worry, and why not?

She couldn’t protect us, she couldn’t make decisions for us, and she couldn’t change the hearts or direct the paths of all who called her mom.  So she wept for wisdom, she prayed for protection and she read for guidance because she felt inadequate for the journey.  And because of her wonderful dependence on her loving Savior, we all experienced an incredible outpouring of greatness.  So you see, she was not only great because she was great, she was greater because she was blessed.

A book I had read once had an incredible description of death.  Unfortunately, I can’t remember the author or book to give proper recognition.  As I read this description I thought I understood what he said.  I may have, but it seems as if now I understand better not what he said but what he meant.  Something happened a few days before mom died to make the meaning clearer.   She had called out for her husband, her son and Nathan, her grandson.  This author presented the idea that as we pass from this life to the next there often is a sight and a struggle. The picture presented was crossing a river to Glory.  As one who knows Christ, we see those who are waiting for us…not only family and friends but Jesus, whose blood enabled our passage from death into life.  This sight gives us the desire, courage and endurance to cross that last struggle and swim into the presence of our Savior.  She’s there, she made it and the last struggle is over.  She’s in the arms of Jesus.

Mom

There she was…pretty lady, remarkable musician, time for no ordinary man.  Was it the stately engineer, wide eyed inventor, or the man in uniform that caused the second glance?  Whatever it was, the Benson household was established.  Five boys came along to cause much anxiety and hopefully many smiles.

Are your family memories burdensome?  I sure hope not, but if they are please share mine because mom created enough great memories to go around. 

Mom’s life was to be anything but ordinary.  Thank goodness God lets us experience life as it comes otherwise many of us wouldn’t be up for the journey. 

I was not spoiled in life only in blessings.  Although my parents were not perfect, they loved their God immensely and spread that love around as best as they knew how. 

My mom was a woman who never told or even thought of her capabilities.  Don’t misunderstand me, you had to pay attention.  Choir director, musician, community organizer, teacher, mother, wife, friend, chauffer, cheerleader….she never really stopped.  But back to her journey…did she think she would ever coerce juvenile delinquents into new ways of life?  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking and no, I am not talking about us brothers.  Dad had this great idea that since he was too old to hold down a job he would drag mom off to Indiana to straighten out the paths of a bunch of young whippersnappers.  Did she think she would influence a whole community into appreciating different kinds of music?  Did she ever fathom God would give and take her sons in such a short span of time?  Did she ever dream she would run down escaped horses in her Sunday best, or help a veterinarian winch a calf out of its mother? 

The thing about mom was no matter the obstacle she accomplished the task with a sort of flair.  I look back and wonder if mom was ever cut out to be a farm girl.  Probably not, but since she was there she might as well do it with a bit of class.  When her boys were down by the river and she needed us home for supper did she use the annoying car horn or the ordinary cow bell?  Oh for shame, of course not, she developed the farmstead yodel never leaving any confusion to whose supper was waiting.  Did she wear drab old overalls?  Pfft, really? Not my mom, pastel dresses and white socks were farm fare. 

Now I know this all makes her sound kind of perfect, but she also had her flaws.  She served us lima beans and lutefisk…eh she’s Swedish, what can you do.

There were many things mom loved, I’ll share just three:

·       She loved to be read to.  Mom stayed with our family for a while before she moved into Elim Home.  At that time I was writing a blog and she always wanted me to read it to her.  I often open my blog with questions to get the reader thinking.  In January 2013, our nation was facing the fiscal cliff, so I addressed the issue.  I began reading:  “Are you ready to jump?” “No!” mom answered rather loudly. “Mom, you just ruined the whole premise of my blog. These are questions to think about; you don’t have to answer them.” I responded trying to calm my racing heart from her boisterous reply.  She couldn’t help it she had to answer the questions.  So off we went, I would ask, she would answer, I would reprimand and she would giggle uncontrollably.  Like most people, I’m not so sure she ever understood what I was writing about.  But her interest in what I had done was much more gratifying than her understanding of what I had written. 

·       She loved people.  When I was a kid, mom and dad would invite most anyone over to our house.  More than once I would come into the dining room at meal time and find myself saying, “Who are they?” The more the merrier, the fuller the table; that was my mom.  I’m sure it will be no different in heaven….she will want that banquet table full. 

·       She loved Jesus.  The most desired thing in her life was that you had Jesus in your heart.  And can you blame her?  For eternity she will sit, chat and laugh as she enjoys her family, friends, and her Savior with a cup of coffee and a handful of M&M’s.  If you haven’t decided to follow Jesus yet she would be ecstatic to know you made that decision today.  

Ya know, mom hung around a long time.  Maybe we guys were more delinquent than we thought.  Maybe she hung around as long as she did hoping we would get our acts together.  Whatever the case, I’m so glad she did.  Mom, I’ll miss your uncontrollable laugh, your love and your prayers.  I’ll miss you for now but I’ll see you soon.

Vulnerable

I have a wonderful friend from years gone by and even though we only seem to see each other at funerals of mutual acquaintances, I hope I am considered a friend as well.  When I have thought and prayed for her, as of late, memories of days gone by come to focus in my normally blurred mind.

I don't remember the exact words that were used but before I went to college she told me that us Benson boys are not very good "huggers".  Off to college I went not registering such a preposterous statement.  Returning from school I gave her a big hug, not thinking of our previous conversation, but because I was glad to be back amongst old friends.  She said, "You're getting better." Odd as it may seem, her comments had significance.

To this day hugging can be uncomfortable.  Is it my Scandinavian heritage or the revelations of confusing body language?  Will they think I'm flirting? Should I do a front hug, side hug or a fist bump?  Is all this hugging stuff even about me?  Maybe my open arms of acceptance are nothing more than being vulnerable. I should think Jesus was a great hugger.  He was there for all who needed him.  His arms are open even when we yell, rebel or spit on Him..."Father forgive them for they know not what they do."  I must beware, however, if I do inconsiderate things to my Savior when I know what I'm doing, but we'll leave that for another day.  How many times could God say, "Enough, off with their heads"? But He doesn't, he gives us time to seek Him out.

I am programed to worry about me.  I have no idea what other are going through.  The most "together" people could be unraveling as fast as my favorite old shirt.  I think I should open myself to others even if they despise me.  I am awkward, I get that, I don't know what to do or what to say.  There is protocol, standards and cultural issues, for sure.  But maybe hugging isn't necessarily hugging. Maybe it's just being vulnerable to someone who needs a boost and the appreciation that they are who they are.

As I pray for this friend I hope she will accept the hugs of those who reach out to her and let their vulnerability give her peace.  I think I was born one hundred years too late.  I feel like I could go away, homestead some unknown land and be fine.  But the Bible instructs me, in Hebrews 10:25, to ".....not forsake the assembling of ourselves together."  We must be vulnerable to prod and be prodded, help and be helped, sharpen and be sharpened.  This is how we manage the journey.  It's not always easy but as we share this walk together the added strength that is received when we all become vulnerable makes our load lighter and our days seem brighter. 

Power

Power gives me the opportunity to do many things.  As a Christian I see God's power as my only chance to accomplish the plans he sets before me.  Does God's power give me the potential to stray?  Misguided physical power may enable me to intimidate others.  Financial power may help me sway decisions.  The power of leadership has the possibility of uncontrolled trust.  Whatever type of power I possess it gives me the upper hand.  I have gifts and abilities to do many things but do I control and transpose those abilities into a useful product?  I often wish I was powerful...strong, smart, handsome, rich.....usually dependent on what I feel deficient of at the moment.  In my humanness I would not only want the power but I would like to hold on to it.  This seems to be a problem.  Am I alone in this or is this something all of us need to be aware?

There is the person who is able to sell and takes it too far and begins to sell unworthy things for unworthy gain.  Or the counselor whose built trust, takes advantage.  Maybe there's a spiritual leader who misinterprets God's heart and uses his position for personal gain.  What if I develop the respect of an employer by being an exceptional employee and then offer myself special privileges?  In college I had a wonderful Dean of Students who was very nice and many students became his friend.  Once the friendship was felt secure some students would begin to push their curfew limits.  Now wouldn't it stand to reason that if the curfew was midnight and my friend was a true friend and the holder of the curfew that I should be in at 11:55 pm instead of 12:30 am?  If I take advantage, I misuse the power of this friendship and it becomes no longer a friendship but a deception.  If I am not careful many of my choices and decisions morph into undetected confusion.

Here are my thoughts on how God's great power may be derailed.  Power is like manna.  Remember when the Children of Israel were out in the wilderness and God gave them manna to eat?  He told them to collect enough for that particular day....and no more.  If they collected more it would rot.  I have gifts and abilities God has given and they stand at the ready.  When God has something for me to do His breathe infuses power into me to complete the task.  However, when I get in the way, I begin to parcel out the power in the way that I want.  God may give me the power to move a mountain but I use it to move a bucket of sand.  I store the rest of the power and it goes bad, it corrupts me and is used for things other than God's design.  I become bitter, conceded or self absorbed.  That power wasn't extra, it was enough.  The next task will be granted enough as well.  It seems I must use all the power God gives me or I cheat the giver of the power.

Of course, I am frail and often feel unworthy with questions of how and where to funnel the power God gives me.  I do, however, think that God can handle my frailties.  Holding back on God's power is my choice....my choice to trust, to use it all, to have faith that God will give more for the next task.

Must God's power be used up for each task so this vessel is clean for the next infusion?  Do I want the leftover power to rot my allegiance to this powerful God I serve?  God gives me power so gracefully how can I use it so carelessly?  Maybe all this sounds ludicrous but Satan has this way of shinnying up and confusing me into holding on to God's power till it goes bad and becomes useless, or even worse, that I may use God's power against His own purposes.

Once I steal God's power I become weak and God will accomplish His task without me.  This corruption will bring sadness no matter what lies Satan has hurled my way.  Of course God will except my repentant heart, but wouldn't it be better if at first I would see the fulfillment of His complete power and feel the longing to see God fill full this emptied vessel.

Shadows

What lies in the unknown?

                                      Psalms 91:1-2

                   He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
                      will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
                   I will say of the Lord,
                       "He is my refuge and my fortress.
                            My God in whom I trust."

Ah, the farm.  It was a refuge. Sitting on the hill with my dog peering into the pasture as it wound its way to the river I watched nothing and for a moment had no cares.  School was over and summer had yet to be planned.  The grass, flowers and hay still smelled new.  Andy, my dog, was glad I was home and we stretched out in the sun to dream impossible dreams.  My memories of the farm also included a typical farm house with a breezeway and an attached garage.  On the corner of the house hung a light. Back behind the garage, to the southwest, we had a little kennel where I would put my dog at night.

If you picture this right you will see the darkness of a country evening settle in and engulf our farm.  This yard light, on the corner of the house could only stretch itself so far around the edge of the garage.  The kennel would disappear into incredible darkness. Who knows what kind of monsters were making their way up from the river.  When I put my dog in the kennel at night the shadows of the unknown were terrifying.

However, not all shadowy memories were so miserable.  Although the Minnesota State Fair had scary times of it's own, I do remember a comforting shadow.  My father was a tall stately gentleman.  His shadow, to me as a young kid at the fair, not only protected me from the hot sun but made me feel secure from the lurking's of the fair.  My dad knew what to do and where to go, I stayed close.

What shadows do I seek?  Do I put myself in shadows that terrify....or, do I long to stand in the comfort of the shadow of the Almighty?

Graduation

It's over! My last kid, my baby, has graduated.  Look at him cross the stage...so good looking and such a bright fellow. These traits, he must have gotten them from me since his mother still has hers.  This giggly boy of yesteryear whose favorite saying was, "am I annoying you yet?" has turned serious and introspective.  He holds me accountable on my flippancy and thoughtlessness.  He has a great heart for those who are less fortunate, maybe even at the expense of a place with the popular and polished.

An incredibly proud papa I am yet I sing the ever haunting song of "Cats in the Cradle."  Years have slipped away and time together seems to not have happened enough.  Surviving, fixing, providing and just living often stole away the experiences we may have shared together.

This parenthood thing really needs a manual, though most of us wouldn't read it until it was too late.  So many personalities, learning styles, environments and experiences all mixed together really give us little chance of success. Yet kids seem to manage and even flourish among our foibles.  They learn what not to pass on but often take many things we thought were mismanaged and carry on with great care.

The graduate is often asked what their future holds.  There can be a mix up between what I would like, what he would want and what God would see fit. My prayer is that as my input now changes, God would fill this man's life with wisdom I no longer can offer and people who can guide him where I no longer can go.

Study

  

In the book, "Pleasures Evermore", Sam Storms references a story in Greek mythology.  Ulysses was part of a rescue of Helen, the wife of Menelaus, the king of Greece.  In his travels Ulysses encountered many things including the Sirens being seductive and irresistible.  Being warned of the outward beauty and the inward treachery of the Sirens, Ulysses came up with a plan.  He put wax in the ears of his crew and ordered himself tied to the ships mast.  You see, the charming and compelling music they would encounter would only lead to their demise.  His reasoning behind tying himself to the mast was so that he could hear the alluring sounds but be unable to follow their plea.  Ulysses felt he did not succumb but Mr. Storms explains what he felt really happened on page 105 of his book.

"His 'no' was not the fruit of a spontaneous revulsion but the product of an external shackle."

He goes on to explain that we are not that much different. We long for sins pleasures but shackle ourselves "by laws, rules, taboos and prohibitions of our religious environment.  Our obedience is not the glad product of a transformed nature but a reluctant conformity born of fear and shame."

Once again he references mythology to drive his point.  Another person, Jason, traveled the path by the Sirens but had a different solution.  Jason brought his musician, Orpheus, to combat the seductive melody's of the wicked Sirens.  No wax or ropes were needed.  Orpheus played his most wonderful music.  Jason and his men did not succumb because they were captivated by the beautiful melody's played by Orpheus.

Mr. Storms sums it up like this:  "I want to love the things that God loves and hate what he hates, not simply because that is what I'm suppose to do but because that is what I long to do."

This all brings me to my notion of study.  How do I study?  Sometimes I think study is the gaining of knowledge.  But what is knowledge if it isn't useful or even worse what if it's incorrect?  Is incorrect knowledge really knowledge?  Let me set this up.  Now, I am coming from the assumption that we all agree Jesus has the kind of knowledge we all desire.  We see in the Old Testament God's knowledge had much focus in the law.  In the New Testament God's knowledge seemed to add aspects of attitude coming from the sacrifice he provided in his Son.  A possible example of this added attitude would be the story of the religious leaders and the adulterous woman.  The Old Testament law gave death by stoning.  The New Testament focuses on the attitude of both the religious leaders and the woman.  We see, in Luke 11:32, the shenanigans being played by these religious leaders and how they missed out on God's heart.  Do I need to couple the law of God along with the heart of God to produce this true knowledge?  If I have the heart without the precedent, am I missing out?  Likewise, if I have the precedent without the heart, am I missing out on this knowledge I am looking for?  It seems as if that is what Sam Storms is trying to get us to understand...."not because that is what I'm suppose to do but because that is what I long to do."

Back to the question.  How do I study?  Do I study God's word to gain the heart of God?  Or, do I study the Bible to grant myself permission?  Do I study the laws of God to hold myself up and prove myself righteous?  Or, do I study God's law to be more like the God I serve?  It seems as if these laws were established to cleanse rebellious hearts and alleviate the spreading of things God knew were toxic.  In the case of the religious leaders their "knowledge"  had come full circle and the toxicity had become their law.  Their knowledge without the heart of God had become stupidity.  I have great potential to rationalize, twist and coagulate the gospel into feeding my ideals.  It all comes back to my heart.  Do I want the heart of God or the heart of Jim? Study and knowledge seem like noble ideals.  But even in this we must be careful....the approval of God is what matters.

How do I amass all this information God gives me in his word?  It is truth, but how do I make it real?  Do I want my improvement or God's infiltration?

Is this world not full of these things we call knowledge and pleasures?  Do I okay things which are not okay because I have strapped myself to the mast of perceptive non-participation?  I must unhitch myself from the moorings and study the truth God has set before me, both his stipulations and forgiveness.  I must wrap myself up in the heart of God.  With Christ serenading me I am free to follow..."not because that is what  I'm suppose to do but  because that is what I long to do."

Sacrifice

What is sacrifice?  Do I feel I can wander from God and then create some pompous protocol: waltz into church, sacrifice an hour of thoughtful indignation and then climb back into usualness?  Psalm 51:15-17 seems to record an interesting perspective of the time.  In a period of animal sacrifice, producing a blood covering of sin, David was found wanting for more.

                                   "O Lord, open my lips,
                                        and my mouth will declare your
                                                   praise.
                                     You do not delight in sacrifice, or I
                                                   would bring it;
                                          you do not take pleasure in burnt
                                                    offerings.
                                      The sacrifices of God are a broken
                                                     spirit;
                                           a broken and contrite heart,
                                          O God, you will not despise."

David had committed adultery with Bathsheba. It seemed like the usual animal sacrifice had become a thing to do, not a heart to clean.  He needed more for a life in turmoil.  A few verses back David had asked God to create a pure heart...his joy was gone.

Why was David a "man after God's own heart"?  He had done some pretty awful things.  What set him apart?  Maybe this was what God was looking for...a heart sacrifice. God wants more.  If I think I have it all figured out and "this" is all I need to do, everything becomes black and white to me.  If I sin, I go to church, or confession, or give an extra tithe, and feel this will cleanse my soul. If I get so focused with doing the "white", for "white's" sake, and not doing the "black", my legalism may turn my "white" to "black".

I must continue to allow God to infiltrate my life.  It is the realization that my sacrifice does nothing but acknowledge that the sacrifice of Jesus has "paid it all."  And it is "all to Him I owe."